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diff --git a/48621.txt b/48621.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 75da254..0000000 --- a/48621.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14486 +0,0 @@ - LIGHT-FINGERED GENTRY - - - - -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: Light-Fingered Gentry -Author: David Graham Phillips -Release Date: March 31, 2015 [EBook #48621] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIGHT-FINGERED GENTRY *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - - -[Illustration: NEVA.] - - - - - *LIGHT-FINGERED - GENTRY* - - - BY - - *DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS* - - AUTHOR OF "THE SECOND GENERATION," ETC. - - - - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - NEW YORK - MCMVII - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - - COPYRIGHT, 1906, 1907, BY - THE PEARSON PUBLISHING COMPANY - - _Published, September, 1907_ - - - - - *CONTENTS* - -CHAPTER - -I.--A Matrimonial Mistake -II.--A Feast and a Fiasco -III.--"Only Cousin Neva" -IV.--The Fosdick Family -V.--Narcisse and Alois -VI.--Neva Goes to School -VII.--A Woman's Point of View -VIII.--In Neva's Studio -IX.--Master and Man -X.--Amy Sweet and Amy Sour -XI.--At Mrs. Trafford's -XII.--"We Never Were" -XIII.--Overlook Lodge -XIV.--Woman's Distrust--and Trust -XV.--Armstrong Swoops -XVI.--Hugo Shows His Mettle -XVII.--Violette's Tapestries -XVIII.--Armstrong Proposes -XIX.--Two Telephone Talks -XX.--Boris Discloses Himself -XXI.--A Sensational Day -XXII.--A Duel After Lunch -XXIII.--"The Woman Boris Loved" -XXIV.--Neva Solves a Riddle -XXV.--Two Women Intervene -XXVI.--Trafford as a Dove of Peace -XXVII.--Breakfast al Fresco -XXVIII.--Foraging for Son-in-Law -XXIX.--"If I Married You" -XXX.--By a Trick -XXXI.--"I Don't Trust Him" -XXXII.--Armstrong Asks a Favor - - - - - *LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS* - - -Neva . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ - -"She was giving Alois a free hand in planning surroundings" - -"'I felt I must see you--must see you at once'" - -"'You are my life, the light on my path'" - - - - - *LIGHT-FINGERED GENTRY* - - - - *I* - - *A MATRIMONIAL MISTAKE* - - -Toward noon on a stifling July day, a woman, a young woman, left the -main walk through the deserted college grounds at Battle Field, and -entered the path that makes a faint tracing down the middle of Pine -Point. That fingerlike peninsula juts far into Otter Lake; it is a -thicket of white pines, primeval, odorous. Not a ripple was breaking the -lake's broad, burnished reach. The snowy islets of summer cloud hung -motionless, like frescoes in an azure ceiling. But among the pines it -was cool, and even murmurously musical. - -In dress the young woman was as somber as the foliage above and around -her. Her expression, also, was somber--with the soberness of the -ascetic, or of the exceedingly shy, rather than of the sad. She seemed -to diffuse a chill, like the feel of a precious stone--the absence of -heat found both in those who have never been kindled by the fire of life -and in those in whom that fire has burned itself out. There was not a -trace of coquetry in her appearance, no attempt to display to advantage -good points that ought to have been charms. She was above the medium -height, and seemed taller by reason of the singular conformation of her -face and figure. Her face was long and slim, and also her body, and her -neck and arms; her hands, ungloved, and her feet, revealed by her -walking skirt, had the same characteristic; the line from her throat to -the curve of her bosom was of unusual length, and also the line of her -back, of her waist, of her legs. Her hair was abundant, but no one -would have guessed how abundant, or how varied its tints, so severely -was it plaited and bound to her head. Her eyes were of that long narrow -kind which most women, fortunate enough to possess them, know how to use -with an effect at once satanic and angelic, at once provoking and -rebuking passions tempestuous. But this woman had somehow contrived to -reduce even those eyes to the apparently enforced puritanism of the rest -of her exterior. She had the elements of beauty, of a rare beauty; yet -beautiful she was not. It was as if nature had molded her for love and -life, and then, in cruel freakishness, had failed to breathe into her -the vital breath. A close observer might have wondered whether this -exterior was not a mask deliberately held immobile and severe over an -intense, insurgent heart and mind. But close observers are few, and -such a secret--if secret she had--would pass unsuspected of mere shallow -curiosity. - -Within a few yards of the end of the peninsula she lifted her gaze from -the ground, on which it had been steadily bent. Across her face drifted -a slight smile--cold, or was it merely shy? It revealed the even edge -of teeth of that blue-white which is beautiful only when the complexion -is clear and fine--and her complexion was dull, sallow, as if from -recent illness or much and harassing worry. The smile was an -acknowledgment of the salutation of a man who had thrown away a -half-finished cigarette and had risen from the bench at the water's -edge. - -"How d'ye do, Neva," said he, politely enough, but with look and tone no -man addresses to a woman who has for him the slightest sex interest. - -"How are you, Horace," said she, losing the faint animation her smile -had given her face. Somewhat constrainedly, either from coldness or -from embarrassment, she gave him her hand. - -They seated themselves on the bench with its many carvings of initials -and fraternity symbols. She took advantage of his gaze out over the -lake to look at him; but her eyes were inscrutable. He was a big, -powerful-looking man--built on the large plan, within as well as -without, if the bold brow and eyes and the strong mouth, unconcealed by -his close-cropped fair mustache, did not mislead. At first glance he -seemed about thirty; but there were in his features lines of experience, -of firmness, of formed character, of achievement, that could not have -come with many less than forty years. He looked significant, -successful, the man who is much and shall be more. He was dressed more -fashionably than would be regarded as becoming in a man of affairs, -except in two or three of our largest cities. In contrast with his -vivid, aggressive personality--or, was it simply because of shy, -supersensitive shrinking in his presence?--the young woman now seemed -colorless and even bleak. - -After a silence which she was unable or unwilling to break, he said, -"This is very mysterious, Neva--this sending for me to meet -you--secretly." - -"I was afraid it might not be pleasant for you--at the house," replied -she hesitatingly. - -His air of surprise was not quite sincere. "Why not?" he inquired. -"There isn't anyone I esteem more highly than your father, and he likes -me. If he didn't he would not have done all the things that put me -under such a heavy debt of gratitude to him." His tone suggested that -he had to remind himself of the debt often lest he should be guilty of -the baseness of forgetting it. - -"It was eighteen months yesterday," said she, "since you were--at the -house." - -He frowned at what he evidently regarded as a disagreeable and therefore -tactless reminder. "Really? Time races for those who have something to -do besides watch the clock." Then, ashamed of his irritation, "I -suppose it's impossible, in an uneventful place like this, to appreciate -how the current of a city like Chicago sweeps a man along and won't -release him. There's so much to think about, one has no time for -anything." - -"Except the things that are important to one," replied she. "Don't -misunderstand, please. I'm only stating a fact--not reproaching -you--not at all." - -"So, your father has turned against me." - -"He has said nothing. But his expression, when I happened to speak of -you the other day, told me it would be better for you not to come to the -house--at least, until we had had a talk." - -"Well, Neva, I don't feel I have any reason to reproach myself. I'm not -the sort of man who stands about on the tail of his wife's dress or sits -round the house in slippers. I'm trying to make a career, and that -means work." - -"Chicago is only six hours from Battle Field," she said with curiously -quiet persistence. - -"When I got the position in Chicago," he reminded her with some -asperity, "I asked you to go with me. You refused." - -"Did you wish me to go?" - -"Did you wish to go?" - -She was silent. - -"You know you did not," he went on. "We had been married nearly six -years, and you cared no more about me--" He paused to seek a -comparison. - -"Than you cared for me," she suggested. Then, with a little more energy -and color, "I repeat, Horace, I'm not reproaching you. All I want is -that you be frank. I asked you to come here to-day that we might talk -over our situation honestly. How can we be honest with each other if -you begin by pretending that business is your reason for staying away?" - -He studied her unreadable, impassive face. In all the years of their -married life she had never shown such energy or interest, except about -her everlasting painting, which she was always mussing with, shut away -from everybody; and never had she been so communicative. But it was too -late, far too late, for any sign of personality, however alluringly -suggestive of mystery unexplored, to rouse him to interest in her. He -was looking at her merely because he wished to discover what she was -just now beating toward. "In the fall," he said, "I'm going to New York -to live. Of course, that will mean even fewer chances of my -coming--here--coming home." - -At the word "home," which she had avoided using, a smile--her secret -smile--flitted into her face, instantly died away again. He colored. - -"I heard you were going to New York," said she. "I saw it in the -newspapers." - -"I suppose _you_ will not wish to--to leave your father," he resumed -cautiously, as if treading dangerous ground. - -"Do you wish me to go?" - -He did not answer. A prolonged silence which she broke: "You see, -Horace, I was right. We mustn't any longer refuse to look our situation -squarely in the face." - -His heart leaped. When he got her letter with its mysterious, urgent -summons, a hope had sprung within him; but he had quickly dismissed it -as a mere offspring of his longing for freedom--had there ever been an -instance of a woman's releasing a man who was on his way up? But now, -he began to hope again. - -"Ever since the baby was born--dead," she went on, face and voice calm, -but fingers fiercely interlocked under a fold of her dress where he -could not see, "I've been thinking we ought not to let our mistake grow -into a tragedy." - -"Our mistake?" - -"Our marriage." - -He waited until he could conceal his astonishment before he said, "You, -too, feel it was a mistake?" - -"I feared so, when we were marrying," she replied. "I knew it, when I -saw how hard you ere trying to do your 'duty' as a husband--oh, yes, I -saw. And, when the baby and the suffering failed to bring us together, -only showed how far apart we were, I realized there wasn't any hope. -You would have told me, would have asked for your freedom--yes, I saw -that, too--if it hadn't been for the feeling you had about father--and, -perhaps also--" She paused, then went bravely on, "--because you were -ashamed of having married me for other reasons than love. Don't deny -it, please. To-day, we can speak the truth to each other without -bitterness." - -"I shan't deny," replied he. "I saw that your father, who had done -everything for me, had his heart set on the marriage. And I'll even -admit I was dazzled by the fact that yours was one of the first and -richest families in the State--I, who was obscure and poor. It wasn't -difficult for me to deceive myself into thinking my awe of you was the -feeling a man ought to have for the woman he marries." He seemed to -have forgotten she was there. "I had worked hard, too hard, at -college," he went on. "I was exhausted--without courage. The obstacles -to my getting where I was determined to go staggered me. To marry you -seemed to promise a path level and straight to success." - -"I understand," she said. Her voice startled him back to complete -consciousness of her presence. "There was more excuse for you than for -me." - -"That's it!" he cried. "What puzzles me, what I've often asked myself -is, 'Why did she marry me?'" - -"Not for the reason you think," evaded she. - -"What is that?" he asked, his tone not wholly easy. - -"It wasn't because I thought you were going to have a distinguished -career." - -This penetration disconcerted him, surprised him. And he might have gone -on to suspect he would do well to revise his estimate of her, formed in -the first months of their married life and never since even questioned, -had not her next remark started a fresh train of thought. "So," she -said, with her faint smile, "you see you've had no ground for the fear -that, no matter how plainly you might show me you wished to be free, I'd -hold on to you." - -"A woman might have other reasons than mere sordidness for not freeing a -man," replied he, on the defensive. - -"She might _think_ she had." - -"That is cynical," said he, once more puzzled. - -"The truth often is--as we both well know," replied she. Then, -abruptly, but with no surface trace of effort: "You wish to be free. -Well, you are free." - -"What do you mean, Neva?" he demanded, ashamed of the exultation that -surged up in him, and trying to conceal it. - -"Just what I say," was her quiet answer. - -After a pause, he asked with gentle consideration of strong for weak -that made her wince, "Neva, have you consulted with anyone--with your -father or brother?" - -"I haven't spoken to them about it. Why should I? Are not our -relations a matter between ourselves alone? Who else could understand? -Who could advise?" - -"What you propose is a very grave matter." - -Again her secret smile, this time a gleam of irony in it. "You do not -wish to be free?" - -His expression showed how deeply he instantly became alarmed. She -smiled openly. "Don't pretend to yourself that you are concerned about -my interests," she said; "frankness to-day--please." - -"I'm afraid you don't realize what you are doing," he felt compelled to -insist. "And that is honest." - -"You don't understand me. You never did. You never could, so long as I -am your wife. That's the way it is in marriage--if people begin wrong, -as we did. But, at least, believe me when I say I've thought it all -out--in these years of long, long days and weeks and months when I've -had no business to distract me." - -"You are right," he said. "We have never been of the slightest use to -each other. We are utterly out of sympathy--like strangers." - -"Worse," she replied. "Strangers may come together, but not the husband -and wife whose interest in each other has been killed." She gazed long -out over the lake toward the mist-veiled Wabash range before adding, -almost under her breath, "Or never was born." - -"I have a naturally expansive temperament," he went on, as if in her -train of thought. "I need friendship, affection. You are by nature -reserved and cold." - -She smiled enigmatically. "I doubt if you know me well enough to -judge." - -"At least, you've been cold and reserved with me--always, from the very -beginning." - -"It would be a strange sort of woman, don't you think, who would not be -chilled by a man who regarded everyone as a mere rung in his -ladder--first for the hand, then for the foot? Oh, I'm not criticising. -I understand and accept many things I was once foolishly sensitive -about. I see your point of view. You feel you must get rid of whatever -interferes with your development. And you are right. We must be true -to ourselves. Worn-out clothes, worn-out friends, worn-out ties of -every kind--all must go to the rag bag--relentlessly." - -He did not like it that she said these things so placidly and without -the least bitterness. He admitted they were true; but her wisdom jarred -upon him as "unwomanly," as further proof of the essential coldness of -her nature; he would have accepted as natural and proper the most -unreasonable and most intemperate reproaches and denunciations. He -hardened his heart and returned to the main question. "Then you really -wish to be free?" He liked to utter that last word, to drink in the -clarion sound of it. - -"That has been settled," she replied. "We _are_ free." - -"But there are many details----" - -"For the lawyers. We need not discuss them. Besides, they are few and -simple. I give you your freedom; I receive mine--and that is all. I -shall take my own name. And we can both begin again." - -He was looking at her now; for the first time in their acquaintance he -was beginning to wonder whether he had not been mistaken in assigning -her to that background of neutral-colored masses against which the few -with positive personalities play the drama of life. As he sat silent, -confused, she still further amazed him by rising and extending her hand. -"Good-by," she said. "You'll take the four-fifty train back to -Chicago?" - -It seemed to him they were not parting as should two who had been so -long and, in a sense, so intimately, each in the other's life and -thought. Yet, what was there to be said or done? He rose, hesitated, -awkwardly touched her insistent hand, reluctantly released it. -"Good-by," he stammered. He had an uncomfortable sense of being -dismissed--and who likes summarily to be dismissed, even by one of whose -company he is least glad? - -Suddenly, upon a wave of color the beauty that nature had all but given -her, swept, triumphant and glorious, into her face, into her figure. It -was as startling, as vivid, as dazzling as the fair, far-stretching -landscape the lightning flash conjures upon the black curtain of night. -While he was staring in dazed amazement, the apparition vanished with -the wave of emotion that had brought it into view. - -Before he could decide whether he had seen or had only imagined, she was -gone, was making her way up the path alone. A sudden melancholy -shadowed him--the melancholy of the closed chapter, of the thing that -has been and shall not be again, forever. But the exhilarating fact of -freedom soon dissipated this thin shadow. With shoulders erect and -firm, and confident gait he strode toward the station, his mind gone -ahead of him to Chicago, to New York, to his future, his career, his -conquest of power. An hour after his train left Battle Field, Neva -Carlin was to Horace Armstrong simply a memory, a filed document to be -left undisturbed under its mantle of dust. - - - - - *II* - - *A FEAST AND A FIASCO* - - -"There'll be about six hundred of us," Fosdick had said. "Do your best, -and send in the bill." - -And the best it certainly was, even for New York with its profuse ideas -as to dispensing the rivers of other people's money that flood in upon -it from the whole country. The big banquet hall was walled with -flowers; there were great towering palms rising from among the tables -and so close together that their leaves intermingled in a roof. Each -table was an attempt at a work of art; the table of honor was strewn and -festooned with orchids at a dollar and a half apiece; there was music, -of course, and it the costliest; there were souvenirs--they alone -absorbed upward of ten thousand dollars. As for the dinner itself, the -markets of the East and the South and of the Pacific Coast had been -searched; the fish had come from France; the fruit from English -hothouses; four kinds of wine, but those who preferred it could have -champagne straight through. The cigars cost a dollar apiece, the -boutonnieres another dollar, the cigarettes were as expensive as are the -cigars of many men who are particular as to their tobacco. Lucullus may -have spent more on some of his banquets, but he could have got no such -results. In fact, it was a "seventy-five a plate" dinner, though Fosdick -was not boasting it, as he would have liked; he was mindful of the -recent exposures of the prodigality of managers of corporations with the -investments of "the widow and the orphan and the thrifty poor." - -Fosdick, presiding, with Shotwell on his right and Armstrong on his -left, swelled with pride in his own generosity and taste as he gazed -round. True, the O.A.D. was to pay the bill; true, he had known nothing -about the arrangements for the banquet until he came to preside at it. -But was he not the enchanter who evoked it all? He hadn't a doubt that -his was the glory, all the glory--just as, when he bought for a large -sum a picture with a famous name to it, he showed himself to be greater -than the painter. He prided himself upon his good taste--did he not -select the man who selected the costly things for him; did he not sign -the checks? But most of all he prided himself on his big heart. He -loved to give--to his children, to his friends, to servants--not high -wages indeed, for that would have been bad business, but tips and -presents which made a dazzling showing and flooded his heart with the -warm milk of human kindness, whereas a small increase of wages would be -insignificant, without pleasurable sensation, and a permanent drain. Of -all the men who devote their lives to what some people call finance--and -others call reaping where another has sown--he was the most generous. -"A great, big, beating human heart," was what you heard about Fosdick -everywhere. "A hard, wily fighter in finance, but a man full of red -blood, for all that." - -Having surveyed the magic scene his necromancy and his generosity had -created, he shifted his glance patronizingly to the man at his -right--the man for whom he had done this generous act, the retiring -president of the O.A.D., to whom this dinner was a testimonial. As -Fosdick looked at Shotwell, his face darkened. "The damned old -ingrate," he muttered. "He doesn't appreciate what I've done for him." -And there was no denying it. The old man was looking a sickly, forlorn -seventy-five, at least, though he was only sixty-five, only two years -older than Fosdick. He was humped down in a sort of stupor, his big -flat chin on his crushed shirt bosom, his feeble, age-mottled hand -fumbling with his napkin, with his wineglass, with the knives, forks, -and spoons. - -"The boys are giving you a great send off," said Fosdick. As Shotwell -knew who alone was responsible for the "magnificent and touching -testimonial," Fosdick risked nothing in this modesty. - -Shotwell, startled, wiped his mouth with his napkin. - -"Yes, yes," he said; "it's very nice." - -Nice! And if Fosdick had chosen he could have had Shotwell flung down -and out in disgrace from the exalted presidency of the O.A.D., instead -of retiring him thus gloriously. Nice! Fosdick almost wished he -had--almost. He would have quite wished it, if retiring Shotwell in -disgrace would not have injured the great company, so absolutely -dependent upon popular confidence. Nice! Fosdick turned away in -disgust. He remembered how, when he had closed his trap upon -Shotwell--a superb stroke of business, that!--not a soul had suspected -until the jaws snapped and the O.A.D. was his--he remembered how -Shotwell had met his demand for immediate resignation or immediate -disgrace, with shrieks of hate and cursing. "I suppose he can't get -over it," reflected Fosdick. "Men blind themselves completely to the -truth where vanity and self-interest are concerned. He probably still -hates me, and can't see that I was foolishly generous with him. Where's -there another man in the financial district who'd have allowed him a -pension of half his salary for life?" - -But such thoughts as these in this hour for expansion and good will -marred his enjoyment. Fosdick turned to the man at his left, to young -Armstrong, whom he was generously lifting to the lofty seat from which -he had so forbearingly ejected the man at his right. Armstrong--a huge, -big fellow with one of those large heads which show unmistakably that -they are of the rare kind of large head that holds a large brain--was as -abstracted as Shotwell. The food, the wine before him, were untouched. -He was staring into his plate, with now and then a pull at his cropped, -fair mustache or a passing of his large, ruddy, well-shaped hand over -his fine brow. "What's the matter, Horace?" said Fosdick; "chewing over -the speech?" - -Armstrong straightened himself with a smile that gave his face instantly -the look of frankness and of high, dauntless spirit. "No, I've got that -down--and mighty short it is," said he; "the fewer words I say now, the -fewer there'll be to rise up and mock me, if I fail." - -"Fail! Pooh! Nonsense! Cheer up!" cried Fosdick. "It's a big job for -a young fellow, but you're bound to win. You've got _me_ behind you." - -Armstrong looked uncomfortable rather than relieved. "They've elected me -president," said he, and his quiet tone had the energy of an inflexible -will. "I intend to be president. No one can save me if I haven't it in -me to win out." - -Fosdick frowned, and pursed his lips until his harsh gray mustache -bristled. "Symptoms of swollen head already," was his irritated inward -comment. "He's been in the job forty-eight hours, and he's ready to -forget who made him. But I'll soon remind him that I could put him -where I got him--and further down, damn him!" - -"Some one is signaling you from the box straight ahead," said Armstrong. -"I think it's your daughter." - -As the young woman was plainly visible and as Armstrong knew her well, -this caution of statement could not have been quite sincere. But -Fosdick did not note it; he was bowing and smiling at the occupants of -that most conspicuous box. At the table of honor to the right and left -of him were the directors of the O.A.D., the most representative of the -leading citizens of New York; they owned, so it was said, one fifteenth -and directly controlled about one half of the entire wealth of the -country; not a blade was harvested, not a wheel was turned, not a pound -of freight was lifted from Maine to the Pacific but that they directly -or indirectly got a "rake off"--or, if you prefer, a commission for -graciously permitting the work to be done. In the horseshoe of boxes, -overlooking the banquet, were the families of these high mightinesses, -the wives and daughters and sons who gave the mightiness outward and -visible expression in gorgeous display and in painstaking reproduction -of the faded old aristocracies of birth beyond the Atlantic. - -Fosdick had insisted on this demonstration because the banquet was to be -not only a testimonial to Shotwell, but also a formal installation of -himself and his daughter and son in the high society of the plutocracy. -Fosdick had long had power downtown; but he had lacked respectability. -Not that his reputation was not good; on the contrary, it was -spotless--as honest as generous, as honorable as honest. -Respectability, however, has nothing to do with honesty, whether reputed -or real. It is a robe, an entitlement, a badge; it comes from -associating with the respectable, uptown as well as down. Fosdick, -grasping this fact, after twenty years' residence in New York in -ignorance of it, had forthwith resolved to be respectable, to change the -dubious social status of his family into a structure as firm and as -imposing as his fortune. His business associates had imagined -themselves free, uptown at least, from his vast and ever vaster power; -at one stroke he showed them the fatuous futility of their social -coldness, of their carefully drawn line between doing business with him -and being socially intimate with him, made it amusingly apparent that -their condescensions to his daughter and son in the matter of occasional -invitations were as flimsily based as were their elaborate pretenses of -superior birth and breeding. He invited them to make a social function -of this business dinner; he made each recipient of an invitation -personally feel that it was wise to accept, dangerous to refuse. The -hope of making money and the dread of losing it have ever been the two -all-powerful considerations in an aristocracy of any kind. -Respectability and fashion "accepted." - -So, Fosdick, looking across that resplendent scene, at the radiant faces -of his daughter and son, felt the light and the warmth driving away the -shadows of Shotwell's ingratitude and Armstrong's lack of deference. But -just as he was expanding to the full girth of his big heart, he chilled -and shrunk again. There, beside his daughter, sat old Shotwell's wife. -She was as cold as so much marble; the diamonds on her great white -shoulders and bosom seemed to give off a chill from their light. She -was there, it is true; but like a dethroned queen in the triumphal -procession of an upstart conqueror. She was a rebuke, a damper, a -spoiler of the feast. She never had cared for old Shotwell; she had -married him because he was the best available catch and could give her -everything she wanted, everything she could conceive a woman's wanting. -She had tolerated him as one of the disagreeable but necessary incidents -of the journey of life. But Shotwell's downfall was hers, was their -children's. It meant a lower rank in the social hierarchy; it meant -that she and hers must bow before this "nobody from nowhere" and his -children. She sat there, beside Amy, in front of Hugo, the embodiment of -icy hate. - -"This damn dinner is entirely too long," muttered Fosdick, though he did -not directly connect his dissatisfaction with the cold stare from -Shotwell's wife. - -But Mrs. Shotwell was not interfering with the enjoyment of Amy and -Hugo. - -If Fosdick had planned with an inquisitor's cunning to put her to the -most exquisite torture, he could not have been more successful. From -his box she had the best possible view of the whole scene; and, while -Shotwell had told her only the smallest part of the truth about his -"resignation," she had read the newspaper reports of the investigation -of the O.A.D. which had preceded his downfall, and, though that -investigation had changed from an attack on him to an exoneration, after -he yielded to Fosdick, she had guessed enough of the truth to know that -this "testimonial" to him was in fact a testimonial to Fosdick. - -Hugo and Amy, the children of a rich man and unmarried, had long been -popular with all the women who had unmarried sons and daughters; this -evening they roused enthusiasm. Everybody who hoped to make, or feared -to lose, money was impressed by their charms. Amy, who was pretty, was -declared beautiful; Hugo, who looked as if he had brains, though in fact -he had not, was pronounced a marvel of serious intellectuality. The -young men flocked round Amy; Hugo's tour of the boxes was an ovation. -To an observant outsider, looking beneath surfaces to realities, the -scene would have been ludicrous and pitiful; to those taking part, it -seemed elegant, kindly, charming. Mrs. Shotwell was almost at the -viewpoint of the outsider--not the philosopher, but he who stands hungry -and thirsty in the cold and glowers through the window at the revelers -and denounces them for their selfish gluttony. And by the way of chagrin -and envy she reached the philosopher's conclusion. "How coarse and -low!" she thought. "New York gets more vulgar every year." - -Amy, accustomed all her life to have anything and everything she wanted, -had been dissatisfied about the family's social position and eager to -improve it; but the instant she realized they were at last "in the -push," securely there, she began to lose interest; after an hour of the -new adulation, she had enough, was looking impatiently round for -something else to want and to strive for. - -Not so Hugo. Society had seemed a serious matter to him from his -earliest days at college, when he began to try to get into the -fashionable fraternities, and failed. He had been invited wherever any -marriageable girls were on exhibition; but he had noted, and had taken -it quickly to heart, that he was not often invited when such offerings -were not being made. He had gone heavily into a flirtation with a young -married woman, as dull as himself. It was in vain; she had invited him, -but her friends had not, unless she was to be there to take care of him. -He had attributed this in part to his father, in part to his married -sister--his father, who made occasional slips in grammar and was -boisterous and dictatorial in conversation; his sister, whose husband -kept a big retail furniture store and "looks the counter-jumper that he -is," Hugo often said to Amy in their daily discussions of their social -woes. Now, all this worriment was over; Hugo, touring the boxes, felt -he had reached the summit of ambition. And it seemed to him he had -himself brought it about--his diplomatic assiduity in cultivating "the -right people," the steady, if gradual, permeation of his physical and -mental charms. - -Amy sent a note down to Armstrong, asking him to come to the box a -moment. As he entered, Hugo was just leaving on another excursion for -further whiffs of the incense that was making him visibly as drunk, if -in a slightly different way, as the younger and obscurer members of the -staff of the O.A.D. downstairs. At sight of Armstrong he put out his -hand graciously and said: "Ah--Horace--howdy?" in a tone that made it -difficult for Armstrong to refrain from laughing in his face. - -"All right, Hugo," said he. - -Hugo frowned. For him to address one of his father's employees by his -first name was natural and proper and a mark of distinguished favor; for -one of those employees to retort in kind was a gross impertinence. He -did not see just how to show his indignation, just how to set the -impudent employee back in his place. He put the problem aside for -further thought, and brushed haughtily by Armstrong, who, however, had -already forgotten him. - -"Just let Mr. Armstrong sit there, won't you?" said Amy to the young man -in the seat immediately behind hers. - -The young man flushed; she had cut him off in the middle of a sentence -which was in the middle of the climax of what he thought a most amusing -story. He gave place to Armstrong, hating him, since hatred of an -heiress was not to be thought of. - -"What is it you want so particularly to see me about?" Armstrong said to -her. - -She smiled with radiant coquetry. "Nothing at all," she replied. "I -put that in the note simply to make sure you'd come." - -Armstrong laughed. "You're a spoiled one," said he. And he got up, -nodded friendlily to her, bowed to her Arctic chaperon and departed, she -so astonished that she could think of nothing to say to detain him. - -Her first impulse was rage--that _she_ should be treated thus! she whom -_everybody_ treated with consideration! Then, her vanity, readiest and -most tactful of courtiers, suggested that he had done it to pique her, -to make himself more attractive in her eyes. That mollified her, soon -had her in good humor again. Yes, he was as much part of her court as -the others; only, being shrewder, he pursued a different method. "And -he's got a right to hold himself dear," she said to herself, as she -watched him making his way to his seat at the table of honor. Certainly -he did look as if he belonged at or near the head of the head table. - -Soon her father was standing, was rapping for order. Handsome and -distinguished, with his keen face and tall lean figure, his iron-gray -hair and mustache, he spoke out like one who has something to say and -will be heard: - -"Gentlemen and ladies!" he began. "We are gathered here to-night to do -honor to one of the men of our time and country. His name is a -household word." (Applause.) "For forty years he has made comfortable -an ever increasing number of deathbeds, has stood between the orphan and -the pangs of want, has given happy old age to countless thousands." -(Applause. Cries of "Good! Good!") "Ladies and gentlemen, we honor -ourselves in honoring this noble character. Speaking for the directors, -of whom I am one of the oldest--in point of service"--(Laughter. -Applause.)--"speaking for the directors, I say, in all sincerity, it is -with the profoundest regret that we permit him to partially sever his -official connection with the great institution he founded and has been -so largely instrumental in building up to its present magnificent -position. We would fain have him stay on where his name is a guarantee -of honesty, security and success." (Cheers.) "But he has insisted that -he must transfer the great burden to younger shoulders. He has earned -the right to repose, ladies and gentlemen. We cannot deny him what he -has earned. But he leaves us his spirit." (Wild applause.) "Wherever -the O.A.D. is known--and where is it not known?" (Cheers and loud -rattling of metal upon glass and china.)--"there his name is written -high as an inspiration to the young. He has been faithful; he has been -honest; he has been diligent. By these virtues he has triumphed." -(Cheers.) "His triumph, ladies and gentlemen, is an inspiration to us -all." (Cheers. Cries of "Whoope-ee" from several drunken men at the -far tables.) - -"Let us rise, gentlemen, and drink to our honored, our honorable chief!" - -The banqueters sprang to their feet, lifting their glasses high. Old -Shotwell, his face like wax, rose feebly, stared into vacancy, passed -one tremulous hand over the big, flat, weak chin, sunk into his chair -again. Some one shouted, "Three cheers for Shotwell!" Floor and boxes -stood and cheered, with much waving of napkins and handkerchiefs and -clinking of glasses. It was a thrilling scene, the exuberant homage of -affairs to virtue. - -"I see, ladies and gentlemen, that my poor words have been in the -direction of your thoughts," continued Fosdick. "And now devolves upon -me the pleasant duty of----" - -Here a beflowered hand truck, bearing a large rosewood chest, was -wheeled in front of the table of honor. The attendants threw back the -lid and disclosed a wonderful service of solid gold plate. This -apparition of the god in visible, tangible form caused hysterical -excitement--cheers, shouts, frantic cranings and wavings from floor and -gallery. - -"--The pleasant duty of presenting this slight token of appreciation -from our staff to our retiring president," ended Fosdick in a tremendous -voice and with a vast, magnanimous sweep of the arms. - -Old Shotwell, dazed, lifted his chin from his shirt bosom, stared -stupidly at the chest, rose at a prod from his neighbor, bowed, and sat -down again. Fosdick seated himself, nudged him under the table, -whispered hoarsely under cover of his mustache, "Get up. Get up! -Here's the time for your speech." - -The old man fumbled in his breast pocket, drew out a manuscript, rose -uncertainly. As he got on his feet, the manuscript dropped to the -floor. Armstrong saw, moved around between Shotwell and his neighbor, -picked up the manuscript, opened it, laid it on the table at Shotwell's -hand. "Ladies and gentlemen," quavered Shotwell, in a weak voice and -with an ashen face, "I thank you. I--I--thank you." - -The diners rose again. "Three cheers for the old chief!" was the cry, -and out they rang. Tears were in Shotwell's eyes; tears were rolling -down Fosdick's cheeks; some of the drunken were sobbing. As they sang, -"For he's a jolly good fellow," Fosdick's great voice leading and his -arm linked in Shotwell's, Armstrong happened to glance down at the -manuscript. The opening sentence caught his eye--"_Fellow builders of -the Mutual Association Against Old Age and Death, I come here to expose -to you the infamous conspiracy of which I have been the victim._" -Before Armstrong could stop himself, he had been fascinated into reading -the second sentence: "_I purpose to expose to you, without sparing -myself, how Josiah Fosdick has seized the O.A.D. to gamble with its -assets, using his unscrupulous henchman, Horace Armstrong, as a blind._" - -Armstrong, white as his shirt, folded the manuscript and held it in the -grip a man gives that which is between him and destruction. The singing -finished, all sat down again, Shotwell with the rest. Had his mind -given way, or his will? Armstrong could not tell; certain it was, -however, that he had abandoned the intention of changing the banquet -into about the most sensational tragedy that had ever shaken and torn -the business world. Armstrong put the manuscript in his pocket. "I'll -mail it to him," he said to himself. - -But now Josiah was up again, was calling for a "few words from my -eminent young friend, whom the directors of the O.A.D., in the wise -discharge of the trust imposed upon them by three quarters of a million -policy holders, have elected to the presidency. His shoulders are -young, gentlemen, but"--here he laid his hand affectionately upon -Armstrong--"as you can see for yourselves, they are broad and strong." -He beamed benevolently down upon Armstrong's thick, fair hair. "Young -man, we want to hear your pledge for your stewardship." - -Horace Armstrong, unnerved by the narrowly averted catastrophe, drew -several deep breaths before he found voice. He glanced along first one -line, then the other, of the eminent and most respectable directors, -these men of much and dubious wealth which yet somehow made them the -uttermost reverse of dubious, made them the bulwarks of character and -law and property--of all they had trodden under foot to achieve -"success." Then he gazed out upon the men who were to take orders from -him henceforth, the superintendents, agents, officials of the O.A.D. -"My friends," said he, "we have charge of a great institution. With -God's help we will make it greater, the greatest. It has been one of -the mainstays of the American home, the American family. It shall -remain so, if I have your cooeperation and support." - -And he abruptly resumed his seat. There were cheers, but not loud or -hearty. His manner had been nervous, his voice uncertain, unconvincing. -But for his presence--that big frame, those powerful features--he would -have made a distinctly bad impression. As he sat, conscious of failure -but content because he had got through coherently, old Shotwell began -fumbling and muttering, "My speech! Where's my speech! I've lost it. -Somebody might find it. If the newspapers should get it----" - -But the dinner was over. The boxes were emptying, the intoxicated were -being helped out by their friends, the directors were looking uneasily -at Fosdick for permission to join their departing families. Fosdick took -Shotwell firmly by the arm and escorted him, still mumbling, to the -carriage entrance, there turning him over to Mrs. Shotwell. - -"He's very precious to us all, madam," said Fosdick, indifferent to her -almost sneering coldness, and giving the old man a patronizing clap on -the shoulder. "Take good care of him." To himself he added, "I'll -warrant she will, with that pension his for his lifetime only." - -And he went home, to sleep the sleep of a good man at the end of a good -day. - - - - - *III* - - *"ONLY COUSIN NEVA"* - - -Letty Morris--"Mrs. Joe"--was late for her Bohemian lunch. She called -it Bohemian because she had asked a painter, a piano player and an -actress, and was giving it in the restaurant of a studio building. As -her auto rolled up to the curb, she saw at the entrance, just going -away, a woman of whom her first thought was "What strange, fascinating -eyes!" then, "Why, it's only Cousin Neva"; for, like most New Yorkers, -she was exceedingly wary of out-of-town people, looking on them, with -nothing to offer, as a waste of time and money. As it was, on one of -those friendly impulses that are responsible for so much of the good, -and so much of the evil, in this world, she cried, "Why, Genevieve -Carlin! What are _you_ doing _here_?" And she descended from her auto -and rushed up to Neva. - -"How d'ye do, Letty?" said Neva distantly. She had startled, had -distinctly winced, at the sound of those affected accents and tones -which the fashionable governesses and schools are rapidly making the -natural language of "our set" and its fringes. - -"Why haven't you let me know?" she reproached. As the words left her -lips, up rose within herself an answer which she instantly assumed was -_the_ answer. The divorce, of course! She flushed with annoyance at her -tactlessness. Her first sensation in thinking of divorce was always -that it was scandalous, disgraceful, immoral, a stain upon the woman and -her family; but quick upon that feeling, lingering remnant of discarded -childhood training, always came the recollection that divorce was no -longer unfashionable, was therefore no longer either immoral or -disgraceful, was scandalous in a delightful, aristocratic way. "But," -reflected she, "probably Neva still feels about that sort of thing as we -all used to feel--at least, all the best people." She was confirmed in -this view by her cousin's embarrassed expression. She hastened to her -relief with "Joe and I talk of you often. Only the other day I started -a note to you, asking you when you could visit us." - -She did not believe, when Neva told the literal truth in replying: "I -came to work. I thought I wouldn't disturb you." - -"Disturb!" cried Mrs. Morris. "You are so queer. How long have you -been here?" - -"Several weeks. I--I've an apartment in this house." - -"How delightful!" exclaimed Letty absently. She was herself again and -was thinking rapidly. A new man, even from "the provinces," might be -fitted in to advantage; but what could she do with another woman, one -more where there were already too many for the men available for idling? - -"You must let me see something of you," said she, calmer but still -cordial. "You must come to dinner--Saturday night." That was Letty -Morris's resting night--a brief and early dinner, early to bed for a -sleep that would check the ravages of the New York season in a beauty -that must be husbanded, since she had crossed the perilous line of -thirty. "Yes--Saturday--at half-past seven. And here's one of my cards -to remind you of the address. I must be going now. I'm horribly late." -And with a handshake and brush of the lips on Neva's cheek, the small, -brilliant, blonde cousin was gone. - -"What a nuisance," she was saying to herself. "Why _did_ I let myself be -surprised into attracting her attention? Now, I'll have to do something -for her--we're really under obligations to her father--I don't believe -Joe has paid back the last of that loan yet. Well, I can use her -occasionally to take Joe off my hands. She looks all right--really, -it's amazing how she has improved in dress. She seems to know how to -put on her clothes now. But she's too retiring to be dangerous. A -woman who's presentable yet not dangerous is almost desirable, is as -rare as an attractive man." - -The delusion of our own importance is all but universal--and everywhere -most happy; but for it, would not life's cynicism broaden from the -half-hidden smirk into a disheartening sneer? Among fashionable people, -narrow, and carefully educated only in class prejudice and pretentious -ignorance, this delusion becomes an obsession. The whole hardworking, -self-absorbed world is watching them--so they delight in imagining--is -envying them, is imitating them. Letty assumed that Neva had kept away -through awe, and that she would now take advantage of her politeness to -cling to her and get about in society; as Mrs. Morris thought of nothing -but society, she naturally felt that the whole world must be similarly -occupied. She would have been astounded could she have seen into Neva's -mind--seen the debate going on there as to how to entrench herself -against annoyance from her cousin. "Shall I refuse her invitation?" -thought Neva. "Or, is it better to go Saturday night, and have done -with, since I must go to her house once?" She reluctantly decided for -Saturday night. "And after that I can plead my work; and soon she'll -forget all about me. It's ridiculous that people who wish to have -nothing to do with each other should be forced by a stupid -conventionality to irritate themselves and each other." - -Saturday afternoon, each debated writing the other, postponing the -engagement. Neva had a savage attack of the blues; at such times she -shut herself in, certain she could not get from the outside the cheer -she craved and too keen to be content with the cheer that would offer -shallow, wordy sympathy, or, worse still, self-complacent pity. As for -Letitia, she was quarreling with her husband--about money as usual. She -was one of those doll-looking women who so often have serpentine craft -and wills of steel. Morris adored her, after the habit of men with such -women; she made him feel so big and strong and intellectually superior; -and her childish, clinging ways were intoxicating, as she had great -physical charm, she so cool and smooth and golden white and delicately -perfumed. She always got her own way with everyone; usually her -husband, her "master," yielded at the first onset. Once in a while--and -this happened to be of those times--he held out for the pleasure of -seeing her pout and weep and then, as he yielded, burst into a radiance -like sunshine through summer rain. If she had had money of her own he -might have got a sudden and even shocking insight into the internal -machinery of that doll's head; as it was, his delusion about the -relative intelligence and strength of himself and his Letty was intact. - -Mrs. Joe did not share his enthusiasm for these "love-tilts"; she did -not mind employing the "doll game" in her dealings with the world, but -she would have liked to be her real self at home. This, however, was -impossible if she was to get the largest results in the quickest and -easiest way. So she wearily played on at the farce, and at times grew -heartsick with envy of the comparatively few independent--which means -financially independent--women of her set, and disliked her Joe when she -was forced to think about him distinctly, which was not often. In -marriages where the spirit has shriveled and died within the letter, -habit soon hardens a wife to an amazing degree toward practical -unconsciousness of the existence of her husband, even though he be -uxorious. Letty's married life bored her; but she had no more sense of -degradation in thus making herself a pander, and for hire, than had her -husband, at the same business downtown. She saw so many of the "very -best" women doing just as she did, using each the fittest form of -cajolery and cozening to wheedle money for extravagances out of their -husbands, that it seemed as much the proper and reputable thing as going -to bullfights seems to Spaniards, or watching wild beasts devour men, -women, and children seemed to the "very best" people of imperial Rome. -For the same reason, her husband did not linger upon the real meaning of -the phrase "legal adviser" whereunder the business of himself and his -brother lawyers was so snugly and smugly masked--the business of helping -respectable scoundrels glut bestial appetites for other people's -property without fear of jail. - -The quarrel had so far advanced that Saturday night was the logical time -for the climax in sentimental reconciliation. However, Mrs. Morris -decided to endure a twenty-four hours' delay and "get Neva over with." -She repented the instant Neva appeared. "I had no idea she could be so -good looking," thought she, in a panic at the prospect of rivalry, with -desirable available men wofully scarce. She swept Neva with a -searching, hostile glance. "She's really almost beautiful." - -And, in fact, never before was Neva so good looking. Vanity is an air -plant not at all dependent upon roots in realities for nourishment and -growth. Thus, she, born with rather less than the normal physical -vanity, had been unaffected by the charms she could not but have seen -had she looked at herself with vanity's sprightly optimism. Nor was -there any encouragement in the atmosphere of old-fashioned Battle Field, -where the best people were still steeped in medieval disdain of -"foolishness" and regarded the modern passion for the joy of life as -sinful. Also, she was without that aggressive instinct to please by -physical charm which even circumvents the regulations of a chapter of -cloistered nuns. - -Until she came to New York, she had given her personal appearance no -attention whatever, beyond instinctively trying to be as unobtrusive as -possible; and even in New York her concessions to what she regarded as -waste of time were really not concessions at all, were merely the result -of exercising in the most indifferent fashion her natural good taste, in -choosing the best from New York's infinite variety as she had chosen the -best from Battle Field's meager and commonplace stocks of goods for -women. The dress she was wearing that evening was not especially grand, -seemed quakerishly high in the neck in comparison with Letty's; for -Letty had a good back and was not one to conceal a charm which it was -permissible to display. But Neva, in soft silver-gray; with her hair, -bright, yet neither gold nor red, but all the shades between, framing -her long oval face in a pompadour that merged gracefully into a simple -knot at the back of her small head; with her regular features shown to -that advantage which regular features have only when shoulders and neck -are bared; and with her complexion cleared of all sallowness and -restored to its natural smooth pallor by the healthful air and life of -New York--Neva, thus recreated, was more than distinguished looking, was -beautiful. "Who'd have thought it?" reflected Letty crossly. "What a -difference clothes do make!" But Neva was slender--"thin, painfully -thin," thought Mrs. Morris, with swiftly recovering spirits. She -herself was plump and therefore thought "scrawniness" hideous, though -often, to draw attention to her rounded charms, she wailed piteously -that she was getting "disgracefully fat." - -Neither of the men--her husband and Boris Raphael, the painter--shared -her poor opinion of Neva after the first glance. Morris did not care -for thin women, but he thought Neva had a certain beauty--not the kind -he admired, but a kind, nevertheless. Boris studied the young woman -with an expression that made Mrs. Joe redden with jealousy. "You think -my cousin pretty?" said she to him, as they went down to dinner far -enough ahead of Neva and Morris to be able to talk freely. - -"More than that," replied Boris, "I think her unusual." - -"If you ever chance to see her in ordinary dress, you'll change your -mind, I'm sorry to say," said Letty softly. "Poor Neva! Hers is a sad -case. She's one of the ought-to-bes-but-aren'ts." - -"It's my business to see things as they are," was the painter's -exasperating reply. "And I'd not in any circumstances be blind to such -a marvelous study in long lines as she." - -"Marvelous!" Mrs. Morris laughed. - -"Long face, long neck, long bust, long waist, long legs, long hands and -feet," explained he. "It's the kind of beauty that has to be pointed -out to ordinary eyes before they see it. I can imagine her passing for -homely in a rude community, just as her expression of calm might pass -for coldness." - -Mrs. Morris revised her opinion of Boris. She had thought him a most -tactful person; she knew the truth now. A man who would praise one -woman to another could never be called tactful; to praise -enthusiastically was worse than tactless, it was boorish. "How -impossible it is," thought she, "for a man of low origin to rise wholly -above it." She said, "I'm delighted that my cousin pleases you," as -coldly as she could speak to a man after whom everyone was running. - -"I must paint her," he said, noting Letty's anger, but indifferent to -it. "If I succeed, everyone will see what I see. If that woman were to -love and be loved, her face would become--divine! Divinely human, I -mean--for she's flesh and blood. The fire's there--laid and ready for -the match." - -When he and Morris were alone after dinner he began on Neva again, -unaffected by her seeming incapacity to respond to his efforts to -interest her. "I could scarcely talk for watching her," he said. "She -puzzles me. I should not have believed a girl--an unmarried -woman--could have such an expression." - -"She's not a girl," explained Morris. "She has taken her maiden name -again. She was Mrs. Armstrong--was married until last summer to the -chap that was made president of the O.A.D. last October." - -"Never heard of him," said the artist. - -"That shows how little you know about what's going on downtown. When -Galloway died--you've heard of Galloway?" - -"I painted him--an old eagle--or vulture." - -"We'll say eagle, as he's dead. When he died, there was a split in the -O.A.D., which he had dominated and used for years--and mighty little he -let old Shotwell have, I understand, in return for doing the dirty work. -Well, Fosdick finally cooked up that investigation, frightened everybody -into fits, won out, beat down the Galloway crowd, threw out Shotwell and -put in this young Western fellow." - -"What is the O.A.D.?" - -"You must have seen the building, the advertisements everywhere--knight -in armor beating off specters of want. It's an insurance company." - -"I thought insurance companies were to insure people." - -"Not at all," replied Morris. "That's what people think they're -for--just as they think steel companies are to make steel, and coal -companies to mine coal, and railway companies to carry freight and -passengers. But all that, my dear fellow, is simply incidental. -They're really to mass big sums of money for our great financiers to -scramble for." - -"How interesting," said Raphael in an uninterested tone. "Some time I -must try to learn about those things. Then your cousin has divorced her -husband? That's the tragedy I saw in her face." - -"Tragedy!" Morris laughed outright. "There you go again, Boris. You're -always turning your imagination loose." - -"To explore the mysteries my eyes find, my dear Joe," said Boris, -unruffled. "You people--the great mass of the human race--go through -the world blindfold--blindfolded by ignorance, by prejudice, by letting -your stupid brain tell your eyes what they are seeing instead of letting -your eyes tell your brain." - -"I never heard there was much to Neva Carlin." - -"Naturally," replied Boris. "Not all the people who have individuality, -personality, mind and heart, beat a drum and march in the middle of the -street to inform the world of the fact. As for emotions--real -emotions--they don't shriek and weep; they hide and are dumb. I, who -let my eyes see for themselves, look at this woman and see beauty -barefoot on the hot plowshares. And you--do not look and, therefore, -see nothing." - -Morris made no reply, but his expression showed he was only silenced, -not convinced. He knew his old friend Boris was a great painter--the -prices he got for his portraits proved it; and the portraits themselves -were certainly interesting, had the air that irradiates from every work -of genius, whether one likes or appreciates the work or not. He knew -that the basis of Raphael's genius was in his marvelous sight--"simply -seeing where others will not" was Boris's own description of his gift. -Yet when Boris reported to him what he saw, he was incredulous. "An -artist's wild imagination," he said to himself. In the world of the -blind, the dim-eyed man is king, not the seeing man; the seeing man--the -"seer"--passes for mad, and the blind follow those with not enough sight -to rouse the distrust of their flock. - -When the painter returned to the drawing-room Neva was gone. As his -sight did not fail him when he watched the motions of his bright, blond -little friend, Mrs. Joe, he suspected her of having had a hand in Neva's -early departure. And she thought she had herself. But, in fact, Neva -left because she was too shy to face again the man whose work she had so -long reverenced. She knew she ought to treat him as an ordinary human -being, but she could not; and she yielded to the impulse to fly. - -"You must take me to sec your cousin," said he, his chagrin plain. - -"Whenever you like," agreed Letty, with that elaborate graciousness -which raises a suspicion of insincerity in the most innocent mind. - -"Thank you," said Boris. And to her surprise and relief he halted -there, without attempting to pin her down to day and hour. "He asked -simply to be polite," decided she, "and perhaps to irritate me a little. -He's full of those feminine tricks." - - - - - *IV* - - *THE FOSDICK FAMILY* - - -In each of America's great cities, East, West, South, Far West, a cliff -of marble glistening down upon the thoroughfare where the most thousands -would see it daily; armies of missionaries, so Fosdick liked to call -them, moving everywhere among the people; other armies of officers and -clerks, housed in the clifflike palaces and garnering the golden -harvests reaped by the missionaries--such was the scene upon which -Horace Armstrong looked out from his aerie in the vastest of the palaces -oL the O.A.D. And it inspired him. - -Institutions, like individuals, have a magnetism, a power to attract and -to hold, that is quite apart from any analyzable quality or -characteristic. Armstrong had grown up in the O.A.D., had preached it -as he rose in its service until he had preached belief in it into -himself--a belief that was unshaken by the series of damning exposures -of its Wall Street owners and users, and had survived his own -discoveries, as the increasing importance of his successive positions -had forced the "inside ring" to let him deeper and deeper into the -secrets. He had not been long in the presidency before he saw that the -whole system for gathering in more and more policy holders, however -beneficent incidental results might be, had as its sole purpose the -drawing of more and more money within reach of greedy, unclean hands. -The fact lay upon the surface of the O.A.D. as plain as a great green -serpent sprawled upon the ooze of a marsh. Why else would these -multimillionaire money hunters interest themselves in insurance? And not -a day passed without his having to condemn and deplore--in his own -mind--acts of the Fosdick clique. But morals are to a great extent a -matter of period and class; Armstrong, busy, unanalytic, "up-to-date" -man of affairs, accepted without much question the current moral -standards of and for the man of affairs. And when he saw the inside -ring "going too far," here and there, now and then, he no more thought -of denouncing it and abandoning his career than a preacher would think -of resigning a bishopric because he found that his fellow bishops had -not been made more than human by the laying on of hands. - -Where he could, Armstrong ignored; where he could not ignore--he told -himself that the end excused the means. - -The busy days fled. He had the feeling of being caught in a revolving -door that took him from bedtime to bedtime again without letting him out -to accomplish anything; and he was soon so well accommodated to the -atmosphere of high finance that he was breathing it with almost no -sensation of strangeness. When old Shotwell died--of "heart -failure"--Armstrong took out the undelivered speech. - -The day after the "testimonial," he had decided that to read that speech -would be dangerously near to the line between honor and dishonor; -besides, it probably contained many things which, whether true or -prejudiced, might affect his peace of mind, might inflict upon his -conscience unnecessary discomforts. A wise man is careful not to admit -to his valuable brain space matters which do not help him in the -accomplishment of his purposes. Should he mail the manuscript to -Shotwell? No. That might tempt the old man to a course of folly and -disaster. Armstrong hid the "stick of dynamite" among his private -papers. But now, Shotwell was dead; and--well, he still believed in the -O.A.D.--in the main; but many things had happened in the months since he -came on from the West, many and disquieting things. He felt that he -owed it to himself, and to the O.A.D., to gather from any and every -source information about the Fosdick ring. He unfolded the manuscript, -spread it before him on the desk. - -Eleven typewritten pages, setting forth in detail how Fosdick had slyly -lured Shotwell into committing, apparently alone, certain -"indiscretions" for which there happened to be legal penalties of one to -ten years in the penitentiary at hard labor; how Shotwell, thus -isolated, was trapped--though, as he proceeded to show, he had done -nothing morally or legally worse than all the others had done, the -Fosdick faction being careful to entangle in each misdeed enough of the -Galloway faction to make itself secure. And all the offenses were those -"mere technicalities" which high finance permits the law to condemn only -because they, when committed in lower circles, cease to be justifiable -exceptions to the rule and become those "grave infractions of social -order and of property rights" which Chamber of Commerce dinners and bar -associations of corporation lawyers so strenuously lecture the people -about. And so, Shotwell had fallen. - -Armstrong read the document four times--the first time, at a gallop; the -second time, line by line; the third time, with a long, thoughtful pause -after each paragraph; the fourth time, line by line again, with one hand -supporting his brow while the index finger of the other traced under -each separate word. Then he leaned back and gazed from peak to peak of -the skyscrapers, stretching range on range toward harbor and river. He -was not thinking now of the wrongs, the crimes against that mass of -policy holders, so remote, so abstract. He was listening to a -different, a more terrible sound than the vague wail of that vague mass; -he was hearing the ticking of a death-watch. For he had discovered that -Fosdick had him trapped in just the same way. - -As a precaution? Or with the time of his downfall definitely fixed? - -Armstrong began to pace the limits of his big private room. For a turn -or so it surprised him to find that he could move freely about; for, -with the thought that he was in another man's power, had come a physical -sensation of actual chains and bolts and bars, of dungeon walls and -dungeon air. In another man's power! In Fosdick's power! He, Horace -Armstrong, proud, intensely alive and passionately fond of freedom, with -inflexible ambition set upon being the master of men--he, a slave, -dependent for his place, for his authority, for his very reputation. -Dependent on the nod of a fellow man. He straightened himself, shook -himself; he clenched his fists and his teeth until the powerful muscles -of his arms and shoulders and jaws swelled to aching, until the blood -beat in his skin like flame against furnace wall. - -The door opened; he saw as he was turning that it was Josiah Fosdick; he -wheeled back toward the window because he knew that if he should find -himself full face to this master of his before he got self-control, he -would spring at him and sink his fingers in his throat and wring the -life out of him. The will to kill! To feel that creature under him, -under his knees and fingers; to see eyes and tongue burst out; to know -that the brain that dared conceive the thought of making a slave of him -was dead for its insolence! - -"Good morning, my boy!" Josiah was saying in that sonorous, cheery voice -of his. He always wore his square-crowned hard hat or his top hat well -back from his brow when he was under roof downtown; and he was always -nervously chewing at a cigar, which sometimes was lighted and sometimes -not. Just now it was not lighted and the odor of it was to Armstrong -the sickening stench of the personality of his master. - -"My master!" he muttered, and wiped the sweat from his forehead; with -eyes down and the look of the lion cringing before the hot iron in its -tamer's hand he muttered a response. - -"I want you to put my son Hugo in as one of the fourth vice-presidents," -continued the old man, seating himself and cocking his trim feet on a -corner of the table. "He must be broken to the business, and I've told -him he's got to start at the bottom of the ladder." - -Armstrong contrived to force a smile at this ironic pleasantry of his -master's. He instantly saw Josiah's scheme--to have the young man -inducted into the business; presently to give him the dignity and honor -of the presidency, ejecting Armstrong, perhaps in discredit to justify -the change and to make it impossible for him to build up in another -company. - -"You'll do what you can to teach him the ropes?" - -"Certainly," said Armstrong, at the window. - -Fosdick came up close to him, put his hand affectionately on his -shoulder. "You've grown into my heart, Horace. I feel as if you were -another son of mine, as if Hugo were your younger brother. I want you -to regard him as such. I'm old; I'll soon be off the boards. I like to -think of you two young fellows working together in harmony. It may be -that----" - -Armstrong had himself well within the harness now. He looked calmly at -Fosdick and saw a twinkle in those good-natured, wicked eyes of his, a -warning that he had guessed Armstrong's suspicion and was about to -counter with something he flattered himself was particularly shrewd. - -"It may be I'll want your present place for the boy, after a few years. -Perhaps it will be better not to put him there; again it may be a good -thing. If I decide to do it, you'll have a better place--something -where there'll be an even bigger swing for your talents. I'll see to -that. I charge myself with your future." - -Armstrong turned away, bringing his jaws together with a snap. - -"You trust me, don't you?" said Fosdick, not quite certain that -Armstrong had turned to hide an overmastering emotion of gratitude. - -"I'd advise against making Hugo a vice-president just at present," said -Armstrong. - -"Why?" demanded Fosdick with a frown. - -"I think such a step wouldn't be wise until after this new policy -holders' committee has quieted down." - -Fosdick laughed and waved his arm. "Those smelling committees! My boy, -I'm used to them. Every big corporation has one or more of 'em on hand -all the time. The little fellows are always getting jealous of the men -who control, are always trying to scare them into paying larger -interest--for that's what it amounts to. We men who run things -practically borrow the public's money for use in our enterprises. You -can call it stocks or bonds or mortgages or what not, but they're really -lenders, though they think they're shareholders and expect bigger -interest than mere money is worth. But we don't and won't give much -above the market rate. We keep the rest of the profits--we're entitled -to 'em. We'd play hob, wouldn't we, lying awake of nights thinking out -schemes to enable John Jones and Tom Smith to earn thirty, forty, fifty -per cent on their money?" - -"But this committee--" There Armstrong halted, hesitating. - -"Don't fret about it, young man. The chances are it'll quiet down of -itself. If it doesn't, if it should have in it some sturdy beggar who -persists, why, we'll hear from him sooner or later. When we get his -figure, we can quiet him--put him on the pay roll or give him a whack at -our appropriation for legal expenses." - -"But this committee--" Armstrong stopped short--why should he warn -Fosdick? Why go out of his way to be square with the man who had -enslaved him? Had he not done his whole duty when he had refused to -listen to the overtures of the new combination against Fosdick? Indeed, -was it more than a mere suspicion that such a combination existed? - -"This committee--what?" - -"You feel perfectly safe about it?" - -"It couldn't find out anything, if there was anything to find out. And -if it did find out anything, what'd it do with it? No newspaper would -publish it--our advertising department takes care of that. The State -Government wouldn't notice it--our legal department takes care of them." - -"Sometimes there's a slip-up. A few years ago----" - -"Yes," interrupted Fosdick; "it's true, once in a while there's a big -enough howl to frighten a few weak brothers. But not Josiah Fosdick, -and not the O.A.D. We keep books better than we did before the big -clean-up. A lot of good those clean-ups did! As if anybody could get -up any scheme that would prevent the men with brains from running things -as they damn please." - -"You're right there," said Armstrong. He had thought out the beginnings -of a new course. "Well, if you put Hugo in, I suggest you give him my -place as chairman of the finance committee. My strong hold is executive -work. Let those that know finance attend to taking care of the money. -I want to devote myself exclusively to getting it in." - -Armstrong saw this suggestion raised not the shadow of a suspicion in -Fosdick's mind that he was trying to get rid of his share in the -responsibility for the main part of the "technically illegal" doings of -the controllers of the company. "You simply to retain your _ex officio_ -membership?" said he reflectively. - -"That's it," assented Armstrong. - -"If you urge it, I'll see that it is considered. Your time ought all to -be given to raking in new business and holding on to the old. Yes, it's -a good suggestion. Of course, I'll see that you get your share of the -profits from our little side deals, just the same." - -"Thank you," said Armstrong. He concealed his amusement. In the -company there were rings within rings, and the profits increased as the -center was approached. He knew that he himself had been put in a ring -well toward the outside. His profits were larger than his salary, large -though it was; but they were trifling in comparison with the "melons" -reserved for the inner rings, were infinitesimal beside the big melon -Josiah reserved for himself, as his own share in addition to a share in -each ring's "rake off." The only ring Josiah didn't put himself in was -the outermost ring of all--the ring of policy holders. There was -another feature in which insurance surpassed railways and industrials. -In them the controller sometimes had to lock up a large part of his own -personal resources in carrying blocks of stock that paid a paltry four -or five or six per cent interest, never more than seven or eight, often -nothing at all. But in insurance, the controller played his game wholly -with other people's money. Josiah, for instance, carried a policy of ten -thousand dollars, and that was the full extent of his investment; he -held his power over the millions of the masses simply because the -proxies of the policy holders were made out in blank to his creatures, -the general agents, whom he made and, at the slightest sign of flagging -personal loyalty, deposed. - -Fosdick was still emitting compliment and promise like a giant -pinwheel's glittering shower when the boy brought Armstrong a card. He -controlled his face better than he thought. "Your daughter," he said to -Fosdick, carelessly showing him the card. "I suppose she's downtown to -see you, and they told her you were in my office." - -"Amy!" exclaimed Fosdick, forgetting his manners and snatching the card. -"What the devil does _she_ want downtown? I'll just see--it must be -important." - -He hurried out. In the second of Armstrong's suite of three offices, he -saw her, seated comfortably--a fine exhibit of fashion, and not so -unmindful of the impression her elegance was making upon the furtively -glancing underlings as she seemed or imagined herself. At sight of her -father she colored, then tossed her head defiantly. "What is it?" he -demanded, with some anxiety. "What has brought _you_ downtown to see -me?" - -"I didn't come to see you," she replied. "I sent my card to Mr. -Armstrong." - -"Well, what do you want of him?" said Josiah, regardless of the presence -of Armstrong's three secretaries. - -"I'll explain that to _him_." - -"You'll do nothing of the sort. I can't have my children interrupting -busy men. Come along with me." - -"I came to see Mr. Armstrong, and I'm going to see him," she retorted -imperiously. - -Her father changed his tactics like the veteran strategist that he was. -"All right, all right. Come in. Only, we're not going to stay long. - -"I don't want you," she said, laughing. "I want him to show me over the -building." - -"Lord bless my soul!" exclaimed Fosdick, winking at the three smiling -secretaries. "And he the president! Did anybody ever hear the like!" -And he took her by the arm and led her in, saying as they came, "This -young lady, finding time heavy on her hands uptown, has come to get you -to show her over the building." - -Armstrong had risen to bow coldly. "I'm sorry, but I really haven't -time to-day," said he formally. - -Fosdick's brow reddened and his eyes flashed. He had not expected -Armstrong to offer to act as his daughter's guide; but neither had he -expected this tone from an employee. "Don't be so serious, young man," -said he, roughness putting on the manner of good nature. "Take my -daughter round and bring her to my office when you are through." - -To give Armstrong time and the opportunity to extricate himself from the -impossible position into which he had rushed, Amy said, "What grand, -beautiful offices these are! No wonder the men prefer it downtown to -the fussy, freaky houses the women get together uptown. I haven't been -here since the building was opened. Papa made a great ceremony of that, -and we all came--I was nine. Now, Mr. Armstrong, you can count up, if -you're depraved enough, and know exactly how old I am." - -Armstrong had taken up his hat. "Whenever you're ready, we'll start," -said he, having concluded that it would be impossible to refuse without -seeming ridiculous. - -When the two were in the elevator on their way to the view from the top -of the building, Amy glanced mischievously up at him. "You see, I got -my way," said she. "I always do." - -Armstrong shrugged and smiled stolidly. "In trifles. Willful people -are always winning--in trifles." - -"Trifles are all that women deal in," rejoined she. - - -At the top, she sent one swift glance round the overwhelming panorama of -peak and precipice and canon swept by icy January wind and ran back to -the tower, drawing her furs still closer about her. "I didn't come to -see this," she said. "I came to find out why you don't--why you have -cut me off your visiting list. I've written you--I've tried to get you -on the telephone. Never did I humiliate myself so abjectly--in fact, -never before was I abject at all. It isn't like you, to be as good -friends as you and I have been, and then, all at once, to act like -this--unless there was a reason. I haven't many friends. I haven't any -I like so well as you--that's frank, isn't it? I thought we were going -to be _such_ friends." This nervously, with an air of timidity that was -the thin cover of perfect self-possession and self-confidence. - -"So did I," said Armstrong, his eyes on hers with a steadiness she could -not withstand, "until I got at your notion of friendship. You can have -dogs and servants, hangers-on, but not friends." - -"What did I do?" she asked innocently. "Gracious, how touchy you are." - -In his eyes there was an amused refusal to accept her pretense. "You -understand. Don't 'fake' with me. I'm too old a bird for that snare." - -"If I did anything to offend you, it was unconscious." - -"Perhaps it was--at the time. You've got the habit of ordering people -about, of having everybody do just what you wish. But, in thinking -things over, didn't you guess what discouraged me?" - -She decided to admit what could not be denied. "Yes--I did," said she. -"And that is why I've come to you. I forgot, and treated you like the -others. I did it several times, and disregarded the danger signals you -flew. Let's begin once more--will you?" - -"Certainly," said Armstrong, but without enthusiasm. - -"You aren't forgiving me," she exclaimed. "Or--was there--something -else?" - -His eyes shifted and he retreated a step. "You mustn't expect much from -me, you know," said he, looking huge and unapproachable. "All my time -is taken up with business. You've no real use for a man like me. What -you want is somebody to idle about with you." - -"That's just what I don't want," she cried, gazing admiringly up at him. -And she was sad and reproachful as she pleaded. "You oughtn't to desert -me. I know I can't do much for you, but-- You found me idle and oh, so -bored. Why, I used to spend hours in trying to think of trivial ways to -pass the time. I'd run to see pictures I didn't in the least care -about, and linger at the dressmakers' and the milliners' shops and the -jewelers'. I'd dress myself as slowly as possible. You can't -imagine--you who have to fight against being overwhelmed with things to -do. You can't conceive what a time the women in our station have. And -one suggestion you made--that I study architecture and fit myself to -help in building our house--it changed my whole life." - -"It was the obvious thing to do," said he, and she saw he was not in the -least flattered by her flattery which she had thought would be -irresistible. - -"You forget," replied she, "that we women of the upper class are brought -up not to put out our minds on anything for very long, but to fly from -one thing to another. I'd never have had the persistence to keep at -architecture until the hard part of the reading was finished. I'd have -bought a lot of books, glanced at the pictures, read a few pages and -then dropped the whole business. And it was really through you that I -got father to introduce me to Narcisse Siersdorf. I've grown _so_ fond -of her! Why is it the women out West, out where you come from, are so -much more capable than we are?" - -"Because they're educated in much the same way as the men," replied he. -"Also, I suppose the men out there aren't rich enough yet to tempt the -women to become--odalisques. Here, every one of you is either an -odalisque or trying to get hold of some man with money enough to make -her one." - -"What is an odalisque? It's some kind of a woman, isn't it?" - -"Well--it's of that sex." - -"You think I'm very worthless, don't you?" - -"To a man like me. For a man with time for what they call the -ornamental side of life, you'd be--just right." - -"Was that why--the _real_ reason why--you stopped coming?" - -"Yes." - -He was looking at her, she at the floor, gathering her courage to make a -reply which instinct forbade and vanity and desire urged. Hugo's head -appeared in the hatchway entrance to the tower room. As she was facing -it, she saw him immediately. "Hello, brother," she cried, irritation in -her voice. - -He did not answer until he had emerged into the room. Then he said with -great dignity, "Amy, father wants you. Come with me." This without a -glance at Armstrong. - -"Would you believe he is three years younger than I?" said she to -Armstrong with a laugh. "Run along, Hugo, and tell papa we're coming." - -Hugo turned on Armstrong. "Will you kindly descend?" he ordered, with -the hauteur of a prince in a novel or play. - -"Do as your sister bids, Hugo," said Armstrong, with a carelessness that -bordered on contempt. He was in no very good humor with the Fosdick -family and Hugo's impudence pushed him dangerously near to the line -where a self-respecting man casts aside politeness and prudence. - -Hugo drew himself up and stared coldly at the "employee." "You will -please not address me as Hugo." - -"What then?" said Armstrong, with no overt intent to offend. "Shall I -whistle when I want you, or snap my fingers?" - -Amy increased Hugo's fury by laughing at him. "You'd better behave, -Hugo," she said. "Come along." And she pushed him, less reluctant than -he seemed, toward the stairway. - -The three descended in the elevator together, Amy talking incessantly, -Armstrong tranquil, Hugo sullen. At the seventeenth floor, Armstrong had -the elevator stopped. "Good-by," he said to Amy, without offering to -shake hands. - -"Good-by," responded she, extending her hand, insistently. "Remember, -we are friends again." - -With a slight noncommittal smile, he touched her gloved fingers and went -his way. - -There was no one in Fosdick's private room; so, Hugo was free to ease -his mind. "What do you mean by coming down here and making a scandal?" -he burst out. "It was bad enough for you to encourage the fellow's -attentions uptown--to flirt with him. You--flirting with one of your -father's employees!" - -Amy's eyes sparkled angrily. "Horace Armstrong is my best friend," she -said. "You must be careful what you say to me about him." - -"The next thing, you'll be boasting you're in love with him," sneered -her brother. - -"I might do worse," retorted she. "I could hardly do better." - -"What's the matter, children?" cried their father, entering suddenly by -a door which had been ajar, and by which they had not expected him. - -"Hugo has been making a fool of himself before Armstrong," said Amy. -"Why did you send him after me?" - -"I?" replied Fosdick. "I simply told him where you were." - -"But I suspected," said Hugo. "And, sure enough, I found her flirting -with him. I stopped it--that's all." - -Fosdick laughed boisterously--an unnatural laugh, Amy thought. "Do -light your cigar, father," she said irritably. "It smells horrid." - -Fosdick threw it away. "Horace is a mighty attractive fellow," he said. -"I don't blame you, Mimi." Then, with good-humored seriousness, "But -you must be careful, girl, not to raise false hopes in him. Be -friendly, but don't place yourself in an unpleasant position. You -oughtn't to let him lose sight of the--the gulf between you." - -"What gulf?" - -"You know perfectly well he's not in our class," exclaimed Hugo, helping -out his somewhat embarrassed father. - -"What is our class?" inquired Amy in her most perverse mood. - -"Shut up, Hugo!" commanded his father. "She understands." - -"But I do not," protested Amy. - -"Very well," replied her father, kissing her. "Be careful--that's all. -Now, I'll put you in your carriage." On the way he said gravely, -tenderly, "I'll trust you with a secret--a part of one. I know -Armstrong better than you do. He's an adventurer, and I fear he has got -into serious trouble, very serious. Keep this to yourself, Mimi. Trust -your father's judgment--at least, for a few months. Be most polite to -our fascinating friend, but keep him at a safe distance." - -Fosdick could be wonderfully moving and impressive when he set himself -to it; and he knew when to stop as well as what to say. Amy made no -reply; in silence she let him tuck the robe about her and start her -homeward. - - - - - *V* - - *NARCISSE AND ALOIS* - - -When Amy thought of her surroundings again, she was within a few blocks -of home. "I won't lunch alone," she said. "I can't, with this on my -mind." Through the tube she bade the coachman turn back to the -Siersdorf offices. - -A few minutes, and her little victoria was at the curb before a -brownstone house that would have passed for a residence had there not -been, to the right of the doorway, a small bronze sign bearing the -words, "A. and N. Siersdorf, Builders." Two women were together on the -sidewalk at the foot of the stoop. One, Amy noted, had a curiously long -face, a curiously narrow figure; but she noted nothing further, as there -was nothing in her toilet to arrest the feminine eye, ever on the rove -for opportunities to learn something, or to criticise something, in the -appearance of other women. The other was Narcisse Siersdorf--a strong -figure, somewhat below the medium height, like Amy herself; a certain -remote Teutonic suggestion in the oval features, fair, fine skin and -abundant fair hair; a quick, positive manner, the dress of a highly -prosperous working woman, businesslike yet feminine and attractive in -its details. The short blue skirt, for example, escaped the ground -evenly, hung well and fitted well across the hips; the blue jacket was -cut for freedom of movement without sacrificing grace of line; and her -white gloves were fresh. As Amy descended, she heard Narcisse say to -the other woman, "Now, please don't treat me as a 'foreign devil.' If I -hadn't happened on you in the street, I'd never have seen you." - -"Really, I've intended to stop in, every time I passed," said the other, -moving away as she saw Amy approaching. "Good-by. I'll send you a note -as soon as I get back--about a week." - -"One of the girls from out West," Narcisse explained. "We went to -school together for a while. She's as shy as a hermit thrush, but worth -pursuing." - -"You're to lunch with me," said Amy. - -Narcisse shook her head. "No--and you're not lunching with me, to-day. -My brother's come, and we've got to talk business." - -Amy frowned, remembering that those tactics were of no avail with -Narcisse. "Please! I want to meet your brother--I really ought to meet -him. And I'll promise not to speak." - -"He's a man; so he'd be unable to talk freely, with a woman there," -replied Narcisse. "You two would be posing and trying to make an -impression on each other." - -"Please!" - -They were in the doorway, Narcisse blocking the passage to the offices. -"Good-by," she said. "You mustn't push in between the poor and their -bread and butter." - -Amy was turning away. Her expression--forlorn, hurt, and movingly -genuine--was too much for Narcisse's firmness. "You're not especially -gay to-day," said she, relentingly. - -Amy, quick as a child to detect the yielding note, brought her flitting -mind back to Armstrong and her troubles. "My faith in a person I was -very fond of has been--shaken." There was a break in her voice, and her -bright shallow eyes were misty. - -"Come in," said Narcisse, not wholly deceived, but too soft-hearted not -to give Amy the benefit of the doubt, just as she gave to whining -beggars, though she knew they were "working" her. Anyhow, was not Amy -to be pitied on general principles, and dealt gently with, as a victim -of the blight of wealth? - -Amy never entered those offices without a new sensation of pleasure. -The voluntary environment of a human being is a projection, a -reflection, of his inner self, is the plain, undeceiving index to his -real life--for, is not the life within, the drama of thought, the real -life, and the drama of action but the imperfect, distorted shadowgraph? -The barest room can be most significant of the personality of its -tenant; his failure to make any impression on his surroundings is -conclusive. The most crowded or the gaudiest room may tell the same -story as the barest. The Siersdorfs conducted their business in five -rooms, each a different expression of the simplicity and sincerity which -characterized them and their work. There was the same notable absence -of the useless, of the merely ornamental, the same making of every -detail contributory both to use and to beauty. One wearies of rooms -that are in any way ostentatious; proclamation of simplicity is as -tedious as proclamation of pretentiousness. Those rooms seemed to -diffuse serenity; they were like the friends of whom one never tires -because they always have something new and interesting to offer. -Especially did there seem to be something miraculous about Narcisse's -own private office. It had few articles in it, and they unobtrusive; -yet, to sit in that room and look about was to have as many differing -impressions as one would get in watching a beam of white light upon a -plain of virgin snow. - -"How _do_ you do it!" Amy exclaimed, as she seated herself. She almost -always made the same remark in the same circumstances. "But then," she -went on, "_you_ are a miracle. Now, there's the dress you've got -on--it's a jacket, a blouse, a belt and a skirt. But what have you done -to it? How do you induce your dressmaker to put together such things -for you?" - -"You have to tell a dressmaker what to do," replied Narcisse, "and then -you have to tell her how to do it. If she knew what to make and how, -she'd not stop at dressmaking long. As I get only a few things, I can -take pains with them. But you get so many that you have to accept what -somebody else has thought out, and just as they've thought it out." - -"And the result is, I look a frump," said Amy, half believing it for the -moment. - -"You look the woman who has too many clothes to have any that really -belong to her," replied Narcisse, greatly to Amy's secret irritation. -"There's the curse of wealth--too many clothes, to be well dressed; too -many servants, to be well served; too many and too big houses, to be -well housed; too much food, to be well fed." Then to the office boy for -whom she had rung, "Please ask my brother if he's ready." - -Soon Siersdorf appeared--about five years younger than his sister, who -seemed a scant thirty; in his dress and way of wearing the hair and -beard a suggestion of Europe, of Paris, and of the artist--a mere -suggestion, just a touch of individuality--but not a trace of pose, and -no eccentricity. He was of the medium height, very blond, with more -sympathy than strength in his features, but no defined weakness either. -A boy-man of fine instincts and tastes, you would have said; indolent, -yet capable of being spurred to toil; taking his color from his -surroundings, yet retaining his own fiber. He was just back from a year -abroad, where he had been studying country houses with especial -reference to harmony between house and garden--for, the Siersdorfs had a -theory that a place should be designed in its entirety and that the -builder should be the designer. They called themselves builders rather -than architects, because they thought that the separation of the two -inseparable departments was a ruinous piece of artistic -snobbishness--what is every kind of snobbishness in its essence but the -divorce of brain and hand? "No self-respecting man," Siersdorf often -said, "can look on his trade as anything but a profession, or on his -profession as anything but a trade." - -During lunch Amy all but forgot her father's depressing hints against -Armstrong in listening as the brother and sister talked; and, as she -listened, she envied. They were so interested, and so interesting. -Their life revealed her own as drearily flat and wearily empty. They -knew so much, knew it so thoroughly. "How could anyone else fail to get -tired of me when I get so horribly tired of myself?" she thought, at the -low ebb of depression about herself--an unusual mood, for habitually she -took it for granted that she must be one of the most envied and most -enviable persons in the world. - -Narcisse suddenly said to her brother, "Whom do you think I met to-day? -Neva Carlin." At that name Amy, startled, became alert. "She's got a -studio down at the end of the block," Narcisse went on, "and is taking -lessons from Boris Raphael. That shows she has real talent, unless--" -She paused with a smile. - -"Probably," said Alois. "Boris is always in love with some woman." - -"In love with love," corrected Narcisse. "Men who are always in love -care little about the particular woman who happens to be the medium of -the moment." - -"I thought she was well off," said Alois; and then he looked slightly -confused, as if he was trying not to show that he had made a slip. - -Narcisse seemed unconscious, though she replied with, "There are people -in the world who work when they don't have to. And a few of them are -women." - -"But I thought she was married, too. It seems to me I heard it -somewhere." - -"I didn't ask questions," said Narcisse. "I never do, when I meet -anyone I haven't seen in a long time. It's highly unsafe." - -With studied carelessness Amy now said: "I'd like to know her. She's -the woman you were talking with at the door just now, isn't she?" - -"Yes," said Narcisse. - -"She looked--unusual," continued Amy. "I wish you'd take me to see -her." - -"I'll be very glad to take you," Narcisse offered, on impulse. "Perhaps -she's really got talent and isn't simply looking for a husband. -Usually, when a woman shows signs of industry it means she's looking for -a husband, whatever it may seem to mean. But, if Neva's in earnest -about her work and has talent, you might put her in the way of an order -or so." - -"I'll go, any day," said Amy. "Please don't forget." - -She departed as soon as lunch was over, and the brother and sister set -out for their offices--not for their work; it they never left. "Pretty, -isn't she?" said Alois. "And extremely intelligent." - -"She is intelligent in a scrappy sort of way," replied his sister. "But -she neither said nor did anything in your presence to-day to indicate -it." - -"Well, then--she's pretty enough to make a mere man think she's -intelligent." - -"I saw you were beginning to fall in love with her," said the sister. - -"I? Ridiculous!" - -"Oh, I know you better than you know yourself in some ways. You've been -bent on marriage for several years now." - -"I want children," said he, after a pause. - -"That's it--children. But, instead of looking for a mother for -children, you've got eyes only for the sort of women that either refuse -to have children, or, if they have them, abandon them to nurses. Let -the Amy Fosdick sort alone, Alois. A cane for a lounger; a staff for a -traveler." - -"You're prejudiced." - -"I'm a woman, and I know women. And I have interest enough in you to -tell you the exact truth about them." - -"No woman ever knows the side of another woman that she shows only to -the man she cares for." - -"A very unimportant side. Its gilt hardly lasts through the wedding -ceremony. If you are going to make the career you've got the talent -for, you don't want an Amy Fosdick. You'd be better off without any -wife, for that matter. You ought to have married when you were poor, if -you were going to do it. You're too prosperous now. If you marry a -poor woman, you'll spoil her; if you marry a rich woman, she'll spoil -you." - -"You're too harsh with your own sex, Narcisse," said Alois. "If I -didn't know you so well, I'd think you were really hard. Who'd ever -imagine, just hearing you talk, that you are so tender-hearted you have -to be protected from your own sentimentality? The real truth is you -don't want me to marry." - -"To marry foolishly--no. Tell me, 'Lois, what could you gain by -marrying--say, Amy Fosdick? In what way could she possibly help you? -She couldn't make a home for you--she doesn't know the first thing about -housekeeping. The prosperous people nowadays think their daughters are -learning housekeeping when they're learning to ruin servants by ordering -them about. You say I'm harsh with my sex, but, as a matter of fact, -I'm only just." - -"Just!" Alois laughed. "That's the harshest word the human tongue -utters." - -"I've small patience with women, I will admit. They amount to little, -and they're sinking to less. Girls used to dream of the man they'd -marry. Now it's not the man at all, but the establishment. Their -romance is of furniture and carriages and servants and clothes. A man, -any man, to support them in luxury." - -"I've noticed that," admitted Alois. - -"It's bad enough to look on marriage as a career," continued Narcisse. -"But, pass that over. What do the women do to fit themselves for it? A -man learns his business--usually in a half-hearted sort of way, but -still he tries to learn a little something about it. A woman affects to -despise hers--and does shirk it. She knows nothing about cooking, -nothing about buying, nothing about values or quantities or economy or -health or babies or-- She rarely knows how to put on the clothes she -gets; you'll admit that most women show plainly they haven't a notion -what clothes they ought to wear. Women don't even know enough to get -together respectably clever traps to catch the men with. The men fall -in; they aren't drawn in." - -"Yet," said Alois, ironic and irritated, "the world staggers on." - -"Staggers," retorted Narcisse. "And the prosperous classes--we're -talking about them--don't even stagger on. They stop and slide -back--what can be expected of the husbands of such wives, the sons and -daughters of such mothers?" - -Narcisse was so intensely in earnest that her brother laughed outright. -"There, there, Cissy," said he, "don't be alarmed--I'm not even engaged -yet." - -Narcisse made no reply. She knew the weak side of her brother's -character, knew its melancholy possibilities of development; and she had -guessed what was passing in his mind as he and Amy were trying each to -please the other. - -"You yourself would be the better--the happier, certainly--for falling -in love," pursued Alois. - -"Indeed I should," she assented with sincerity. "But the man who comes -for me--or whom I set my snares for--must have something more than a -pretty face or a few sex-tricks that ought not to fool a girl just out -of the nursery." - -No arrow penetrates a man's self-esteem more deeply than an insinuation -that he is easy game for women. But Alois was no match for his sister -at that kind of warfare. He hid his irritation, and said -good-humoredly, "When you fall in love, my dear, it'll be just like the -rest of us--with your heart, not with your head." - -Narcisse looked at him shrewdly, yet lovingly, too. "I'm not afraid of -your marrying because you've fallen in love. What I'm agitated about is -lest you'll fall in love because you want to marry." - -Alois had an uncomfortable look that was confession. - - - - - *VI* - - *NEVA GOES TO SCHOOL* - - -Boris let a week, nearly two weeks, pass before he went to see Miss -Carlin. He thought he was delaying in hope that the impulse to -investigate her would wane and wink out. He had invariably had this -same hope about every such impulse, and invariably had been -disappointed. The truth was, whenever he happened upon a woman with -certain lines of figure and certain expression of eyes--the lines and -the expression that struck the keynote of his masculine nerves for the -feminine--he pursued and paused not until he was satisfied, sated, calm -again--or hopelessly baffled. And as he was attractive to women, and -both adroit and reckless, and not at all afraid of them, his failures -were few. - -In this particular case the cause of his long delay in beginning was -that he had just maneuvered his affair with the famously beautiful Mrs. -Coventry to the point where each was trying to get rid of the other with -full and obvious credit for being the one to break off. Mrs. Coventry -was stupid; even her beauty, changelessly lovely, bored and irritated -him. But nature had given her in default of brains a subtle craftiness; -thus, she had been able to meet Boris's every attempt to cast her off -with a move that put her in the position of seeming to be the one who -was doing the casting--and Boris had a feminine vanity in those matters. -At last, however, his weariness of his tiresome professional beauty and -his impatience to begin a new adventure combined to make him indifferent -to what people might say and think. Instead of sailing with Mrs. -Coventry, as he had intended, he abruptly canceled his passage; and -while she was descending the bay on the _Oceanic_, he was moving toward -Miss Carlin's studio. - -"You have not forgotten me?" said he in that delightfully ingenuous way -of his, as he entered the large studio and faced the shy, plainly -dressed young woman from the Western small town. - -"No, indeed," replied she, obviously fluttered and flattered by this -utterly unexpected visit from the great man. - -"I come as a brother artist," he explained. He was standing before her, -handsome and picturesque in a costume that was yet conventional. He -diffused the odor of a powerful, agreeable, distinctly feminine perfume. -The feminine details of his toilet made his strong body and aggressive -face seem the more masculine; his face, his virile, clean, blond beard, -his massive shoulders, on the other hand, made his perfume, his plaited -shirt and flowing tie, his several gorgeous rings and his too neat boots -seem the more flauntingly feminine. "What I saw of you," he proceeded, -"and what your cousin told me, roused my interest and my curiosity." - -At "curiosity" his clear, boyish eyes danced and his smile showed even, -very white teeth and part of the interior of a too ruddy, too healthily -red mouth. Like everything about him that was characteristic, this -smile both fascinated and repelled. Evidently this man drew an intense -physical joy from life, had made of his intellect an expert extractor of -the last sweet drop of pleasure that could be got from perfectly -healthy, monstrously acute nerves. When he used any nerve, any of those -trained servants of his sybarite passions, it was no careless, ignorant -performance such as ordinary mortals are content with. It was a -finished and perfect work of art--and somehow suggestive of a tiger -licking its chops and fangs and claws and fur that it might not lose a -shred of its victim's flesh. But this impression of repulsion was -fleeting; the charm of the personality carried off, where it did not -conceal, the sinister side. Because Boris understood his fellow beings, -especially the women, so thoroughly, they could not but think him -sympathetic, could not appreciate that he lured them into exposing or -releasing their emotions solely for his own enjoyment. - -But Neva was seeing the artist so vividly that she was seeing the man -not at all. Only those capable of real enthusiasm can appreciate how -keenly she both suffered and enjoyed, in the presence of the Boris -Raphael who to her meant the incorporeal spirit of the art she loved and -served. He, to relieve her embarrassment and to give her time to -collect herself, turned his whole attention to her work--a portrait of -Molly, the old servant she had brought with her from Battle Field. - -He seemed absorbed in the unfinished picture. In fact, he was thinking -only of her. By the infection to which highly sensitive people are -susceptible, he had become as embarrassed as she. One of the chief -sources of his power with women was his ability to be in his own person -whatever the particular woman he was seeking happened to be--foolish -with the foolish, youthful with the young, wise with the sensible, -serpentine with the crafty, coarse with the grossly material, spiritual -with the high-minded. He had all natures within himself and could show -whichever he pleased. - -As he felt Neva's presence, felt the thrill of those moving graces of -her figure, the passion that those mysterious veiled eyes of hers -inspired, he was still perfectly aware of her defects, all of them, all -that must be done before she should be ready to pluck and enjoy. It was -one of her bad mornings. Her skin was rather sallow and her eyelids -were too heavy. Since she had been in New York, she had adopted saner -habits of regular eating and regular exercise than she had had, or had -even known about, in Battle Field. She was beginning to understand why -most people, especially most women, go to pieces young; and for the sake -of her work, not at all because she hoped for or wished for physical -beauty, she was taking better care of herself. But latterly she had been -all but prostrate before a violent attack of the blues, and had been -eating and sleeping irregularly, and not exercising. Thus, only a Boris -Raphael would have suspected her possibilities as she stood there, -slightly stooped, the sallowness of her skin harmonizing drearily with -her long, loose dark-brown blouse, neutral in itself and a neutralizer. -He saw at a glance the secret of her having been able to deceive -everybody, to conceal herself, even from herself. He felt the -discoverer's thrill; his blood fired like knight's at sight of secret, -sleeping princess. But he pretended to ignore her as a personality of -the opposite sex pole, knowing that to see her and know her as she -really was he must not let her suspect she was observed. He reveled in -such adventures upon soul privacy, not the least disturbed because they -bore a not remote resemblance to that of the spy upon a nymph at the -forest pool. He justified himself by arguing that he made no improper -use of his discoveries, but laid them upon the high and holy altars of -art and love. - -Far from being discouraged by the difficulties which Neva was that -morning making so obvious, he welcomed the abrupt change from the -monotonous beauty of Doris Coventry. She had given him no opportunity -for the exercise of his peculiar talents. With her the banquet was -ready spread; with this woman practically everything had to be prepared. -And what a banquet it would be! When he had developed her beauty, had -made her all that nature intended, had taught her self-confidence and -the value of externals and had given her the courage to express the -ideas and the emotions that now shrank shyly behind those marvelous eyes -of hers-- How poor, how paltry, how tedious seemed such adventures as -that with Doris Coventry beside this he was now entering! - -As if he were her teacher, he took up the palette and with her -long-handled brushes made a dozen light, swift touches--what would have -been an intolerable insolence in a less than he. To be master was but -asserting his natural right; men hated him for it, but the women liked -him and it. - -"Oh!" she cried delightedly as she observed the result of what he had -done. Then, at the contrast between his work and her own, cried "Oh," -again, but despondently. - -"You must let me teach you," said he, as if addressing the talent -revealed in her picture. - -"Do you think I could learn?" she asked wistfully. - -He elevated his shoulders and brows. "We must all push on until we -reach our limit; and until we reach it, we, nor no man, can say where it -is." - -"But I've no right to _your_ time," she said reluctantly. - -"I teach to learn. I teach only those from whom I get more than I give. -You see," with his engaging boyish smile, "I have the mercantile -instinct." - -She looked at him doubtfully, searching for the motive behind an offer, -so curious, so improbable in and of itself. She saw before her now the -outward and visible form of the genius she revered--a very handsome man, -a man whose knowledge how to make himself agreeable to women must -obviously have been got by much and intimate experience; a man whose -sensuous eyes and obstreperous masculinity of thick waving hair and -thick crisp reddish beard, roused in her the distrust bred by ages on -ages of enforced female wariness of the male that is ever on conquest -bent and is never so completely conqueror as when conquered. But this -primordial instinct, never developed in her by experience, was feeble, -was immediately silenced by the aspect of him which she clearly -understood--his look of breadth and luminousness and simplicity, the -master's eye and the master's air--the great man. - -"You will teach me more than I you," he insisted. - -"Why?" she managed to object, wondering at her own courage as much as at -his condescension--for such an offer from such a man was, she felt, -indeed a condescension. - -"Because you paint with your heart while I paint rather with my head." - -"But that is the greater." - -"No. It is simply different. Neither is great." - -"Neither?" - -"Only he is supremely great who works with both heart and mind." - -She showed how well she understood, by saying, "Leonardo, for example?" - -Boris's face was the devotee's at mention of the god. The worldliness, -the aggressive animality vanished. "Leonardo alone among painters," said -he. "And he reached the pinnacle in one picture only--the picture of -the woman he loved yet judged." - -Her own expression had changed. The least observant would have seen -just then why Boris, connoisseur, had paused before her. She had -dropped her mask, had come forth as the shy beauties of the field lift -their heads above the snow in response to the sun of early spring. For -the first time in her life she had met a human being to whom life meant -precisely what it had meant to her. His own expression of exaltation -passed with the impulse that had given it birth; but she did not see. -He was for her Boris Raphael, artist through and through. Instead of -suspicion and shrinking, her long narrow eyes, luminous, mysterious, now -expressed confidence; she would never again be afraid of one who had in -him what this man had revealed to her. She had always seen it in his -work; she greeted it in the man himself as one greets an old, a stanch -friend, tested in moods and times of sorrow and trial. - -He glanced at her, glanced hastily away lest she should realize how -close he had thus quickly got to her soul, shy and graceful and -resplendent as a flamingo. "You will let me teach you?" said he. - -"I don't understand your asking." - -"Nor do I," replied he. "All I know is, I felt I must come and offer my -services. It only remains for you to obey your impulse to accept." - -Without further hesitation she accepted; and there was firmly -established the intimate relations of master workman and apprentice, -with painting, and through painting the whole of life, as the trade, to -be learned. For, the arts are a group of sister peaks commanding the -entire panorama of truth and beauty, of action and repose; and to learn -of a master at any one of them is to be pupil to all wisdom. - - -Boris arranged with her to come three mornings a week to the atelier, -raftered and galleried, which he had made of the top stories of two -quaint old houses in Chelsea's one remaining green square. Soon he was -seeing her several afternoons also, at her apartment; and they were -lunching and dining together, both alone and in the company of artists -and the sort of fashionable serious-idle people who seek the society of -artists. The part of her shyness that was merely strangeness did not -long withstand his easy, sympathetic manner, his simplicity, his -adroitness at drawing out the best in any person with whom he took pains -to exert himself. It required much clever maneuvering before he got her -rid of the shyness that came from lack of belief in her power to -interest others. The people out West, inexpert in the social art, -awkward and shy with each other, often in intimate family life even, had -without in the least intending it, encouraged her and confirmed her in -this depressing disbelief. In all her life she had never been so well -acquainted with anyone as with Boris after a week of the lessons; and -with him, even after two months of friendship, she would suddenly and -unaccountably close up like a sensitive plant, be embarrassed and -constrained, feel and act as if he were a stranger. Self-confidence -finally came through others, not at all through him. Her new -acquaintances, observant, sympathetic, quickly saw what Boris pointed -out to them; and by their manner, by their many and urgent invitations -and similar delicate indirect compliments, they made her feel without -realizing it that she was not merely tolerated for his sake, but was -sought on her own account. - -We hear much of the effect of things internal, little of the far more -potent effect of externals. Boris, frankly materialistic, was all for -externals. For him the external was not only the sign of what was -within, but also was actually its creator. He believed that character -was more accurately revealed in dress than in conversation, in manners -than in professions. "Show me through a woman's living place," he often -said, "and I will tell you more about her soul than she could tell her -confessor." His one interest in Neva was her physical beauty; his one -object, to develop it to the utmost of the possibilities he alone saw. -But he was in no hurry. He had the assiduous patience of genius that -works steadily and puts deliberate thought into every stroke. He would -not spoil his creation by haste; he would not rob himself of a single -one of the joys of anticipation. And his pleasure was enhanced by the -knowledge that if she so much as suspected his real design, or any -design at all, she would shut herself away beyond his reach. - -"I want you as a model," said he one day, in the offhand manner he used -with her to conceal direct personal purpose. "But you've got to make -changes in your appearance--dress--way of wearing the hair--all that." - -She alarmed him by coloring vividly; he had no suspicion that it was -because she had been secretly using him as a model for several months. -"I've hurt your vanity?" said he. "Well, I never before knew you had -that sort of vanity. I fancied you gave the least possible attention to -your outside." - -"I'll be glad to help you in any way," she hastened to assure him. -"You're quite wrong about my reason for not accepting at once. It -wasn't wounded vanity.... I don't know whether I have much vanity or -not. I've never thought about it." - -He laughed. "Well, you will have, when you've seen the picture I'll -make. What a queer, puritanic lot you Westerners are!" He seated -himself at ease astride a chair, and gazed at her impersonally, as -artist at model in whom interest is severely professional. "I suppose -you don't know you are a very beautiful woman--or could be if you half -tried." - -"No, I don't," replied she indifferently. "What do you wish me to do?" - -"To become beautiful." - -"Don't tease me," said she curtly. "I hate my looks. I never see -myself if I can help it." - -He took the master's tone with her. "You will kindly keep this away -from the personal," reprimanded he. "I am discussing you as a model. -I've no interest in your vanity or lack of it." - -She resumed her place as pupil with a meek "I beg your pardon." - -"First, I want you to spend time in looking at yourself in the glass and -in thinking about yourself, your personal appearance. I want you to do -this, so that you may be of use to me. But you really ought to do it -for your own sake. If you are to be an artist, you must live. To live -you must use to its fullest capacity every advantage nature has given -you. The more you give others, the more you will receive. It is not to -your credit that you don't think about dress or study yourself in the -mirror. The reverse. If you are homely, thought and attention will -make you less so. If you are beautiful, or could be-- What a crime to -add to the unsightliness of the world when one might add to its -sightliness! And what an impertinence to search for, to cry for beauty, -and to refuse to do your own part." - -"I hadn't thought of it in that way," confessed she, evidently impressed -by this unanswerable logic. - -He eyed her professionally through the smoke of his cigarette. "If you -are to help me with the picture I have in mind, you'll have to change -your hair--for the next few months. Your way of wearing it, I -mean--though that will change the color too--or, rather, bring out the -color." - -Neva colored with embarrassment, remembered she was but a model, braced -herself resolutely. - -"For my purposes-- Just stand before that mirror there." He indicated -the great mirror which gave him double the width of the atelier as -perspective for his work. "Now, you'll observe that by braiding your -hair and putting it on top of your head, you ruin the lines I wish to -bring out. The beautiful and the grotesque are very close to each -other. Your face and figure ought to be notable as an exhibit of -beautiful lengths. But when you put your hair on top of your head, you -extend the long lines of neck and face too far--at least, for my -purposes." - -"I see," said she, herself quite forgotten; for, his impersonal manner -was completely convincing, and his exposition of the principles of art -was as important as novel and interesting. - -"Do your hair well down toward the nape of the neck--and loosely. -Somewhat as it was that night at the Morrises, only--more so." - -"I'll try it," she said with what sounded hopefully like the beginnings -of acquiescence. - -"That's better!" exclaimed he, in approval of her docile tone. "And -keep on trying till you get it right. You'll know. You've got good -taste. If you hadn't, it'd be useless to talk these things to you. The -thing is to bring out your natural good taste--to encourage, to educate, -instead of repressing it.... No, don't turn away, yet. I want you to -notice some color effects. That dress you have on-- You always wear -clothes that are severely somber, almost funereal--quite funereal. One -would think, to look at your garb, that there was no laughter anywhere -in you--no possibilities of laughter." - -Neva's laughing face, looking at him by way of the mirror, showed that -she was now in just the mood he wished. "I want to make a very human -picture," he went on. "And, while the dominant note of the human aspect -in repose is serious--pensive to tragic--it is relieved by suggestions -of laughter. Your dress makes your sadness look depressed, resigned, -chronic. Yet you yourself are strong and cheerful and brave. You do -not whimper. Why look as if you did, and by infection depress others? -Don't you think we owe it to a sad world to contribute whatever of -lightness we can?" - -She nodded. "I hadn't thought of that," said she. - -"Well, don't you think it's about time you did? ... Now, please observe -that you wear clothes with too many short lines in their making--lines -that contradict the long lines of your head and body." - -She whirled away from the mirror, hung her head, with color high and -hands nervous. "Don't, please," she said. "You are making me miserably -self-conscious." - -"Oh, very well." He seemed offended, hurt. "I see you've -misunderstood. How can I get any good out of you as a model unless you -let me be frank? Why drag self, your personal feelings, to the fore? -That is not art." - -A long silence, during which she watched him as he scowled at his -cigarette. "I'm sorry," she exclaimed contritely. "I'm both ungracious -and ungrateful." - -"Vanity, I call it," he said, with pretended disdain. "Plain vanity--and -cheap, and altogether unworthy of you." - -"Go on, please," she urged. "I'll not give you further trouble." Then -she added, to his secret delight, "Only, _please_ don't ask me to look -at myself before you--until--until--I've had a chance to improve a -little." - -"To go back to the hair again," pursued he, concealing his satisfaction -over his victory. "My notion--for my picture--is much less severe than -you are habitually--in appearance, I mean. The hair must be easy, -graceful, loose. It must form a background for the face, a crown for -the figure. And I want all the colors and shades you now hide away in -those plaits." He surveyed her absently. "I'm not sure whether I shall -paint you in high or low neck. Get both kinds of dresses--along the -lines I've indicated.... Have them made; don't buy those ready-to-wear -things you waste money on now.... I want to be able to study you at -leisure. So, you'll have to put aside that prim, puritanic costume for -a while. You won't mind?" - -She had her face turned away. She simply shook her head in answer. - -"I know you despise these exterior things--so far as you personally are -concerned," he proceeded in a kindlier tone. "I've no quarrel with -that. My own views are different. You pride yourself on being free -from all social ties or obligations----" - -"Not at all," cried she. "Indeed, I'm not so egotistical." - -"Egotism!" He waved it away. "A mere word. It simply means human -nature with the blinds up. And modesty is human nature with the blinds -down. We are all egotists. How is it possible for us not to be? Does -not the universe begin when we are born and end when we die? Certainly, -you are an egotist. But you are very short-sighted in your egotism, my -friend." - -"Yes?" She was all attention now. - -"You want many things in the world--things you can't get for -yourself--things you must therefore look to others to help you get. You -want reputation, friendship, love, to name the three principal wants, -bread being provided for you. Well--your problem is how to get them in -fullest measure and in the briefest time--for, your wants are great and -pressing, and life is short." - -"But I must have them by fair means and they must be really mine. I -don't want what mere externals attract." - -"Pish! Tush! Tommy rot!" Boris left the chair, took the middle of the -floor and the manner of the instructor of a class. "To get them you -must use to the best advantage all the gifts nature has given you--at -least, you will, if you are wise, I think. Some of these gifts are -internal, some are external. We are each of us encased in matter, and -we get contact with each other only by means of matter. Externals are -therefore important, are they not? To attract others, those of the kind -we like, we must develop our external to be as pleasing as possible to -them. In general, we owe it to our fellow beings to be as sightly a -part of the view as we can. In particular, we owe it to ourselves to -make the best of our minds and bodies, for our own pleasure and to -attract those who are congenial to us and can do us the most good." - -"I shall have to think about that," said she, and he saw that she was -more than half converted. "I've always been taught to regard those -things as trivial." - -"Trivial! Another word that means nothing. Life--this life--is all we -have. How can anything that makes for its happiness or unhappiness be -trivial? You with your passion for beauty would have everything -beautiful, exquisite, except yourself! What selfishness! You don't -care about your own appearance because you don't see it." - -She laughed. "Really, am I so bad as all that?" - -"The trouble with you is, you haven't thought about these things, but -have accepted the judgment of others about them. And what others? Why, -sheep, cattle, parrots--the doddering dolts who make public opinion in -any given place or at any given time." - -She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. - -"Another point. You are trying to have a career. Now, that's something -new in the world--for women to have careers. You face at best a hard -enough struggle. You must do very superior work indeed, to convince -anyone you are entitled to equal consideration with men as a worker. -Why handicap yourself by creating an impression that you are eccentric, -bizarre?" - -Neva looked astonished. "I don't understand," said she. - -"What is the normal mode for a woman? To be feminine--careful of her -looks, fond of dress, as pleasing to the eye as possible. Do you strive -to be normal in every way but the one way of making a career, and so -force people to see you're a real woman, a well-balanced human being?" - -Neva had the expression of one in the dark, toward whom light is -beginning to glimmer. - -"A woman," proceeded he, the impersonal instructor, "a woman going in -for a career and so, laying herself open to suspicion of being -'strong-minded' and 'masculine' and all sorts of hard, unsympathetic, -unfeminine things that are to the mutton-headed a sign of want of -balance--a woman should be careful to remove that impression. How? By -being ultra-feminine, most fashionable in dress, most alluring in -appearance-- Do you follow me?" - -"Perfectly," said Neva. "You've given me a great deal to think -about.... Why, how blind we are to the obvious! Now that I see it, I -feel like a fool." - -"Use the same good taste in your own appearance that you use in bringing -out beauty in your surroundings. Note that----" - -Boris paused abruptly; his passion was betraying itself both in his eyes -and in his voice. But he saw that Neva had, as usual, forgotten the -teacher in the lesson. He felt relieved, yet irritated, too. Never -before had he found a woman who could maintain, outwardly at least, the -fiction of friendship unalloyed with passion. "She acts exactly as if -she were another man," said he discontentedly to himself, "except when -she treats me as if I were another woman." - -He did not return to the subject of her appearance. And his judgment -that he had said enough--and his confidence in her good taste--were -confirmed a few days later. She came in a new hat, a new blouse, and -with her hair done as he had suggested. The changes were in themselves -slight; but now that her complexion had been cleared and taken on its -proper color--a healthy pallor that made her eyes sparkle and glow, -every little change for the better wrought marvels. A good complexion -alone has redeemed many a woman from downright ugliness; Neva's -complexion now gave her regular features and blue-white teeth and -changeful, mysterious eyes their opportunity. The new blouse, one of -the prettiest he had ever seen, took away the pinched-in look across the -shoulders to which he had objected. As for her hair, it was no longer a -_melange_ of light brown and dark brown, but a halo of harmonizing tints -from deepest red to brightest gold, a merry playground for sunbeams. He -was astounded, startled. "Why, she has really marvelous hair!" he -muttered. Then he laughed aloud; she, watching him for signs of his -opinion, wore an expression like a child's before its sphinxlike -teacher. She echoed his laugh. - -"My advice about the mirror was not so bad, eh?" said he. - -"No, indeed," replied she, with the first gleam of coquetry he had ever -seen. - - -Puzzling over her seeming unconsciousness of the, to him, all-important -fact that she was a woman and he a man, he decided that it must be a -deliberately chosen policy, the result of things she had heard about -him. He had always avoided talking of his conquests, though he -appreciated that it was the quick and easy road to a fresh conquest; but -it pleased him to feel that his reputation as a rake, a man before whom -women struck the flag at the first sign from him, was as great as his -fame for painting. And it seemed to him that, if Neva had heard, as she -must, she could not but be in a receptive state of mind. "That's why -she's on her guard," he concluded. "She's secretly at war with the -old-fashioned notions in which she was bred." - -He could not long keep silent. "Has somebody been slandering me to my -friend?" asked he abruptly, one day, after they had both been silently -at work for nearly an hour. - -She paused, glanced at him, shook her head--a very charming head it was -now, with the hair free about her temples and ears and in a loose coil -low upon her neck. "No," said she, apparently with candor. "Why?" - -"It seemed to me you were peculiar of late--distant with me." - -"Really, it isn't so. You know I'd not permit anyone to speak against -you to me." - -"But--well, a man of my sort always has a lot of stories going round -about him--things not usually regarded as discreditable--but you might -not take so lenient a view." - -Her face turned toward her easel again, her expression unreadably -reserved. - -"Not that I've been a saint," he went on. "We who have the artistic -temperament-- What does that temperament mean but abnormal sensibility -of nerves, all the nerves?" - -"That is true," assented she. - -Then she was not so cold as she seemed! She understood what it was to -feel. "Of course," he proceeded, "I appreciate your ideas on those -subjects. At least I assume you have the ideas of the people among whom -you were brought up." - -She was silent for a moment. Then she said, as if she were carefully -choosing her words, "I've learned that standards of morals, like -standards of taste, are individual. There are many things about human -nature as I see it in--in my friends--that I do not understand. But I -realize I deserve no credit for being what I am when I have not the -slightest temptation to be otherwise." - -Silence again, as he wondered whether her remark was a chance shot or a -subtle way of informing him that, if he were thinking of her as a woman -and a possibility, he was wasting energy. "What I wished to say," he -finally ventured, "was that I had the right to expect you to accept me -for what I am to you. You cannot judge of what I may or may not have -been to anyone else, of what others may or may not have been to me." - -"What you are to me," replied she earnestly, "I've no right, or wish, to -go beyond that." - -"And," pursued he with some raillery, "don't forget we should be -grateful for all varieties of human nature--the valleys that make the -peaks, the peaks that make the abysses. What a world for suicide it -would be, if human nature were one vast prairie and life one long Sunday -in Battle Field.... What did you hear about me?" - -"Nothing that interested me." - -"Really?" He could not help showing pique. - -"Nothing that would have changed me, if I had believed." - -"I warned you it might be true," he interrupted. - -"True or false, it was not part of the Boris Raphael I admire and -respect." - -He shifted his eyes, colored, was silenced. He did not like her frank -friendliness; he did not want her respect, or the sort of admiration -that goes with respect. But he somehow felt cheap and mean and ashamed -before her, had a highly uncomfortable sense of being an inferior before -a superior. He was glad to drop the subject. "At least," reflected he, -"the longer the delay, the richer the prize. She was meant for some -man. And what other has my chance?" - -And, meanwhile, following his instinct and his custom, he showed her of -his all-sided nature only what he thought she would like to see; time -enough to be what he wished, when he should have got her where he -wished--a re-creation for the gratification of as many sides of him as -she had, or developed, capacity to delight. - - - - - *VII* - - *A WOMAN'S POINT OF VIEW* - - -Narcisse, summoned by a telephone message, went to Fosdick's house. As -she entered the imposing arched entrance, Amy appeared, on the way to -take her dog for a drive. "It's father wants to see you," said she. -"I'll take you to him, and go. I'd send Zut alone, but the coachman and -footman object to driving the carriage with no one but him in it. -Fancy! Aren't some people too silly in their snobbishness--and the upper -class isn't in it with the lower classes, is it?" - -"You don't begin to know how amusing you are sometimes," said Narcisse. - -"Oh, I'm always forgetting. You've got ideas like Armstrong. You know -him?" - -"I've met him," said Narcisse indifferently. "You say your father wants -to see me?" - -Amy looked disappointed. Her mind was full of Armstrong, and she wished -to talk about him with Narcisse, to tell her all she thought and felt, -or thought she thought and felt. "There's been a good deal of talk that -he and I are engaged," she persisted. "You had heard it?" - -"I never hear things of that sort," said Narcisse coldly. "I'm too -busy." - -"Well--there's nothing in it. We're simply friends." - -"I'm sorry," said Narcisse. - -Amy bridled. "Sorry! I'm sure _I_ care nothing about him." - -"Then, I'm glad," said Narcisse. "I'm whatever you like. Is your -father waiting for me?" - -Narcisse liked old Fosdick--his hearty voice, his sturdy optimism, his -genial tolerance of all human weaknesses, even of crimes, his passion -for the best of everything, his careless generosity. "It's fine," she -often thought, "to see a man act about his own hard-earned wealth as if -he had found it in a lump in the street or had won it in a lottery." He -seemed in high spirits that morning, though Narcisse observed that the -lines in his face looked heavier than usual. "Sorry to drag you clear -up here about such a little matter," said he when they two were seated, -with his big table desk between them. "I just wanted to caution you and -your brother. Quite unnecessary, I know; still, it's my habit to -neglect nothing. I'm thinking of the two buildings you are putting up -for us--for the O.A.D. How are they getting on? I've so much to attend -to, I don't often get round to details I know are in perfectly safe -hands." - -"We start the one in Chicago next month, and the one here in May--I -hope." - -"Good--splendid! Rush them along. You--you and your -brother--understand that everything about them is absolutely private -business. If any newspaper reporter--or anybody--on any pretext -whatever--comes nosing round, you are to say nothing. Whatever is given -out about them, we'll give out ourselves down at the main office." - -"I'll see to that," said Narcisse. "I'm glad you are cautioning us. We -might have given out something. Indeed, now that I think of it, a man -was talking with my brother about the buildings yesterday." - -Fosdick leaned forward with sudden and astonishing agitation. "What did -he want?" he cried. - -"Merely some specifications as to the cost of similar buildings." - -"Did your brother give him what he asked for?" demanded the old man. - -"Not yet. I believe he's to get the figures together and give them to -him to-morrow." - -Fosdick brought his fist down on the table and laughed with a kind of -savage joy. "The damned scoundrels!" he exclaimed. Then, hastily, -"Just step to the telephone, Miss Siersdorf, and call up your brother -and tell him on no account to give that information." - -Narcisse hesitated. "But--that's a very common occurrence in our -business," objected she. "I don't see how we can refuse--unless the man -is a trifler. Anyone who is building likes to have a concrete example to -go by." - -"Please do as I ask, Miss Siersdorf," said Fosdick. "We'll discuss it -afterwards." - -Narcisse obeyed, and when she returned said, "My brother will give out -nothing more. But I find I was mistaken. He gave the estimates -yesterday afternoon." - -Fosdick sank back in his chair, his features contracted in anger and -anxiety. When she tried to speak, he waved her imperiously into -silence. "I must think," he said curtly. "Don't interrupt!" She -watched his face, but could make nothing definite of its vague -reflections of his apparently dark and stormy thoughts. Finally he said, -in a nearer approach to his usual tone and manner, "It's soon remedied. -Your brother can send for the man. You know who he was?" - -"His name was Delmar. He represented the Howlands, the Chicago drygoods -people." - -"Um," grunted Fosdick, reflecting again; then, as if he had found what -he was searching for, "Yes--that's the trail. Well, Miss Siersdorf, as -I was saying, your brother will send for Delmar and will tell him there -was a mistake. And he'll give him another set of figures--say, doubling -or trebling the first set. He'll say he neglected to make allowance for -finer materials and details of stonework and woodwork--hardwood floors, -marble from Italy, and so forth and so forth. You understand. He'll -say he meant simply the ordinary first-rate office building--and wasn't -calculating on such palaces as he's putting up for the O.A.D." - -Narcisse sat straight and silent, staring into her lap. Fosdick's cigar -had gone out. She had never before objected especially to its odor; now -she found it almost insupportable. - -"You'd better telephone him," continued Fosdick. "No--I'll just have the -butler telephone him to come up here. We might as well make sure of -getting it straight." - -Narcisse did not stir while Fosdick was out of the room, nor when he -resumed his seat and went on, "All this is too intricate to explain in -detail, Miss Siersdorf, but I'll give you an idea of it. It's a -question of the secrecy of our accounts." - -"But we know nothing of your company's accounts, Mr. Fosdick," said she. -"You will remember that, under our contracts, we have nothing whatever -to do with the bills--that they go direct to your own people and are -paid by them. We warned you it was a dangerous system, but you insisted -on keeping to it. You said it was your long established way, that a -change would upset your whole bookkeeping, that----" - -"Yes--yes. I remember perfectly," interrupted Fosdick, all good humor. - -"You can't hold us responsible. We don't even know what payments have -been made." - -"Precisely--precisely." - -"It's a stupid system, permit me to say. It allows chances for no end -of fraud on you--though I think the people we employed are honest and -won't take advantage of it. And, if your auditors wanted to, they could -charge the company twice or three times or several times what the -building cost, and----" - -"Exactly," interrupted Fosdick, an unpleasant sharpness in his voice. -"Let's not waste time discussing that. Let me proceed. We wish no one -to know what our buildings cost." - -"But--you have to make reports--to your stockholders--policy holders -rather." - -"In a way--yes," admitted Fosdick. "But all the men who have the -direction and control of large enterprises take a certain latitude. The -average citizen is a picayunish fellow, mean about small sums. He -wouldn't understand many of the expenditures necessary to the conduct of -large affairs. He even prefers not to be irritated by knowing just -where every dollar goes. He's satisfied with the results." - -"But how does he know the results shown him are the real results? Why, -under that system, figures might be juggled to cheat him out of nearly -all the profits." - -"The public is satisfied to get a reasonable return for the money it -invests--and _we_ always guarantee that," replied Fosdick grandly. - -Narcisse looked at him with startled eyes, as if a sharp turn of the -road had brought her to the brink of a yawning abyss. It suddenly -dawned on her--the whole system of "finance." In one swift second a -thousand disconnected facts merged into a complete, repulsive whole. -So, _this_ was where these enormous fortunes came from! The big fellows -inveigled the public into enterprises by promises of equal shares; then -they juggled accounts, stole most of the profits, saddled all the losses -on the investors. And she had admired the daring of these great -financiers! Why, who wouldn't be daring, with no conscience, no honor, -and a free hand to gamble with other people's money, without risking a -penny of his own! And she had admired their generosity, their -philanthropy, when it was simply the reckless wastefulness of the thief, -after one rich haul and before another! She saw them, all over the -world, gathering in the mites of toiling millions as trust funds, and -stealing all but enough to encourage the poor fools to continue sending -in their mites! She read it all in Josiah's face now, in the faces of -her rich clients; and she wondered how she could have been so blind as -not to see it before. That hungry look, sometimes frankly there, again -disguised by a slimy over-layer of piety, again by whiskers or fat, but -always there. Face after face of her scores of acquaintances among the -powerful in finance rose beside Josiah's until she shrank and paled. -Under the slather of respectability, what gross appetites, what -repulsive passions! But for the absence of the brutal bruisings of -ignorance and drink, these facts would seem exhibits in a rogues' -gallery. - -Josiah had no great opinion of the brains of his fellow men. Women he -regarded as mentally deficient--were they not incapable of comprehending -business? So, while he saw that Narcisse was not accepting his -statement as the honorable, though practical, truth he believed it to -be, he was not disturbed. "I see you don't quite follow me," he said -with kindly condescension. "Business is very complex. My point is, -however, that our accounts are for our own guidance, and not for our -rivals to get hold of and use in exciting a lot of silly, ignorant -people." - -Alois Siersdorf now entered and was effusively welcomed. "What's the -matter?" he exclaimed. "Have I made a mess of some sort?" - -"Not at all, my boy," said Fosdick, clapping him on the back. "Our -rivals have got up an investigating committee--have set on some of our -policy holders to pretend to be dissatisfied with our management. I -thought until yesterday that the committee was simply a haphazard -affair, got together by some blackmailing lawyer. Then I learned that -it was a really serious attempt of a rival of mine to take the company -away from me. They're smelling round for things to 'expose'--the old -trick. They think this is a rare good time to play it because the -damn-fool public has been liquored up with all sorts of brandy by -reformers and anarchists and socialists, trying to set it on to tear -down the social structure. No man's reputation is safe. You know how -it is in big affairs. It takes a broad-gage man to understand them. A -little fellow thinks he sees thief and robber and swindler written -everywhere, if he gets a peep at the inside. I don't know what we're -coming to, with the masses being educated just enough to imagine they -know, and to try to take the management of affairs out of the hands of -the substantial men." - -With lip curling Narcisse looked at her brother, expecting to see in his -face some sign of appreciation of the disgusting comedy of Fosdick's -cant; but he seemed to be taking Josiah and his oration quite seriously; -to her amazement he said, "I often think of that, Mr. Fosdick. We must -have a stronger government, and abolish universal suffrage. This thing -of ignorant men, with no respect for the class with brains and property, -having an equal voice with us has got to stop or we'll have ruin." - -A self-confessed thief trying to justify himself by slandering those he -had robbed, and angry with them because they were not grateful to him -for not having taken all their property--and her brother applauding! - -"You're right," said Fosdick, clapping him on the knee. "I've been -trying to explain to your sister--though I'm afraid I don't make myself -clear. The ladies--even the smartest of them--are not very attentive -when we men talk of the business side of things. However, I suggested to -her that you recall those specifications you gave my enemies----" - -"Is it possible!" exclaimed Siersdorf, shocked. "Yes--yes--I see--I -understand. But I can straighten it all out. I was rather vague with -Delmar. I'll send for him and tell him I was calculating on very -different kinds of buildings for him--something much cheaper----" - -"Precisely!" cried Josiah. "Your brother's got a quick mind, Miss -Siersdorf." - -Narcisse turned away. Her brother had not even waited for Fosdick to -unfold his miserable chicane; his own brain had instantly worked out the -same idea; and, instead of in shame suppressing it, he had uttered it as -if it were honest and honorable! - -"There's another matter," continued Fosdick. He no longer felt that he -must advance cautiously. Sometimes, persons not familiar with large -affairs, not accustomed to dealing under the conditions that compel -liberal interpretation of the moral code, had been known to balk, unless -approached gradually, unless led by gentle stages above narrow ideas of -the just and the right. But clearly, the Siersdorfs, living in the -atmosphere of high finance, did not need to be acclimated. "It may be -this committee can get permission from the State Government to pry into -our affairs. I don't think it can; indeed, I almost know it can't; -we've got the Government friendly to us and not at all sympathetic with -these plausible blackmailers and disguised anarchists. Still, it's -always well to provide for any contingency. If you should get a tip -that you were likely to be wanted as witnesses you could arrange for a -few weeks abroad, and not leave anything--any books or papers--for these -scoundrels to nose into, couldn't you?" - -"Certainly," assented Siersdorf, with great alacrity. "You may be sure -they'll get nothing out of us." - -"Then, that's settled," said Fosdick. "And now, let's have lunch, and -forget business. I want to hear more about those plans for Amy's house -down in Jersey. She has told me a good deal, but not all." - -"We can't stop to lunch," interposed Narcisse, with a meaning look at -her brother. "We must go back to the office at once." And when she saw -that Fosdick was getting ready for a handshake, she moved toward the -door, keeping out of his range without pointedly showing what she was -about. In the street with her brother she walked silently, moodily -beside him, selecting the softest words that would honestly express the -thoughts she felt she must not conceal from him. - -"A great man, Fosdick," said Alois. "One of the biggest men in the -country--a splendid character, strong, able and honorable." - -"Why do you say that just at this time?" asked his sister. - -Alois reddened a little, avoided meeting her glance. - -"To convince yourself?" she went on. "To make us seem less--less -dishonest and cowardly?" - -He flashed at her; his anger was suspiciously ready. "I felt you were -taking that view of it!" he cried. "You are utterly unpractical. You -want to run the world by copybook morality." - -"Because I haven't thrown 'Thou shalt not steal' overboard? Because I -am ashamed, Alois, that we are helping this man Fosdick to cover his -cowardly thief tracks?" - -"You don't understand, Cissy," he remonstrated, posing energetically as -the superior male forbearing with the inferior female. "You oughtn't to -judge what you haven't the knowledge to judge correctly." - -"He is a thief," retorted she bluntly. "And we are making ourselves his -accomplices." - -Alois's smile was uncomfortable. With the manner of a man near the -limit of patience with folly, he explained, "What you are giving those -lurid names to is nothing but the ordinary routine of business, -throughout the world. Do you suppose the man of great financial -intellect would do the work he does for small wages? Do you imagine the -little people he works for and has to work through, the beneficiaries of -all those giant enterprises, would give him his just due voluntarily? -He's a man of affairs, and he works practically, deals with human nature -on human principles--just as do all the great men of action." - -Narcisse stopped short, gazed at him in amazement. "Alois!" she -exclaimed. - -He disregarded her rebuke, her reminder of the time when he had thought -and talked very differently. "Suppose," he persisted, "these great -fortunes didn't exist; suppose Fosdick were ass enough to take a salary -and divide up the profits; suppose all these people of wealth we work -for were to be honest according to your definition of the word--what -then? Why, millions of people would get ten or twelve dollars a year, -or something like that, more than they now have, and there'd be no great -fortunes to encourage art, to employ people like us, to endow colleges -and make the higher and more beautiful side of life." - -"That's too shallow to answer," said Narcisse sternly. "You know -better, Alois. You know it's from the poor that intellect and art and -all that's genuine and great and progressive come--never from the rich, -from wealth. But even if it were not so, how can _you_ defend anything -that means a sacrifice of character?" She stopped in the street and -looked at him. "Alois, _what_ has changed you?" - -"Come," he urged rather shamefacedly. "People are watching us." - -They went on in silence, separated at the offices with a few constrained -words. They did not meet again until the next morning--when he sought -her. He looked much as usual--fresh, handsome, supple in body and mind. -Her eyes were red round the edges of the lids and her usually healthy -skin had the paleness that comes from a sleepless night. "Well," he -said, with his sweet, conciliatory smile--he had a perfect disposition, -while hers was often "difficult." "Do you still think I'm wrong--and -desperately wicked?" - -"I haven't changed my mind," she answered, avoiding his gaze. - -He frowned; his face showed the obstinacy that passes current for will -in a world of vacillators. - -"You've always left business to me," he went on. "Just continue to leave -it. Rest assured I'll do nothing to injure my honor in the opinion of -any rational, practical person--or the honor of the firm." - -She was not deceived by the note of conciliation in his voice; she knew -he had his mind fixed. She was at her desk, stiffly erect, gazing -straight ahead. Her expression brought out all the character in her -features, brought out that beauty of feminine strength which the best of -the Greeks have succeeded in giving their sculptured heroines. Without -warning she flung herself forward, hid her face and burst into tears. -"Oh, I _hate_ myself!" she cried. "I'm nothing but a woman, after -all--miserable, contemptible, weak creatures that we are!" - -He settled himself on the arm of her chair and drew her into his arm. -"You're a finer person in every way than I am," he said; "a better brain -and a better character. But, Cissy dear, don't judge in matters that -aren't within your scope." - -"Do as you please," she replied brokenly. "I'm a woman--and where's the -woman that wouldn't sacrifice anything and everything for love?" - -She had, indeed, spent a night of horror. She felt that what he had -done was frightful dishonor--was proof that he was losing his moral -sense and, what seemed to her worse, becoming a pander to the class for -which they did most of the work they especially prided themselves upon. -She felt that, for his sake no less than for her own, she ought to join -the issue squarely and force him to choose the right road, or herself go -on in it alone. But she knew that he would let her go. And she had only -him. She loved him; she would not break with him; she could not. - -"You know nothing about those buildings, anyhow," he continued. "Just -forget the whole business. I'll take care of it. Isn't that fair?" - -"Anything! Anything!" she sobbed. "Only, let there be peace and love -between us." - - - - - *VIII* - - *IN NEVA'S STUDIO* - - -Shown into the big workroom of Neva's apartment with its light softened -and diffused by skillfully adjusted curtains and screens, Narcisse -devoted the few minutes before Neva came to that thorough inspection -which an intelligent workman always gives the habitat of a fellow -worker. - -"What a sensitive creature she is!" was the reminiscent conclusion of -the builder after the first glance round. A less keen observer might -have detected a nature as delicately balanced as an aspen leaf in the -subtle appreciation of harmony and contrast, of light and shade. And -there were none of the showy, shallow tricks of the poseur; for, the -room was plain, as a serious worker always insists on having his -surroundings. It appeared in the hanging of the few pictures, in the -colors of the few rugs and draperies, of walls, ceiling, furniture, in -the absence of anything that was not pleasing; the things that are not -in a room speak as eloquently of its tenant as do the things that are -there. - -"Not a scrap of her own work," thought Narcisse, with a smile for the -shyness that omission hinted. - -"Pardon my keeping you waiting," apologized Neva, entering in her long, -brown blouse with stains of paint. "I was at work when you were -announced." - -"And you had to hustle everything out of sight, so I'd have no chance to -see." - -Neva nodded smiling assent. "But I'm better than I used to be. Really, -I am. My point of view is changing--rapidly--so rapidly that I wake up -each morning a different person from the one who went to bed the night -before." - -Narcisse was thinking that the Neva before her was as unlike the Neva of -their school days as a spring landscape is unlike the same stretch in -the bleak monotones of winter. "Getting more confidence in yourself?" -suggested she aloud. "Or are you beginning to see that the world is an -old fraud whose judgments aren't important enough to make anyone -nervous?" - -"Both," replied Neva. "But I can't honestly claim to be self-made-over. -Boris teaches me a great deal beside painting." - -Narcisse changed expression. As they talked on and on--of their work, -of the West, of the college and their friendship there, Neva felt that -Narcisse had some undercurrent of thought which she was striving with, -whether to suppress or express, she could not tell. The conversation -drifted back to New York, to Boris. There was something of warning in -Narcisse's face, and something of another emotion less clearly defined -as she said with a brave effort at the rigidly judicial, "Boris is a -great man; but first of all a man. You know what that means when a man -is dealing with a woman." - -Neva's lip curled slightly. "That side of human nature doesn't interest -me." - -Narcisse, watching her closely, could not but be convinced that the -indifference in her tone was not simulated. "Not yet," she thought. -Then, aloud, "That side doesn't often interest a woman until she finds -she must choose between becoming interested in it and losing the man -altogether." - -Neva looked at her with a strange, startled expression, as if she were -absorbing a new and vital truth, self-evident, astonishing. - -"Boris has lived a long time," continued Narcisse. "And women have -conquered him so often that they've taught him how to conquer them." - -"I don't know much about him, beyond the painting," said Neva. "And I -don't care to know." - -The silence that fell was constrained. It was with tone and look of -shyness more like Neva than like herself that Narcisse presently went -on, "I owe a great deal to Boris. He made me what I am.... He broke my -heart." - -Neva gave her a glance of wonder and fear--wonder that she should be -confiding such a secret, fear lest the confidence would be repented. -Narcisse's expression, pensive but by no means tragic, not even -melancholy, reassured her. "You know," she proceeded, "no one ever does -anything real until his or her heart has been broken." - -Neva, startled, listened with curious, breathless intentness. - -"We learn only by experience. And the great lesson comes only from the -great experience." - -"Yes," said Neva softly. She nodded absently. "Yes," she repeated. - -"When one's heart is broken ... then, one discovers one's real self--the -part that can be relied on through everything and anything." - -Neva, with studied carelessness, opened a drawer in the stand beside her -and began to examine the tips of a handful of brushes. Her face was -thus no longer completely at the mercy of a possible searching glance -from her friend. - -"Show me anyone who has done anything worth while," continued Narcisse, -"and I'll show you a man or a woman whose heart has been broken--and -mended--made strong.... It isn't always love that does the breaking. -In fact, it's usually something else--especially with men. In my case -it happened to be love." - -Neva's fingers had ceased to play with the brushes. Her hands rested -upon the edge of the drawer lightly, yet their expression was somehow -tense. Her eyes were gazing into--Narcisse wondered what vision was -hypnotizing them. - -"It was ten years ago--when I was studying in Paris. I can see how he -might not be attractive to some women, but he was to me." Narcisse -laughed slightly. "I don't know what might have happened, if he hadn't -been drawn away by a little Roumanian singer, like an orchid waving in a -perfumed breeze. All Paris was quite mad about her, and Boris got her. -She thought she got him; but he survived, while she-- When she made her -way back to Paris, she found it perfectly calm." - -"And you still care for him?" said Neva gently. - -Narcisse laughed healthily. "I mended my heart, accepted my lesson.... -Isn't it queer, how differently one looks at a person one has cared for, -after one is cured?" - -"I don't know," said Neva, in a slow, constrained way. "I've never had -the experience." - -After a silence Narcisse went on, "I've no objection to your repeating -to him what I've said. It was a mere reminiscence, not at all a -confession." - -Neva shook her head. "That would bring up a subject a woman should -avoid with men. If it is never opened, it remains closed; if it's ever -opened, it can't be shut again." - -Narcisse was struck by the penetration of this, and proceeded to -reexamine Neva more thoroughly. Nothing is more neglected than the -revision from time to time of our opinions of those about us. Though -character is as mobile as every other quantity in this whirling -kaleidoscope of a universe, we make up our minds about our acquaintances -and friends once for all, and refuse to change unless forced by some -cataclysm. As their talk unfolded the Neva beneath the surface, it soon -appeared to Narcisse that either she or Neva had become radically -different since their intimacy of twelve years before. "Probably both -of us," she decided. "I've learned to read character better, and she has -more character to read. I remember, I used to think she was one of -those who would develop late--even for a woman." - -"It was stupid of me," she said to Neva, "but I've been assuming you are -just as you were. Now it dawns on me that you are as new to me as if -you were an entire stranger. You are different--outside and inside." - -"Inside, I've certainly changed," admitted Neva. "Don't you think we're, -all of us, like the animals that shed their skins? We live in a mental -skin, and it seems to be ours for good and all; but all the time a new -skin is forming underneath; and then, some fine day, the old skin slips -away, and we're quite new from top to tip--apparently." - -Narcisse's expression was encouraging. - -"That happened to me," continued Neva. "But I didn't realize it--not -completely--until the divorce was over and I was settled here, in this -huge wilderness where the people can't find each other or even see each -other, for the crowd. It was the first time in my life. I could look -about me with the certainty I wasn't being watched, peeped at, pressed -in on all sides by curious eyes--hostile eyes, for all curious eyes are -hostile. But you were born and brought up in a small town. You know." - -"Yes," said Narcisse. "Everybody lives a public life in a little town." - -"Here I could, so to speak, stand in the sun naked and let its light -beat on my body, without fear of peepers and pryers." She drew a long -breath and stretched out her arms in a gesture of enormous relief. "I -dare to be myself. Free! All my life I'd been shut in, waiting and -hoping some one would come and lead me out where there was warmth and -affection. Wasn't that vanity! Now, I'm seeking what I want--the only -way to get it." - -Narcisse's face took on an expression of cynicism, melancholy rather -than bitter. "Don't seek among your fellow beings. They're always off -the right temperature--they either burn you or freeze you." - -"Oh, but I'm not trying to get warmth, but to give it," replied Neva. -"I'm not merchandising. I'm in a business where the losses are the -profits, the givings the gains." - -"The only businesses that really pay," said Narcisse. "The returns from -the others are like the magician's money that seemed to be gold but was -only withered mulberry leaves. Won't you let me see some of your -work--anything?" - -Neva drew aside a curtain, wheeled out an easel, on it her unfinished -portrait of Raphael. At first glance--and with most people the first -glance is the final verdict--there seemed only an elusive resemblance to -Raphael. It was one of those portraits that are forthwith condemned as -"poor likenesses." But Narcisse, perhaps partly because she was -sympathetically interested in Neva's work and knew that Neva must put -intelligence into whatever she did, soon penetrated to the deeper -purpose. The human face is both a medium and a mask; it both reveals -and covers the personality behind. It is more the mask and less the -medium when the personality is consciously facing the world. A portrait -that is a good likeness is, thus, often a meaningless or misleading -picture of the personality, because it presents that personality when -carefully posed for conscious inspection. On the other hand, a portrait -that is hardly recognizable by those who know best, and least, the -person it purports to portray, may be in fact a true, a profound, a -perfect likeness--a faithful reproduction of the face as a medium, with -the mask discarded. The problem the painter attempts, the problem -genius occasionally solves but mere talent rarely, and then imperfectly, -is to combine the medium and the mask--to paint the mask so -transparently that the medium, the real face, shows through; yet not so -transparently that eyes which demand a "speaking likeness" are -disappointed. - -Neva, taught by Raphael to face and wrestle with that problem, was in -this secret unfinished portrait striving for his "living likeness" only. -She had learned that painting the "speaking likeness" is an unimportant -matter to the artist as artist--however important it may be to him as -seeker of profitable orders or of fame's brassy acclaim so vulgar yet so -sweet. She was not seeking fame, she was not dependent upon -commissions; she was free to grapple the ultimate mystery of art. And -this attempt to fix Raphael, the beautiful-ugly, lofty-low, fine-coarse, -kind-cruel personality that walked the earth behind that -gorgeous-grotesque external of his, was her first essay. - -"All things to all men--and all women, like the genius that he is," said -Narcisse, half to herself. Then to Neva, "What does _he_ think of it?" - -"He hasn't seen it.... I doubt if I'll ever show it to him--or to -anybody, when it's finished." - -"It does threaten to be an intrusion on his right of privacy," said -Narcisse. "No, he's not attracting you in the least as a man." - -Neva looked amused. "Why did you say that?" - -"Because the picture is so--so impersonal." She laughed. "How angry it -would make him." - -When Narcisse, after a long, intimacy-renewing, or, rather, -intimacy-beginning, stop, rose to go, she said, "I'm going to bring my -friend, Amy Fosdick, here some time soon. She has asked me and I've -promised her. She is very eager to meet you." - -Instantly Neva made the first vivid show of her old-time shy constraint. -"I've a rule against meeting people," stammered she. "I don't wish to -seem ungracious, but----" - -"Oh!" said Narcisse, embarrassed. "Very well." - -An awkward silence; Narcisse moved toward the door. "I fear I've -offended you," Neva said wistfully. - -"Not at all," replied Narcisse, and she honestly tried to be cordial in -accepting denial. "You've the right to do as you please, surely." - -"In theory, yes," said Neva, with a faint melancholy smile. "But only -in theory." - -Now unconsciously and now consciously we are constantly testing those -about us, especially our friends, to learn how far we can go in imposing -our ever aggressive wills upon them; and the stronger our own -personalities the more irritating it is to find ourselves flung back -from an unyielding surface where we had expected to advance easily. In -spite of her sense of justice, Narcisse was irritated against Neva for -refusing. But she also realized she must get over this irritation, must -accept and profit by this timely hint that Neva's will must be -respected. Most friendship is mere selfishness in masquerade--is mere -seeking of advantage through the supposedly blindly altruistic -affections of friends. Narcisse, having capacity for real friendship, -was eager for a real friend. She saw that Neva was worth the winning. -And now that Alois was breaking away-- Stretching out her hands -appealingly, she said, "Please, dear, don't draw away from me." - -Neva understood, responded. Now that Narcisse was not by clouded face -and averted eye demanding explanation as a right, she felt free to give -it. "There's a reason, Narcisse," said she, "a good reason why I shan't -let Miss Fosdick come here and gratify her curiosity." - -"Reason or no reason," exclaimed Narcisse, "forget my--my -impertinence.... I--I want--I need your friendship." - -"Not more than I need yours," said Neva. "Not so much. You have your -brother, while I have no one." - -"My brother!" Tears glistened in Narcisse's eyes. "Yes--until he -becomes some other woman's lover." She embraced Neva, and departed -hastily, ashamed of her unwonted show of emotion, but not regretting it. - - - - - *IX* - - *MASTER AND MAN* - - -When Waller, the small, dark, discreet factotum to Fosdick, came to -Armstrong's office to ask him to go to Mr. Fosdick "as soon as you -conveniently can," Armstrong knew something unusual was astir. - -Fosdick rarely interfered in the insurance department of the O.A.D. -Like all his fellow financiers bearing the courtesy title of "captains -of industry," he addressed himself entirely to so manipulating the sums -gathered in by his subordinates that he could retain as much of them and -their usufruct as his prudence, compromising with his greediness, -permitted. In the insurance department he as a rule merely noted -totals--results. If he had suggestion or criticism to make, he went to -Armstrong. That fitted in with the fiction that he was no more in the -O.A.D. than an influential director, that the Atlantic and Southwestern -Trunk Line was his chief occupation. - -Armstrong descended to the third floor--occupied by the A.S.W.T.L. which -was supposed to have no connection with the purely philanthropic O.A.D., -"sustainer of old age and defender of the widow and the orphan." He -went directly through the suite of offices there to Fosdick's own den. -Fosdick had four rooms. The outermost was for the reception of all -visitors and the final disposition of such of them as the underlings -there could attend to. Next came the office of the mysterious, gravely -smiling Waller, with his large white teeth and pretty mustache and the -folding picture frame containing photographs of wife and son and two -daughters on his desk before him--what an air of the home hovering over -and sanctifying the office diffused from that little panorama! Many -callers supposed that Waller's office was Fosdick's, that Fosdick almost -never came down there, that Waller was for all practical purposes -Fosdick. The third room was for those who, having convinced the outer -understrappers that they ought to be admitted as far as Waller, -succeeded in convincing Waller that they must be personally inspected -and heard by the great man himself. In this third room, there was no -article of furniture but a carpet. Waller would usher his visitor in -and leave him standing--standing, unless he chose to sit upon the floor; -for there was no chair to sit upon, no desk or projection from the wall -to lean against. Soon Fosdick would abruptly and hurriedly enter--the -man of pressing affairs, pausing on his way from one supremely important -matter to another. Fosdick calculated that this seatless private -reception room saved him as much time as the two outer visitor-sifters -together; for not a few of the men who had real business to bring before -him were garrulous; and to be received standing, to be talked with -standing, was a most effective encouragement to pointedness and brevity. - -The fourth and innermost room was Fosdick's real office--luxurious, -magnificent even; the rugs and the desk and chairs had cost the policy -holders of the O.A.D. nearly a hundred thousand dollars; the pictures, -the marble bust of Fosdick himself, the statuary, the bookcases and -other furnishings had cost the shareholders of the A.S.W.T.L. almost as -much more. - -Armstrong found Fosdick talking with Morris, Joe Morris, who was one of -his minor personal counsel, and was paid in part by a fixed annual -retainer from the A.S.W.T.L., in part from the elastic and generously -large legal fund of the O.A.D. As Armstrong entered, Fosdick said: -"Well, Joe, that's all. You understand?" - -"Perfectly," said Morris. And he bowed distantly to Armstrong, bowed -obsequiously to his employer and departed. - -"What's the matter between you and Joe Morris?" asked Fosdick, whose -quick eyes had noted the not at all obvious constraint. - -"We know each other only slightly," replied Armstrong. Then he added, -"Mrs. Morris is a cousin of my former wife." - -"Oh--beg pardon for intruding," said Fosdick carelessly. "Sit down, -Horace," and he leaned back in his chair and gazed reflectively out into -vacancy. - -Armstrong seated himself and waited with the imperturbable, noncommittal -expression which had become habitual with him ever since his discovery -that he was Fosdick's prisoner, celled, sentenced, waiting to be led to -the block at Fosdick's good pleasure. - -At last Fosdick broke the silence. "You were right about that -committee." - -Apparently this did not interest Armstrong. - -"That was a shrewd suspicion of yours," Fosdick went on. "And I ought -to have heeded it. How did you happen to hit on it?" - -Armstrong shrugged his shoulders. - -"Just a guess, eh? I thought maybe you knew who was back of these -fellows." - -"Who is back of them?" asked Armstrong--a mere colorless, uninterested -inquiry. - -"Our friends of the Universal Life," replied Fosdick, assuming that -Armstrong's question was an admission that he did not know. "They've -plotted with some of the old Galloway crowd in our directory to throw me -out and get control." Fosdick marched round and round the room, puffing -furiously at his cigar. "They think they've bought the governor away -from me," he presently resumed. "They think--and he thinks--he'll order -the attorney-general to entertain the complaints of that damned -committee." Here Fosdick paused and laughed--a harsh noise, a gleaming -of discolored, jagged teeth through heavy fringe of mustache. "I've -sent Morris up to Albany to see him. When he finds out I've got a -certain canceled check with his name on the back of it, I guess--I -_rather_ guess--he'll get down on that big belly of his and come -crawling back to me. I've sent Morris up there to show him the knout." - -"Isn't that rather--raw?" said Armstrong, still stolid. - -"Of course it's raw. But that's the way to deal with fellows like -him--with most fellows, nowadays." And Fosdick resumed his march. -Armstrong sat--stolid, waiting, matching the fingers of his big, ruddy -hands. - -"Well, what do you think?" demanded his master, pausing, a note of -irritated command in his voice. - -Armstrong shrugged his shoulders. A disinterested observer might have -begun to suspect that he was leading Fosdick on; but Fosdick, bent upon -the game, had no such suspicion. - -"I want your opinion. That's why I sent for you," he cried impatiently. - -"You've got your mind made up," said Armstrong. "I've nothing to say." - -"Don't you think my move settles it?" - -"No doubt, the governor'll squelch the investigation." - -"_Certainly_ he will! And that means the end of those fellows' attempt -to make trouble for us through our own policy holders." - -"Why?" said Armstrong. - -"Don't you think so?" Fosdick dropped into his chair. "I'm not quite -satisfied," he said. "Give me your views." - -"This committee has made a lot of public charges against the management -of the O.A.D. It may be that when you try to smother the investigation, -the demand will simply break out worse than ever." - -"Pooh!" scoffed Fosdick. "That isn't worth talking about. I was -thinking only of what other moves that gang could make. The public -amounts to nothing. The rank and file of our policy holders is content. -What have these fellows charged? Why, that we've spent all kinds of -money in all kinds of ways to build up the company. Now, what does the -average investor say--not in public but to himself--when the management -of his company is attacked along that line? Why, he says to himself, -'Better let well enough alone. Maybe those fellows don't give me all my -share; but they do give me a good return for my money, as much as most -shareholders in most companies get.' No, my dear Horace, even a rotten -management needn't be afraid of its public so long as it gives the -returns its public expects. Trouble comes only when the public _gets -less than it expected_." - -Armstrong did not withhold from this shrewdness the tribute of an -admiring look. "Still," he persisted, "the public seems bent on an -investigation." - -"Mere clamor, and no backing from the press except those newspapers that -it ain't worth while to stop with a chunk of advertising. All the -reputable press is with us, is denouncing those blackmailers for -throwing mud at men of spotless reputation." Fosdick swelled his chest. -"The press, the public, know _us_, believe in _us_. Our directory reads -like a roll call of the best citizens in the land. And the poor results -from that last big tear-up are still fresh in everybody's mind. Nobody -wants another." - -A pause, then Armstrong: "Still, it might be better to have an -investigation." - -"What!" exclaimed Fosdick. - -"You say we've nothing to conceal. Why not show the public so?" - -"Of course we haven't got anything to conceal," cried Fosdick defiantly. -"At least, _I_ haven't." - -"Why not have an investigation, then?" - -That reiterated word "investigation" acted on the old financier like the -touch of a red-hot iron. "Because I don't want it!" he shouted. "Damn -it, man, ain't I above suspicion? Haven't I spent my life in serving -the public? Shall I degrade myself by noticing these lying, slandering -scoundrels? Shall I let 'em open up my private business to the mob that -would misunderstand? Shall I let them roll _me_ in the gutter? -No--sir--ree!" - -"Then, you are against a policy of aggression? You intend simply to sit -back and content yourself with ignoring attacks." - -Fosdick subsided, scowling. - -"Suppose you allowed an investigation----" - -"I don't want to hear that word again!" said Fosdick between his teeth. - -Armstrong slowly rose. "Any further business?" he asked curtly. - -"Sit down, Horace. Don't get touchy. Damn it, I want your advice." - -"I haven't any to offer." - -"What'd you do if you were in my place?" - -This was as weak as it sounded. In human societies concentrations of -power are always accidental, in the sense that they do not result from -deliberation; thus, the men who happen to be in a position to seize and -wield the power are often ill-equipped to use it intelligently. Fosdick -had but one of the two qualities necessary to greatness--he could -attack. But he could not defend. So long as his career was dependent -for success upon aggression, he went steadily ahead. It is not so -difficult as some would have us believe to seize the belongings of -people who do not know their own rights and possessions, and live in the -habitual careless, unthinking human fashion. But now that his -accumulations were for the first time attracting the attention of -robbers as rich and as unscrupulous as himself, he was in a parlous -state. And, without admitting it to himself, he was prey to uneasiness -verging on terror. Our modern great thieves are true to the -characteristics of the thief class--they have courage only when all the -odds are in their favor; let them but doubt their absolute security, and -they lose their insolent courage and fall to quaking and to seeing -visions of poverty and prison. - -"What would you do?" Fosdick repeated. - -"What do your lawyers say?" - -Fosdick sneered. "What do they always say? They echo _me_. I have to -tell them what to do--and, by God, I often have to show 'em how to do -it." The fact was that Fosdick, like almost all the admired "captains -of industry," was a mere helpless appetite with only the courage of an -insane and wholly unscrupulous hunger; but for the lawyers, he would not -have been able to gratify it. In modern industrialism the lawyer is the -honeybird that leads the strong but stupid bear to the forest hive--and -the honeybird gets as a reward only what the bear permits. "Give me -your best judgment, Horace," pursued Fosdick. - -"In your place, I'd fight," said Armstrong. - -"How?" - -"I'd order the governor to appoint an investigating committee, made up -of _reliable_ men. I'd appoint one of my lawyers as attorney to -it--some chap who wasn't supposed to be my lawyer. I'd let it -investigate me, make it give me a _reasonably, plausibly_ clean bill of -health. Then, I'd set it on the other fellows, have it tear 'em to -pieces, make 'em too busy with home repairs to have time to stick their -noses over my back fence." - -Fosdick listened, appreciated, and hated Armstrong for having thought of -that which was so obvious once it was stated and yet had never occurred -to him. - -"Of course," said Armstrong carelessly, "there are risks in that course. -But I don't believe you can stop an investigation altogether. It's -choice among evils." - -"Well, we'll see," said Fosdick. "There's no occasion for hurry. This -situation isn't as bad as you seem to think." - -It had always been part of his basic policy to minimize the value of his -lieutenants--it kept them modest; it moderated their demands for bigger -pay and larger participation in profits; it enabled him to feel that he -was "the whole show" and to preen himself upon his liberality in giving -so much to men actually worth so little. He was finding it difficult to -apply this policy to Armstrong. For, the Westerner was of the sort of -man who not only makes it a point to be more necessary to those he deals -with than they are to him, but also makes it a point to force them to -see and to admit it. Armstrong's quiet insistence upon his own value -only roused Fosdick to greater efforts to convince him, and himself, -that Armstrong was a mere cog in the machine. He sent him away with a -touch of superciliousness. But--no sooner was he alone than he rang up -Morris. - -"Come over at once," he ordered. "I've changed my mind. I've got -another message for you to take up there with you." - -It would have exasperated him to see Armstrong as he returned to his own -offices. The Westerner had lost all in a moment that air of stolidity -under which he had been for several months masking his anxiety. He -moved along whistling softly; he joked with the elevator boy; he shut -himself in his private office, lit a cigar and lay back in his chair and -stared at the ceiling, his expression that of a man whose thoughts are -delightful company. - - - - - *X* - - *AMY SWEET AND AMY SOUR* - - -Now that Fosdick saw how he could clear himself, and more, of those he -had been variously describing as pryers, peepers, ingrates, traitors and -blackmailers, he was chagrined that he had been so near to panic. He -couldn't understand it, so he assured himself; with nothing to conceal, -with hands absolutely clean, with not an act on the record that was not -legitimate, such as the most respectable men in the most respectable -circles not only approved but did--with these the conditions, how had he -been so upset? - -"I suppose," he reflected, "as a man gets older, he becomes foolishly -sensitive about his reputation. Then, too, the world is eager to twist -evil into everything--and I have so many in my own class who are jealous -of me, of my standing." - -The silliest thing he had done, he decided, was that talk with the -Siersdorfs. Why, if they were at all evil-minded, they might suspect he -was using those construction accounts for swindling purposes, instead of -making a perfectly legitimate convenience of them to adjust the -bookkeeping to the impossible requirements of law and public opinion. -"It's an outrage," he thought, "that we can't have the laws fixed so it -would be possible to carry on business without having to do things -liable to misconstruction, if made generally public. But we can't. As -it is, look at the swindlers who have taken advantage of the laws we -absolutely had to have the legislature make." Yes, it was a blunder to -take the Siersdorfs into his confidence--though the young man did show -that he had brains enough to understand the elements of large affairs. -Still, he might some time make improper use of the knowledge--unless---- - -Fosdick decided that thereafter the vouchers should pass through -Siersdorf's hands, should have Siersdorfs O.K. "Then, if any question -arises, it will be to his interest to treat confidential matters -confidentially. Or, if he should turn against me, he'd be unable to -throw mud without miring himself." - -And now Fosdick saw why he had instantly jumped for the Siersdorfs. -They alone were not personally involved in any of the "private business" -of the O.A.D. All the directors, all the officials, all the important -agents, were involved, and therefore would not dare turn traitor if they -should be vile enough to contemplate it. But the Siersdorfs were -independent, yet perilously in possession of the means to make trouble. - -"I must fix them," said Fosdick. "I must clinch them." - -Thus it came about that within a week Alois was helping the directors of -the O.A.D. to keep their accounts "adjusted"--was signing vouchers for -many times the amounts that were being actually expended upon the -building. He hesitated before writing the firm name upon the first of -these documents. On the face of it, the act did look--peculiar. True, -it was a simple matter of bookkeeping; still, he'd rather not be -involved. There seemed no way out of it, however. To refuse was to -insult Fosdick--and that when Fosdick was showing his confidence in and -affection for him. Also, it meant putting in jeopardy three big orders -in hand--the two office buildings and Overlook. - -"It'd break Narcisse's heart to have to give up doing Overlook," he said -to himself. Yes, he would sign the vouchers; now that he felt he was -acting, at least in large part, for his dear sister's sake, he had no -qualms. Having passed the line, he looked back with amusement. He -debating as a moral question a matter of business routine! A matter -approved by such a character, such a figure as Josiah Fosdick! - -Some of these "technically inaccurate" vouchers were before him when -Narcisse happened into his office. Though there was "nothing wrong with -them--nothing whatever," and though she would not have known it if there -had been, he instinctively slipped the blotting pad over them. - -"What are you hiding there?" she teased innocently. "A love letter?" - -He frowned. "You've got that on the brain," he retorted, with a -constrained smile. "What do you want--now?" - -"Amy's here. Have you time to go over the plans?" - -"Yes--right away," said he, with quick complete change of manner. - -She winced. So sensitive had she become on the subject of her brother -and her friend that she was hurt by the most casual suggestion from -either of interest in the other. Regarding her brother as irresistible, -she assumed that, should he ask Amy, he would be snapped in, like fly by -frog. "Yet," said she to herself, "they're utterly unsuited. He'd -realize it as soon as he was married to her. Why can't a man ever see -through a woman until he's had an affair with her and gotten over her?" - -"Shall we look at the plans here or in your room?" he asked. - -"I'll send her here.... It won't be necessary for me to come, will it?" - -"No. We'll hardly get round to your part to-day," said Alois. And Amy -went in alone, and spent the entire afternoon with Alois. And most -attractive he made himself to Amy. In his profession, he had many -elements of strength; he hated shams, had a natural sense of the -beautiful, unspoiled by the conventionalities that reduce most -architects to slavish copyists. He did not think things fine simply -because they were old; neither did he think them ugly or stale for that -reason. He knew how to judge on merit alone; and he had educated Amy -Fosdick to the point where she at least appreciated his views and ideas. -When a man gets a woman trained to that point, he thinks her a marvel of -independent intellect, with germs of genius--if she is at all attractive -to him physically. He forgot that, until Amy had "taken up" the -Siersdorfs, she had been as enthusiastic about the barren and -conventional Whitbridge as she now was about them. Appreciation is one -of the most deceptive qualities in the world, where it is genuine. -Through it we are all constantly disguising from ourselves and from -others our own mental poverty. - -Usually appreciation is little more than a liking for the person whose -ideas we think we understand and share. In Amy's case, there was a good -deal of real understanding. She had much natural good taste, enough to -learn to share in the amusement of Narcisse and Alois at the silly -imitations of old-world palaces her acquaintances were hastening to -house themselves in--palaces built for a forever departed era of the -human race, for a past people of a past and gone social order; she also -saw, when Alois pointed it out to her, the silliness of the mania for -antiques which in our day is doing so much to suffocate originality and -even good taste. She learned to loathe the musty, fusty rags and -worm-eaten woods the crafty European dealers manufacture, "plant," and -work off on those Americans who are bent upon the same snobbishness in -art education that they are determined to have in the other forms of -education. Encouraged by Narcisse and Alois, she came boldly out -against that which she had long in secret doubted and disliked. She was -more than willing that they should build her a house suitable as a -habitation for a human being in the twentieth century--a house that was -ventilated and convenient and scientific. And she was giving Alois a -free hand in planning surroundings of spontaneous beauty rather than of -the kind that pleased the narrower and more precise fancy of a narrower -age, to which the idea of freedom of any sort was unknown. - -[Illustration: "She was giving Alois a free hand in planning -surroundings."] - -"Gracious! It's after half past four!" she exclaimed, as if she had -just become conscious of the fact, when in truth she had been -impatiently watching the clock by way of a mirror for nearly an hour. - -"So it is!" said Alois, immensely flattered by her unconsciousness of -time. - -"I want to take these plans with me--to show them to some one." - -Alois felt that the "some one" was a man, and a very particular -friend--else, she would have spoken the name. "Very well," he said, -faintly sullen. - -"Don't be disturbed," was her absent reply. "I'll take good care of -them." She saw the change in him; but, not thinking of him as a man, -but as an intelligence only, she did not grasp the cause. "Thank you so -much," she went on, "for being so patient with me. How splendid it must -be to have always with one a mind like yours--or Narcisse's. Well, -until to-morrow, or next day." And, looking as charming as only a -pretty woman with a fortune can look to a man who wants both her and her -fortune, she left him desolate. - -The "some one" was indeed a man. But he--Armstrong--did not arrive -until half an hour after the appointed time. She came into the small -salon into which he had been shown, her gloves, hat and wraps on and the -big roll of plans under her arm; and no one would have suspected that -she had been waiting for him since ten minutes before five and had spent -most of the time in primping. "I'm all blown to pieces," she -apologized, as she entered. "Have I kept you waiting? I really -couldn't help it." - -"I just got here," said Armstrong. "I, too, was late--business, as -always." Which was true enough; but the whole truth would have been -that he forgot the appointment until its very hour. "I'll not keep you -long," he continued. "I've got to dress for an early dinner." - -She was so disappointed that she did not dare speak, lest she should -show her ill humor--and she knew Armstrong detested a bad disposition in -a woman. She rang for tea; when the servants had brought it and were -gone, she began fussing with her coat. He, preoccupied, did not see her -hinted signals until she said, "Please, do help me." - -As he drew off the coat there floated to him a delightful perfume, a -mingling of feminine and flowers, of freshness and delicacy, a -stimulating suggestion of the sensuous refinements which a woman with -taste and the means can employ as powerful allies in her siege of man. -She looked up at him--her eyes were, save her teeth, her best feature. -She just brushed his arm in one of those seemingly unconscious, -affectionate-friendly gestures which are intended to be encouraging -without being "unwomanly." "How is my friend to-day?" she inquired. - -"So-so," replied he, taking her advances at their face value. - -"You never come here unless I send for you, and you always have some -excuse for going soon." - -He smiled good-natured raillery. "How sure of yourself you feel!" - -"Why do you say that?" - -"Your remark. You are always making that kind of remarks. They're -never made except by women who feel sure." - -"But I don't," protested she. "On the contrary, I'm very humble--where -you're concerned." She gave him a long look. "And you know that's -true." - -He laughed at her with his eyes. "No. I shan't do it. You'll have -only your trouble for your pains." - -She colored. "What _do_ you mean?" - -"That I won't propose to you. You've been trying to inveigle me into it -for nearly a year now. But you'll have to do without my scalp." - -The big Westerner's jesting manner carried his remark, despite its -almost insolent frankness. Besides, what with Amy's content with -herself and partiality for him, it would have been difficult for him to -offend her. Never before had she been able to lure him so near to the -one subject she wished to discuss with him. "What conceit," cried she, -all smiles. "You fancy I've been flirting with you. I might have -known! Men always misunderstand a woman's friendship. I suppose you -imagine I'm in love with you." - -"Not in the least. No more than I with you." - -She looked crestfallen at this. Whether a woman has much or little to -give a man, whether she wants his love or not, she always wishes to feel -that it is there waiting for her. "Why do you imagine I wish you to ask -me to marry you?" she asked, swiftly recovering and not believing him. - -He did not answer that. Instead he said: "You came very near to getting -your way about a year ago. I had about made up my mind to marry you." - -"To marry me," she echoed ironically. - -"To marry you," he repeated in his attractive, downright fashion. - -"Well--why didn't you?" - -"I decided I didn't need you," said he, most matter-of-fact. "I saw I'd -be repeating the blunder I made when I married before. When I got out -of college, I was so discouraged by the prospect, I felt so weak without -money or influence, that I let myself drift into a great folly--for it -is a folly to imagine that money or influence are of any value in making -a career. They're the results of a career, not its cause. Once more, -when I faced the big battle here in New York, I was fooled for a while -in spite of myself by the same old delusion. I saw that the successful -men all had great wealth, and I made the same old shallow mistake of -supposing their wealth gave them their success. But I got back to the -sensible point of view very quickly." - -"And so--I--escaped." - -"Escaped is the word for it." - -"You are flattering--to-day." - -"That sarcasm because I did not so much as speak of your charms, I -suppose?" - -"You might have said I was personally a little of a temptation." - -"Why go into that?" rejoined he, with an intonation that gave her a -chance to be flattered, if she chose. "Of course, if I had decided I -needed you in my career, I'd have flung myself over ears into love. As -it was, don't you think my keeping away from you complimentary?" - -This was the nearest he had ever come to an admission that she was -attractive to him; she straightway exaggerated it into a declaration of -love. Very few women make or even understand a man's clear distinction -between physical attraction and love; Amy thought them one and the same. - -"You are so hard!" said she. "I wonder at myself for liking you." As -she spoke, she rapidly thought it out with the aid of her vanity; men -and women, in their relations with each other, always end by taking -counsel of vanity. He wanted her; he had taken this subtle means to get -within her defenses and, without running the risk of a refusal, find out -whether he could get her, whether a woman of her wealth and position -would condescend to him. It was with her sweetest, candidest smile that -she went on, "Now it is all settled. You don't want to marry me; you -aren't in love with me. I need not be afraid of any designs, mercenary -or otherwise. At last, we can be real friends." - -He reflected, then said with a judicial, impersonal air, "No matter how -well a man plays the game of man and man, he usually plays the game of -man and woman badly. Why? Because he thinks the conditions are -different. He is deceived by woman's air of guilelessness into -imagining he has the game all his own way." - -"What has that got to do with what I said to you?" asked she, her color -a confession that the question was unnecessary. - -He again laughed at her with his eyes. "Why did you think it had?" - -She pouted. "You are in a horrible mood to-day." - -He rose. "Thanks for the hint." - -She began to unroll the plans. - -"Now, _there's_ the man for you," said he, with a gesture toward her -bundle of blue prints. - -"Who?" - -"Siersdorf." - -"If I had to choose, I'd prefer--even you." - -"Siersdorf is adaptable and appreciative. He's good to look at, has a -good all-round mind, is extraordinary in his specialty. You couldn't do -better." - -"I don't want him," she cried impatiently. "I prefer to suit myself in -marrying." She stood before him, her hands behind her, the pretty face -tilted daringly upward. "Are you trying to make me dislike you?" - -He looked down at her; there was not a hint in his expression that her -dare was a temptation. "I must be going," said he. - -Tears gathered in her eyes, made them brilliant, took away much of their -natural hardness. "Won't you be friends?" she appealed. - -He continued to look straight into her eyes until her expression told -him she knew he was not deceived by her maneuverings and strategies. -Then he said, "No," with terse directness of manner as well as of -speech. "No, because you do not want friends. You want victims." - -In sudden anger she flung off her mask. "I am a good hater," she -warned. "You don't want me to turn against you, do you?" - -His face became sad and somewhat bitter. There had been a time when -such a menace from a source so near his career would have alarmed him, -would have set him to debating conciliation. But his self-confidence -had developed beyond that stage, had reached the point where a man feels -that, if any force from without can injure him, the sooner he finds it -out, the more quickly he will be able to make a career founded upon the -only unshakable ground, his own single strength. - -"I've taken a great deal off you," she went on in a menacing tone, a -tone intended to remind him that he was an employee. "You ought to be -more careful. I'm not all sweetness. I can be hard and unforgiving when -I cease to like." - -He laughed unpleasantly as vanity thus easily divested itself of its -mask of love. "And to cross you is all that's necessary to rouse your -dislike." - -"That's all," said she. And now she looked like her father in his rare -exhibitions of his true self. She had never deceived Armstrong -altogether. But he was too masculine not to have lingerings of the -universal male delusion that feminine always and necessarily means at -least something of sweetness and tenderness. - -"Shall we be friends?" she demanded sharply, imperiously. At bottom, -she could not believe anyone would stand against the power that gave her -a scepter--the power of wealth. "Friends, or--not?" - -"As you please," replied he, bowing coldly. And he went, his last look -altogether calm, not without a tinge of contempt. He realized that he -had come there to put an end to his flirtation with her, to assert his -own independence, to free himself from the entanglement which his -temporary weakness of the first days in overwhelming New York had led -him into. The swimmer, used only to pond or narrow river, is unnerved -for a moment when he finds himself in the sea; but if he knows his art, -he is soon reassured, because he discovers that no more skill is needed -for sea than for pond, only a little more self-confidence. - -He was not clear of the house when she was saying to herself, "Hugo is -right about him. Father must take him in hand. He shall be taught his -place." - - - - - *XI* - - *AT MRS. TRAFFORD'S* - - -Armstrong felt that he had regained his liberty. - -The principal feature of every adequate defense is vigorous attack; and, -so long as Amy was pretending to be and was thinking herself his friend, -was in fact as much his friend as it was possible for one to be who had -been bred to self-worship, Armstrong could take only lame, passive -measures against Fosdick. But now-- In the oncoming struggle in which -he would get no quarter, he need give none. Several times, as he was -dressing for dinner, a cynical smile played over his features. What a -queer game life was! In other circumstances, that might easily have -come about, he and Amy would have plunged into a romantic love affair; -they would have been standing by each other against all the world, the -stronger in their love and devotion for the opposition. A few words, and -off flies her mask of sweetness, so deceptive that it almost deceived -herself, and away goes her pretense of friendship; the friends become -enemies, liking becomes hate. No real change in either of them; each -just as likable as before; yet, what a difference! It amused him. It -saddened him. "Probably at this very moment she's edging her father on -to destroy me," he thought. But that disturbed him not at all. He had -no fear of enemies; he knew that they fling themselves against the gates -in vain, unless there are traitors within. - -This break with Amy was most opportune. He was dining at the Traffords -that evening; he could tell Trafford he would accept without any -reservations the long-standing invitation to enter the Atwater-Trafford -plot to seize the O.A.D. - -Trafford was one of the rising stars in finance. He originated in a -village in southern New Jersey where he was first a school teacher, then -a lawyer. He spent many years in studying the problem of -success--success, of course, meaning the getting of a vast fortune. He -discovered that there were two ways to enormous wealth--by seizing an -accumulation amassed by some one else; by devising a trap that would -deceive or compel a multitude of people to contribute each his mite of a -few dimes or dollars. The first way was the quicker, of course; but -Trafford saw that the number of multi-millionaires incapable of -defending at least the bulk of their wealth was extremely limited, and -that, of them, few indeed kept their wealth together so that one swoop -could scoop it all. His mind turned to the other way. After carefully -examining the various forms of trap, he was delighted to discover that -the one that was easiest to use was also the best. Insurance! To get -several hundred thousand people to make you absolute trustee of their -savings, asking no real accounting; and all you had to do was to keep a -certain part of the money safely invested so that, when anybody died, -you could pay his heirs about what he had paid you, with simple -interest, or less, added. Trafford studied the life insurance tables, -and he was amazed that nobody had ever taken the trouble to expose the -business. He stood astounded before the revelation that the companies -must be earning, on "risks" alone, from ten to thirty per cent, this in -addition to what clever fellows on the inside must be doing in the way -of speculation; that policy holders got back in so-called dividends less -than five, usually less than four, often less than three per cent! - -Trafford's fingers twitched. Rich? Why, he would be worth millions! - -He made choice among the different kinds of insurance. The object was -to get a company that would draw in the greatest number of -"beneficiaries" and would have to pay the smallest proportion of -"benefits." The greatest number were obviously the very poor; and, by -happy coincidence, the very poor could also be exploited more easily and -more thoroughly and with less outcry than any other class. So, Trafford -made burial insurance his "graft." He would play upon the horror the -poor have of Potter's Field. - -He began in a small way in Trenton; he presently had several thousand -policy holders, each paying ten cents a week to his agent-collectors. -As soon as a policy of this kind has run for several months, it is to -the advantage of both agent and company for it to lapse. Thus, -Trafford's policies, obscurely worded, unintelligible to any but a -lawyer, read that the weekly payments must be made at the office of the -company; that an omission promptly to pay a single month's dues made the -policy lapse; that a lapsed policy had no surrender value. He was too -greedy at first, and Trenton was too small a place. When it became "too -hot to hold him," he went to New York--New York with its vast, ignorant, -careless tenement population, with its corrupt government, with its -superb opportunities for floating and expanding a respectable grafting -scheme. - -If he had stayed in Trenton, he would probably have gone to the -penitentiary. But in New York he became ever richer, ever more -respectable; he attracted about him a group of eminently respectable -sustainers of church and society, always eager to get their noses into a -large, new trough of swill. The Home and Hearth Mutual Defense Company -soon dwelt in a palace, built at a cost of many millions, every penny of -it picked from the pockets of ragged trousers and skirts; Trafford -himself dwelt in another and even more costly palace farther uptown, -built with the same kind of money. He was a vestryman in the -fashionable Church of the Holy Family, a subscriber to all the -fashionable charities, an authority on the fashionable theories as to -the tenement house question and other sociological problems relating to -the slums. And he thought as well of himself as did his neighbors. Was -it _his_ business if the company's collectors forgot to be accommodating -and to relieve the poor of the necessity of making their payments at the -offices? Was it _his_ business if policies lapsed by the thousands, by -the tens of thousands, through the carelessness or ignorance of the -policy holders? Look at the hundreds of thousands whose funeral -expenses were provided by the Home and Hearth! Look at the charities he -subscribed to; listen to the speeches in behalf of charity and -philanthropy he made! Did he not give the policy holders all that was -legally theirs?--at least, all that was _rightfully_ theirs under the -accepted business code; certainly, more than the law would have allowed -them, if laws could be made so that the good could carry on "practical" -business and yet the wicked not get undue license. Trafford had never -been a moral theorist. He had accepted the code known as legal -morals--"the world's working compromise with utopianism," he sonorously -called it. As he expanded financially, he expanded morally; by the time -he became a high financier, he was ready for the broader code known as -financial morals--wherein allowances are made for all those moral -difficulties which the legal code, being of necessity of wider -application, cannot take into account. - -A fine man was Trafford, with a face that the women and the clergy -called "sweet" and "spiritual," with a full gray beard, young eyes, -bright blue and smiling, iron-gray hair that waved a little, and the -dress of the substantial citizen. - -His home life was beautiful. - -He had made his first and false start with a school teacher--she had had -the first grade in the school where he taught the sixth grade. She was -of about his own age, and indolent, and had never heard that a married -woman ought to keep herself up to the mark; she was, therefore, old at -thirty-two, and he still a mere boy in looks and in feeling. She said -rather severe things when he so narrowly escaped disgrace during his -apprenticeship at Trenton; they quarreled, they separated. - -In the boarding house where he first stopped in New York there was a -serious, shrewd, pretty girl, the daughter of the landlady and the niece -of one of the high dignitaries of the church. Trafford induced his wife -to divorce him--before she discovered how swiftly and luxuriantly he was -putting forth bough and leaf in congenial New York. He married the -niece of the church dignitary in the parlor of the boarding house; a -"most elegant function" it was pronounced by the boarders--and, as they -read all the "fashionable intelligence" and claimed kinship with various -fashionable people, they ought to have known. The wedding was like the -bright dawn of a bright day--a somewhat cool, even frosty day, but -brilliant. Neither Trafford nor the second Mrs. Trafford had much -affection in them. Who knows, perhaps the marriage was the more -cloudless for that. Instead of exploiting each other, as loving couples -too often do, they exploited their fellow beings, he downtown, she up. -As he grew, she grew. As he became rich, she became fashionable; ten -years after that wedding, hardy indeed would have been the person who -would have dared remind her that she had once lived in a boarding house. - -Conventionally, it is man's chief business to get rich, woman's chief -business to keep young looking; the Traffords were nothing if not -conventional. Mrs. Trafford appreciated that she lived in a land where -beauty in a woman counts more than seventy-five points in the hundred, -that she lived in a city where it counts at least ninety points in the -hundred. She had no use for her charms beyond mere show--show, the sole -purpose of all she did and thought and was. She took herself in hand, -after the true New York fashion, at Time's first sign of malice. She -had herself cared for from top to toe, and that intelligently--no -credulous prey to fake beautifiers was Lily Trafford. When Trafford was -fifty-two, though he did not look so much by half a dozen years, his -wife was thirty-eight, and looked less than thirty. - -Nor had she neglected her other duties as woman and wife. Her husband -was rich; she had learned how to spend money. The theory among those -who have no money "to speak of," and never had, is that everyone is born -with the knowledge how to spend money. In fact, there are thousands who -know how to make money where there are ten who know how to spend it. The -whole mercantile class fattens on the ignorance of this neglected -science--fattens by selling at high prices to those who do not know what -they want or how much they should pay. Mrs. Trafford knew exactly what -she wanted--she wanted to be fashionable. She had fashion as an -instinct, as a passion. She wanted the "latest thing" in mental and -material furnishings. She cared nothing for knowledge; she was -determined to have culture, because culture was fashionable. She had no -ideas of her own, and wanted none; she followed the accepted standards. -It was the fashion to go to church; she went to church. It was the -fashion to be a little skeptical; she was cautiously skeptical. It was -the fashion to live in a palace; in a palace she lived. She went to the -fashionable dressmakers and art stores and book stores. She filled her -house with things recommended by the fashionable architects. She had -the plainest personal tastes in food, but she ate three fashionable -meals a day; and, though she loved coffee with cream, took it with hot -milk in the mornings and black after lunch and dinner, because cream was -unfashionable. Yes, Mrs. Trafford knew how to spend money. The science -of spending money is getting what you want at as low a price as anybody -can get it. Mrs. Trafford got exactly what she wanted, and got it with -no more waste than is inevitable in spending large sums with people who -lie awake of nights plotting to get more than they are entitled to. - -As Armstrong looked round the salon into which he was shown, it seemed -to him he had never seen anything so magnificent or so stiff. Trafford -was housed exactly like a king--and, like a king, he had the air of -being a temporary tenant of the magnificence about him. It was the -typical great house--a crude, barbaric structure, an exhibition of -wealth with no individuality, no originality, ludicrous to the natural -eye, yet melancholy; for, from every exhibit of how little wealth buys -there protrudes the suggestion of how much it has deprived how many. In -such displays the absence of price marks is a doubtful concession to -canons of taste which in no wise apply; the price mark would at once -answer the only question that forms in the mind as the glance roams. -The Traffords, however, were as content as royalty in their -uncomfortable and unsightly surroundings; they had attained the upper -class heaven. - -"So glad you could come," said Mrs. Trafford graciously to Armstrong. -Her toilet was the extreme of the fashion, and without a glimmer of -individual taste. "This is my small daughter." And she smiled up at -the thin, pretty young woman beside her in diaphanous white over palest -yellow. "We are to be six this evening," she went on. "And Boris is -coming--you know Boris Raphael?" - -"Never heard of him," said Armstrong. - -Miss Trafford smiled broadly. Mrs. Trafford was pained, and showed -it--not at her daughter's smile, for it she did not see, but at -Armstrong's ignorance of so important a fact in the current fashionable -fund of information. Ignorance of literature, science, art, politics, -of everything of importance in the great world, would not have disturbed -Mrs. Trafford; but ignorance of any of the trivialities it was -fashionable to know--what vulgarity, what humiliation! "He is _the_ -painter of portraits," she explained. "Everyone has him. He gets -really fabulous prices." - -"An American?" inquired Armstrong. - -"I believe he was born here. But, of course, he has spent his life -abroad. We are so commercial. No artist could develop here." - -"Is there any place on earth where they don't take all they can get?" -asked Armstrong. "Does Raphael refuse 'fabulous prices'?" - -Miss Trafford laughed. Mrs. Trafford looked pained again. "Oh--but the -spirit is different over there," she replied vaguely. - -"Where the men won't marry unless the girl brings a dowry?" - -"The customs are different from ours," said Mrs. Trafford, patiently and -pleasantly. "Raphael has done me a great honor. He has asked to paint -me." - -"Naturally, he's on the lookout for all the jobs he can get," said -Armstrong, his mind really on his impending treaty with her -husband--arranging the articles, what he would give, what demand in -exchange. The instant the words were out he realized their inexcusable -rudeness. He reddened and looked awkwardly big and piteously -apologetic. - -Trafford, who had been stroking the huge deerhound on the tiger skin -before the fire, now burst in. "What's that about Raphael? Did my wife -tell you she has at last persuaded him to paint her picture?" - -A miserable silence. Miss Trafford had to turn away to restrain her -laughter. Mrs. Trafford became white, then scarlet, then white again. - -"The airs he's putting on!" continued Trafford, unconscious. "Why, they -tell me his father was a banana peddler and----" - -"Mr. Raphael," announced the butler, holding aside one of the -ten-thousand-dollar portieres. - -"Oh--Raphael!" exclaimed Trafford, with enthusiasm. - -"So glad you could come," said Mrs. Trafford, gracious and sweet. - -"Miss Carlin," announced the butler. - -Armstrong, studying Raphael's face, which instantly attracted him, -wheeled toward the door at the sound of this name as if he had been shot -at from that direction. He might not have been noted, had he not -straightway got a far greater shock. In abandon of sheer amazement he -stared at the figure in the doorway--Neva, completely transformed in the -two years since he saw her. The revolution in her whole mode of life -and thought had produced results as striking inwardly as outwardly. - -In America, transformations usually cause, at most, only momentary -surprise; for almost everyone above the grade of day laborer, and not a -few there, changes his environment completely, not once but several -times in the lifetime, readjusting himself to his better or worse -circumstances. After an interval one sees the man or the woman he has -known as poor and obscure; success has come in that interval, and with -it all the external and internal results of success. Or, failure has -come, and with it that general sloughing away and decay which is the -inevitable consequence of profound discouragement; the American, most -adaptable of human beings, accepts defeat as facilely as victory. - -In Neva's case, however, the phenomenon was somewhat different. It is -not often that circumstance drags an obstinately retiring person into -activity, breaks the shell and compels that which was hidden to become -open, to develop, to dominate. The transformation of Neva seemed -somewhat as if a violet had become a tall-stemmed rose; it was, in fact, -no miracle of transubstantiation, but one of those perfectly natural -marvels, like the metamorphosis of grub into butterfly. Armstrong had -seen the chrysalis, all unsuspicious of its true nature; now, with no -knowledge of the stages between, he was seeing the ethereal beauty the -chrysalis had so securely concealed. It must be said, however, that -Boris, though he had seen the day-to-day change, the gradual unfolding -of wing and color and grace, was almost as startled as the big, -matter-of-fact Westerner. In the evolution of every living thing, there -comes a definite moment when the old vanishes and the new bursts forth -in full splendor--when bud ceases to be bud and is in a twinkling leaf -or bloom, when awkward boy or girl is all at once graceful youth, full -panoplied. Neva, knowing she was to see Armstrong that night, had put -forth the last crucial effort, had for the first time spread wide to the -light her new plumage of body and soul. And there stood in the doorway -of Trafford's salon the woman grown, radiant in that luminous envelope -which crowns certain kinds of beauty with the supreme charm of mystery. - -She paused an instant before Armstrong's stare, which was disconcerting -the whole company. In spite of her forewarned self-control, her eyes -sparkled and her cheeks flushed; that stare of his was the triumph of -which she had dreamed. She came on to her hostess and extended her -hand. Mrs. Trafford, who prided herself on being the "complete -hostess," equal to any emergency, for once almost lost her head; -something in Armstrong's face, in his eyes, raised in her the dread of a -scene, and she showed it. But Neva restored her--Neva, tranquil and -graceful, a "study in lengths" to delight the least observant eye now, -her faintly shimmering evening dress of pale gray leaving bare her -beautiful arms and shoulders and neck, and giving full opportunity to -the poise of her small head with its bright brown crown of thick, vital -hair; and her eyes, gleaming from the long, narrow lids, seemed at once -to offer and refuse the delights such words as youth and passion -conjure. - -"I don't wonder you can't keep from staring," said Miss Trafford in an -undertone to Armstrong, with intent to recall him to himself. - -With that, he did contrive to get himself together; Mrs. Trafford -introduced him to Neva, not without a nervous flutter in her voice. -Neva put her hand out to him. "How d'ye do, Horace?" she said, with a -faint smile, neither friendly nor cold. - -Armstrong took her hand without being able to speak. Mrs. Trafford was -about to say, "You have met before," when it occurred to her that this -might precipitate the scene. Dinner was announced; she paired her -guests--Lona with Armstrong, Neva with Trafford, she herself taking -Boris. - -"Did you see him stare at her?" she asked, on the way to the dining -room. - -Boris laughed unpleasantly. "And so should I, in the circumstance," -replied he. - -"What circumstance?" - -"Seeing such a beautiful woman so suddenly," he said, after just an -instant's hesitation. - -Mrs. Trafford looked shrewdly at him. "Is it a scandal?" she asked, at -the same time sending a beaming glance at Armstrong who was entering the -door at the other end of the room with her daughter on his arm. - -"Not at all," replied Boris. - -The dinner went placidly enough. Raphael had been almost as startled as -Armstrong when Neva appeared in the door of the salon, though he did not -show it. Expert in women's ways, he knew it was for some specific -reason that she had thus taken unprecedented pains with her toilet. Why -had she striven to outshine herself? Obviously because she wished to -punish the man who had so stupidly failed to appreciate her. A -perfectly natural desire, a perfectly natural seizing of a not to be -neglected opportunity for revenge. Still--Boris could not but wish she -had shown some such desire to dazzle him; he would have preferred that -she had been absolutely indifferent to the man of whom he often thought -with twinges of rakish jealousy. He affected high spirits, was never -more brilliant, and helped Neva to shine by giving her every -encouragement and chance to talk and talk well. - -In contrast to them, Armstrong was morosely silent; occasionally he -ventured a glance across the table at Neva, and each time into his face -came the expression that suggested he was suspecting his eyes or his -mind of playing him a wildly fantastic trick. So far as he could judge, -Neva was not at all disturbed by his presence. Raphael went upstairs -soon after the women; he refused to be bored with the business -conversation into which Trafford had drawn Armstrong. - -"Well," said Trafford, the moment Boris was out of the way, "what have -you decided to do?" - -"I'll go in with you," said Armstrong. - -Trafford rubbed his hands and his eyes sparkled--like a hungry circuit -rider at sight of the heaping platter of fried chicken. "Good! -Splendid!" he exclaimed. He glanced at butler and waiters busy clearing -the sideboard; but they took no hints that would delay their freedom, -and Trafford did not dare give an order that would put them out of humor -and the domestic machinery out of gear. "No matter," said he. "This -isn't the time to talk business. We'll arrange the details to-morrow. -Or, shall we adjourn to my study?" - -"I'll come to you in a few days when I have my plans formed," said -Armstrong. "Wait till you hear from me." He tossed his cigar into a -plate. "Let's go upstairs. I must leave soon." - -Meanwhile, Raphael, in the salon, had bent over Neva and had said in an -undertone, "You would like to leave? You can have my cab--it's waiting. -I'll take yours when it comes." - -"Thanks, no," answered Neva. "I'm not the least in a hurry." - -Her tone ruffled him. His ears had been sentinels and his eyes scouts -from the instant he knew who Armstrong was and with one expert glance -took his measure mentally and physically. He appreciated that the -female method in judging men is not at all like the male method, is -wholly beyond the comprehension of a man; still, he could not believe -that any man of the material, commercial type would attract a sincerely -artistic, delicate, spiritual woman like Neva Carlin. He could not, as -an expert in mankind, deny to Armstrong a certain charm of the force -that in repose is like the mountain and in action is like the river. -"But," reasoned he, "she knows him through and through, knows him as he -is. For her, he's a commonplace tale that is told." - -As Armstrong entered, his glance darted for Neva. It had first to meet -Raphael smiling friendlily and suggesting anything but the man on guard, -every nerve alert. Armstrong frowned frank dislike. He felt at a -disadvantage before this superelegantly dressed and delicately perfumed -personage. While he was not without experience with women, he had known -only those who had sought him; his expertness was, thus, wholly in -receiving advances and turning them to such advantage as suited his -fancy, not at all in making overtures or laying siege. He saw at once -that Boris was a master at the entire game of man and woman; he recalled -Neva's passion for things artistic, her reverence for those great in -artistic achievement; despite his prejudice against Boris, he measured -him as a man of distinction and force. It seemed to him that this -handsome master-painter, so masculine in feature and figure, so -effeminately dandified in dress and manner, this fascinating specimen of -the artistic sex that is the quintessence of both sexes, must have -hypnotized his wife. Yes, his wife! For, now that Neva's revealed -personality inspired in him wonder, awe, desire, he began to think of -her as his property. He had quit title under a misapprehension; he had -been cheated, none the less because the cheater happened to be himself. - -Boris, ignoring his unfriendliness, advanced, engaged him, drew in Lona -Trafford. Before he could contrive a move toward Neva, Boris had him -securely trapped in a far corner of the salon with Lona as his watchful -keeper, and was himself retreated in triumph to sit beside Neva. So -thoroughly had Boris executed the maneuver, Armstrong was seated at such -an angle that he could not even see Neva without rudely twisting away -from Miss Trafford. He did not appreciate that he was the victim of a -deliberate strategy. But Miss Trafford did; and when she found herself -unable to fix his attention, she took a vengeful pleasure in keeping him -trapped, enjoying his futile struggles, his ill-concealed wrath, his -unconcealed jealousy. - -That was a miserable half hour he passed; Lona talked of the painter and -Neva--"his latest flame--you know, he's very inconstant--has the most -dreadful reputation. Mamma wouldn't let him speak half a dozen words to -me, unless she was there. They do say that Miss Carlin is making a -saint of him--though, no doubt it's a disguise that'll be thrown off as -soon as-- I don't admire that sort of man, do you, Mr. Armstrong? I -like a simple, honest man--" This with a look that said she regarded -Armstrong as such--"a man that doesn't understand feminine tricks and -the ways to circumvent women." There her cynical eyes smiled amusement -at Armstrong's ruddy, lip-biting jealousy. - -"It's rather cold, so far from the fire," said Armstrong, rising. - -Lona rose also; she saw that Neva was about to go. "Just a minute," -said she. "Miss Carlin is leaving. You can take the sofa as soon as -she's out of the way." - -Armstrong wheeled, left Miss Trafford precipitately. He was barely in -time to intercept Neva, on her way to the door with Trafford. "Good -night, Horace," she said. He could only stand and stare. For the first -time she looked directly at him, her eyes full upon his. He remembered -that in the old days, when their eyes occasionally met thus, hers had -made him vaguely uncomfortable; he understood why, now. What was the -meaning of this look she was giving him--this look from long, narrow -lids, this look that searched him out, thrilled him with longing and -with fear? He could not fathom it; he only knew that never before in -his entire singly intent, ambitious life had the thought occurred to him -that there might be some other worth while game than the big green -tables of finance, some other use for human beings than as pawns in that -game. She drew her hand away from his confused, detaining grasp, and -was gone, leaving him an embarrassed, depressed, ludicrous figure, to be -later the jeer of his own sense of humor. - -Before Trafford had time to return from escorting her to her cab, -Armstrong took leave. A brief silence in the salon; then Mrs. Trafford -said to Raphael, "There is some mystery here, which I feel compelled to -ask you to explain. You introduced Miss Carlin to me." She noted her -daughter listening eagerly. "Lona, you would better go. Good night, my -child." - -Boris looked the amusement this affectation roused in him. "Don't send -her away, Mrs. Trafford. The mystery is quite respectable. Miss Carlin -used to be Mrs. Armstrong. As there were no children, she took her own -name, when it became once more the only name she was entitled to." - -"He divorced her!" exclaimed Mrs. Trafford, rearing. "And you brought -her to _my_ house!" She held it axiomatic that no woman would divorce a -well-appearing breadwinner of the highest efficiency. - -"_She_ divorced _him_," corrected Raphael. - -"I can't believe it," replied Mrs. Trafford. "If she did, he let her, -to avoid scandal." - -"Not at all," protested Boris. "They come from a state which has queer, -sentimental divorce laws, made for honest people instead of for -hypocrites. They didn't get on well; so, the law let them go their -separate ways--since God had obviously not joined them." - -"I must look into it," said Mrs. Trafford, with a frown at Raphael and a -significant side glance toward Lona. "People in our position can't -afford to----" - -"I have the honor to wish you good evening," said Boris with a formal -bow. And before she could recover herself, he was gone. - -"You _have_ made a mess, mamma!" exclaimed Lona. - -Mrs. Trafford seemed on the verge of hysterics. "Was there _ever_ a more -unfortunate evening!" she cried. Then: "But he'd not have been so -touchy, if there wasn't something wrong." - -Trafford came sauntering in and she explained the situation to him. He -flamed in alarm and anger, impatiently cut off her explanations with, -"You've got to straighten this, Lily. If Armstrong should hear of it, -and be offended, it'd cost me--I can't tell you how much!" - -Mrs. Trafford looked as miserable as she felt. "I'll send off a note -apologizing to Raphael this very night," she said. "And in the morning -I'll ask her to the opera. Why didn't you warn me?" - -"Warn!" exclaimed Trafford, bustling up and down, and plucking at his -neat little beard. "How was I to know? But I supposed you'd understand -that we never have anybody--any man--here unless he's of use. It's all -very well to be strict, Lily; but----" - -"Let's not talk about it," wailed his wife. "I'll do my best to -straighten it. I shan't sleep a wink to-night." - -Lona--"the child"--slipped away, a smile on her lips--a cynical smile -which testified that the lesson in life as it is lived in the full -stench of "respectability," had not failed to impress her. - - - - - *XII* - - *"WE NEVER WERE"* - - -For the first time in Armstrong's career, it was imperative that he -concentrate his whole mind; and, for the first time, he could not. In -the midst of conferences with Trafford, with Atwater even, his attention -would wander; forgetful of his surroundings, he would stare dazedly at a -slim, yet not thin, figure, framed in the heavy purple and gold curtains -of a doorway--the figure of his former wife, of the recreated Neva, on -the threshold of Mrs. Trafford's salon. He had the habit of judging -himself impartially, and this newly developed weakness of character, as -strange in its way as the metamorphosis of Neva, roused angry -self-contempt; but the apparition persisted, and also his inability to -keep his thoughts off it. - -Passion he understood, but not its compulsion, still less its tyranny. -Love--except love of mother and child--he regarded as a myth that -foozled only the foolish. He had sometimes thought he would like a -home, a family; but a glance at the surface of the lives of his -associates was enough to put such sentimentalities out of his head. He -saw the imbecilities of extravagance and pretense into which the wife -and daughters plunged as soon as the wealth of the head of the family -permitted, the follies into which they dragged the "old man"--how, in -his own home, just as downtown, he was not a man but a purse. No, -Armstrong had no disposition to become the drudge and dupe of a -fashionable family. So, in his life he had put woman in what he -regarded as her proper place of merest incident. He spent a great deal -of time with women--that is, a great deal for so busy a man. He liked -women better than he liked men because with them he was able to relax -and lower his guard, where with men he always had the sense of the game. -For intelligence in women he cared not at all. Beauty and a good -disposition--those were the requirements. It was not as at a woman that -he looked at this unbanishable figure--not with the longing, thought he, -or even the admiration of the masculine for the feminine--simply with -wonder, a stupid stare, an endless repetition of the query, _Who_ is it? - -His vanity of self-poise was even more hard pressed to explain why he -always saw, in sinister background to the apparition of Neva, the -handsome, dandified face of Boris, strong, sensual, triumphant. He -recalled what Lona Trafford had said of the painter. Yes, that explained -it. Neva, guileless, inexperienced in the ways of the world, was being -ensnared, all unsuspicious, by this rake. And, even though she might, -probably would, have the virtuous fiber to stand out against him, still -she would lose her reputation. Already people must be talking about her; -so far as he could learn, no woman could associate with Raphael without -it being assumed that she was not wasting his time. "The scented -scoundrel!" muttered Armstrong. "Such men should be shot like mad -dogs." This with perfect sincerity; with not a mocking suggestion that -he himself had been as active in the same way as his time and -inclination had permitted. - -"Really, somebody ought to warn her," was naturally the next step. -"What the devil do her people mean by letting her come here alone?" -Yes, somebody ought to warn her. Of course, he couldn't undertake the -office; his motive might be misunderstood. Still, it ought to be done. -But-- "Maybe, he's really in love with her--wants to marry her." This -reflection so enraged him that he was in grave danger of discovering to -himself the truth about his own state of mind. "Why not?" he hastily -retorted upon himself. "What do I care? I must be crazy, to spend any -time at all in thinking about matters that are nothing to me." - -And he ordered the subject out of his mind. He was not surprised to -discover that it had not obeyed him. Now, hatred of Boris became a sort -of obsession with him. He found in, or imagined into, his memory -picture of the painter's face, many repellant evidences of bad -character. Whenever he heard Raphael's name, or saw it in a newspaper, -he paused irritably upon it; he was soon in the habit of thinking of him -as "that damned hound." Nor did this development unsettle his -confidence in his freedom from heart interest in Neva; he was sure his -antipathy toward the painter was the natural feeling of the normal man -toward the abnormal. "Where's the man that wouldn't despise a creature -who decks himself out with jewelry and wears rolling collars because he -wants to show off his throat, and scents himself like a man-chasing -woman?" - -The longer he revolved it, the more clearly he saw the necessity that -she be warned--and the certainty that his warning would be -misunderstood. "I couldn't speak of him without showing my feelings, -and women always misinterpret that sort of thing." He looked up her -address; and, as he was walking to his hotel from the office in the late -afternoon, or was strolling about after dinner, developing his vast and -complex scheme to pile high the ruins of his enemies that he might rise -the higher upon them, he would find himself almost or quite at the -entrance to the apartment house where she lived. "I think I must be -going crazy," he said to himself one night, when he had twice within two -hours drawn himself from before her door. Then a brilliant idea came to -him: "I'll go to see her, and end this. To put a woman out of mind, all -that's necessary is to give her a thorough, impartial look-over. Also, -in ten minutes' talk with her I can judge whether it would be worth -while to warn her against that damned hound." - -And at five the very next day he sent up his card. "She'll send down -word she isn't at home," he decided. - -He was astonished when the boy asked him into the elevator; he was -confused when he faced at her door old Molly who had lived with them out -in Battle Field. "Step in, sir," she said stiffly, as if he were a -stranger, and an unwelcome one. He entered with his head lowered and a -pink spot on either cheek. "What the devil am I doing here?" he -muttered. "Yes, I'm losing my mind." - -He heard indistinctly a man's voice in the room shut off by the curtains -at the far end of the hall--evidently she had a caller. He went in that -direction. "Is this the right way?" he called, hesitating at the -curtain. - -"Yes, here," came in Neva's voice. Had he not been expecting it, he -would hardly have recognized it, so vibrant now with life. - -He entered--found her and Boris. "I might have known _he'd_ be here," -he said to himself. "No doubt he's _always_ here." - -He ignored Boris; Boris stared coldly at him. "You two have met before?" -said Neva, with a glance from one to the other, her eyes like those of a -nymph smiling from the dark, dense foliage round a forest pool. "Yes, I -remember. Let me give you some tea, Horace." - -As she spoke that name, Boris set down his cup abruptly. He debated -whether he should defy politeness and outsit the Westerner. He decided -that to do so would be doubly unwise--would rouse resentment in Neva, -who had had the chance to ask him to spare her being left alone with her -former husband and had not; would give him an appearance of regarding -the Westerner as an important, a dangerous person. With a look in his -eyes that belied the smile on his lips, he shook hands with her. "Until -Thursday," he said. "Don't forget you're to come half an hour earlier." -And Armstrong was alone with her, was entirely free to give her the -"thorough, impartial lookover." - -He saw his imagination had not tricked him at Trafford's--his -imagination and her dress. The change in her was real, was radical, -miraculous, incredible. It was, he realized, in part, in large part, a -matter of dress, of tasteful details of toilet--hair and hands and skin -not merely clean and neat but thoroughly cared for. This change, -however, was evidently permanent, was outward sign of a new order of -thought and action, and not the accident of one evening's effort as he -had been telling himself. Their eyes met and his glance hastily -departed upon a slow tour of the room; in what contrast was it to his -own apartment, which cost so much and sheltered him so cheerlessly. -"You are very comfortable here," said he. "That, and a great deal -more." - -"The Siersdorfs built this house," replied she. "They have -ideas--especially Narcisse." He thought her wonderfully, exasperatingly -self-possessed; his own blood was throbbing fiercely and her physical -charms gave him the delicious, terrifying tremors of a boy on the brink -of his first love leap. - -"What is it that women"--he went on, surprised by the steadiness of his -voice, "_some_ women--do to four walls, a floor, and ceiling, and a few -pieces of furniture to get a result like this? It isn't a question of -money. The more one spends in trying to get it, the worse off he is." - -"It seems to me," said she, "that, in arranging a place to live, the one -thing to consider is that it's not for show or for company, but to live -in--day and night, in all kinds of weather, and in all kinds of moods. -Make it to suit yourself, and then it'll fit you and be like you--and -those who care for you can't but be pleased with it." - -"It does resemble you--here," said he. "And it doesn't suggest a palace -or an antique store or a model room in a furniture display, or an -auction room.... You work hard?" - -His glance had come back to her, to linger on the graceful lines of her -throat and slim, pallid neck, revealed by the rounding out of her -tea-gown. Never before had he been drawn to note the details of a -woman's costume. He would not have believed garments could be -surcharged with all that is magnetic in feminine to masculine as was -this dress of cream white edged with narrow bands of sable. - -"It would be impossible not to work, with Raphael to spur one on," was -her reply. Her accent in pronouncing that name gave him the desire to -grind something to powder between his strong, white teeth. "The better I -know him, the more wonderful he seems," continued she, a gleam in her -eyes that would have made a Raphael suspect she was not unaware of the -emotion Armstrong was trying to conceal. "I used to think his work was -great; but now it seems a feeble expression of him--of ideas he, nor no -man, could ever materialize for a coarse sense like sight." - -"You don't like his work, then?" said Armstrong, pleased. - -Neva looked indignant. "He's the best we have--one of the best that -ever lived," exclaimed she. "I didn't mean his work by itself wasn't -great, but that it seemed inadequate, compared with the man. When one -meets most so-called great men--your great men downtown for example--one -realizes that they owe almost everything to their slyness, that they -steal the labor of the hands and brains of others who are superior to -them in every way but craft and unscrupulousness. A truly great man, a -man like Boris Raphael, dwarfs his reputation." - -Armstrong suspected a personal thrust, a contrast between him and Boris, -and was accordingly uncomfortable. "I'd like to see some of _your_ -work," said he, to shift the subject. - -"Not to-day. I don't feel in the mood." - -"You mean, you think I wouldn't care about it--that I never was -interested in that sort of thing." - -"Perhaps," she admitted. - -He laughed. "There's truth in that." He was about to say, "I'm still -just as much of a Philistine as I used to be"; but he -refrained--something in her atmosphere forbade reminiscence or hint of -any connection whatever between their present and their past. - -"You're like Boris in one respect," she went on. "Nothing interests you -but what is immediately useful to you." - -"He's over head in love with you--isn't he?" Armstrong blurted. - -Her face did not change by so much as a shade. She gave not an outward -hint that she knew he had rudely flung himself against the barrier -between them, to enter her inmost life on his own ruthless terms of -masculine intolerance of feminine equality of right. She continued to -look tranquilly at him, and, as if she had not heard his question, said, -"You don't go out home often?" - -The rebuke--the severest, the completest, a woman can give a -man--flooded his face with scarlet to the line of his hair. "Not--not -often," he stammered. "That is, not at all." - -"Father and I visit with each other every few weeks," she continued. -"And I take the home paper." She nodded toward a copy of the Battle -Field _Banner_, conspicuous on the table beside him. "Even the -advertisements interest me--'The first strawberries now on sale at -Blodgett's'--you remember Blodgett, with his pale red hair and pale red -eyes and pale red skin, and always in his shirt sleeves, with a -tooth-brush, bristle-end up, in his vest pocket? And I read that Sam -Warfield and his sister Mattie 'Sundayed' at Rabbit's Run, as if I knew -and loved the Warfields." - -This connecting of her present self with her past had the effect of -restoring him somewhat. It established the bond of fellow-townsmen -between them. "I too take the _Banner_," said he. "It's like a visit -at home. I walk the streets and shake hands with the people. I'm glad -I come from there--but I'm glad I came." - -But he could not get his ease. It seemed incredible, not, as he would -have expected, that they were such utter strangers, but that they had -ever been even acquaintances. Not the present, but the past, seemed a -trick of the imagination upon his sober senses. His feeling toward her -reminded him of how he used to regard her when he, delivering parcels -from his father's little store, came upon her, so vividly representing -to him her father's power and position in the community that he could -not see her as a person. While she continued to talk, pleasantly, -courteously, as to an acquaintance from the same town, he tried to brace -himself by recalling in intimate detail all they had been to each other; -but by no stretch of fancy could he convince himself of the truth. No, -it was not this woman who had been his wife, who had dressed and -undressed before him in the intimacy of old-fashioned married life, who -had accepted his embraces, who had borne him a child. - -When he rose to go, it was with obvious consciousness of his hands and -feet; and he more than suspected her of deliberately preventing him from -recovering himself. "She's determined I shan't fail to learn my -lesson," he thought, as he stood in the outer hall, waiting for the -elevator, and recovering from his awkward exit. - - -A week, almost to the minute, and he came again. She received him -exactly as before--like an old acquaintance. She had to do the talking; -he could only look and listen and marvel. "I certainly wasn't so -stupid," he said to himself, "that I wouldn't have noticed her if she -had had eyes like these, or such teeth, or that form, or that beautiful -hair." He would have suspected that she had been at work with the -beauty specialists who, he had heard, were doing a smashing business -among the women, had he not seen that her manners, her speech, the use -of her voice, everything about her was in keeping with her new physical -appearance; she had expanded as symmetrically as a well-placed sapling. -The change had clearly come from within. There was a new tenant who had -made over the whole house, within and without. - -What seemed to him miracle was, like all the miracles, mysterious only -because the long chain of causes and effects between beginning and end -was not visible. There probably never lived a human being to whom fate -permitted a full development of all his possibilities--there never was a -perfect season from seed-time to harvest. The world is one vast exhibit -of imperfect developments, physical, mental, moral; and to get the -standard, the perfection that might be, we have to take from a thousand -specimens their best qualities and put them together into an impossible -ideal--impossible as yet. For one fairly well-rounded human being, -satisfying to eye and mind and heart, we find ten thousand stunted, -blighted, blasted. Each of us knows that, in other, in more favorable, -in less unfavorable circumstances, he would have been far more than he -is or ever can be. But for Boris, Neva might have gone through life, -not indeed as stunted a development as she had been under the blight of -her unfortunate marriage, but far from the rounded personality, -presenting all sides to the influences that make for growth and -responding to them eagerly. Heart, and his younger brother, Mind, are -two newcomers in a universe of force. They fare better than formerly; -they will fare better hereafter; but they are still like infants exposed -in the wilderness. Some fine natures have enough of the tough fiber -successfully to make the fight; others, though they lack it, persist and -prevail by chance--for the brute pressure of force is not malign; it -crushes or spares at haphazard. Again, there are fine natures--who -knows? perhaps the finest of all, the best minds, the best hearts--that -either cannot or will not conform to the conditions. They wither and -die--not of weakness, since in this world of the survival of the -fittest, the fit are often the weak, the unfit the strong. All around -us they are withering, dying, like the good seed cast on stony -ground--the good minds, the good hearts, the men and women needing only -love and appreciation and encouragement, to shine forth in mental, -moral, and physical beauty. Of these had been Neva. - -Boris, with eyes that penetrated all kinds of human surfaces and -revealed to him the realities, had seen at first glance what she was, -what she could be, what she was longing and striving to be against the -wellnigh hopeless handicaps of shyness and inexperience and solitude. -For his own sybarite purposes, material and selfish, from mere wanton -appetite, he set his noble genius to helping her; and the creative -genius finds nothing comparable in interest to the development of the -human plant, to watching it sprout and put forth leaves, blossoms, -flowers, perfume, spread into an individuality. - -Every day there was some progress; and now and then, as in all nature, -there were days when overnight a marvelous beautiful change had -occurred. In scores on scores of daily conversations, between -suggestions or instructions as to painting, much of the time -consciously, most effectively and most often unconsciously, never with -patronage or pedantry, he encouraged and trained her to learn herself, -the world, the inner meaning of character and action--all that -distinguishes fine senses from coarse, the living from the numb, all -that most of us pass by as we pass a bank of wild flowers--with no -notion of the enchanting history each petal spreads for whoever will -read. Boris cleared away the weeds; he softened the soil; he gave the -light and the air access. And she grew. - -But Armstrong had no suspicion of this. Indeed, if he had been told -that Boris Raphael, cynic and rake, had been about such an apparently -innocent enterprise, he would have refused to believe it; for the -Raphael temperament, the temperament that is soft and savage, -sympathetic to the uttermost refinement of delicacy and appreciation, -and hard and cruel as death, was quite beyond his comprehension. -Armstrong, looking at Neva, saw only the results, not the processes; and -he could scarcely speak for marvel, as he sat, watching and listening. -"May I come again?" he asked, when he felt he must stay no longer. - -"I'm usually at home after five." - -Her tone was conventional--alarmingly so. With a pleading gesture of -both hands outstretched and a youthful flush and frank blue eyes -entreating, he burst out, "I have no friends--only people who want to -get something out of me--or whom I want to get something out of. Can't -you and I be friends?" - -She turned abruptly away to the window. It was so long before she -answered that he nerved himself for an overwhelming refusal of his -complete, even abject surrender with its apology for the past, the -stronger and sincerer that it was implied and did not dare narrow itself -to words. When she answered with a hesitating, "We might try," he felt -as happy as if she had granted all he was concealing behind that request -to be tolerated. He continued in the same tone of humility, "But your -life is very different from mine. I feared-- And you yourself-- I -can't believe we were ever--anything to each other." - -There was her opportunity; she did not let it slip. She looked straight -into his eyes. "We never were," she said, and her eyes piercing him -from their long, narrow lids and deep shadowing lashes forbade him ever -to forget it again. - -He returned her gaze as if mesmerized. Finally, "No, we never were," he -slowly repeated after her. And again, "We never were," as if he were -learning a magic password to treasures beyond those of the Forty -Thieves. - -He drew a long breath, bowed with formal constraint, and went; and as he -walked homeward he kept repeating dazedly, "We never were--never!" - - - - - *XIII* - - *OVERLOOK LODGE* - - -Overlook Lodge was Amy's first real success at amusing those -interminable hours of hers that were like a nursery full of spoiled -children on a rainy day. Every previous device, however well it had -begun, had soon been withered and killed by boredom, nemesis of idlers. -Overlook was a success that grew. It began tediously; to a person -unaccustomed to fixing the mind for longer than a few minutes, the -technical part of architecture comes hard. But before many months -Overlook had crowded out all the routine distractions; instead of its -being a mere stop-gap between them, they became an irritating -interruption to its absorbing interest. It even took the sharp edge off -her discomfiture with Armstrong; for interest is the mental cure-all. -She dreaded a return of her former state, when an empty hour would make -her walk the floor, racking her brains for something to do; she spun -this occupation out and out. Narcisse Siersdorf lost all patience; the -patience of feminine with feminine, or of masculine with masculine, is -less than infinite. "We'll never get anywhere," she protested. "You -linger over the smallest details for weeks, and you make all sorts of -absurd changes that you know can't stand, when you order them." - -Narcisse did not comprehend the situation. Who with so much to do that -the months fairly flash by, can sympathize with the piteous plight of -those who have nothing to do and all the time in the world to do it? -Alois was not so unsympathetic. When the Overlook plans were begun, he -was away; but, soon after his return, Amy fastened upon him, and -presently he had abandoned all other business of the firm to his sister, -that he might devote himself to making this work "really great." - -"Concentration's the thing," said he to Narcisse, in excusing himself to -her--and to himself. "Miss Fosdick has the true artistic spirit. She -is willing to let me give full play to my imagination, and she -interferes only to help and to stimulate. I feel I can afford to devote -an unusual amount of time and thought. When the work is done, it'll be a -monument to us." - -Narcisse gave him a queer glance, and her laugh was as queer as her -eyes. He colored and frowned--and continued to dawdle with Amy over the -plans. It was not his fault, nor hers, that the actual work finally did -begin; it was the teasing of her father and Hugo about these endless -elaborations of preparation. "When Overlook is begun" became the family -synonym for never. She and Alois suddenly started the work, and pushed -it furiously. - -The site selected had nothing to recommend it but a view that was far -and away the most extensive and varied in that beautiful part of New -Jersey--mountains, hills, plains, rivers, lakes, wildernesses, villages, -farms, two cities--a vast sweep of country, like a miniature summary of -the earth's whole surface. But Overlook Hill was in itself barren and -shapeless. Many times, rich men in search of places where they could see -and be seen had taken it under consideration; but always the natural -difficulties and the expense had discouraged them. Fosdick had bought -the site before investigating; he had been about to sell, when Amy took -Narcisse out there. The builder instantly saw, and unfolded to Amy, a -plan for making the hill as wonderful in itself as in its prospect; and -that original inspiration of hers was the basis of all that was done. - -When Amy and Alois did set to work, they at once put into motion -thousands of arms and wheels. The day came when the whole hill swarmed -with men and carts, with engines and hoisting machines and steam diggers -and blasting apparatus; and the quiet valley resounded with the uproar -of the labor. Amy took rooms at the little hotel in the village, had -them costlily refurnished, moved in with a cook and staff of servants; -Alois came out every morning, even Sundays. The country people watched -the performance in stupefaction; it was their first acquaintance with -the audacities upon nature which modern science has made possible. And -presently they saw a rugged cliff rise where there had been a -commonplace steep, saw great terraces, slopes, levels, gentle grades, -supersede the northern ascents of Overlook. The army of workmen laid -hold of that huge upheaval of earth and rock and shaped it as if it had -been a handful of potter's clay. - -Near the base of the cliff ran the river; barges laden with stone began -to arrive--stone from Vermont and from Georgia, from Indiana, from -Italy. A funicular clambered up the surface of the cliff; soon its cars -were moving all day, bearing the stone to the lofty top of the hill; and -there appeared the beginnings of foundations--not of a house alone, but -of a dozen buildings, widely separated, and of terraces and lake bottoms -and bridges--for a torrent, with several short falls and one long leap, -was part of the plans. At the same time, other barges, laden with earth -and with great uprooted living trees, arrived in interminable -procession, and upon bare heights and slopes now began to appear patches -of green, clumps of wood. And where full-grown transplanted trees were -not set out, saplings were being planted by the hundreds. As the stone -walls rose, sod was brought--acres of grass of various kinds; and -creepers and all manner of wild growing things to produce wilderness -effects in those parts of the park which were not to be constructed with -all the refinements of civilization. These marvels of -nature-manufacture were carried on in privacy; for the very first work -had been to enclose the hill, from cliff edge round to cliff edge on the -other side, with a high stone wall, pierced by only two entrances--one, -the main entrance with wrought-iron gates from France, and a lodge; the -other, the farm or service entrance, nearer the village and the river. - -Amy and Alois had begun as soon as the frost was out of the ground. By -June they had almost all the trees planted. The following spring, and -the transformation was complete. Overlook Hill, as it had been for -ages, was gone; in its place was a graceful height, clad in a thousand -shades of green and capped by a glistening white bastionlike building -half hid among trees that looked as if they had been there a century at -least. Indeed, except the buildings, nothing seemed new, everything -seemed to belong where it was, to have been there always. The sod, the -tangle of creepers and underbrush on the cliff and in the ravines, the -cliff and the ravines themselves, all looked like the product of -nature's slow processes. The masonry, the roads, the drives--signs of -age and of long use. One would have said that the Fosdicks were -building on an old place, a house better suited to modern conditions -than some structure, dating from Revolutionary days at least, which must -have stood in those venerable surroundings and had been torn down to -make room for the new. - -"The buildings are going to look too new," said Alois. And he proceeded -to have them more artfully weather-stained. - -Narcisse had preached the superiority of small houses to Amy until she -had convinced her. So, Overlook Lodge, while not so small as it looked, -was still within the sane limits for a private house. And the interior -arrangements--the distribution of large rooms and less, of sunny rooms, -of windows, of stairways, of closets--were most ingenious. No space was -wasted; no opportunity for good views from the windows or for agreeable -lines, without or within, was neglected. Through and through it was a -house to be lived in, a house whose comfort obtruded and whose luxury -retired. - -In the woodwork, in the finishing of walls and ceilings, in the -furniture, Alois followed out the general scheme of the appearance of an -old-established residence, a family homestead that had sent forth many -generations. Before a stone had been blasted at Overlook, the furniture -and the woven stuffs were designed and manufacturing. While the outer -walls of the house were finishing, the rooms were beginning to look as -if they had been lived in long. There was nothing new-looking anywhere -except the plumbing; nothing old-looking, either. The air was that of -things created full grown, things which have not had a shiny, awkward -youth and could not have a musty, rickety, rotten old age. - -There came a day when the last rubbish was cleared, when the last -creeper was in leaf, the last flower in bloom, when the grass and the -trees seemed green with their hundredth summer, when the settees and -chairs and hammocks were on the verandas and porticos as if they had -been there for many a year, when no odor of fresh paint or varnish or -look of newness could be detected anywhere about the house--and the -"work of art" was finished. Alois and Amy, in an automobile, went over -every part of the grounds, examined them from without and from within; -then they made a tour of the house, noting everything. Changes, -improvements, could be made, would be made; but the work as a work was -finished. They seated themselves on a veranda overlooking the valley, -and listened to the rush of the torrent, descending through the ravines, -in banks of moss and wild flowers, to spring from the edge of the cliff. -Amy burst into tears. - -"You're very tired, aren't you!" said Alois sympathetically. There were -tears in his eyes. - -"No, that isn't it," she answered, her face hidden--she knew she didn't -look at all well when she was crying. - -"I understand," said he. "There's something tragic about finishing -anything. It's like bringing up a child, and having it marry and go -away." He sighed. "Yes, we're done." - -"I feel horribly lonely," she cried. "I've lost my occupation. It's -the first great real sorrow of my life. I wish we hadn't been in such a -hurry! We might have made it last a year or two longer." - -"I wish we had!" - -"You can't wish it as I do. You will go on and build other houses. You -have a career. It seems to me that _I've_ come to the very end." - -"You don't realize," he said hesitatingly, "that it was the personal -element in this that gave--that gives it its whole meaning, to me. I -was working with you and--for you." - -He glanced at her eagerly, but with a certain timidity, for some sign -that would encourage him. A hundred times at least, in those months -when he had spent the whole of almost every day with her, he had been on -the point of telling her what was in his heart, why he was so tireless -and so absorbed in their task. But he had never had the courage to -begin. By what he regarded as a malicious fatality, she had always -shifted the conversation to something with which sentiment would not -have harmonized at all. Apparently she was quite unconscious that he -was a man; and how she could be, when he was so acutely alive to her as -a woman, he could not understand. Sometimes he thought she was fond of -him--"as fond as a nice girl is likely to be, before the man declares -himself." Again, it seemed to him she cared nothing about him except as -an architect. Her wealth put around her, not only physically but also -mentally, a halo of superiority. He could not judge her as just a -woman. He always saw in her the supernal sheen of her father's millions. -He knew he had great talent; he was inordinately vain about it in a -way--as talented people are apt to be, where they stop short of genius, -which--usually, not always--has a true sense of proportion and gets no -pleasure from contrasting itself with its inferiors. He would have been -as swift as the next man to deny, with honest scorn, that he was a -wealth worshiper; and as he was artist enough to worship it only where -it took on graceful forms, he could have made out a plausible case for -himself. Amy, for example, was not homely or vulgar--or petty. She had -good ideas and good taste and concealed the ugly part of her nature as -dexterously as by the arrangement of her hair she concealed the fact -that it was neither very long nor very thick. Besides, in her -intercourse with Alois, there was no reason why any but the best side of -her should ever show. - -Narcisse gave over trying to make him sensible where Amy was concerned, -as soon as she saw upon what he was bent. "He wouldn't think of her -seriously if she weren't rich," she said to herself. "But, since he is -determined to take her seriously, it's better that he should be able to -delude himself into believing he loves her. And maybe he does. Isn't -love always nine tenths delusion of some sort?" So, she left him free -to go on with Amy, to love her, to win her love if he could. But--could -he? He feared not. That so wonderful a creature, one who might marry -more millions and blaze, the brightest star in the heavens of -fashionable New York, should take him--it seemed unlikely. "She ought -to prefer congeniality to wealth," thought he, "but"--with an -unconscious inward glance--"it's not in human nature to do it." - -As they sat there together in the midst of their completed work, he -waiting for some hopeful sign, she at least did not change the subject. -"Hasn't what we've been doing had any--personal interest for you?" he -urged. - -She nodded. "Yes, I owe my interest in it to you," she conceded. But -she went on to discourage him with, "We have been _such_ friends. -Usually, a young man and a young woman can't be together, as have we, -without trying to marry each other." - -"That's true," assented he, much dejected. Then, desperately, "That's -why I've put off saying what I'm going to say until the work should be -done." - -"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Don't say it, please--not now." - -"But you must have known," he pleaded. - -"I never thought of it," replied she with an air of frankness that -convinced him. - -"Well--won't you think of it--now?" - -"Not to-day," was her answer, in the tone a woman uses when she is -uncertain and wishes to convince herself that she is certain. She rose -and crossed to the edge of the veranda. - -In such circumstances, when the woman turns her back on the man, it is -usually to signify that she has a traitor within, willing to yield to a -surprise that which could not be won by a direct assault; and, had -Alois's love been founded in passion instead of in interest, he would -not have followed her hesitatingly, doing nothing, simply saying -stumblingly: "I don't wish to annoy you. But let me say one -thing--Amy--I love you, and to get you means life to me, and not to get -you means the death of all that is really me. I think I could make you -happy--you who are so interested in what is my life work. It must be -our life work." - -"I've thought of that," responded she softly. "But, not to-day--not -to-day." A pause during which she was hoping, in spite of herself, that -he would at least insist. When he remained silent and respectful, she -went on: "Don't you think we may let father and Hugo come?" - -"By all means. Everything is ready." And they went back to talking of -the work--of the surprise awaiting Fosdick. - -Fosdick had gratified her and delighted himself by playing the fondly -indulgent father throughout the building of Overlook. He had put the -widest limits on expense, he had asked no questions; he had let her keep -him ignorant of all that was being done. It was a remarkable and most -characteristic display of generosity. When a man earns a fortune by his -own efforts, by risking his own property again and again, he is rarely -"princely" in his generosity. But with the men who grow rich by risking -other people's money in campaigns against rival captains of finance and -industry who are also submitting to the fortunes of commercial war -little or nothing that is rightfully theirs, then the princely qualities -come out--the generosity with which the prince wastes the substance of -his subjects in luxury, in largesse, and in wars. Fosdick felt most -princely in relation to the properties he controlled. Whatever he did, -if it was merely eating his breakfast or consulting a physician when he -was ill, he did it for the benefit of the multitude whose money was -invested in his various enterprises. Thus, when he took, he could take -only his own; when he gave, he was "graciously pleased" to give up his -own. - -This simple, easy, and most natural theory reduced all divisions of -profits, losses, expenses, to mere matters of bookkeeping. If his -losses or expenses were heavy, the dividends to policy holders and -stockholders must be small--clearly, he who had done his best and had -acted only for the good of others ought not to cripple or hamper his -future unselfish endeavors. If the profits were large--why dribble them -out to several hundred thousand people who had done nothing to make -them, who did not deserve, did not expect, and would not appreciate? -No; the extra profits to the war-chest--which was naturally and of -necessity and of right in the secure possession of the -commander-in-chief. So, Fosdick, after the approved and customary manner -of the princely industrial successors to the princely aristocratic -parasites on mankind, was able to indulge himself in the luxury of -generosity without inflicting any hardship upon his conscience or upon -his purse. - -The distribution of the cost of the new house had presented many nice -problems in bookkeeping. Some of the expense--for raw materials, -notably--was merged into the construction accounts of the O.A.D. and two -railway systems; but the largest part was covered by the results of two -big bond deals and a stock manipulation. This part appeared on the -records as an actual payment by Fosdick out of his own private fortune; -but on the other side of the ledger stood corresponding profits from the -enterprises mentioned, and these profits, on careful analysis, were seen -to have come from the fact that, when profits were to be distributed, -Fosdick the private person was in no way distinguishable from Fosdick -the trustee of the multitude. - -If the old man had not had confidence in his daughter's good sense and -good taste and in Siersdorf's ability, he would not have given them the -absolutely free hand. It was, therefore, with the liveliest -expectations that he took the train for Overlook. As he and Hugo -descended at the station, they looked toward Overlook Hill, so amazingly -transformed. "Well, you've certainly done _something_!" he exclaimed to -Amy, as she came forward to meet him. "Why, I'd not have known the -place. Splendid! Superb!" And he kissed her and shook hands warmly -with Alois. - -On the way through the village in the auto, he gushed a stream of -enthusiasm and comment. "That cliff, now--what a fine idea! And the -cascade--why, you've doubled the value of real estate throughout this -region. I must quietly gather in some land round here-- You are in on -that, Siersdorf. The railway station must be improved. I'll see -Thorne--he's president of the road and a good friend of mine--he'll put -up a proper building--you must draw the plans, Siersdorf. This -village--it's unsightly. We must either wipe it out or make it into a -model." - -His enthusiasm continued at the boiling point until they ascended the -hill and had the first full view of the house. Then his face lengthened -and he lapsed into silence. Hugo was not so considerate. "Do you mean -to tell me _this_ is the house?" demanded he of Amy. "Why, it's a -cottage. How ridiculous to put such a climax to all these -preparations!" - -Amy's eyes flashed and she tossed her head scornfully. - -Hugo continued to look and began to laugh. "Ridiculous!" he repeated. -"Don't you think so, father?" - -"It is hardly what I expected," confessed Fosdick. "It isn't done yet, -is it, Amy?" - -"Yes, it's done," she said angrily. "And it's the best thing about the -place. I don't want you to say anything more until you've gone over it. -The trouble with you and Hugo is that your taste has been corrupted by -the vulgarity in New York. You don't appreciate the difference between -beauty and ostentation. Mr. Siersdorf has built a house for a gentleman, -not for a multimillionaire." - -That silenced them; and in silence she led the way into and through the -house, by a route that would present all its charms and comforts in -effective succession. She made no comments; she simply regulated the -speed of the tour, trusting to their eyes to show them what she could -not believe any eyes could fail to see. At the veranda commanding the -most magnificent of the many views, she brought the tour to an end. The -luncheon table was there, and she ordered the servants to bring lunch. -And a delicious lunch it was, ending with wonderful English -strawberries, crimson, huge, pink-white within and sweet as their own -fragrance--"grown on the place," explained Amy, "and this cream is from -our own dairy down there." - -"I take it all back," said Fosdick. "You and Siersdorf were right. Eh, -Hugo?" - -"It's better than I thought," conceded Hugo. "There certainly is a--a -tone about the house that I've not often seen on this side of the -water." - -"And there's a comfort you've never seen on the other side," said Amy. -"You are satisfied, father?" - -"Satisfied!" exclaimed Fosdick. "I'm overwhelmed." - -And when they had had coffee, which, Hugo said, reminded him of the Cafe -Anglais at Paris, Siersdorf took them for a second tour of the house, -pointing out the conveniences, the luxuries, the evidences of good -taste, expanding upon them, eulogizing them, feeling as he talked that -he had created them. "A gentleman's home!" he cried again and again. -"It'll be a rebuke to all these vulgarians who are trying to show how -much money they've got. Why, you never think, as you walk around here, -'How much this cost,' but only, 'How beautiful it is, and how -comfortable.' A house for a gentleman. A gentleman's _home_--that's -what I call it." - -At each burst of enthusiasm from her father, Amy beamed on Alois. And -Alois was dizzy with happiness and hope. - - - - - *XIV* - - *WOMAN'S DISTRUST--AND TRUST* - - -Having got what she wanted of Alois, Amy now permitted her better nature -to reproach her for having absorbed him so long and so completely. She -assumed Narcisse was blaming, was disliking, her for it; and, indeed, -Narcisse had been watching the performance with some anger and more -disgust. Before Alois came upon the scene, and while Amy was still in -the first flush of enthusiasm for her new friend, Narcisse had begun to -draw back. She saw that Amy, like everyone who has always had his own -way and so has been made capricious, was without capacity for real -friendship. If she had thought Amy worth while, she would have held -her--for Narcisse was many-sided and could make herself so interesting -that few indeed would not have seemed tame and dull after her. But she -decided that Amy was not worth while; and to cut short Amy's constant -attempts to interfere between her and her work, she emphasized her -positive, even aggressive, individuality, instead of softening it. -Servants, fortune-hunters, flatterers, the army of parasites that -gathers to swoop upon anyone with anything to give, had made Amy -intolerant of the least self-assertiveness; and to be a very porcupine -of prickly points; Narcisse had only to give way to her natural bent for -the candid. - -For example, Narcisse had common sense--like most people of good taste; -for, is not sound sense the basis of sound taste, indeed the prime -factor in all sound development of whatever kind? Now, there is nothing -more inflammatory than steadfast good sense. It rebukes and mocks us, -making us seem as stupid and as foolish as we fear we are. Narcisse -would not eat things that did not agree with her; it irritated -self-indulgent Amy against her, when they lunched together and she -refused to eat as foolishly as did Amy. Again, Narcisse would not drive -when she could walk, because driving was as bad for health and looks as -walking was good for them. Amy knew that, with her tendency to fat, she -ought never to drive. But she was lazy, doted on the superiority -driving seemed to give, was nervous about the inferiority "the best -people" attached to a woman's walking. So she persisted in driving, and -ruffled at Narcisse for being equally persistent in the sensible course. -It is the common conception of friendship that one's friend must do what -one wishes and is no friend if he does not; Amy felt that way about it. - -Alois had come back from abroad just in time to save the Fosdick -architectural trade to the firm. Narcisse would soon have alienated -it--and would have been glad to see it go; in fact, since she had -realized where the Fosdick money came from, she with the greatest -difficulty restrained herself from bursting forth to Alois in -"impractical sentimentalities" which she knew would move him only -against herself. - -Amy expected Narcisse's enthusiasm toward Overlook to be very, very -restrained indeed. "She must be jealous," thought Amy, "because she has -had so little to do with it, and I so much." But she had to admit that -she had misjudged the builder. It is not easy satisfactorily to praise -to anyone a person or a thing he has in his heart; the most ardent -praise is likely to seem cold, and any lapse in discrimination rouses a -suspicion of insincerity. If Narcisse had not felt the beauty of what -her brother and Amy had done, she could not have made Amy's enthusiasm -for her flame afresh, as it did. Before Narcisse finished, Amy thought -that she herself had not half appreciated how well she and Alois had -wrought. "But it would never have been anything like so satisfactory," -said she in a burst of impulsive generosity, "if you hadn't started it -all." - -"I wish I could feel that I had some part in it," said Narcisse, "but I -can't, in honesty." - -And she meant it. Those who have fertile, luxuriant minds rarely keep -account of the ideas they are constantly and prodigally pouring out. -Narcisse had forgotten--though Amy had not--that it was she who was -inspired by that site to dream the dream that her brother and Amy had -realized. It was on the tip of Amy's tongue to say this; but she -decided to refrain. "I probably exaggerate the influence of what she -said," she thought. "We saw it together and talked it over together, -and no doubt each of us borrowed from the other"--let him who dares, -criticise this, in a world that shines altogether by reflected lights. - -As the two young women talked on, the builder gradually returned to her -constrained attitude. She saw that Amy was taking to herself the whole -credit for Overlook, was looking on Alois as simply a stimulant to her -own great magnetism and artistic sense, was patronizing him as a capable -and satisfactory agent for transmitting them into action. And this made -her angry, not with Amy but with Alois. "Amy isn't to blame," she said -to herself. "It's his fault. To please her he has been exaggerating her -importance to herself, and he has succeeded in convincing her. She has -ended up just where people always end up, when you encourage them to -give their vanity its head." She tried to devise some way of helping -her brother, of reminding Amy that he was entitled to credit for some -small part of the success; but she could think of nothing to say that -Amy would not misinterpret into jealousy either for herself or for her -brother. When she got back to the offices, she said to him: - -"If I were you, I'd not let a certain young woman imagine she has _all_ -the brains." - -"What do you mean?" said he, clouding at once. He showed annoyance -nowadays whenever she mentioned the Fosdicks. - -"She'll soon be thinking you couldn't get along without her to give you -ideas," replied Narcisse. "It's bad all round--bad for the woman, bad -for the man--when he gets her too crazy about herself. She's likely to -overlook his merits entirely in her excitement about her own." - -"You are prejudiced against her, Narcisse," said Alois angrily. "And it -isn't a bit like you to be so." - -Narcisse, not being an angel, flared. "I'm not half as prejudiced -against her as you'd be three months after you married her," she cried. -"But you'll not get her, if you keep on as you're going now. Instead of -showing her how awed you are by her, you'd better be teaching her that -she ought to be in awe of you, that it's what _you_ give her that makes -her shine so bright." - -And she fled to her own office, fuming against the folly of men and the -silliness of women, and thoroughly miserable over the whole situation; -for, at bottom she believed that such a woman as Amy must have feminine -instinct enough fairly to jump at such a man as Alois, if there was a -chance to attach him permanently; and, the prospect of Alois marrying a -woman who could do him no good, who was all take and no give, put her -into such a frame of mind that she wished she had the mean streak -necessary to intriguing him and her apart. - -It was on one of the bluest of her blue days of forebodings about Alois -and Amy that Neva came in to see her; and a glance at Neva's face was -sufficient to convince her that bad news was imminent. "What is it, -Neva?" she demanded. "I've felt all the morning that something rotten -was on the way. Now, I know it's here. Tell me." - -"Do you recall Mrs. Ranier? She was at my place one afternoon----" - -"Perfectly," interrupted Narcisse, "Amy Fosdick's sister." - -"She took a great fancy to you. And when she heard something she -thought you ought to know, she came to me and asked me to tell you. She -said she knew you'd be discreet--that you could be trusted." - -"I liked her, too," said Narcisse. "I think she can trust me." - -"It's about--about--those insurance buildings," continued Neva, -painfully embarrassed. "I'm afraid I'm rather incoherent. It's the -first time I ever interfered in anyone else's business." - -"Tell me," urged Narcisse. "I suppose it's something painful. But I'm -good and tough---speak straight out." - -"Mrs. Ranier's husband is in the furniture business, and through that he -found out there's a scandal coming. She says those people downtown will -drag you and your brother in, will probably try to hide themselves -behind you. She heard last night, and came early this morning. 'Tell -her,' she said, 'not to let her brother reassure her, but to look into -it--clear to the bottom.'" - -Narcisse was motionless, her eyes strained, her face haggard. - -"That's all," said Neva, rising. "I shouldn't have come, shouldn't have -said anything to you, if I had not known that Mrs. Ranier has the best -heart in the world, and isn't an alarmist." - -Narcisse faced Neva and pressed her hands, without looking at her. - -"If there is anything I can do, you have only to ask," said Neva, going. -She had too human an instinct to linger and offer sympathy to pride in -its hour of abasement. - -"There's one thing you can do," said Narcisse, nervous and intensely -embarrassed. - -Neva came back. "Don't hesitate. I meant just what I said--anything." - -Narcisse blurted it out: "Is Horace Armstrong a man who can be trusted? -Is he straight?" Then, as Neva did not answer immediately, she hastened -on, "Please forget what I asked you. It really doesn't matter, and----" - -Neva interrupted her with a frank, friendly smile. "Don't be uneasy," -she said. "He and I are excellent friends. He calls often. I don't -know a thing about him in a business way. But-- Well, Narcisse, I'm -sure he'd not do anything small and mean." - -"That's all I wished to know." - -A few minutes after Neva left, Narcisse, white but calm, sent for her -brother. "How deeply have you entangled yourself in those fraudulent -vouchers?" she asked, when they were shut in together. - -He lifted his head haughtily. "What do you mean, Narcisse?" - -"As we are equal partners, I have the right to know all the affairs of -the firm. I want to see the accounts of those insurance buildings, at -once--and to know the exact truth about them." - -"You left that matter entirely to me," replied he, sullen but uneasy. -"I haven't time to-day to go into a mass of details. It'd be useless, -anyhow. But--I do not like that word you used--fraudulent." - -She waved her hand impatiently. "It's the word the public will use, -whatever nice, agreeable expression for it you men of affairs may have -among yourselves. Have you signed vouchers, as you said you were going -to do?" - -"Certainly. And, I may add, I shall continue to sign them." - -"Haven't you heard that that investigation is coming?" - -He gave a superior, knowing smile. "Those things are always fixed up. -There's a public side, but it's as unreal as a stage play. Fosdick -controls this particular show." - -"So I hear," said she, with bitter irony. "And he purposes to throw you -to the wild beasts--you and me." - -Siersdorf laughed indulgently. "My dear sister," he said, "don't bother -your head about it." The idea seemed absurd to him: Fosdick sacrifice -him, when they were such friends!--it was an insult to Fosdick to -entertain the suspicion. "When the proper time comes," he continued, "I -shall be away on business--and the matter will be sidetracked, and -nothing more will be said about me. Trust me. I know what I am about." - -"Yes, you will be away," cried she, suddenly enlightened. "And the -whole thing will be exposed, and they'll have their accounts so cooked -that the guilt will all be on you. And before you can get back and -clear yourself, you will be ruined--disgraced--dishonored." - -The situation she thus blackly outlined was within the possibilities; -her tone of certainty had carrying power. A chill went through him. -"Ridiculous!" he protested loudly. - -"You have put your honor in another man's keeping," she went on. "And -that man is a thief." - -"Narcisse!" - -"A thief!" she repeated with emphasis. "They don't call each other -thieves downtown. They've agreed to call themselves respectabilities -and financiers and all sorts of high-flown names. But thieves they are, -because they're loaded down with what don't belong to them, money they -got away from other people by lying and swindling. Is your honor -_quite_ safe in the keeping of a thief?" - -"Narcisse!" repeated Alois, wincing again at that terse, plain word, -rough and harsh, an allopathic dose of moral medicine, undiluted, -uncoated. - -"_I_ don't think so," she pursued. "What precautions do you purpose to -take?" - -He looked at her helplessly. "If I say anything to Fosdick," said he, -"he will be justified in getting furiously angry. He might think he had -the right to act as you accuse him of plotting." - -"But you must do something." - -He shook his head. "I have trusted Fosdick," said he. "I still think -it was wise. But, however that may be, the wise course now certainly is -to continue to trust him." - -"Trust him!" exclaimed Narcisse bitterly. "I might trust a thief who -wasn't a hypocrite--he might not squeal on a pal to save himself. But -not a Fosdick. A respectable thief has neither the honor of honest men -nor the honor of thieves." - -"Prejudice! Always prejudice, Narcisse." - -"You will do nothing?" - -"Nothing." And he tried to look calm and firm. - -She went into her dressing room with the air of one bent on decisive -action. He could but wait. When she came back she was dressed for the -street. - -"Where are you going?" he demanded in alarm. - -"To save myself and--you," she replied with a certain sternness. It was -unlike her to put herself first in speech--she who always considered -herself last. - -"Narcisse, I forbid you to interfere in this affair. I forbid you to go -crazily on to compromising us both." - -She looked straight into his eyes. "The time has come when I must use -my own judgment," said she. - -And, with that, she went; he knew her, knew when it was idle to oppose -her. Besides--what if she should be right? In all their years -together, as children, as youths, as workers, he had always respected -her judgment, because it had always been based upon a common sense -clearer than his own, freer from those passions which rise from the -stronger appetites of men to befog their reason, to make what they wish -to be the truth seem actually the truth. - -"She's wrong," he said to himself. "But she'll not do anything foolish. -She's the kind that can go in safety along the wrong road, because they -always keep a line of retreat open." And that reflection somewhat -reassured him. - -Narcisse went direct to Fosdick at his office. As there was only one -caller ahead of her, she did not have long to wait in the anteroom -guarded by Waller of the stealthy, glistening smile. "Mr. Fosdick is -very busy this morning," explained he. It was the remark he always made -to callers as he passed them along; it helped Fosdick to cut them short. -"The big railway consolidation, you know?" - -"No, I don't know," replied Narcisse. - -"Oh--you artists! You live quite apart from our world of affairs. But -I supposed news of a thing of such tremendous public benefit would have -reached everybody." - -Narcisse smiled faintly. She could not imagine any of these gentlemen, -roosted so high and with eyes training in every direction in search of -prey, occupying themselves for one instant with a thing that was a -public benefit, except in the hope of changing it into a "private snap." - -"It's marvelous," continued Waller, "how Fosdick and these other men of -enormous wealth go on working for their fellow men when they might be -taking their ease and amusing themselves." - -"Amusing themselves--how?" asked she. - -"Oh--in a thousand ways." - -"I'm afraid they'd find it hard to pass the time, if they didn't have -their work," said she. "The world isn't a very amusing place unless one -happens to have work that interests him." - -"There's something in that--there's something in that," said Waller, in -as good an imitation as he could give of his master's tone and manner. -It had never before occurred to him to question the current theory that, -while poor men toiled for bread and selfishness, rich men refrained from -boring themselves to death in idling about, only because they -passionately yearned to serve their fellow beings. - -"Do you still teach a class in Mr. Fosdick's Sunday school?" - -"I'm assistant superintendent now," replied he. - -"That's good," said she, as if she really meant it. She was feeling -sorry for him. He had worked so long and so hard, and had striven so -diligently to please Fosdick in every way; Fosdick had got from him -service that money could not have bought. And the worst of it was, -Fosdick had never tried to find a money expression for it that was -anything like adequate, but had ingeniously convinced poor Waller he was -more than well paid in the honor of serving in such an intimate capacity -such a great and generous man. The mitigating circumstance was that -Fosdick firmly believed this himself--but Narcisse that day was not in -the humor to see the mitigations of Fosdick. - -And now Fosdick himself came hurrying in, eyes alight, strong face -smiling--"Miss Siersdorf--this is a surprise! I don't believe I ever -before saw you downtown--though, of course, you must have come." He -looked at her with an admiration that was genuine. "Excuse an old man -for saying it, but you are so beautifully dressed--as always--and -handsome--that goes without saying. Come right in. You can have all -the time you want. I know you--know you are a business woman. Now, -that man who was just with me--Bishop Knowlton--a fine, noble man, with -a heart full of love for God and his fellows--but not an idea of the -value of a business man's time. Finally I had to say to him, 'I'll give -you what you ask--and I'll double it if you don't say another word but -go at once.'" - -They were now in the innermost room, and Fosdick had bowed her into a -chair and had seated himself. "I came to see you," said Narcisse, -formal to coldness, "about the two office buildings--about the accounts -our firm has been approving." - -"Oh, but you needn't fret about them," said Fosdick, in his bluff, -hearty, offhand manner. "Your brother is looking after them." - -"Then they are all right?" she said, fixing her gaze on him. - -"Why, certainly, certainly. I have absolute confidence in your brother. -Have you seen Overlook? Yes--of course--my daughter told me. You -delighted her by what you said. It is beautiful----" - -"To keep to the accounts, Mr. Fosdick," Narcisse interrupted, "I am not -satisfied with our firm's position in the matter." - -"My dear young lady, talk to your brother about that. I've a thousand -and one matters. I really know nothing of details, and, as you are -perhaps aware, my interest in the O.A.D. is largely philanthropic. I -can give but little of my time." - -"I've come," said Narcisse, as he paused for breath, "to get from you a -statement relieving us from all responsibility as to those accounts, and -authorizing us to sign them as a mere formality, to expedite their -progress." - -Fosdick laughed. "I'd like to do anything to oblige you," said he, "but -really, I couldn't do that. You must know that I have nothing to do -with the buildings--with the details of the affairs of the O.A.D." - -"You gave us the contracts," said Narcisse. - -"Pardon me, _I_ did not give you the contracts. They were not mine to -give. What you mean to say is that I used for you what influence I -have. It was out of friendship for you and your brother." - -There he touched her. "We had every reason to believe that we got the -contracts solely because our plans were the most satisfactory," said she -coldly. "If we had suspected that friendship had anything to do with it, -we should certainly have withdrawn. I assure you, sir, we feel under no -obligation--and my present purpose is to prevent you from putting -yourself under obligation to us." - -"I don't quite follow you," said Fosdick, most conciliatory. - -"There has been some kind of--'bookkeeping,' I believe you call it--in -connection with the payments for the work on those buildings. If we -were to aid you in your--'bookkeeping,' you would certainly be under -heavy obligations to us. We cannot permit that." - -Fosdick laughed with the utmost good nature. "I see you misunderstood -some remarks I made to you and your brother one day at my house. -However, anything to keep peace among friends. I'll do as you wish." - -His manner was so frank and so friendly, and his concession so -unreserved, that Narcisse was surprised into being ashamed of her -suspicions. "I believe 'Lois is right," she said to herself. "I've -been led astray by my prejudice." - -Those shrewd old eyes of Fosdick's could not have missed an opportunity -for advantage so plain as was written on her honest face. He hastened -to score. "I'll dictate it to Waller," said he, rising, "when he comes -in to round up the day. You'll get it in the early morning mail. -Good-by. You don't come to see us up at the house nearly often -enough--at least, not when I'm there." He had opened the door. "Waller, -conduct Miss Siersdorf to the elevator. Good-by, again." - -With nods and smiles he had cleared himself of her, easily, without -abruptness, rather as if she were hurrying him than he her. And Waller, -quick to take his cue, had passed her into the elevator before she was -quite aware what was happening. Not until she was on the ground floor -and walking toward the door did her mind recover. "What have you -_got_?" it said, and promptly answered, "Nothing--for, what is a promise -from Josiah Fosdick?" That seemed cynical, unjust; as Fosdick not only -was by reputation a man of his word, but also had always kept his word -with her. But she stopped short and debated; and it was impossible for -her to shake her conviction that the man meant treachery. "He'll -sacrifice us," she said to herself, "if it's necessary to save intact -the name and fame of Josiah Fosdick--or even if he should think it would -be helpful." What were two insignificant mere ordinary mortals in -comparison with that name and fame, that inspiration to honesty and -fidelity for the youth of the land, that bulwark of respectability and -religion--for, as all the world knows, the eternal verities are kept -alive solely by the hypocrites who preach and profess them; if those -"shining examples" were exposed and disgraced, down would crash truth -and honor. No, Josiah Fosdick was not one to hesitate before the danger -of such a cataclysm. Further, she felt that he had been plotting while -he and she were talking and had found some way to pinion her and her -brother during the day he had gained. "To-morrow morning," she decided, -"I'll not get the paper, and it'll be useless to try to get it. -Something must be done, and at once." - -She turned back, reentered the elevator. "To Mr. Armstrong," she said. - -Armstrong, whom she knew but slightly, received her with great courtesy, -and an evident interest that in turn roused her curiosity. "It's as if -he knew about our affairs," she thought. To him she said, "I want to -see you a few minutes alone." - -He took her into his inner room. "Well, what is it?" he asked, with the -sort of abruptness that invites confidence. - -She had liked what she had seen of him; her good impression was now -strengthened. She thought there was courage and honesty in his face, -along with that look of experience and capacity which is rarely seen in -young faces, except in America with its group of young men who have -already risen to positions of great responsibility. There was bigness -about him, too-bigness of body and of brow and of hands, and the eyes -that go with large ways of judging and acting--eyes at once keen and -good-humored. A man to turn a shrewd trick, perhaps; but it would be -exceedingly shrewd, and only against a foe who was using the same -tactics. Half confidences are worse than none, are the undoing weakness -of the timid who, though they know they must play and play desperately, -yet cannot bring themselves to play in the one way that could win. -Narcisse flung all her cards upon the table. - -"I've got to trust somebody," she said. "My best judgment is that that -somebody is you. Here is my position." And she related fully, rapidly, -everything except the source of her warning against Fosdick. She told -all she knew about the unwarranted vouchers A. & N. Siersdorf had been -approving--"at least, I think they are unwarranted," she said. "We know -nothing about them." - -"And why do you come to _me_?" said Armstrong when he had the whole -affair before him from the first interview with Fosdick to and including -the last interview. - -"Because you are president of the O.A.D.," she replied. "We have -nothing to conceal. You are the responsible executive officer. If you -do not know about these things, you ought to be told. And I am -determined that our firm shall not remain in its present false -position." - -Armstrong sat back in his chair, his face heavy and expressionless, as -if the mind that usually animated it had left it a lifeless mask and had -withdrawn and concentrated upon something within. No one ever got an -inkling of what Armstrong was turning over in his mind until he was -ready to expose it in speech. When he came back to the surface, he -turned his chair until he was facing her squarely. His scrutiny seemed -to satisfy him, for presently he said, "I see that you trust me," in his -friendliest way. - -"Yes," she replied. - -"It's a great gift--a great advantage," he went on, "to make up one's -mind to trust and then to do it without reserve.... I think you will -not falter, no matter what happens." - -"No," she said. - -"Well--you came to just the right person. I don't understand it." - -"Woman's instinct, perhaps." - -He shook his head. "I doubt it. That's simply a phrase to get round a -mystery. No, your judgment guided you somehow. Judgment is the only -guide." - -Narcisse had been debating; she could not see how it could possibly do -any harm to mention Neva. "Before I came downtown," said she, "it -drifted into my mind that I might have to come to you. So I asked Neva -Carlin about you." - -"Oh!" Armstrong settled back in his chair abruptly and masked his face. -"And what did she say?" - -"That she was sure you wouldn't do anything small or mean." - -The big Westerner suddenly beamed upon her. "Well, she ought to know," -said he with a blush and a hearty, boyish laugh. Then earnestly: "I -think I can do more for you than anyone else in this matter--and I will. -You must say nothing, and do nothing. Let everything go on as if you -had no suspicion." - -"But, when Mr. Fosdick does not send me the authorization?" - -"Wait a few days; write, reminding him; then let the matter drop." - -She reflected; the business seemed finished so far as she could finish -it. She rose and put out her hand. "Thank you," she said simply, and -again, with a fine look in her fine eyes, "Thank you." - -"You owe me nothing," he replied. "In the first place, I've done -nothing, and I can't promise absolutely that I can do anything. In the -second place, you have given me some extremely valuable information. In -return I merely engage not to use it to as great advantage as I might in -some circumstances." - -In the entrance hall once more, she wondered at the complete change in -her state of mind. She now felt content; yet she had nothing tangible, -apparently less than at the end of her interview with Fosdick--for he -had promised something definite, while Armstrong had merely said, "I'll -do my best." She wondered at her content, at her absolute inability to -have misgiving or doubt. - - - - - *XV* - - *ARMSTRONG SWOOPS* - - -About an hour after Narcisse left Fosdick, he sent for Westervelt, the -venerable comptroller of the O.A.D. But Westervelt came before the -message could possibly have reached him. - -Westervelt's position--chief financial officer of one of the greatest -fiduciary institutions of a world whose fiduciary institutions have -become more important than its governments--would have made him in any -event important and conspicuous; but he was a figure in finance large -out of all proportion to his office. He was one of the stock "shining -examples" of Wall Street. If industry was talked of, what more natural -than to point to old Westervelt, for fifty years at his desk early and -late, without ever taking a vacation? If honesty was being discussed, -where a better instance of it than honest old Bill Westervelt, who had -handled billions yet was worth only a modest three or four millions? If -fidelity was the theme, there again was old Bill with his long white -whiskers, refusing offer after offer of high stations because he was -loyal to the O.A.D. Why, he had even refused the financial place in the -Cabinet! If anyone had been unkind enough to suggest, in partial -mitigation of this almost oppressive saintliness, that old Bill had no -less than ninety-six relatives by blood and marriage in good to splendid -berths in the O.A.D.; that he had put his brother, his two sons and his -three sons-in-law in positions where they had made fortunes as dealers -in securities for the O.A.D. and its allied institutions; that a Cabinet -position at eight thousand a year, where such duties as were not -clerical consisted in obeying the "advice" of the big financial lords, -would have small charm for a man so placed that he was a real influence -in the real financial councils of the nation--if such suggestions as -these had been made, the person who made them would have been denounced -as a cynic, gangrened with envy. If anyone had ventured to hint that, -in view of the truly monstrous increase in the expenses of the O.A.D., -old Bill's industry seemed to be bearing rather strange fruit for so -vaunted a tree, and that his fidelity ought to have a vacation while -expert accountants verified it--such insinuations would have been -repelled as sheer slander, an attempt to undermine the confidence of -mankind in the reality of virtue. So great was Westervelt's virtue that -he himself had come to revere it as profoundly as did the rest of the -world; it seemed to him that one so wholly right could do no wrong; that -evil itself, passing through the crucible of that white soul of his, -emerged as good. - -Fosdick simply glanced at his old friend and associate as he entered. -"Hello, Bill," he exclaimed. "I was just going to send for you. I want -the Siersdorfs suspended from charge of those new buildings. And give -the head bookkeeper of the real estate department a six months' -vacation--say, for a tour of the world." - -But Westervelt had not heard. He had dropped into a chair, and was -white as his whiskers, and the hand with which he was stroking them was -shaking. As he did not reply, Fosdick looked at him. "Why, Bill, what's -the matter?" he cried, friendly alarm in voice and face. "Not sick?" - -"I've been--suspended," gasped Westervelt. "I--suspended!" - -Josiah stared at him. "What are you talking about?" - -"Armstrong has just suspended me." - -"Armstrong!" cried Fosdick. "Why, you're crazy, man! He's got no more -authority over you than he has over me." - -"He sent for me just now," said Westervelt, "and when I came in he -looked savagely at me and said, 'Mr. Westervelt, you will take a -vacation until further notice. I put it in that way to keep the scandal -from becoming public. You can say you have become suddenly ill. You -will leave the offices at once, and not return until I send for you.'" - -Fosdick was listening like a man watching the fantastic procession of a -dream which not even the wild imagination of a sleeper could credit. -"You're crazy, Bill," he repeated. - -"I laughed at him," continued Westervelt. "And then he said--it seems -to me I must really be crazy--but, no, he said it--'We have reason to -believe that the books are in wild, in criminal disorder,' he said. 'I -have telegraphed for Brownell. He will be here in the morning to take -charge.'" - -Fosdick bounded to his feet. "Brownell! Why, he's Armstrong's old -side-partner in Chicago. Brownell!" Fosdick's face grew purple, and he -jerked at his collar and swung his head and rolled his eyes and mouthed -as if he were about to have a stroke. Then he rushed to his bell and -leaned upon the button. Waller came into the room, terror in his face. -"Armstrong!" cried Fosdick. "Bring him here--instantly!" - -But it was full ten minutes before Waller could find and bring him. In -that time Fosdick's mind asserted itself, beat his passion into its -kennel where it could be kept barred in or released, as events might -determine. "Caution--caution!" he said to Westervelt. "Let _me_ do all -the talking." - -The young president entered deliberately, with impassive countenance. -He looked calmly at Westervelt, then at Fosdick. - -"I suppose you know what I want to see you about, Horace," Fosdick -began. "Sit down. There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding -between you and Westervelt--eh?" - -Armstrong simply sat, the upper part of his big frame resting by the -elbows upon the arms of his chair, a position which gave him an air of -impenetrable stolidity and immovable solidity. - -When Fosdick saw that Armstrong was determined to hold his guard, he -went on, "It won't do for you two to quarrel. At any price we must have -peace, must face the world, united and loyal. I want to make peace -between you two. Westervelt has told me his side of the story. Now, -you tell me yours." - -"I suspended him, pending a private investigation--that's all," said -Armstrong. And his lips closed as if that were all he purposed to say. - -Fosdick's eyes gleamed dangerously. "You know, you have no authority to -suspend the comptroller?" he said quietly. - -"That's true." - -"Then he is not suspended." - -"Yes, he is," said Armstrong. "And on my way down here I looked in at -his department and told them he was ill and wouldn't be back to-day." - -Westervelt started up. "How dare you!" he shrilled in the undignified -fury of the old. - -"Bill, Bill!" warned Fosdick. Then to Armstrong, "The way to settle it -is for Bill to go home for to-day. In the morning, he will return to -his work as usual." - -"Brownell will be here, will be in charge," said Armstrong. "If -Westervelt returns, I'll have him put out." - -"Will you permit me to ask the why of all this?" inquired Fosdick. - -"The man's been up to some queer business," replied Armstrong. "The -books have got to be straightened out, and it looks as if he'd have to -disgorge some pretty big sums." - -Westervelt groaned and fell heavily back into his chair. "That I should -live to hear such insults to me!" he cried, and the tears rolled down -his cheeks. Armstrong simply looked at him. - -"You are mistaken, terribly mistaken, Horace," said Fosdick smoothly. -"You have been woefully misled." He did not know what to do. He dared -not break with Westervelt, the chief stay of his power over the staff of -the O.A.D.; yet neither did he dare, just then and over just that -matter, break with Armstrong. - -"If Westervelt is innocent," replied Armstrong, "he ought to be laughing -at me--for, if he's innocent, I have ruined myself." - -"I know you have no honor, no pride," cried Westervelt. "But have you -no sense of what honor and pride are? After all my years of service, -after building high my name in this community, to be insulted by an -adventurer like you! How do I know what you would cook up against me, -if you had control of the books? Fosdick, we'll have the board together -this afternoon, and suspend him!" - -Fosdick saw the look in Armstrong's face at this. "No, no, Bill," he -said. "We must sleep on this. By morning a way out will be found." - -"By morning!" exclaimed Westervelt. "I'll not see the sun go down with -a cloud shadowing my reputation." - -"Leave me alone with my old friend for a few minutes, Horace," said -Fosdick. - -"Certainly," agreed Armstrong, rising. - -"I'll come up to see you presently," Fosdick called after him, as he was -closing the door. The two veterans were alone. Fosdick said, "That -young man is a very ugly customer, Westervelt. We must go slowly if we -are to get rid of him without scandal." - -"All we've got to do is to throw him out," replied Westervelt. "What -reputable man or newspaper would listen to him? And if he has hold of -the books for a few weeks, a few days even, he can twist and turn them -so that he will at least be stronger than he is now. The stupendous -impudence of the man! Why did you ever let him get into the company?" - -"Bad judgment," said Fosdick gloomily. "I had no idea he was so -short-sighted or so swollen with his own importance. I saw only his -ability. But we'll soon be rid of him." - -"Can it be that he has gotten wind of our plans about him?" said -Westervelt uneasily. - -Fosdick waved his hand. "Nobody knows them but you and I. Impossible. -I haven't even let Morris into that secret yet. Armstrong's quite sure -of his ground--and he must be kept sure. When he goes, it must be with -a brand on him that will make him as harmless a creature as there is in -the world." - -"But the books--he must not get hold of the books," persisted -Westervelt. - -"I'll see to that. Can you suggest any way to keep him quiet, except -pretending to give him his head at present?" - -Westervelt reflected. Suddenly he cried out, "No, Josiah; I can't let -him--anyone--handle those books. They're my reputation." - -"But you have got them into good shape for the legislative -investigation, haven't you?" - -"Yes--certainly. But there are the private books!" - -"Um," grunted Fosdick. "How many of them?" - -"Three--beside the one I slipped into my pocket on my way down here. -They're too big to take away." - -"They must be destroyed," said Fosdick. "Go now and get them. Have -them carried down here at once." - -Westervelt hurried away. As he entered his office, he was astounded at -seeing Armstrong seated at a side desk, dictating to a stenographer. At -sight of Westervelt, Armstrong started up and went to meet him. "You -ought not to be lingering here, Mr. Westervelt," he said, so that all -the clerks could hear. "You owe it to yourself to take no such risk." - -"I forgot a little matter," explained Westervelt confusedly. And he -went uncertainly into his private office, had his secretary put the -three ledgers and account books together and wrap them up. "Now," said -he, "take the package down to Mr. Fosdick's office. I'll go with you." - -As they emerged into the outer room, he glanced furtively and nervously -at Armstrong; Armstrong seemed safely absorbed in his dictation. Just -as the two reached the hall door, Armstrong, without looking up, called, -"Oh, by the way, Mr. Westervelt--just a moment." - -Westervelt jumped. "Go on with the books," said he in an undertone to -his secretary. "I'll come directly." - -Armstrong was looking at the secretary now. "Just put down the package, -please," he said carelessly. "I wish to speak to the comptroller about -it." - -The young man, all unsuspicious of what was below the smooth surface, -obediently put down the package. Armstrong drew Westervelt aside. "You -are taking those three books, and the one I see bulging in your pocket, -down to Mr. Fosdick, aren't you?" - -"Yes," said Westervelt. - -"Take my advice," said Armstrong. "Don't." - -"It's merely a little matter I wish to go over with him--a few minutes," -stammered Westervelt. - -"I understand perfectly," said Armstrong. "But is it wise for you to -put yourself in _anybody's_ power? Don't hand all your weapons to a man -who could use them against you--and, as you well know, would do it if he -felt compelled. I could stop you from making off with those books. I'm -tempted to do it--curiously enough, for your own sake. _I_ don't need -them." - -Westervelt was studying Armstrong's frank countenance in amazement. "He -expects me," he suggested uncertainly. - -"Don't leave the books with him," repeated Armstrong. "Don't put -yourself in his power." He looked at Westervelt with an expression like -that of a man measuring a leap before taking it. "Take the books home," -he went on boldly. "Fosdick has been cheating you for years. I will -come to see you at your house to-morrow morning." And he returned to -his dictation, leaving the old man hesitating in the doorway, -thoughtfully fumbling in his long white whiskers with slow, stealthy -fingers. - -In the corridor, Westervelt said to his secretary, "I think I'll work -over the matter at home. I'm not so sick as they seem to imagine. Jump -into a cab and drive up to my house, and give the package to my wife. -Tell her to take care of it." - -When Fosdick saw him empty-handed, he was instantly ablaze. "Has that -scoundrel----" - -"No, no," explained his old friend, "I got the books, all right." - -"Where are they?" - -"I sent them uptown--up to my house." - -"What the hell did you do that for?" cried Fosdick. - -"I thought it best to have them where I could personally take care of -them," said Westervelt, his heart bounding with delight. For Fosdick's -unguarded tone had set flaming in him that suspicion which thoroughly -respectable men always have latent for each other, in circles where -respectability rests entirely upon deeds that in the less respectable or -on a less magnificent scale would seem quite the reverse of respectable. -They know how dear reputation is, how great sacrifices of friendship and -honor even the most honorable and generous men will make to safeguard -it. - -"Well, well," said Fosdick, heaving but oily of surface, and not daring -to pursue the subject lest Westervelt should suspect him. "You sent -them by safe hands?" - -"By my secretary, and to my wife," said Westervelt. - -They kept up a rather strained conversation for half an hour, chiefly -devoted to abuse of Armstrong--Westervelt's abuse was curiously lacking -in heartiness, though Fosdick was too busy with his own thoughts to note -it. He suddenly interrupted himself to say: "Oh, I forgot. Excuse me a -moment." And he went into the next room. He was gone three quarters of -an hour. When he came back, he said, with not very convincing -carelessness, "While I was out there talking with Waller, it occurred to -me that, on the whole, the books'd be safer in my vaults. So I took the -liberty of sending him up to get them. Your wife knows him." - -Westervelt smiled in such a way that his white hair and beard and -patriarchal features combined in an aspect of beautiful benevolence. "I -fear he won't get them, Josiah," said he, chuckling softly. - -"Then you'd better telephone her," said Fosdick. - -"I have, Josiah," said his old pal, with a glance at the telephone on -Fosdick's desk. - -The veterans looked each at the other, Josiah reproachfully. "Billy, -you don't trust even me," he said sadly. - -"I trust no one but the Lord, Josiah," replied Westervelt. - - - - - *XVI* - - *HUGO SHOWS HIS METTLE* - - -Fosdick did not go up to parley with the insurgent until after lunch, -until he had thought out his game. He went prepared for peace, for a -truce, or for war. "Horace," he began, "there are many phases to an -enterprise as vast as this. You can't run it as you would a crossroads -grocery. You have got to use all sorts of men and measures, to adapt -yourself to them, to be broad and tolerant--and diplomatic. Above all, -diplomatic." And he went on for some time in this strain of commercial -commonplaces, feeling his way carefully. "Now, it may be true--I don't -know, but it may be true," he ended, "that Westervelt, in conducting his -part of the affairs, has taken wider latitude than perhaps might be -tolerated in a man of less strength and standing. We must consider only -results. On the other hand, it is just as well that we should know -precisely what his methods have been." - -At this Armstrong's impassive face showed a gleam of interest. "That's -what _I_ thought," said he. - -"But it wouldn't do--it wouldn't do at all, Horace, for us to let an -outsider like Brownell, at one jump, into the secrets of the company. -Why, there's no telling what he would do. He might blackmail us, or -sell us out to one of our rivals." - -"What have you to propose?" said Armstrong, impatient of these puerile -preliminaries. Fosdick was as clever at trickery as is the cleverest; -but at its best the best trickery is puerile, once the onlooker, or even -the intended victim, is on the alert. - -"We must give the accounts a thorough overhauling," answered Fosdick. -"But it must be done by our own people. I propose the ordinary -procedure for that sort of thing--different men doing different parts of -it piecemeal, and sending their reports to one central man who collates -them. In that way, only the one man knows what is going on or what is -found out." - -"Who's the man?" asked Armstrong. - -"It struck me that Hugo, being one of the fourth vice-presidents and so -in touch with the comptroller's department, would most naturally step -into Westervelt's place while he was away." - -"Certainly," said Armstrong cordially. "Hugo's the very person." - -Fosdick had not dismissed Westervelt's suggestion that Armstrong might -be countermining so summarily as he had led Westervelt to believe; he -did dismiss it now, however. "The young fool," he decided, "just wanted -to show his authority." To Armstrong he said, "You and Hugo can work -together." - -"No, leave it to Hugo," said Armstrong. "I am content so long as it is -definitely understood that I am not responsible. Let the Executive -Committee meet and put Hugo formally in charge during Westervelt's -absence." - -Fosdick went up to Westervelt's house to see him a few days later; to -his surprise the old bulwark of public and private virtue seemed -completely restored. And Fosdick, with a blindness which he never could -account for, was content with his explanation that he had been thinking -it over and had reached the conclusion that his interests were perfectly -secure, so long as he had the four books. Without a protest he -acquiesced in the appointment of Hugo. And so it came peacefully about -that Hugo, convinced that no one had ever undertaken quite so important -a task as this of his, set himself to investigating the whole financial -department of the O.A.D. That is to say, he issued the orders suggested -by his father, issued them to subordinates suggested by his father, and -brought to his father the reports they made to him. - -On the third or fourth day of Westervelt's "illness," Fosdick caught a -cold which laid him up with a ferocious attack of the gout. Most of the -reports which the subordinates brought to Hugo he did not understand; -but he felt that it was his duty to examine them, and spent about three -of the four hours he gave to business each day in marching his eye -solemnly down the columns of figures and explanations. And thus it came -about that he discovered Armstrong's "crime"--twenty-five thousand -dollars, which had been paid to Horace Armstrong on his own order and -never accounted for; a few months later, a second item of the same size -and mystery; a few months later, a third; a fourth, a fifth, a sixth and -so on, until in all Armstrong had got from the company on his own order -no less than three hundred and fifty thousand dollars for which he never -accounted. "A thief!" exclaimed Hugo. "I might have known! These -low-born fellows of no breeding, that rise by impudence and cunning, -always steal." - -Hugo did not go to his father with his startling discovery of this -shameful raid on the sacred funds of the widows and orphans of the -O.A.D. "I'll not worry the governor when he's ill," he reasoned. -"Besides, he's far too gentle and easygoing with Armstrong. No, this is -a matter for me to attend to, myself. When it's all over, the -governor'll thank me. Anyhow, it's time I showed these people downtown -that I understand the game and can play it." And Hugo sent for -Armstrong. - -Not to come to him at his office; but to call on him at his apartment on -the way downtown: "Dear Sir--Mr. Hugo Fosdick wishes you to call on him -at the above address at nine to-morrow morning"--this on his private -letter paper and signed by his secretary. - -Hugo had taken an apartment in a fashionable bachelor flathouse a few -months after he became a fourth vice-president. He was not ready to get -married. There were only a few women--nine girls and two widows--in the -class he deemed eligible, that is, having the looks, the family, and the -large fortune, all of which would be indispensable to an aspirant for -his hand. And of these eleven, none had as yet shown a sufficient -degree of appreciation. Four treated him as they did the other men in -their set--with no distinguishing recognition of his superiority of mind -and body. Five were more appreciative, but they were, curiously and -unfortunately enough, the least pleasing in the three vital respects. -However, while he must put off marriage until he should find his -affinity, there was no reason why he should continue in the paternal -leading strings; so, he set up an establishment befitting his rank and -wealth. He took the large flat with its three almost huge general -rooms; and, of course he furnished it in that comfortless splendor in -which live those of the civilized and semicivilized world in whom -prosperity smothers all originality or desire for originality. For Hugo -was most careful to do everything and anything expected of his "set" by -the sly middle-class purveyors who think out the luxuries and fashions -by which they live off the vanities and conventionalities of the rich. - -When Armstrong appeared, Hugo had been shaved and bathed and massaged -and manicured and perfumed and dressed; he was seated at a little -breakfast table drawn near the open fire in the dining room, two men -servants in attendance--a third had ushered Armstrong in. He was -arrayed in a gray silk house suit, with facings of a deeper gray, over -it a long grayish-purple silk and eiderdown robe. He was in the act of -lighting a cigarette at the cut glass and gold lamp which his butler was -holding respectfully. - -"Ah--Armstrong!" he said, with that high-pitched voice and affected -accent which makes the person who uses it seem to say, "You will note -that I am a real aristocrat." Then to the butler, "I wish to be alone." - -"Yes, sir," said the butler, with a bow. The other servant bowed also, -and they left the room. - -"Well, what is it, Fosdick?" said Armstrong, seating himself. - -Hugo frowned at that familiarity, aggravated by the curt tone. "I shall -not detain you long enough for you to be at the trouble of seating -yourself," said he. - -Armstrong reflected on this an instant before he grasped what Hugo was -driving at. Then he smiled. "Go on--what is it?" he said, settling -himself. - -"I directed you to come here," said Hugo, "because I wished to avoid -every possibility of scandal. I assume you understood, as soon as you -got my note?" - -Armstrong looked at him quizzically. "And I came," said he, "because I -assumed you had some important, very private, message from your father. -I thought perhaps your father would be here." - -"My father knows nothing of this," said Hugo. "I thought it more humane -to spare him the pain of discovering that a servant he regarded as -faithful had shamefully betrayed him." - -"I might have known!" exclaimed Armstrong with good-natured disgust, -rising. "So you brought me here to discuss some trifle about your -servants. Some day, if I get the leisure, my young friend, I'll tell you -what I think of you. But not to-day. Good morning." - -"Stop!" commanded Hugo. As Armstrong did not stop, he said, "I have -discovered your thefts from the company." - -Armstrong wheeled, blanched. He looked hard at young Fosdick; then he -slowly returned to his chair. "I understand," he said, in a voice most -unlike his own. - -"And I sent for you," continued Hugo triumphantly, "to tell you I will -permit you quietly to resign. You will write out your resignation at the -desk in the next room. I shall present it to the Board, and shall see -that it is accepted without scandal or question. Of course, so far as -you are able, you must make good your shortage. But I shall not be hard -on you. I appreciate that chaps like you are often tempted beyond their -powers of resistance." - -By this time Armstrong was smiling so broadly that Hugo, absorbed though -he was in his own role of the philosophic gentleman, had to see it. He -broke off, reddened, rose and drew himself to his full height--and a -very elegant figure he was. Armstrong looked up at him from his -indolent lounge in the big chair. "Did you pose that before a cheval -glass, Hugo?" he said, in a pleasant, contemptuous tone. - -"You will force me to the alternative," cried Hugo furiously. - -Armstrong got up. "Go ahead, old man," he said. "Do whatever you -please. Better talk to your father first, though." He glanced round. -"You're very gorgeous here--too gorgeous for the hard-working, poor -people who pay for it. I'll have to interfere." He smiled at Hugo -again, but there was an unpleasant glitter in his eyes. "You are -suspended from the fourth vice-presidency," he went on tranquilly. "And -you will vacate these premises before noon to-day. See that you take -nothing with you that belongs to the O.A.D. If you do, I'll have you in -a police court. Be out before noon. Brownell will be up at that hour." - -Hugo stood staring. This effrontery was unbelievable. Before he could -recover himself, Armstrong was gone. He sat down and slowly thought it -out. Yes, it was true, the flat had been taken nominally as an uptown -branch of the O.A.D. home office; much of the furniture had been paid -for by the company; several of the servants were on the pay roll as -clerks and laborers; yes, he had even let the O.A.D. pay grocery and -wine bills--was he not like his father--did not everything he did, -everything he ate and drank, contribute to the glory and stability of -the O.A.D.? He was but following the established usage among the powers -that deigned to guard the financial interests of the people. Perhaps, -he carried the system a little further, more frankly further, than some; -but logically, legitimately. Still, Armstrong was president, had -nominally the authority to make things unpleasant for him. - -He looked at the clock--it was ten; no time to lose. He rushed into his -clothes, darted into his waiting brougham and drove home. The doctor -was with his father; he had to wait, pacing and fuming, until nearly -eleven before he could get admission. The old man, haggard and -miserable, was stretched on a sofa-bed before the fire in his sitting -room. "Well, what do you want?" he said sharply. - -Hugo did not pause to choose words. "I found in the books," said he, -"where Armstrong had taken three hundred and fifty thousand dollars from -us--from the company. I thought I'd not worry you with it. So I sent -for him to come to my rooms." - -"What!" yelled Fosdick, getting his breath which had gone at the first -shock. "What the damnation! You sprung _my_ trap! You _fool_!" - -"I ordered him to resign," Hugo hastened on. "And he refused, and -ordered me to vacate my rooms before noon--because the lease stands in -the name of the company. And he suspended me as vice-president." - -"Good, good!" shouted Fosdick, his thin, wire-like hair, his gaunt face, -his whole lean body streaming fury. "Why has God cursed me with such a -son as this! How dare you! You wretched idiot! You have ruined us -all!" - -Hugo cowered. Making full allowance for his father's physical pain and -violent temper, there was still that in the old man's face which -convinced Hugo he had made a frightful blunder. "I'll vacate," he said, -near to whimpering, "I'll do whatever you say." - -"Give me that telephone!" ordered the old man. - -Fosdick got the O.A.D. building and Armstrong's office. And soon -Armstrong's voice came over the wire. "Is that you, Armstrong--Horace--? -Yes, I recognize your voice. This is Fosdick. That fool boy of mine -has just told me what he did." - -"Yes," came in Armstrong's noncommittal voice. - -"I want to say you did perfectly right in ordering him to vacate." - -"Thanks." - -"He'll be out by the time you set. His resignation as vice-president is -on the way downtown. I'm sending him to apologize to you. I want to do -everything, anything to show my deep humiliation, my deep regret." - -No answer from the other end of the wire. - -"Are you there, Horace?" - -"Yes." - -"Have I made myself clear? Is there anything I can do?" - -"Nothing. Is that all?" - -"Can you come up here? It's impossible for me to leave my -bedroom--simply out of the question." - -"I'm too busy this morning." - -"This afternoon?" - -"Not to-day. Good-by." - -The ring-off sounded mockingly in the old man's ear. With an oath he -caught up the telephone apparatus and flung it at Hugo's head. "Ass! -Ass!" he shouted, shaking his cane at his son, who had barely dodged the -heavy instrument. "Vacate that apartment! Take the first steamer for -Europe! And don't you show up in town again until I give you leave. -Hide yourself! Ass! Ass!" - -Hugo scudded like a swallow before a tempest. "Is there any depth," he -said when he felt at a safe distance, "_any_ depth to which father -wouldn't descend, for the sake of money--and drag us down with him?" He -admitted that perhaps he had not acted altogether discreetly. "I -oughtn't to have roused Armstrong's envy by letting him see my rooms." -Still, that could have been easily repaired. Certainly, it wasn't -necessary to grovel before an employee--"and a damned thief at that." -By the time he reached his apartments, he was quite restored to favor -with himself. He hurried the servants away, telephoned for a firm of -packers and movers to come at once. As he rang off, a call came for -him. He recognized the voice of Armstrong's secretary. - -"Is that Mr. Hugo Fosdick? Well, Mr. Armstrong asks me to say that it -won't be necessary for you to give up those offices uptown to-day, that -you can keep them as long as you please." - -"Aha!" thought Hugo, triumphant again. "He has come to his senses. I -knew it--I knew he would!" To the secretary he simply said, "Very -well," and rang up his father. It was nearly half an hour before he -could get him; the wire was busy. At his first word, the old man said, -"Ring off there! I don't want to hear or see you. You take that -steamer to-morrow!" - -"Armstrong has weakened, father," cried Hugo. - -"What!" answered the old man, not less savage, but instantly eager. - -"He has just telephoned, practically apologizing, and asking me not to -disturb myself about the apartment. I knew he'd come down when he -thought it over." - -A silence, then his father said in a milder tone: "Well--you keep away -from the office. Don't touch business, don't go near it, until I tell -you to. And don't come near me till I send for you. What else did -Armstrong say?" - -"Just what I told you--nothing more. But when I see him, he'll -apologize, no doubt." - -"See that you don't see him," snapped the old man. "Keep away from -anybody that knows anything of business. Keep to that crowd of -empty-heads you travel with. Do you understand?" - -"Yes, father," said Hugo, in the respectful tone he never, in his most -supercilious mood, forgot to use toward the custodian and arbiter of his -prospects. - - - - - *XVII* - - *VIOLETTE'S TAPESTRIES* - - -Armstrong would not have protested Raphael's favorite fling at the -financial district as "a wallow of dishonor"; and Boris's description of -him as reeking the slime of the wallow was no harsher than what he was -daily thinking about himself. - -The newspapers were shrieking for a "real cleaning of the Augean stables -of finance"; the political figureheads of "the interests" were solemnly -and sonorously declaiming that there must be no repetition of former -fiascos and fizzles, when nobody had been punished, though everybody had -been caught black-handed. The prosecuting officers were protesting that -the plea of the guilty that they were "gentlemen" and "respectable" -would not again avail. So, Wall Street's wise knew that the struggle -between Fosdick and Atwater was near its crisis. Throughout the -"wallow" banks and trust companies, bond houses and bucket shops, all -the eminent respectabilities, were "hustling" to get weathertight. -Everyone appreciated that Fosdick and Atwater, prudent men, patron -saints of "stability," would be careful to confine the zone of war -strictly. But--what would they regard as the prudent and proper limits -of this release and use of public anger? Neither faction was afraid of -law, of serious criminal prosecution; however the authorities might be -compelled to side, they would not yield to popular clamor--beyond making -the usual bluff necessary to fool the public until it forgot. But these -exposures which had now become a regular part of the raids of the great -men on each other's preserves always tended to make the public shy for a -while; and the royalty, nobility, and gentry of the fashionable -hierarchy, had to meet the enormous expenses of their families, their -establishments, and their retinues of dependents, never less, ever more. -They could ill afford any cessation or marked slackening of the inflow -of wealth from the industrious and confiding, or covetous, -masses--covetous rather than confiding, since the passion of the average -man for gambling, for getting something for nothing, is an even larger -factor in the successful swindling operations of enthroned -respectability than is his desire for a safe, honest investment of his -surplus. Finally, the uneasy upper classes remembered that usually -these exposures resulted in the sacrifice of some of them; an unlucky -financier or group of financiers was loaded down with the blame for the -corruption and, amid the execration of the crowd and the noisy -denunciation of fellow financiers, was sent away into the wilderness, -disgraced so far as a man can be disgraced in the eyes of -money-worshipers when he still has his wealth. Rarely did the sacrifice -extend further than disgrace; still, that was no light matter, as it -meant lessened opportunities to share in the looting which was soon -resumed with increased energy and success. The disgraced financier had -to live on what he had acquired before his disgrace, instead of keeping -that intact, and paying his expenses, and adding to his fortune, too, -out of fresh loot. - -Altogether, it was wise to get good and ready--to "dress" the shelves -and the back of the shop as well as the windows and front cases; to -destroy or hide suspicious books and memoranda; to shift confidential -clerks; to distribute vacations to Europe among employees, open and -secret, with dangerous information and a tendency toward hysterical and -loose talking under cross-examination; to retain all the able lawyers, -and all those related by blood, marriage, or business to legislators, -prosecuting officers, and powerful politicians; to confer discreetly as -to the exact facts of certain transactions, "so that we may not make any -blunders and apparent contradictions on the witness stand." And the -lawyers--how busy they were! The aristocrats of the legal profession -were as brisk as are their humbler fellows on the eve of a "tipped-off" -raid on a den of "swell crooks." In fact, the whole business had the -air of a very cheap and vulgar kind of crookedness; and the doings of -the great men were strange indeed, in view of their pose as leaders by -virtue of superiority in honest skill. An impartial observer might have -been led to wonder whether honest men had not been driven from -leadership because they would not stoop to the vilenesses by which -"success" was gained, and not because they were less in brain. As for -such conduct in men lauded as "bold," "brave," "courageous beyond the -power to quail"--it was simply inexplicable. The "dare-devil leaders" -were acting like a pack of shifty cowards engaged in robbing a safe and -just hearing the heavy, regular tread of a police patrol under the -windows. - -Armstrong was too absorbed in the game for much analysis or theorizing; -still, his lip did curl at the spectacle--and in part his sneer was -self-contempt. "It's disgusting," said he to himself, "that to keep -alive among these scoundrels and guard the interests one is intrusted -with, one must do or tolerate so many despicable things." As that view -of the matter was the one which every man in the district was taking, -each to excuse himself to himself, there was not an uncomfortable -conscience or a shame-reddened cheek or a slinking eye. Once a man -becomes convinced that his highest duty is not to himself, but to his -fellow man, the rest is easy; the greater his "self-sacrifice" of -honesty, decency, and self-respect for the sake of the public good--for -country or religion or "stability" or "to keep the workingman's family -from starving"--the more sympathetic and enthusiastic is his conscience. - -When the financial district was at the height of its activity in getting -weathertight for the approaching investigation, Fosdick shook off his -savage enemy, the gout, and got downtown again. He went direct from his -carriage to Armstrong's offices. He greeted his "man" as cordially as -if he had not just been completing the arrangements by which he expected -to make Armstrong himself the first conspicuous victim of the -investigation. And Armstrong received and returned the greeting with no -change in his usual phlegmatic manner to hint his feelings or his plans. - -"About Hugo--" began Josiah. - -Armstrong made a gesture of dismissal. "That's a closed incident. Any -news of the committee?" - -Josiah accepted the finality of Armstrong's manner. "You show yourself a -man in ignoring the flappings and squawkings of that young cockatoo," -said he cheerfully. "As for the committee-- What do you think of -Morris for counsel?" - -"You've decided on him?" said Armstrong. His eyes wandered. - -But Fosdick was not subtle, and thought nothing of that slight but, in -one so close, most significant sign of a concealing mind. "It's -settled," replied he. "Joe's an honorable man. Also, he's tied fast to -us, and at the same time the public can't charge that he's one of our -lawyers. I know, you and he--" There Fosdick stopped. He prided -himself on a most gentlemanly delicacy in family matters. - -"He'll take orders?" said Armstrong, with no suggestion that he either -saw cause for "delicacy" or appreciated it. - -"I suppose he would, if it were necessary. But, thank God, Horace, it -isn't. As I told him at my house last night, after the governor and I -had decided on him--I said to him: 'Joe, go ahead and make a reputation -for yourself. We fear nothing--we've got nothing to hide that the -public has a right to know. Tear the mask off those damned scoundrels -who are trying to seize the O.A.D. and change it from a great bulwark of -public safety into a feeder for their reckless gambling.'" - -"And what did he say?" inquired Armstrong--a simple inquiry, with no -hint of the cynical amusement it veiled. - -"He was moved to tears, almost," replied Fosdick, damp of eye himself at -the recollection. "And he said: 'Thank you, Mr. Fosdick, and you, -Governor Hartwell. I'll regard this commission as a sacred trust. I'll -be careful not to give encouragement to calumny or to make the public -uneasy and suspicious where there is no just reason for uneasiness and -suspicion; and at the same time I'll expose these men who have been -prostituting the name of financier.' You really ought to have heard -him." - -An inarticulate sound came from behind the Westerner's armor of stolid -apathy. - -"Horace, he's a noble fellow," continued Fosdick, assuming that his -"man" was sympathetic. "And he knows the law from cover to cover. He -has drawn some of our best statutes, and whenever I've got into a place -where it looked as if the howling of the mob was going to stop business, -I've always called on him to get up a statute that would make the mob -happy and not interfere with us, and he has never failed me. By the time -he's fifty, he'll be one of the strongest men in the country--the kind -of man the business interests 'd like to see in the White House. If it -weren't for that fool wife of his! Do you know her?" - -"No," replied Armstrong. - -Fosdick decided that "delicacy" was unnecessary, as Armstrong was out of -the Carlin family. "It's all very well," said he, "for a young fellow -to go crazy about a girl when he's courting. But to keep on being crazy -about her after they've got used to each other and settled down--it's -past me. It defeats the whole object of marriage, which is to steady a -man, to take woman off his mind, and give him peace for his work. In my -opinion, there's too much talk about love nowadays. It ain't decent--it -ain't _decent_! And it's setting the women crazy, with so much idle -time on their hands. Morris is stark mad about that wife of his, and -all he gets out of it is what a man usually gets when he makes a fool of -himself for a woman. She thinks of nothing but spending money, and she -keeps him poor. The faster he earns, the wilder she spends. I suppose -he thinks she cares for him--when working him is simply a business with -her." - -If Fosdick had known what Mrs. Morris was about at that very hour, there -would have been even more energy in his denunciation of her. As soon as -her husband had got home the previous night, he had confided to her the -whole of his new and dazzling opportunity--not only all that his secret -employer expected him to make of it but all that he purposed to make of -it. She was not a discreet woman; so, it was fortunate for him that her -listening when he talked "shop," as she called his career, was a -pretense. She gathered only what was important to her--that he felt -sure of making a great deal out of the new venture. - -He meant reputation; she assumed that he meant money. She began to -spend it the very next day. Even as Josiah Fosdick was denouncing her, -she was in an art store negotiating for a set of medieval tapestries for -her salon. As antiques, the tapestries were wonderful--wonderful, like -so large a part of the antiques that multimillionaires have brought over -for their houses and for the museums--wonderful as specimens of the -ingenuity of European handicraftsmen at forgery. As works of art, the -tapestries were atrocious; as household articles, they were -dangerous--filthy, dust- and germ-laden rags. But "everybody" was -getting antique tapestries; Mrs. Morris must have them. She was an -interesting and much-admired representative of the American woman who -goes in _seriously_ for art. To go in _seriously_ for art does not mean -to cultivate one's sense of the beautiful, to learn to discriminate with -candor among good, not so good, not so bad, and bad. It means to keep -in touch with the European dealers in things artistic, real and reputed; -to be the first to follow them when, a particular fad having been mined -to its last dollar, they and their subsidized critics and connoisseurs -come out excitedly for some new period or style or school. Mrs. Morris -was regarded as one of the first authorities in fashionable New York on -matters of art. Her house was enormously admired; she was known to -every dealer from Moscow to the tip of the Iberian peninsula; and -incredible were the masses of trash they had worked off upon her and, -through her recommendations, upon her friends. - -Her "amazing artistic discernment"--so Sunnywall, the most fashionable -of the fashionable architects, described it--was the bulwark of her -social position. Whenever a voice lifted against the idle lives of -fashionable people, how conclusive to reply, "Look at Mrs. Joe -Morris--she's typical. She devotes her life to art. It's incalculable -what she has done toward interesting the American people in art." She -even had fame in a certain limited way. Her name was spoken with -respect from Maine to California in those small but conspicuous circles -where possession of more or less wealth and a great deal of empty time -has impelled the women to occupy themselves with books, pictures, -statuary, furniture they think they ought to like. To what fantastic -climaxes prosperity has brought the old American passion for -self-development! The men, to shrewd and shameless prostitution in the -market-places; the women, to the stupefying ignorance of the culture -that consists in the mindless repetitions of the slang and cant and -nonsense of intellectual fakirs. - -Mrs. Morris told her husband about the new tapestries at dinner. That -was her regular time for imparting to him anything she knew he would be -"troublesome" about; and it was rapidly ruining his digestion. She -chose dinner because the presence of the servants made it impossible for -him to burst out until the fact that the thing was done and could not be -undone had time to batter down his wrath. Usually she spoke between -soup and fish--she spoke thus early that she might gain as much time as -possible. So often did she have these upsetting communications to make -that he got in the habit of dreading those two courses as a -transatlantic captain dreads the Devil's Hole; and on evenings when the -fish had come and gone with nothing upsetting from her, he had a sudden, -often exuberant rush of high spirits. - -"I dropped in at Violette's to-day for another look at those -tapestries," she began. - -At "Violette's" he paused in lifting the spoon to his lips; at -"tapestries" he pricked his ears--one of the greatest trials of his -wife's married life was that independent motion of his ears, "just like -one of the lower animals or something in a side show," she often -complained. - -"And I simply couldn't resist," she ended, looking like a happy, spoiled -child. He dropped the spoon with a splash. - -"Do be careful, Joe," she remonstrated sweetly. "We can't change the -dinner-cloth every night, and such frequent washing is _ruinous_. I had -them sent home, and you'll be entranced when you see them." - -"Did you give Violette his original price?" he demanded, as his color, -having reached an apoplectic blue-red, began to pale toward the normal. - -"He wouldn't come down a cent. And I don't blame him." - -Morris glowered at the butler and the footman. They went about their -business as if quite unconscious of the work of peace they were -doing--and were expected by their mistress to do. Mrs. Morris talked on -and on, pretending to assume that he was as delighted with her purchase -as was she. She discoursed of these particular tapestries, of -tapestries in general, of the atmosphere they brought into a house--"the -suggestion, the very spirit of the old, beautiful life of the upper -classes in the Middle Ages." By the time dinner was over she had talked -herself so far away from the sordid things of life that the coarsest -nature would have shrunk from intruding them. But on that evening -Morris was angry through and through. When they left the dining room, -she said, "Now, come and look at them, dear." - -"No," he said savagely. He threw open the door of his study. "Come in -here. I want to talk to you." - -She hesitated. A glance at his fury-blanched face convinced her that, -if she made it necessary, he would seize her and thrust her in. As the -door closed on them with a bang, the butler said to the footman, -"Letty's done it once too often." - -The footman tiptoed toward the door. The butler stopped him with, "You -couldn't hear bloody murder through that study door, and the keyhole's -no good." - -"Why didn't he take her to her boudoir?" grumbled the footman. - -She had indeed "done it once too often." As soon as Morris had the door -locked he blazed down at her--she fresh and innocent, with her fluffy -golden hair and sweet blue eyes and dimples on either side of her pretty -mouth. "Damn you!" he exclaimed through his set teeth. "You want to -ruin me, body and soul--you vampire!" - -Two big slow tears drenched her eyes. "Oh, Joe!" she implored. "What -have I done! Don't be angry with me. It kills me!" And she caught her -breath like a child trying bravely not to cry and put out her rosy arms -toward him, her round, rosy shoulders and bosom rising and falling in a -rhythmic swell. - -"Don't touch me!" he all but shouted. "That's part of your infernal -game. Oh, you think I'm a fool--and so I am--so I am! But not the kind -you imagine. It hasn't been your cleverness that has made me play the -idiot, but my own weakness." He caught her by the shoulders. "What is -it?" he cried furiously, shaking her. "What's the infernal spell I get -under whenever you touch me?" - -"You love me," she pleaded, "as I love you." - -"Love!" he jeered. "Well, call it that--no matter. Those tapestries -have got to go back--do you hear?" - -"Yes--you needn't shout, dear. Certainly they'll go back." - -"You say 'certainly,' but you've no intention of sending them back. You -think this'll blow over, that you'll wheedle me round as you have a -hundred times. But I tell you, _this_ time, what I say _goes_!" - -"What's the trouble, Joe? You were never like this before." - -He was gnawing at his thin gray mustache and was breathing heavily. -"When I married you I was a decent sort of fellow. I had a sense of -honor and a disposition to be honest. You--you've made me into a bawd. -I tell you, not the lowest creature that parades the streets of the -slums is viler than I. That's what you and love--love!--have done for -me. My wife and love! God, woman, what you have made me do to get -money for those greedy hands of yours! Now, listen to me. You evidently -didn't listen last night when I told you my plans. No matter. Here's -the point. I'm going to sell out once more--going to play the traitor -for as big stakes as ever tempted a man. Then, I'll make the career I -once dreamed of making, and you will be second to no woman in the land. -But, no more extravagance." - -"I always knew you'd be rich and famous," she cried, clasping her hands -and looking the radiant child. - -"Famous, but not rich. I'm not playing for money this time. And we're -not going to have much money hereafter. I've thought it all out. We're -going to move into a smaller house; all your junk is to be sold, and -what little money it'll bring we'll put by." - -She seemed to be freezing. The baby look died out of her face. Her -eyes became hard, her mouth cruel. "I don't understand," she said. - -"Yes, you do, madam," he retorted. "You need not waste time in scheming -or in working your schemes. I've thought it all out. You were driving -me straight to ruin; and, when you got me there, if I hadn't -conveniently died or blown my brains out, you'd have divorced me and -fastened on some one else. I think that, like me, you used to be decent. -You've been led on and on until you've come pretty near to losing all -human feeling. Well, it's to be a right about, this instant. I'm going -back--and you've got to go back with me." - -There was a note in his voice, an expression in his eyes that disquieted -her; but she had ruled him so long, had softened him from the appearance -of strength into plastic weakness so often, that she saw before her -simply a harder task than usual, perhaps the hardest task she had yet -had. - -"I'll be very busy the next few months," he went on. "You must go -away--to your mother--or abroad--anywhere, so that I shan't be tempted." - -"I don't want to leave you!" she cried. "I want to stay and help you." - -His smile was sardonic. "No! You shall go. I've an offer for this -house, as it stands. In fact, I've sold it." - -She stared wildly. "Joe!" she screamed. - -"I've sold it," he repeated. - -"To whom?" - -His eyes shifted, and he flushed. "To Trafford," he replied, with a -sullenness, a shamefacedness that would not have escaped her had she not -been internally in such a commotion that nothing from the outside could -impress her. - -"But you couldn't get a tenth what the things are worth, selling that -way." - -"I got a good price," said he, his eyes averted. "Never mind what it -was." - -"Why, the Traffords would have no use for this house. They've got a -palace." - -"He bought it," said Morris doggedly. - -"I don't believe it." - -"He bought it; and I want you to tell everybody we sold at a loss--a big -loss. You can say we're thinking of living in the country. Not a word -to anyone that'd indicate there's any mystery about the sale." This -without looking up. - -She studied his face--the careworn but still handsome features, the bad -lines about the eyes and mouth, the splendid intellectuality of the -brow, a confused but on the whole disagreeable report upon the life and -character within. "I think I do understand," she said slowly. Then, -like a vicious jab, "At least, as much as I want to understand." - -She strolled toward the door, sliding one soft, jeweled hand -reflectively over her bare shoulders. She paused before a statuette and -inspected it carefully, her hands behind her back, her fingers slowly -locking and unlocking. Presently she gave a queer little laugh and -said, "It wasn't the house, it was _you_ Trafford bought." - -A pause, then he: "He _thinks_ so." - -Again a pause, she smiling softly up at the statuette. Without facing -him she said, "I must have my share, Joe." - -He did not answer. - -She waited a few minutes, repeated, "_I_ must have my share." - -"Yes," he replied. - -A pause; then, "Are you coming up to bed?" - -"I shall sleep here." - -She had passively despised him, whenever she had thought about him at -all in those years of his subservience to her. For the first time she -was looking at him with a feeling akin to respect. - -"Good night," she murmured sweetly. - -"Good night," curtly from him. - -The watching servants were astonished at her expression of buoyant good -humor, were astounded when she said with careless cheerfulness to the -butler, "Thomas, telephone Violette the first thing in the morning to -come for those tapestries he brought to-day. Tell him I'll call and -explain." - - - - - *XVIII* - - *ARMSTRONG PROPOSES* - - -Armstrong lingered in the entrance to the apartment house where Neva -lived, dejection and irritation plain upon his features. At no time -since he met her at Trafford's had he so longed to see her; and the -elevator boy had just told him she was out. The boy's manner was -convincing, but Armstrong was supersensitive about Neva. - -She had received him often, and was always friendly; but always with a -reserve, the more disquieting for its elusiveness. And whenever he -tried to see her and failed, he suspected her of being unwilling to -admit him. Sometimes the suspicion took the form of a belief it was a -_tete-a-tete_ with the painter which she would not let him interrupt. -Again, he feared she had decided not to admit him any more. It would be -difficult to say which made him the gloomier--the feeling that he was, -at best, a distant second, or the feeling that he was not placed at all. -Never before in his relation with any human being, man or woman, had he -been so exasperatingly at a disadvantage as with her. The fact that -they had been married, which apparently ought to have made it impossible -for her to maintain any barrier of reserve against him, once she had -accepted him as a friend, was somehow just the circumstance that -prevented him from making any progress whatever with her. And this was -highly exasperating to a man of his instinct and passion and ability for -conquest and dominion over all about him, men as well as women. - -"I'm making a fool of myself. I'm letting her make a fool of me," he -thought angrily, as he stood in the entrance. "I'll not come again." -But he had made this same decision each time he was met with "Not at -home," and had nevertheless reappeared at her door after a few weeks of -self-denial. So, he mocked himself even as he was bravely resolving. -He gazed up and down the street. His face brightened. Far down the long -block, toward Fifth Avenue, he saw a slim, singularly narrow figure, -thin yet nowhere angular; beautiful shoulders and bust, narrow hips; a -fascinating simple dress of brown, a sable stole and muff, a graceful -brown hat with three plumes. "Distinguished" was the word that seemed to -him to describe what he could see, thus far. As she drew near, he noted -how her clear skin, her eyes, her hair all had the sheen that proclaims -health and vivid life. "But she would never have looked like this, or -have been what she is, if she had not got rid of me," he said to himself -by way of consolation. - -"Won't you take a walk?" he asked, when they met half way between the -two avenues. The friendliness of her greeting dispelled his ill humor; -sometimes that same mere friendliness was the cause of a stinging -irritation. - -"Come back with me," she replied. "I'm always in at this time. -Besides, to-day I have an engagement--no, not just yet--not until Boris -comes. Then, he and I are going out." - -"Oh--Raphael! Always Raphael." - -"Almost always," said she. "Almost every day--often twice a day, -sometimes three times a day." - -His dealings with women had been in disregard and disdain of their -"feminine" methods; but he did know the men who use that same -indirection to which women are compelled because nature and the human -societies modeled upon its savage laws decree that woman shall deal with -men in the main through their passions. He, therefore, suspected that -Neva's frank declaration was not without intent to incite. But, to -suspect woman's motive rarely helps man; in his relations with her he is -dominated by a force more powerful than reason, a force which compels -him to acts of which his reason, though conscious and watchful, is a -helpless spectator. Armstrong's feeling that Neva was not unwilling to -give herself the pleasure of seeing him jealous of Raphael did not help -him toward the self-control necessary to disappoint her. Silent before -his rising storm, he accompanied her to the studio. Alone with her -there, he said abruptly: - -"Do you think any human being could fall in love with me?" - -She examined him as if impartially balancing merits and demerits. "Why -not?" she finally said. - -"I've sometimes thought there was a hardness in me that repels." - -"Perhaps you're right," she admitted. "You'll probably never know until -you yourself fall in love." - -"What is your objection to me?" - -"Mine?" She seemed to reflect before answering. "The principal one, I -think, is your tyranny. You crush out every individuality in your -neighborhood. You seem to want a monopoly of the light and air." - -"Was that what used to make you so silent and shut up in yourself?" - -She nodded. "I simply couldn't begin to grow. You wouldn't have it." - -"But now?" he said. - -She smiled absently. "It often amuses me to see how it irritates you -that you can't--crowd me. You do so firmly believe that a woman has no -right to individuality." - -He was not really listening. He was absorbed in watching her slowly -take off her long gloves; as her white forearms, her small wrists, her -hands, emerged little by little, his blood burned with an exhilaration -like the sting of a sharp wind upon a healthy skin---- - -"Neva, will you marry me?" - -So far as he could see, she had not heard. She kept on at the gloves -until they were off, were lying in her lap. She began to remove her hat -pins; her arms, bare to the elbows, were at their best in that position. - -"A year ago, two years ago," he went on, "I thought we had never been -married. I know now that we have never been unmarried." - -"And when did you make that interesting discovery?" inquired she, still -apparently giving her hat her attention. - -"When I saw how I felt toward Raphael. You think I am jealous of him. -But it is not jealousy. I know you couldn't fall in love with a fellow -that rigs himself out like a peacock." - -The delicate line of Neva's eyebrows lifted. "Boris dresses to suit -himself," said she. "I never think of it--nor, I fancy, does he." - -"Besides," continued Armstrong, "you could no more fall in love with him -than you could at any other place step over the line between a nice -woman and the other kind." - -"Really!" - -"Yes--really!" he retorted, showing as much anger as he dared. "My -feeling about Raphael is that he has no right to hang about another -man's wife as he does. And you feel the same way." - -With graceful, sure fingers she was arranging her hair where it had been -pressed down by her hat. "That is amusing," she said tranquilly. "You -must either change your idea of what 'nice woman' means or change your -idea of me. I haven't the slightest sense of having been married to -you." - -"Impossible!" he maintained. - -"I know why you say that--why men think that. But I assure you, my -friend, I have no more the feeling that I am married than that I am -still sick because I had a severe illness once." - -His mind had been much occupied by memories of their married days; their -dead child so long, so completely forgotten by him and never thought of -as a tie between him and his wife, had suddenly become a thing of -vividness, the solemn and eternal sealing of its mother to him. Her -calm repudiation of him and his rights now seemed to him as unwomanly as -would have seemed any attempt on her part to claim him, had he not begun -to care for her. - -"Don't say those things," he protested angrily. "You don't mean them, -and they sound horrible." - -She looked at him satirically. "You men!" she mocked. "You men, with -your coarse, narrow ideas of us women that encourage all that is least -self-respecting in us! I do not attach the same importance to the -physical side of myself that you do. I try to flatter myself there is -more to me than merely my sex. I admit, nature intended only that. But -we are trying to improve on nature." - -"I suppose you think you have made me ashamed because I am still in a -state of nature," he rejoined. "But you haven't. No matter what any man -may pretend, he will care for you in the natural way as long as you look -as you do." And his glance swept her in bold admiration. "As I said a -while ago, I'm not jealous of Raphael. I'm jealous of all men. -Sometimes I get to thinking about you--that you are somewhere--with some -man, several men--their heads full of the ideas that steam in my head -whenever I look at you--and I walk the floor and grind my teeth in -fury." - -The color was in her cheeks, though her eyes were mocking. "Go on," she -said. "This is interesting." - -"Yes--it must be interesting, and amusing, in view of the way I used to -act. But that was your fault. You hid yourself from me then. You -cheated me. You let me make a fool of myself, and throw away the best -there was in my life." - -"You forget your career," said she. "You aren't a human being. You are -a career." - -"I suppose you--a woman--would prefer an obscurity, a nobody, provided -he were a sentimental, Harry-hug-the-hearth." - -"I think so," she said. "A nobody with a heart rather than the greatest -somebody on earth without one. Heart is so much the most important -thing in the world. You'll find that out some day, when you're not so -strong and self-reliant and successful." - -"I have found it out," replied he. "And that is why I ask you to marry -me." - -"Ask me to become an incident in your career." - -"No. To become joint, equal partner in our career." - -She shook her head. "You couldn't, wouldn't have a partner, male or -female--not yet. Besides it would be impossible for me to interest -myself in getting rich or taking care of riches or distributing them -among a crowd of sycophants." - -"I'm not getting rich," replied he. "I'm making a good salary, and -spending it almost all. But I'm not making much, outside." - -"I had heard otherwise. They tell me your sort of business is about the -best 'graft'--isn't that the word?--downtown, and that you are where you -can get as much as you care to carry away." - -"Yes. I _could_." - -"But you don't? I knew it!" - -Her belief in his honesty made him uncomfortable. "I didn't say I was -different from the others--really different," he said hesitatingly. -That very morning he had been forced to listen to a long series of -reports on complaints of O.A.D. policy holders--how some had been -swindled by false promises of agents whom he must shield; how others had -been cheated on lapsed or surrendered policies; how, in a score of sly -ways, the "gang" in control were stealing from their wards, their -trusting and helpless victims. "I can't, and don't purpose to, deny," -he went on to her, "that I'm part of the system of inducing some other -fellow to sow, and then reaping his harvest, or most of it. I don't put -it in my own barn, but I do help at the reaping. Oh, everything's -perfectly proper and respectable--at least, on the surface. But--well, -sometimes I get desperately sick of it all. Just now, I'm in that mood; -it brought me here to-day. There's a row on down there, and it's plot -and counterplot, move and check, all very exciting, but I--hate it! -Nobody's to blame. It's simply a system that's grown up. And if one -plays the game, why, he's got to conform to the rules." - -"_If_ one plays the game." - -"What's a man to do? Go back to the farm and become a slave to a -railroad company or a mortgage? We can't all be painters." - -She glanced at him quickly with a sudden narrowing of the eyelids that -seemed to concentrate her gaze like a burning glass. "I hadn't thought -of that," said she. - -"If you had to be either a sheep or a shearer, which would you choose?" - -"Is that how it is?" - -"Pretty nearly," was his gloomy reply. - -A long silence, he staring at the floor, she watching him. At last she -said, "Haven't they--got--something on you--something they can use -against you?" - -He startled. "Where did you hear that? What did you hear?" he -demanded, with an astonished look at her. - -"I was lunching to-day with some people who know we used to be married, -but they don't know we're good friends. They supposed I'd be glad to -hear of any misfortune to you. And they said a mine was going to blow -up under you, and that you'd disappear and never be heard of again." - -"You can't tell me who told you?" - -"No--unless it's absolutely necessary. It has something to do with an -investigating committee. You're to be called quite suddenly and -something is to come out--something you did that will look bad--" She -came to a full stop. - -His face cleared. "Oh--I know about that. I've arranged for it." His -mind was free to consider her manner. "And you assumed I was guilty?" - -"I didn't know," she replied. "I was sure you were no worse than the -rest of them. If you hadn't come to-day, I'd have sent you warning." - -His eyes lighted; he smiled triumphantly. "I told you!" he cried. "You -see, you still feel that we're married, that our interests are the -same." - -She colored, but he could not be sure whether her irritation was against -herself or against him. "You are very confident of yourself--and of -me," said she ironically, and her eyes were laughing at him. "And this -is the man," she mocked, "who less than three brief years ago was so -eager to be rid of me!" - -"Yes," he admitted, with a brave and not unsuccessful effort at -brazening out what could not be denied or explained away. "But you were -not the same person then that you are now." - -"And whose fault was that?" retorted she. "You married me when I was a -mere child. You could have made of me what you pleased. Instead, -you----" - -"I admit it all," he interrupted. "I married you--from a base motive, -though I can plead that I glamoured it over to myself. Still, I owed it -to myself and to you to have done my level best with and for you. And I -shirked and skulked." - -She did not show the appreciation of this abjectness which he had, -perhaps unconsciously, expected. Instead, she laughed satirically, but -with entire good humor. "How clever you think yourself, Horace," said -she, "and how stupid you think me. That's a very old trick, to try to -make a crime into a virtue by confessing it." - -He hung his head, convicted. "At least," he said humbly, "I love you -now. If you will give me another chance----" - -"You had as good a chance as a man could ask," she reminded him, without -the anger that would have made him feel sure of her. "How you used to -exasperate me! You assumed I had neither intelligence nor feeling. You -were so selfish, so self-centered. I don't see how you can hope to be -trusted, even as a friend. You shake me off; you see me again; find I -have been somewhat improved by a stay in New York; find I am not wholly -unattractive to others. Your jealousy is roused. No, please don't -protest. You see, I understand you perfectly." - -"I deserve it," he said. - -"Do you think a woman would be showing even the small good sense you -concede women, if she were to trust a man whose interest in her was -based upon jealousy of another man?" - -"I'm not jealous of that damned, scented foreigner, with his rings and -his jeweled canes and his hand-kissing. I know it must make your honest -American flesh creep to have him touch his lips to the back of your -hand." - -Neva blazed at him. "How dare you!" she cried, rising in her wrath. -"How dare _you_ stand in my house, in my presence, and insult thus the -best friend I ever had--the only friend!" - -"Friend!" sneered Armstrong. "I know all about the sort of friendship -that rake is capable of." - -Neva was facing him with a look that blanched his face. "You will -withdraw those insults to Boris," she said, in that low, even voice -which is wrath's deadliest form of expression, "and you will apologize -to me, or you will leave here, never to return." - -"I beg your pardon," he responded instantly. "I am ashamed of having -said those things. I--I ... It was jealousy. I love you, and I can't -bear to think of the possibility of rivalry." - -"You are swift with apologies. In the future, be less swift with -impertinence and insult," she answered, showing in manner, as well, that -she was far from mollified. "As between Boris's friendship and -professions of love from a man who only a little while ago neglected and -abandoned and forgot me----" - -"For God's sake, Neva," he pleaded. "I've been paying for that. And -now that you have shown me how little hope there is for me, I shall -continue to suffer. Be a little merciful!" - -His agitation, where usually there was absolute self-control, convinced -and silenced her. Presently he said, "Will you be friends again--if -I'll behave myself?" - -She nodded with her humorous smile and flash of the eyes. "_If_ you -behave yourself," replied she. "We were talking of--of Fosdick, was it -not?" - -"Fosdick!" He made a gesture of disgust. "That name! I never hear it -or think of it except in connection with something repulsive. It's -always like a whiff from a sewer." - -"And you were about to marry his daughter!" said she, with a glance of -raillery. - -He reddened; anything that was past for him was so completely shut out -and forgotten that, until she reminded him, the sentimental episode with -Amy was as if it had not been. "Where did you hear that?" he asked, his -guilty eyes lowering; for he felt she must have suspected why he had -thought of marrying Amy. - -"Everybody was talking about it when I came to New York." - -He was silent for a moment. "Well," he finally continued, "she and I -are not even friends." Into his eyes came the steely, ruthless look. -"Within a week I'm going to destroy Josiah Fosdick." Then, in comment -on her swiftly changing expression, "I see you don't like that." - -"No," she replied bluntly. - -"I'm going to do a public service," said he, absolutely unconscious of -the real reason why his threat so jarred upon her. "I ought to have a -vote of thanks." - -She could not tell him that it was not his condemnation of Josiah but -his merciless casting out of his friendship with Amy that revolted and -angered and saddened her. If she did tell him, he, so self-absorbed and -so bent upon his own inflexible purposes that he was quite blind to his -own brutality, would merely think her jealous. Besides, she began to -feel that her real ground for anger against him ought to be Josiah's -fate, even if her femininity made the personal reason the stronger. She -accordingly said, "You just got through telling me it was a system, and -not any one man's fault." - -Armstrong dismissed that with a shrug. "I'm in his way, he's in mine. -One or the other has to go down. I'm seeing to it that it's not I." -Then, angered by her expression, and by the sense of accusing himself in -making what sounded like excuse, he cried, "Say it! You despise me!" - -"It isn't a judgment," she answered; "it's a feeling." - -"But you don't know what the man has done." - -"One should not ask himself, What has the other man done? but, What will -my self-respect let me do?" - -He ignored this. "Let me tell you," he said, with a return of the -imperious manner that was second nature to him nowadays. "This man -brought me to New York because he found I knew how to manage the agents -so that they would lure in the most suckers--that's the only word for -it. When I came, I believed the O.A.D. was a big philanthropic -institution--yes, I did, really! Of course I knew men made money out of -it. I was making money out of it, myself. But I thought that, in the -main, the object was to give people a chance to provide against old age -and death." - -"Yes, I remember," she said. "You used to talk about what a grand thing -it was." - -He laughed. "Well, we do give 'em _some_ return for their money--if -they aren't careless and don't give us a chance to cheat them out of -part or all of it, under the laws we've been fixing up against them. -But we never give anything like what's their due. I found I was little -more than a puller-in for a den of respectable thieves--that life -insurance is simply another of the devices of these oily rascals here in -New York--like all their big stock companies and bonding schemes and the -rest of it--a trick to get hold of money and use it for their own -benefit. Ours is the vilest trick of all, though--it seems to me. For -we play on people's heart strings, while the other swindles appeal -chiefly to cupidity." He took a magazine from the table. "Look here!" -He pointed to an illustrated advertisement. "It's the 'ad' of one of -our rivals--same business as ours. See the widow with the tears -streaming down her cheeks, and the three little children clinging to -her; see the heap of furniture on the sidewalk--that means they've -ejected her for not paying the rent. And the type says, 'This wouldn't -have happened if the father had been insured in the Universal.' Clever, -isn't it? Well, the men back of that company and those back of ours -and, worst of all, Trafford's infamous gang, all get rich by stealing -from poor old people, from widows and orphans. That is Fosdick's -business--robbing dead bodies, picking the pockets of calico mourning -dresses." - -It gave him relief and a sense of doing penance, to utter these truths -about himself and his associates that had been rankling in him. As he -believed she knew nothing of business and as he thought her sex did not -reason but only felt, he assumed she would accept his own lenient view -of his personal part in the infamy, of his own deviations from the -"ideal" standards. Her expression disquieted him. "The most respectable -people in the country are in it, in some branch of it," he hastened to -explain, without admitting to himself that he was explaining. "You must -read the list of our directors." - -Her silence alarmed him. He wished he had not been so frank. Recalling -his words he was appalled by their brutality; he could not deny to -himself that they stated the truth, and he wondered that he had not seen -that truth in its full repulsiveness until now. "Of course, they don't -look at it that way," he went on. "A man can get his conscience to -applaud almost anything he's making money out of--the more money, the -easier." - -"Then they do these things quite openly?" said Neva, in amazement. - -"Openly? Certainly not," replied Armstrong, with a slight smile at her -innocence. - -"If they don't do them openly, they know just what they're about." - -"No," he said, imperious and impatient. "You don't understand human -nature. You don't appreciate how men delude themselves." - -His tone, its reminder of his intolerance of any independence of thought -in a woman, or in anyone around him for that matter, brought the color -to her cheeks. "A man who does wrong, but thinks he is doing right, is -not ashamed," she answered. "If he shuffles and conceals, you may be -sure he does not deceive himself, no matter how completely his pretense -deceives you." - -There seemed to be no answer to this. It made ridiculous nonsense of -the familiar excuse for reputable rascality, the excuse he had heard a -thousand times, and had accepted without question. But it also somehow -seemed a home thrust through his own armor. With anger that was what he -would have called feminine in its unreasonableness, he demanded, "Then -you don't think I have the right to tear Fosdick down?" - -"If you are going to tear them all down, and yourself, too," was her -answer, slowly spoken, but firm. - -He laughed ironically. "That's practical!" - -"Does a thing have to be dishonorable and dishonest, to be practical?" - -"From your standpoint, yes," he replied. "At this very moment Fosdick -is chuckling over the scheme he thinks will surely disgrace me forever! -And you are urging me to let him disgrace me. Is that what you call -friendship? Is that your idea of 'heart'?" - -She flushed, but rejoined undaunted, "You can juggle with your -conscience all you please, Horace--just like the other men downtown. -But you know the truth, in the bottom of your heart, just as they do. -And if you rise by the way you've planned, you know that, when you've -risen, you'll do just as he was doing." - -"Then," said he, "your test of me is whether I'll let you beg off this -old buzzard, Fosdick." - -She made a gesture of denial and appeal. "On the contrary, I'd despise -a man who did for a woman what he wouldn't do for his own self-respect." -She was pale, but all the will in her character was showing itself in -her face. "What is Fosdick to me? Now that you've told me about him, I -think it's frightful to send men to jail for stealing bread, and leave -such a creature at large. But--as to you--" Her bosom was rising and -falling swiftly--"as to you, I'm not indifferent. You have stood for -strength and courage, for pride--for manliness. I thought you hard and -cold--but brave--really brave--too brave to steal, at least from the -helpless, or to assassinate even an assassin. Now, I see that you've -changed. Your ambition is dragging you down, as ambition always does. -And what an ambition! To be the best, the most successful, at cheating -the helpless, at robbing the dead!" - -As she spoke, his expression of anger faded. When she ended, with -unsteady voice and fighting back the tears, he did not attempt to reply. -He had made of his face an impassive mask. They were still silent, he -standing at the window, she sitting and gazing into the fire, when Molly -entered to announce Raphael. He threw his coat over his arm, took up -his hat. She searched his face for some indication of his thoughts, but -could find none. He simply said, "I'll think it over." - - - - - *XIX* - - *TWO TELEPHONE TALKS* - - -As Armstrong, at Fosdick's house, was waiting in a small reception room -just off the front hall, he heard the old man on the stairs, storming as -he descended. "It's a conspiracy," he was shouting. "You all want to -kill me. You've heard the doctor say I'll die if I don't stop driving, -and walk. Yet, there's that damned carriage always at the door. I -can't step out that it isn't waiting for me, and you know I can't resist -if I see it. It's murder, that's what it is." - -"Shall I send the carriage away, sir?" Armstrong heard the butler say. - -"No!" cried Fosdick, rapping the floor with his cane. "No! You know I -won't send it away. I've got to get some air, and it seems to me I -can't walk." - -By this time he was at the door of the reception room. "Good morning, -Armstrong," he said with surly politeness. "I'm sick to-day. I suppose -you heard me talking to this butler here. I tell you, things to drive -in are the ruin of the prosperous classes. Sell that damn motor of -yours. Never take a cab, if you can help it. They're killing me with -that carriage of mine. Yes--and there's that infernal cook--chef, as -they call him. He's trying to earn his salary, and he's killing me -doing it. I eat the poison stuff--I can't get anything else. No wonder -I have indigestion and gout. No wonder my head feels as if it was on -fire every morning. And my temper--I used to have a good disposition. -I'm getting to be a devil. It's a conspiracy to murder me." There -Fosdick noted Armstrong's expression. He dropped his private woes -abruptly and said, with his wonted suavity, "But what can I do for you -to-day?" - -"I came to ask you to do an act of justice," replied the Westerner, -looking even huger and more powerful than usual, in contrast with the -other, whom age and self-indulgence were rapidly shriveling. - -Armstrong's calm was aggressive, would better have become a dictator -than a suitor. It was highly offensive to Fosdick, who was rapidly -reaching the state of mind in which obsequiousness alone is tolerable -and manliness seems insolence. But he reined in his temper and said, -smoothly enough, "You can always count on me to do justice." - -"I want you to give me a letter, explaining that those three hundred and -fifty thousand dollars were drawn by me and paid over, at your order." - -Fosdick stared blankly at him. "What three hundred and fifty thousand -dollars?" - -Armstrong's big hands clenched into fists and he set his teeth together -sharply. Each man looked the other full in the eyes. Armstrong said, -"Will you give me the letter?" - -"I don't know what you're talking about," replied Fosdick steadily. -"And don't explain. I can't talk business to-day." - -"I've come to you, Mr. Fosdick," continued Armstrong, "not on my own -account, but on yours. I ask you to give me the letter, because, if you -do not, the consequences will be unfortunate--not for me, but for you." - -"My dear Armstrong," said Fosdick, with wheedling familiarity of elder -to younger, "I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't want to -know. Look at me, and spare me. Come for a drive. I'll set you down -anywhere you say. Don't be foolish, young man. Don't use language to -me that suggests threats." - -"That is your final answer? Is it quite useless to discuss the matter -with you?" - -"I'm too sick to wrangle with business to-day." - -"Then you refuse to give me the letter?" - -"If my doctor knew I had let anybody mention business to me, he'd desert -me." - -Without a further word Armstrong turned, left the room and the house. -Fosdick did not follow immediately. Instead, he seated himself to -puzzle at this development. "Hugo stirred him up about that, and he's -simply trying to get ready for the committee," he decided. "If he knew, -or even suspected, he'd act very differently. He's having his heart -broken none too soon. I've never seen a worse case of swollen head. I -pushed him up too fast. I'm really to blame; I'm always doing hasty, -generous things, and getting myself into trouble, and those I meant to -help. Poor fool. I'm sorry for him. I suppose once I get him down in -his place, I'll be soft enough to relent and give him something. He's -got talent. I can use him, once I have him broken to the bit." - -In came Amy, the color high in her cheeks from her morning walk. She -kissed him on both cheeks. "Well, well, what do _you_ want?" said he. - -"How do you know I want anything?" she cried. - -"In the first place, because nobody ever comes near me except to get -something." - -"Just as you never go near anybody except to take something," she -retorted, with a pull at his mustache. - -Fosdick was amused. "In the second place," he went on, "because you are -affectionate--which not only means that you want something, but also -that the something is a thing you feel I won't give. And you're no -doubt right." - -"What are you in such a good humor about?" said she. "You were cross as -a bear in a swarm of bees, at breakfast." - -"I'm not in a good humor," he protested. "I'm depressed. I'm looking -forward to doing a very unpleasant duty to-morrow." - -His daughter laughed at him. "You may be trying to persuade yourself -it's unpleasant. But the truth is, you're delighted. Papa, I've been -thinking about the entrance." - -"Keep on thinking, but don't speak about it," retorted he, frowning. - -"Really--it's an eyesore--so small, so out of proportion, so cheap----" - -"Cheap!" exclaimed Fosdick. "Why, those bronze doors alone cost -seventeen thousand dollars." - -"Is _that_ all!" scoffed his daughter. "Trafford's cost forty -thousand." - -"But I'm not a thief like Trafford. And let me tell you, my child, -seventeen thousand dollars at four per cent would produce each year a -larger sum than the income of the average American family." - -"But I've often heard you say the common people have entirely too much -money, more than they know how to spend. Now--about the entrance. -Alois and I----" - -"When you marry Fred Roebuck, I'll let you build yourself any kind of -town house you like," interrupted her father. - -She perched on the arm of his chair. "Now, really, father, you know you -wouldn't let me marry a man it makes me shudder to shake hands with?" - -"Nonsense--a mere notion. You try to feel that way because you know you -ought to marry him." - -"Never--never--_never_!" cried Amy, kissing him at each "never." -"Besides, he's engaged to Sylvia Barrow. He got tired of waiting for -me." - -Fosdick pushed away from her. "I'm bitterly disappointed in you," he -said, scowling at her. "I've been assuming that you would come to your -senses. What would become of you, if I had as little regard for your -wishes as you have for mine?" - -"Fred Roebuck was a nobody," she pleaded. "You despised him yourself. -Now, papa dear, I'm thinking of marrying a somebody, a man who really -amounts to something in himself." - -"Who?" demanded Fosdick, bristling for battle. - -"Alois Siersdorf." - -Fosdick sprang up, caught her roughly by the arm. "What!" he shouted. -"_What!_" - -"A man you like and admire," Amy went on, getting her tears ready. "He -_looks_ distinguished, and he _is_ distinguished, and is certain to be -more so. Besides, what's the use of being rich, if one can't please -herself when it comes to taking a husband? I want somebody I won't be -ashamed of, somebody I can live near without shuddering." And the tears -descended in floods. - -Her father turned his rage against Alois. "The impudence of a fellow -like that aspiring to a girl in your position." - -"But he hasn't been impudent. He's been very humble and backward." - -Josiah was busy with his own rage. "Why, he's got _nothing_!" - -"Nothing but brains." - -"Brains!" Fosdick snorted contemptuously. "Why, they're a drug on the -market. I can buy brains by the hundred. Men with brains are falling -over each other downtown, trying to sell out for a song." - -"Not brains like his," she protested. - -"Better--a hundred times better. Why, his brain belongs to me. I've -bought it. I have it whenever and for whatever I want." - -"I--I love him, father," she sobbed, hiding her face in his shoulder. -"I've tried my best not to. But I can't live without him. I--I--_love_ -him!" - -Fosdick was profoundly moved. There were tears in his eyes, and he -gently stroked her hair. She reached out for his hand, took it, kissed -it, and put it under her cheek--she hated to have anyone touch her hair, -which was most troublesome to arrange to her liking. "Listen to me, -child," said the old man. "You remember when Armstrong was trying to -impose on your tender heart? You remember what I said? Was I not -right? Aren't you glad you took my advice?" - -"But I never loved him--really," said Amy. - -"And you don't love Alois. You couldn't love one of our dependents. -You have too much pride for that. But, again I want to warn you. -There's a reason--the best of reasons--why you must not be even friendly -with--this young Siersdorf. I can't explain to you. He's an adventurer -like Armstrong. Wait a few days--a very few days, Amy. He has been -careful to let you see only the one side of him. There's another side. -When you see that, you'll be ashamed you ever thought of him, even in -jest. You'll see why I want you to be safely established as the wife of -some substantial man." - -"Tell me what it is, father." - -"I tell nothing," replied Fosdick. "Wait, and you will see." - -"Is it something to his discredit? If so, I can tell you right now it -isn't true." - -"Wait--that's all. Wait." - -"But, father--after all he's done for us, isn't it only fair to warn -him?" - -"Warn him of what?" - -"Of what you say is going to happen." - -"If you want to do yourself and me the greatest possible damage, you'll -hint to him what I've said. Do you understand?" - -"It isn't fair not to warn him," she insisted. And she released herself -from his arms and faced him defiantly. "I tell you, I love him, -father!" - -"Was ever parent so cursed in his children!" cried Fosdick. "I'm in the -house of my enemies. I tell you, Amy, you are to keep your mouth -_shut_!" He struck the floor sharply with his cane. "I will be obeyed, -do you hear?" - -"And I tell you, father," retorted Amy, "that I'm going to warn him. -He's straight and honest, and he loves me and he has done things for me, -for us, that make us his debtor." - -Fosdick threw up his arms in angry impotence. "Do your damnedest!" he -cried. "After all, what can you tell him? You can only throw him into -a fever and put him in a worse plight. But I warn you that, if you -disobey me, I'll make you pay for it. I'll cut off your allowance. -I'll teach you what it means to love and respect a father." And he -raged out of the house. - -Even as her father went, Amy felt in the foundation of her defiance the -first tremors of impending collapse. She rushed upstairs to the -telephone; she would not let this impulse to do the generous, no, simply -the decent, thing ooze away as her impulses of that sort usually did, if -she had or took time to calculate the personal inconvenience from -executing them. After a rather common and most pleasing human habit, -she regarded herself as generous, and was so regarded, because she had -generous impulses; to execute them was, therefore, more or less -superfluous. In this particular instance, however, she felt that -impulse was not enough; there must be action. - -"Is it you?" came in Alois's voice, just in time to stimulate her -flagging energy. "I was about to call _you_ up." - -"I must see you at once," said Amy, with feverish eagerness. "I've got -something very, very important to say to you." She hesitated, decided -that she must commit herself beyond possibility of evasion--"something -about an attempt to do you a great injury." - -"Oh!" His tone was curiously constrained; it seemed to her that there -was terror, guilt, in it. "Shall I come up? I've just found out I must -sail for Europe at noon." - -"At noon! _To-day?_" - -"In about two hours. And I must say good-by to you. It's very sudden. -I haven't even told my sister yet, though she's in the next room, here." - -"I'll come down--that is--I'll try to." Amy felt weak, sick, sinking, -suffocating in a whirl of doubts and fears. "You are going on -business?" - -"Yes," came the answer in a voice that rang false. "On business. I'll -be away only a few weeks, I think." - -"If I shouldn't be able to come--good-by," said Amy. - -"But I hope-- Let me come-- Wouldn't that be better?" - -Not a word about what she had said, when it ought to have put him into a -quiver of anxiety; certainly, his going abroad looked like knowledge, -guilt, flight. "No--no--you mustn't come," she commanded. "I'll do my -best to get to you." And she added, "We might simply miss each other, -if you didn't wait there." - -"Please--Amy!" - -She shivered. How far she had gone with him! And her father was right! -"Good-by," she faltered, hastily ringing off. - - -If she could have seen him, her worst suspicions would have been -confirmed; for his hair was mussed and damp with sweat, his skin looked -as if he were in a garish light. He tried to compose himself, went in -where his sister was at work--absorbed in making the drawings of a new -kind of chimney-piece she had been thinking out. "Cis," he said, in an -uncertain voice, "I'm off for Europe at noon." - -She wheeled on him. "Fosdick?" - -He nodded. "His secretary, Waller, was just here." - -A few seconds during which he could feel the energy of her swift -thoughts. Then, "Wait!" she commanded, and darted into her private -office, closing the door. - -She was gone twenty minutes. "The person I was calling up hadn't got -in," she explained, when she returned. "I had to wait for him. You are -to stay here--you are not to go in any circumstances." - -"I must go," was his answer in a dreary tone. "I promised Fosdick, and -I daren't offend him. Besides--well, it's prudent." - -"'Lois," said Narcisse earnestly, "I give you my word of honor, it would -be the very worst step you could take, to obey Fosdick and go. I -promise you that, if you stay, all will be well. If you go, you would -better throw yourself into the sea, midway, for you will ruin your -reputation--ours." - -He dropped into a chair. "My instinct is against going," he confessed. -"I've done nothing. I haven't got a cent that doesn't belong to me -honestly. But, Cis, I simply mustn't offend Fosdick." - -"Because of Amy?" - -"Yes." - -"If you go, you'll have no more chance for her than--than a convict in a -penitentiary." - -"You know something you are not telling me?" - -"I do. Something I can't tell you." - -He supported his aching head with his hands and stared long at the -floor. "I'll not go!" he exclaimed, springing to his feet suddenly. -"I've done nothing wrong. I'll not run away." - -Narcisse had been watching him as if she were seeing him struggling for -his life in deep water before her very eyes. At his words, at his -expression, like his own self, the brother she had brought up and -guarded and loved with the love that is deeper than any love which -passion ever kindled--at this proclamation of the victory of his better -self, she burst into tears. "'Lois! 'Lois!" she sobbed. "Now I can be -happy again. If you had gone it would have killed me." And the tone in -which she said it made him realize that she was speaking the literal -truth. - -The natural color was coming back to his face. He patted her on the -shoulder. "I'm not a weak, damn fool clear through, Cissy," cried he, -"though, I must say, I've got a big, broad streak of it. You are sure -of your ground?" - -"Absolutely," she assured him, radiant now, and so beautiful that even -he noted and admired. But then, he was in the mood to appreciate her. -So long as the way was smooth, he could neglect her and put aside her -love, as we all have the habit of neglecting and taking for granted, in -fair weather, the things that are securely ours. But, let the storms -come, and how quickly we show that we knew all the time, in our hearts, -whom we could count on, could draw upon for strength and courage--the -few, real friends--perhaps, only one--and one is quite enough, is -legion, if it be the right one. - -"You're not trusting to somebody else?" said he. - -"Of course I am. But he's a real somebody, one I'd stake my life on. -'Lois, I know." - -"That settles it," said he. "But even if you weren't sure, even if I -were certain the worst would overtake me, I'd not budge out of this -town. As for Amy, if she's what I think her, she'll stand the test. If -not-- After all, I don't need anybody but you, Cissy." - -And he embraced and kissed her, and went back to his own part of the -offices, head high and step firm. He stirred round there uneasily for a -while, then shut himself in with the telephone and called up Fosdick's -house. "I wish to speak to Miss Fosdick," he said. Presently he heard -Amy's voice. "Well, Hugo?" - -"It isn't your brother," said Alois. "It's I." - -"Oh!" Her tone was very different--and he did not like it, though he -could not have said why. "The servant," she explained, "said she -thought it was Hugo." - -"I've changed my mind about going abroad. You said you wanted to see me -about some matter. I think--in fact, I'm sure--I know what you mean. -Don't trouble; I'll come out all right. By the way, please tell your -father I'm not going, will you?" - -"Father!" she exclaimed. "Did _he_ want you to go?" - -"I'd rather not talk about that. It's a matter of business. Please -don't give him the impression I told you anything. Really, I -haven't--have I?" - -"Did father want you to go abroad?" insisted Amy. - -"I can't talk about it over the telephone. I'll tell you when I see -you--all about it--if you think you'd be interested." - -"Please answer my one question," she pleaded. "Then I'll not bother you -any more." - -"Then--yes." He waited for her next remark, but it did not come. "Are -you still there?" - -"Yes," came her answer, faint and strange. - -"What is it?" he cried. "What's the matter?" - -"Nothing. Good-by--and--I'm _so_ glad you're not going--oh, I can't -express how glad--_Alois_!" - -She did not give him the chance to reply. - - - - - *XX* - - *BORIS DISCLOSES HIMSELF* - - -Hugo, sitting to Boris for the portrait afterward locally famous as "The -Young Ass," fell into the habit of expatiating upon Armstrong. His mind -was full of the big Westerner, the author of the most abject humiliation -of his life, the only one he could not explain away, to his own -satisfaction, as wholly some one else's fault. Boris humored him, by -discreetly sympathetic response even encouraged him to talk freely; nor -was Boris's sole reason the undeniable fact that when Hugo was babbling -about Armstrong, his real personality disported itself unrestrained in -the features the painter was striving to portray. The wisest parent -never takes a just measure of his child; and, while the paternal passion -is tardier in beginning than the maternal, it is full as deluding once -it lays hold. Fosdick thought he regarded Hugo as a fool; also he had -fresh in mind proof that Hugo was highly dangerous to any delicate -enterprise. Yet he confided in him that they would both be soon -signally revenged upon the impudent upstart. He did not tell how or -when; but Hugo guessed that it would be at the coming "investigation." - -A very few days after his father had told him, he told Boris. What -possible danger could there be in telling a painter who hadn't the -slightest interest in business matters, and who hadn't the intellect to -understand them? For Hugo had for the intellect of the painter the -measureless contempt of the contemptible. Also, Boris patterned his -dress after the Continental fashions for which Hugo, severely and -slavishly English in dress, had the Englishman's derisive disdain. -Boris listened to Hugo's confidence with no sign, of interest or -understanding, and Hugo babbled on. Soon, Boris knew more than did Hugo -of the impending catastrophe to the one man in the whole world whom he -did the honor of hating. - -Hate is an unusual emotion in a man so tolerant, so cynical, at once -superior and conscious of it. But, watching Armstrong with Neva, -watching Neva when Armstrong was about, Raphael had come to feel rather -than to see that there was some tie between them. He had no difficulty -in imagining the nature of this tie. A man and a woman who have lived -together may, often do, remain entire strangers; but however constrained -and shy and unreal their intimacy may have been, still that intimacy has -become an integral part of their secret selves. It is the instinctive -realization of this, rather than physical jealousy, that haunts and -harrows the man who knows his wife or mistress did not come to him -virgin, and that does not leave him until the former husband or lover is -dead. Boris did not for an instant believe Neva could by any -possibility fall in love with Armstrong--what could she, the artistic -and refined, have in common with Armstrong, crude, coarse, -unappreciative of all that meant life to her? A man could care without -mental or heart sympathy, and a certain kind of woman; but not a Neva, -whose delicacy was so sensitive that he, with all his expert delicacy of -touch, all his trained softness of reassuring approach, was still far -from her. No, Neva could never love Armstrong. But why did she not -detest him? Why did she tolerate a presence that must remind her of -repulsive hours, of moments of horror too intense even to quiver? "It -is the feminine, the feline in her," he reflected. "She is avenging -herself in the pleasure of watching his torment." - -That was logical, was consoling. However, Boris was wishing she would -get her fill of vengeance and send the intruder about his stupid, vulgar -business. Hugo's news thrilled him. "I hope the hulk will have to fly -the country," he said to himself. He did not hope, as did Hugo, that -Armstrong would have to go to the penitentiary. Such was his passion -for liberty, for the free air and sunshine, that he could not think with -pleasure of even an enemy's being behind bolts and bars and the dank -dusk of high, thick prison walls. As several weeks passed without -Armstrong's calling--he always felt it when Armstrong had been there--he -became as cheerful, as gay, and confident as of old. - -But he soon began to note that Neva was not up to the mark. "What is -it?" he at once asked himself in alarm whose deep, hidden causes he did -not suspect, so slow are men of his kind to accuse themselves of -harboring so vanity-depressing a passion as jealousy. "Has he got wind -of his danger? Has he been trying to work on her sympathies?" He -proceeded to find out. - -"What's wrong, my dear?" asked he, in his gentle, caressing, -master-to-pupil way. "You aren't as interested as you were. This -sunshine doesn't reflect from your face and your voice as it should." - -"I've been worried about a friend of mine," confessed she. "There's no -real cause for worry, but I can't shake off a foreboding." - -"Tell me," urged he. "It'll do you good." - -"It's nothing I can talk about. Really, I'm not so upset as you seem to -imagine." - -But a few moments later he heard a deep sigh. He glanced at her; she -was staring into vacancy, her face sad, her eyes tragic. In one of -these irresistible gusts of passion, he flung down his brushes, strode -up to her. "What has that scoundrel been saying to you?" he demanded. - -She startled, rose, faced him in amazement. - -"Boris!" she cried breathlessly. - -The body that is molded upon a spirit such as his--or hers--becomes as -mobile to its changes as cloud to sun and wind. Boris's good looks -always had a suggestion of the superhuman, as if the breath of life in -him were a fiercer, more enduring flame than in ordinary mortals. That -superhuman look it was that had made Neva, the sensitive, the -appreciative, unable ever quite to shake off all the awe of him she had -originally felt. The man before her now had never looked so superhuman; -but it was the superhumanness of the fiend. She shrank in fascinated -terror. His sensuous features were sensuality personified; his rings, -his jeweled watch guard, his odor of powerful perfume, all fitted in -with his expression, where theretofore they had seemed incongruous. -"Boris!" she repeated. "Is that _you_?" - -Her face brought him immediately back to himself, or rather to his -normal combination of cynical good-humored actuality and cynical -good-humored pose. The vision had vanished from her eyes, so utterly, so -swiftly, that she might have thought she had been dreaming, had it not -remained indelibly upon her mind--especially his eyes, like hunger, like -thirst, like passion insatiable, like menace of mortal peril. It is one -thing to suspect what is behind a mask; it is quite another matter to -see, with the mask dropped and the naked soul revealed. As she, too, -recovered herself, her terror faded; but the fascination remained, and a -certain delight and pride in herself that she was the conjurer of such a -passion as that. For women never understand that they are no more the -authors of the passions they evoke than the spark is the author of the -force in the dynamite it explodes or of the ensuing destruction; if the -dynamite is there, any spark, rightly placed, will do the work. - -"Yes, it's I," replied Raphael, rather confusedly. He was as much -disconcerted by what he had himself seen of himself, as by having shown -it to her. A storm that involves one's whole being stirs up from the -bottom and lifts to the surface many a strange secret of weakness and of -wickedness, none stranger than the secrets of one's real feelings and -beliefs, so different from one's professions to others and to himself. -Raphael had seen two of these secrets--first, that he was insanely -jealous of Armstrong; second, that he was in love with Neva. Not the -jealousy and the love that yet leave a man master of himself, but the -jealousy and the love that enslave. In the silence that followed this -scene of so few words and so strong emotions, while Neva was hanging -fascinated over the discovery of his passion for her, he was gazing -furtively at her, the terror that had been hers now his. - -He had been fancying he was leading her along the flower-walled path he -had trod so often with some passing embodiment of his passing fancy, was -luring her to the bower where he had so often taught what he called and -thought "the great lesson." Instead, he was himself being whirled -through space--whither? "I love her!" he said to himself, tears in his -eyes and tears and fears in his heart. "This is not like the -others--not at all--not at all. I love her, and I am afraid." And then -there came to him a memory--a vision--a girl whom he had taught "the -great lesson" years before; she had disappeared when he grew tired--or, -perhaps it would be more accurate to say, when he had exhausted for the -time the capacity of his nerves; for how can a man grow tired of what he -never had?--and the rake kills the bird for the one feather in its -crest. At any rate, he sent her away; he was seeing now the look in her -eyes, as she went without a murmur or a sigh. And he was understanding -at last what that look meant. In the anguish of an emotion like -remorse, yet too selfish, perhaps, too self-pitying for remorse, he -muttered, "Forgive me. I didn't know what I was doing." - -The vision faded back to the oblivion from which it had so curiously -emerged. He glanced at Neva again, with critical eyes, like a surgeon -diagnosing stolidly his own desperate wound. She was, or seemed to be, -busy at her easel. He could study her, without interruption. He made -slow, lingering inventory of her physical charms--beauties of hair and -skin and contour, beauties of bosom's swell and curve of arm and slant -of hip and leg. No, it was not in any of these, this supreme charm of -her for him. Where then? - -For the first time he saw it. He had been assuming he was regarding her -as he had regarded every other woman in the long chain his memory was -weaving from his experiences and was coiling away to beguile his days of -the almond tree and the bated sound of the grinding. And he had -esteemed these women at their own valuation. It was the fashion for -women to profess to esteem themselves, and to expect to be esteemed, for -reasons other than their physical charms. But Boris, searcher into -realities, held that only those women who by achievement earn -independence as a man earns it, have title to count as personalities, to -be taken seriously in their professions. He saw that the women he knew -made only the feeblest pretense to real personal value other than -physical; they based themselves upon their bodies alone. So, women had -been to him what they were to themselves--mere animate flesh. - -He attached no more importance--beyond polite fiction--than did they -themselves to what they thought and felt; it was what men thought of -their persons, what feelings their persons roused in men--that is, in -him. And he meted out to them the fate they expected, respected him the -more for giving them; when they ceased to serve their sole purpose of -ornament or plaything he flung them away, with more ceremony, perhaps, -but with no less indifference than the emptied bottles of the scent he -imported in quantity and drenched himself with. - -But he saw the truth about Neva now--saw why, after the few first weeks -of their acquaintance, he had not even been made impatient by her bad -days--the days when her skin clouded, her eyes dimmed, her hair lost its -luster, and the color, leaving her lips, seemed to take with it the -dazzling charm of her blue-white teeth. Why? Because her appeal to his -senses was not so strong as her appeal to-- He could not tell what it -was in him this inner self of hers appealed to. Heart? Hardly; that -meant her physical beauty. Intellect? Certainly not that; intellect -rather wearied him than otherwise, and the sincerest permanent longing -of his life was to cease from thinking, to feel, only to feel--birds, -flowers, perfumed airs, the thrill of winds among grasses and leaves, -sunshine, the play of light upon women's hair, the ecstasy of touch -drifting over their smooth, magnetic bodies. No, it was neither her -intellect nor her heart, any more than it was her loveliness. Or, -rather, it was all three, and that something more which makes a man -happy he knows not why and cares not to know why. - -"I would leave anyone else to come to her," he said to himself. "And if -anyone else lured me away from her, it would be only for the moment; I -would know I should have to return to her, as a dog to its master." He -repeated bitterly, mockingly, "As a dog to its master. That's what it -means to be artist--more woman than man, and more feminine than any -woman ever was." - -He stood behind her, looking at her work. "You'd better stop for -to-day," he said presently. "You're only spoiling what you did -yesterday." - -"So I am," said she. - -She put down palette and brushes with a sigh and a shrug. When she -turned, he stood his ground and looked into her eyes. "I've been -letting outside things come between me and my work," she went on, -pretending to ignore his gaze. - -"You guessed my secret a few minutes ago?" he asked. - -She nodded, and it half amused, half hurt him to note that she was -physically on guard, lest he should seize her unawares. - -His smile broadened. "You needn't be alarmed," said he, clasping his -hands behind his back. "I've no intention of doing it." - -She was smiling now, also. "Well," she said. "What next?" - -"Why are you afraid?" - -"I am not afraid." She clasped her hands behind her, like his, looked -at him with laughing, level eyes; for he and she were of the same -height. "Not a bit." - -"Why were you afraid?" he corrected. "You never were before." - -She seemed to reflect. "No, I never was," she admitted. Her gaze -dropped and her color came. - -"Neva," he said gently, "do you love me?" - -She lifted her eyes, studied him with the characteristic half closing of -the lids that made her gaze so intense and so alluring. He could not -decide whether that gaze was coquetry, as he hoped, or simply sincere -inquiry, as he feared. "I do not know," she said. "I admire and -respect you above all men." - -He laughed, carefully concealing how her words had stung him. "Admire! -Respect!" He made a mocking little bow. "I thank you, madam. But--in -old age--after death--is soon enough for that cold grandeur." - -"I do not know," she repeated. "I had never thought about it until a -while ago--when you--when your expression--" She dropped her gaze -again. "I can't explain." - -Coquetry or shyness? He could not tell. "Neva, do you love anyone -else?" - -"I think--not," replied she, very low. - -His eyes were like a tiger peering through a flower-freighted bush. -"You love Armstrong," he urged, softly as the purr before the spring. - -She was gazing steadily at him now. "We were talking of you and me," -rejoined she, her voice clear and positive. "If I loved you, it would -not be because I did not love some other man. If I did not love you it -would not be because I did love some other." - -There might be evasion in that reply, but there could be no lack of -sincerity. "I beg your pardon," he apologized. "I forgot. The idea -that there could be such a woman as you is very new to me. A few -minutes ago, I made a discovery as startling as when I first saw -you--there at the Morrises." - -"How much I owe you!" she exclaimed, and her whole face lighted up. - -But his shadowed; for he remembered that of all the emotions gratitude -is least akin to love. "I made a startling discovery," he went on. "I -discovered you--a you I had never suspected. And I discovered a me I -had never dreamed of. Neva, I love you. I have never loved before." - -She grew very pale, and he thought she was trembling. But when, with her -returning color, her eyes lifted to his, they were mocking. "Why, your -tone was even better than I should have anticipated. You--love?" scoffed -she. "Do you think I could study you this long and not find out at -least that about you?" - -"I love you," he insisted, earnestly enough, though his eyes were -echoing her mockery. - -"You could not love," affirmed she. "You have given yourself out little -by little--here and there. You have really nothing left to give." - -A man of less vision, of slower mind would have been able to protest. -But Boris instantly saw what she meant, felt the truth in her verdict. -"Nothing left to give?" he repeated. "Do you think so?" - -"I know it," replied she. - -There are some words that sound like the tolling of the bells of fate; -those words of hers sounded thus to him. "Nothing left to give," he -repeated. Had he indeed wasted his whole self upon trifles? Had he lit -his lamps so long before the feast that now, with the bride come, they -were quite burned out? He looked at her and, like the vague yet vivid -visions music shows us and snatches away before we have seen more than -just that they were there, he caught a haunting glimpse of the beauty -supernal which he loved and longed for, but with his tired, blunted -senses could not hope to realize or attain.... The blasphemer's -fate!--to kiss the dust before the god he had reviled.... He burst out -laughing, his hearty, sensuous, infectious laughter. "I'm getting -senile," said he. With a flash of angrily reluctant awe, "Or rather, -you have bewitched me." He got ready to depart. "So, my lady of joy -and pain, you do not love me--yet?" he inquired jestingly. - -She shook her head with a smile which the gleam of her eyes from their -narrow lids and the sweeping lashes made coquettish. "Not yet," replied -she, in his own tone. - -"Well, don't try. Love doesn't come for must. To-morrow? Yes. A new -day, a new deal." - -They shook hands warmly, looked at each other with laughing eyes, no -shadow of seriousness either in him or in her. "You are the first woman -I ever loved," said he. "And you shall be the last. I do not like this -love, now that I am acquainted with it." The sunlight pouring upon his -head made him beautiful like a Bacchus, with color and life glittering -in his crisp, reddish hair and virile, close-cropped beard. "I do not -feel safe when my soul's center of gravity is in another person." He -kissed her hand. "Till to-morrow." - -She was smiling, coloring, trying to hide the smile; but he could not -tell whether it was because she was more moved than she cared to have -him see, or merely because his curious but highly effective form of -adoration pleased her vanity and she did not wish him to see it. -"To-morrow," echoed she. - -He bowed himself out, still smiling, as if once beyond the door he might -burst into laughter at himself or at her--or might wearily drop his -merry mask. Her last look that he saw was covertly inquiring, -doubtful--as if she might be wondering, Is he in earnest, does he really -care, or was he only imagining love and exaggerating the fancy to amuse -himself and me? - -Outside the door, he did drop his mask of comedy to reveal a face not -without the tragic touch in its somberness. "Does she care?" he -muttered. And he answered himself, "After all my experience! ... -Experience! It simply puts hope on its mettle. Do I not know that if -she loved she would not hesitate? And yet-- Hope! You Jack-o'-lantern, -luring man deeper and deeper into the slough of despond. I know you for -the trickster you are, Hope. But, lead on!" - -And he went his way, humming the "March of the Toreadors" and swinging -his costly, showy, tortoise-shell cane gayly. - - - - - *XXI* - - *A SENSATIONAL DAY* - - -When Fosdick, summoned by telephone, entered the august presence of the -august committee of the august legislature of the august "people of the -State of New York, by the grace of God free and independent," there -were, save the reporters, a scant dozen spectators. The purpose of the -committee had been dwindled to "a technical inquiry with a view further -to improve the excellent laws under which the purified and at last -really honest managements of insurance companies and banks had brought -them to such a high state of honest strength." So, the announcement in -the morning papers that the committee was to begin its labors for the -public good attracted attention only among those citizens who keep -themselves informed of loafing places that are comfortable in the cold -weather. Fosdick bowed with dignified deference to the committee; the -committee bowed to Fosdick--respectfully but nervously. There were five -in the row seated behind the long oak table on the rostrum under the -colossal figure of Justice. Furthest to the left sat Williams, in the -Legislature by grace of the liquor interests; next him, Tomlinson, -representing certain up-the-country traction and power interests; to the -right of the chairman were Perry and Nottingham, the creatures of two -railway systems. The chairman--Kenworthy, of Buffalo--had been in the -Assembly nearly twenty years, for the insurance interests. He was a -serious, square-bearded, pop-eyed little old man, most neat and -respectable, and without a suspicion that he was not the most honorable -person in the world, doing his full duty when he did precisely what the -great men bade. Since the great capitalists were the makers and -maintainers of prosperity, whatever they wanted must be for the good of -all. The fact that he was on the private pay rolls of five companies -and got occasional liberal "retainers" from seven others, was simply the -clinching proof of the fitness of the great men to direct--they knew how -properly to reward their helpers in taking care of the people. There -are good men who are more dangerous than the slyest of the bad. -Kenworthy was one of them. - -The committee did not know what it was assembled for. It is not the -habit of the men who "run things" to explain their orders to -understrappers. Smelling committees are of four kinds: There is the -committee the boss sets at doing nothing industriously because the -people are clamoring that something be done. There is the committee the -boss sends to "jack up" some interest or interests that have failed to -"cash down" properly. There is the committee that is sent into doubtful -districts, just before election, to pretend to expose the other -side--and sometimes, if there has been a quarrel between the bosses, -this kind of committee acts almost as if it were sincere. Finally, -there is the committee the boss sends out to destroy the rivals of his -employers in some department of finance or commerce. This particular -smelling committee suspected it was to have some of the shortcomings of -the rivals of the O.A.D. put under its nostrils by its counsel, Morris; -it knew the late Galloway had owned the governor and the dominant boss, -and that Fosdick was supposed to have inherited them, along with sundry -other items of old Galloway's power. Again, the object might be purely -defensive. There had been, of late, a revival of popular clamor against -insurance companies, which the previous investigation, started by a -quarrel among the interests and called off when that quarrel was patched -up, had left unquieted. This committee might be simply a blindfold for -the eyes of the ass--said ass being the public with its loud bray and -its long ears and its infinite patience. - -As Fosdick seated himself, after taking the oath, he noted for the first -time the look on all faces--as if one exciting act of a drama had just -ended and another were about to begin. Out of the corner of his eye he -saw Westervelt and Armstrong, seated side by side--Westervelt, fumbling -with his long white beard, his eyes upon the twenty-thousand-dollar -sable overcoat lying across Fosdick's knees; Armstrong, huge and stolid, -gazing straight at Fosdick's face with an expression inscrutable beyond -its perfect calm. "He's taking his medicine well," thought Fosdick. "For -Westervelt must have testified, and then, of course, he had his turn." - -Morris, a few feet in front of him, was busy with papers and books that -rustled irritatingly in the tense silence. Fosdick watched him -tranquilly, as free from anxiety as to what he would do as a showman -about his marionette. Morris straightened himself and advanced toward -Fosdick. They eyed each the other steadily; Fosdick admired his -servant--the broad, intelligent brow, the pallor of the student, the -keen eyes of the man of affairs, the sensitive mouth. The fact that he -looked the very opposite of a bondman, at least to unobservant eyes, was -not the smallest of his assets for Fosdick. - -"Mr. Fosdick," began the lawyer, in his rather high-pitched, but -flexible and agreeable tenor voice, "we will take as little of your time -as possible. We know you are an exceedingly busy man." - -"Thank you, sir," said Fosdick, with a dignified bend of the head. A -very respectable figure he made, sitting there in expensive looking -linen and well cut dark suit, the sable overcoat across his knee and -over one arm, a top hat in his other hand. "My time is at your -disposal." - -"In examining some of the books of the O.A.D.--you are a director of the -O.A.D.?" - -"Yes, sir. I have been for forty-two years." - -"And very influential in its management?" - -"They frequently call on me for advice, and, as the institution is a -philanthropy, I feel it my duty always to respond." - -Fosdick noted that a smile, discreet but unmistakably derisive, ran -round the room. Morris's face was sober, but the smile was in his eyes. -Fosdick sat still straighter and frowned slightly. He highly -disapproved of cynicism directed at himself. - -"In looking at some of the books with Mr. Westervelt a while ago," -continued Morris, "we came upon a matter--several items--which we -thought ought to be explained at once. We wish no public -misapprehensions to arise through any inadvertence of ours. So we have -turned aside from the regular course of the investigation, to complete -the matter." - -Fosdick's face betrayed his satisfaction--all had gone well; Armstrong -was in the trap; it only remained for him to close it. Morris now took -up a thin, well-worn account book which Fosdick recognized as the chief -of Westervelt's four treasures. "I find here," he continued, "fourteen -entries of twenty-five thousand dollars each--three hundred and fifty -thousand dollars, in all--drawn by the President of the O.A.D., Mr. -Armstrong here. Will you kindly tell us all you know about those -items?" - -Mr. Fosdick smiled slightly. "Really, Mr. Morris," replied he, with the -fluency of the well-rehearsed actor, "I cannot answer that question, as -you put it. Even if I knew all about the items, I might not recognize -them from your too scanty description." - -"We have just had Mr. Armstrong on the stand," said the lawyer. "He -testified that he drew the money under your direction and paid it--the -most of it--in your presence to Benjamin Sigourney, who looked after -political matters for your company." - -Fosdick's expression of sheer amazement was sincerity itself. He looked -from Morris to Armstrong. With his eyes and Armstrong's meeting, he said -energetically, "I know of no such transaction." - -"You do not recall any of the _fourteen_ transactions?" - -"I do not recall them, because they never occurred. So far as I know, -the legislative business of the O.A.D. is looked after by the legal -department exclusively. I have been led to believe, and I do believe -that, since the reforms in the O.A.D. and the new management of which -Mr. Shotwell was the first head, the former reprehensible methods have -been abandoned. It is impossible that Mr. Armstrong should have drawn -such amounts for that purpose. You must--pardon me--have misunderstood -his testimony." - -"Let the stenographer read--only Mr. Armstrong's last long reply," said -Morris. - -The stenographer read: "Mr. Armstrong: 'Mr. Fosdick explained to me that -the bills would practically put us out of business, except straight life -policies, and that they would pass unless we submitted to the blackmail. -As he was in control of the O.A.D., when he directed me to draw the -money, I did so. All but two, I think, perhaps three, of the payments -were made to Sigourney in his presence.'" - -"That will do--thank you," said Morris to the stenographer. - -There was a pause, a silence so profound that it seemed a suffocating -force. Morris's clear, sharp tones breaking it, startled everyone, even -Fosdick. "You see, Mr. Fosdick, Mr. Armstrong was definite." - -"I am at a loss to understand," replied Fosdick, gray with emotion, but -firm of eye and voice. "I am profoundly shocked--I can only say that, -so far as I am concerned, no such transaction occurred. And I regret -exceedingly to have to add that if any such moneys were taken from the -O.A.D. they must have gone for other purposes than to influence the -Legislature." - -"Then, you wish to inform the committee that to the best of your -recollection you did not authorize or suggest those drafts, and did not -and do not know anything about them?" - -"I know nothing about them." - -"But, Mr. Fosdick," continued Morris slowly, "we have had Mr. Westervelt -on the stand, and he has testified that he was present on more than half -a dozen occasions when you told Mr. Armstrong to draw the money, and -that on one occasion you yourself took the money when Mr. Armstrong -brought it from the cash department." - -Fosdick stiffened as if an electric shock had passed through him. For -the first time he lowered his eyes. Behind that veil, his brain was -swiftly restoring order in the wild confusion which this exploding bomb -had made. There was no time to consider how or why Westervelt had -failed him, or how Morris had been stupid enough to permit such a -situation. He could only make choice between standing to the original -programme and retreating behind a pretense of bad memory. "I can always -plead bad memory," he reflected. "Perhaps the day can be saved--Morris -would have sent me a warning if it couldn't be." So he swept the faces -of the committeemen and the few spectators with a glance like an -unscathed battery. "I am astounded, Mr. Morris," said he steadily. "In -search of an explanation, I happen to remember that Mr. Armstrong was -recently compelled to relieve Mr. Westervelt from duty because of his -failing health--failing faculties." His eyes turned to Westervelt with -an apologetic look in them--and Westervelt was, indeed, a pitiful -figure, suggesting one broken and distraught. Fosdick saw in the faces -of committeemen and spectators that he had scored heavily. "I repeat," -said he boldly, "it is impossible that any such transactions should have -occurred." - -He was addressing Morris's back; the lawyer had turned to the table -behind him and was examining the papers there with great deliberation. -Not a sound in the room; all eyes on Fosdick, who was quietly waiting. -"Ah!" exclaimed Morris, wheeling suddenly like a duelist at the end of -the ten paces. - -Fosdick startled at the explosive note in his servant's voice, then -instantly recovered himself. - -"This letter--is it in your handwriting?" Fosdick took the extended -paper, put on his nose-glasses, and calmly fixed his eyes upon it. His -hand began to shake, over his face a dreadful, unsteady pallor, as if -the flame of life, sick and dying, were flaring and sinking in the last -flickerings before the final going-out. - -"Is it your writing?" repeated Morris, his voice like the bay of the -hound before the cornered fox. - -Fosdick's hand dropped to his lap. His eyes sought Morris's face and -from them blazed such a blast of fury that Morris drew back a step. - -Morris was daunted only for a second. He said evenly, "It is your -handwriting, is it not?" - -Fosdick looked round---at Westervelt, whose wrinkled hand had paused on -his beard midway between its yellowed end and his shrunken, waxen face; -at Armstrong, stolid, statuelike; at the reporters, with pencils -suspended and eyes glistening. He drew a long breath and straightened -himself again. "It is," he said. - -Morris extended his hand for the letter. "Thank you," he said with -grave courtesy, as Fosdick gave it to him. "I will read--'Dear -Bill--Tell A to draw three times this week--the usual amounts and give -them to S.' Bill--that is Mr. Westervelt, is it not? And does not A -stand for Armstrong? And is not S, Sigourney, at that time the O.A.D.'s -representative in legislative and general political matters?" - -"Obviously," said Fosdick, promptly and easily. "I see my memory has -played me a disgraceful trick. I am getting old." He smiled -benevolently at Morris, then toward Westervelt. "I, too, am losing my -faculties." Then, looking at Armstrong, and not changing from kindly -smile and tone, "But my teeth are still good." - -"You now remember these transactions?" - -"I do not. But I frankly admit I must have been mistaken in denying -that they ever occurred." - -"I trust, Mr. Fosdick," said Morris, "your memory will not fail you to -the extent that you will forget you are on oath." - -The muscles in Fosdick's spare jaws could be seen working violently. -Morris was going too far, entirely too far, in realism for the benefit -of the public. "Is it part of your privilege as examiner," said he, -with more than a suggestion of master-to-servant, "to insult an old man -upon his failing mind?" - -"As none of these transactions was of older date than three years ago," -replied Morris coldly, "and as the note bore date of only six months -ago--the week before Sigourney died--it was not unnatural that I should -be anxious about your testimony. We do not wish false ideas, -detrimental to the standing of so notable and reputable a man as -yourself, to get abroad." - -A titter ran around the room; Fosdick flushed and the storm veins in his -temples swelled. He evidently thought his examination was over, for he -took a better hold on his coat and was rising from the chair. "Just a -few minutes more," said Morris. "In the course of Mr. Westervelt's -testimony another matter was accidentally touched on. We feel that it -should not go out to the public without your explanation." - -Fosdick sank back. Until now, he had been assuming that by some -accident his plan to destroy Armstrong had miscarried, that Morris and -Westervelt, to save the day, had by some mischance been forced into a -position where they were compelled to involve him. But now, it came to -him that Morris's icily sarcastic tone was more, far more, arrogant and -insolent than could possibly be necessary for appearances with the -public. The lawyer's next words changed suspicion into certainty. "We -found several other items, Mr. Fosdick, which we requested Mr. -Westervelt to explain--payments of large sums to your -representatives--so Mr. Westervelt testifies they are--and to your -secretary, Mr. Waller, and to your son--Hugo Fosdick. He is one of the -four vice-presidents of the O.A.D., is he not?" - -"He is," said Fosdick, and his voice was that of a sick old man. - -"It was on your O.K. that one hundred thousand dollars were paid out to -furnish his apartment?" - -"You mean the uptown branch of the O.A.D.?" said Fosdick wearily, his -blue-black eyelids drooped. - -"Oh! We will inquire into that, later. But--take last year, Mr. -Fosdick. Take this omnibus lease, turning over to corporations you -control properties in Boston and Chicago which cost the O.A.D. a sum, -two per cent. interest on which would be double the rental they are -getting from you. Mr. Westervelt informs us that he knows you get -seventeen times the income from the properties that you pay the O.A.D. -under the leases they executed to you--you practically making the -leases, as an officer of the company, to yourself as another -corporation. My question is somewhat involved, but I hope it is clear?" - -"I understand you--in the main," replied Fosdick. "But you will have to -excuse me from answering any more questions to-day. I did not come -prepared. My connection with the O.A.D. has been philanthropic, rather -than businesslike. Naturally, though perhaps wrongly, I have not kept -myself informed of all details." - -He frowned down the smiles, the beginnings of laughter. "But the record -is sound!" he went on in a ringing voice. "The O.A.D. has cost me much -time and thought. I have given more of both to it than I have to purely -commercial enterprises. But moneymaking isn't everything--and I feel -more than rewarded." - -"We all know you, Mr. Fosdick," said Morris, with an air of satiric -respect. - -"I ask you to excuse me to-day," continued the old man, in his -impressive manner. "I wish to prepare myself. To-morrow, or, at most, -in two or three days, I shall _demand_ that you let me resume the stand. -I have nothing to conceal. Errors of judgment I may have committed. -But my record is clear." He raised his head and his eyes flashed. "It -is a record with which I shall soon fearlessly face my God!" - -Josiah Fosdick felt that he was himself again. His eyes looked out with -the expression of a good man standing his ground unafraid. And he -smiled contemptuously at the faint sarcasm in Morris's cold voice, -saying, "That is quite satisfactory--most satisfactory." - -The committee rose; the reporters surrounded Fosdick. He was courteous -but firm in his refusal to say a word either as to the testimony he had -given or as to that he would give. A dozen eager hands helped him on -with his coat, and he marched away, sure that he was completely -reestablished--in the public esteem; his self-esteem had not been shaken -for an instant. The good man doubts himself; not the self-deceiving -hypocrite. There was triumph in the long look he gave Morris--a look -which Morris returned with the tranquil shine of a satisfied revenge, a -revenge of payment with interest for slights, humiliations, insults -which the old tyrant had put upon him. Long trafficking upon the -cupidity and timidity of men gives the ruling class a false notion of -the discernment of mankind and of their own mental superiority, as well -as moral. It was natural that Fosdick should believe himself above -censure, above criticism even. He returned to his office, like a king -upon whom the vulgar have sought to put indignities. His teeth fairly -ached for the moment when they could close upon the bones of these -"insolent curs." - -It was not until he set out for lunch that another view of the situation -came in sight. As he was crossing Waller's office, he was halted by -that faithful servant's expression, the more impressive because it was -persisting in spite of hysterical efforts to conceal it and to look -serenely worshipful as usual. "What is it, Waller?" he demanded. - -"Nothing--nothing at all, sir," said Waller, as with a clumsy effort at -pretended carelessness he tossed into the wastebasket a newspaper which -Fosdick had surprised him at reading. - -"Is that an afternoon paper?" - -Waller stammered inarticulately. - -Fosdick shot a quick, sharp glance at him. "Let me see it." - -Waller took the paper out of the basket, as if he were handling -something vile to sight, touch and smell. "These sensational sheets are -very impudent and untruthful," he said, as he gave it to his master. - -Fosdick spread the paper. He sprang back as if he had been struck. -"God!" he cried. "God in heaven!" - -In the committee room, after the first unpleasantness, all had been -smooth, and there was not to his self-complacent security of the divine -right monarch the remotest suggestion of impending disgrace. Now--from -the front page of this newspaper, flying broadcast through the city, -through the country, shrieked, "Fosdick Perjures Himself! The eminent -financier and churchman caught on the witness stand. Denies knowledge of -political bribery funds and is trapped! Evades accusations of gigantic -swindles and thefts." - -Disgrace, like all the other strong tragic words, conveys little of its -real meaning to anyone until it becomes personal. Fosdick would have -said beforehand that the publication of an attack on him in the low -newspapers would not trouble him so much as the buzzing of a fly about -his bald spot. He would have said that there was in him--in his -conscience, in his confidence in the approval of his God--a tower of -righteous strength that would stand against any attack, as unimperiled -as a skyscraper by a summer breeze. But, with these huge, coarse voices -of the all-pervading press shrieking and screaming "Perjurer. Swindler! -Thief!" he shook as with the ague and turned gray and groaned. He sat -down that he might not fall. - -"God! God in heaven!" he muttered. - -"It's infamous," cried Waller, tears in his eyes and anger in his voice. -"No man, no matter how upright or high, is safe from those wretches." - -Fosdick gripped his head between his hands. "It hurts, Waller--it -_hurts_," he moaned. - -"Nobody will pay the slightest attention to it," said Waller. "We all -know you." - -But Fosdick was not listening. He was wondering how he had been able to -delude himself, how he had failed to realize the construction that -could, and by the public would, be put upon his testimony. Many's the -thing that sounds and looks and seems right and proper in privacy and -before a few sympathetic witnesses, and that shudders in the full livery -of shame when exposed before the world. Here was an instance--and he, -the shrewd, the lifelong dealer in public opinion, had been tricked at -his own trade as he had never been able to trick anyone else in half a -century of chicane. - -"I want to die, Waller," he said feebly. "Help me back into my office. -I can't face anybody." - - -Into Armstrong's sitting room, toward ten that night, Fosdick came -limping and shuffling. Even had Armstrong been a "good hater" he could -hardly have withstood the pathos of that abject figure. Being too -broadly intelligent for more than a spasm of that ugliest and most -ignorant of passions, he felt as if the broken man before him were the -wronged and he himself the wronger. "But this man made a shameful, -treacherous, unprovoked attempt to disgrace me," he reminded himself, in -the effort to keep a just point of view for prudence's sake. It was -useless. That ghastly, sunken face, those frightened, dim old eyes, the -trembling step-- If a long life of soul-prostitution had left Josiah -Fosdick enough of natural human generosity to appreciate the meaning of -Armstrong's expression, he might have been able to change his crushing -defeat into what in the circumstances would have been the triumph of a -drawn battle. But, except possibly the creative geniuses, men must -measure their fellows throughout by themselves. Fosdick knew what he -would do, were he in Armstrong's place. He clutched at Armstrong's hand -with a cringing hypocrisy of deference that made Armstrong ashamed for -him--and that warned him he dared not yet drop his guard. - -"I've been trying to get you since three o'clock this afternoon," said -Fosdick. "I had to see you before I went to bed." He sank into a chair -and sat breathing heavily. He looked horribly old. "You don't believe -I deliberately lied about that money, do you, Horace?" - -"Is it necessary to discuss that, Mr. Fosdick? Hadn't we better get -right at what you've come to see me about?" - -"I've wired the governor. He don't answer. Morris refuses to see me. -Westervelt--it's useless to see him--he has betrayed me--sold me out--he -on whom I have showered a thousand benefits. I made that man, Horace, -and he has rewarded me. That's human nature!" - -Armstrong recalled that, when he was winning over Westervelt by -convincing him of Fosdick's perfidy to him, Westervelt had made the same -remark, had cried out that he loaned Fosdick the first five hundred -dollars he ever possessed and had got him into the O.A.D. "It seems to -me, Mr. Fosdick, that recriminations are idle," said he. "I assume you -have something to ask or to propose. Am I right?" - -"Horace, you and I are naturally friends. Why should we fight each -other?" - -"You have come to propose a peace?" - -"I want us to continue to work together." - -"That can be arranged," said Armstrong. - -"I hoped so!" Fosdick exclaimed. "I hoped so!" - -"But," proceeded Armstrong, seeing the drift of the thought behind that -quick elation, "let us have no misunderstanding. You were permitted to -leave the witness stand when you did to-day because I wished you to have -one more chance to save yourself. That chance will be withdrawn if you -begin to act on the notion that my forbearance is proof of my weakness." - -"All I want is peace--peace and quiet," said Fosdick, with his new -revived hope and craft better hid. But Armstrong saw that it was -temperamentally impossible for Fosdick to believe any man would of his -own accord drop the sword from the throat of a beaten foe. - -"You can have peace," continued Armstrong, "peace with honor, provided -you give a guarantee. You cannot expect me to trust you." - -"What guarantee do you want?" - -"Control of the O.A.D." - -Fosdick's feebleness fell from him. He sprang erect, eyes flashing, -fists shaking. "Never!" he shouted. "So help me God, never! It's -mine. It's part of my children's patrimony. I'll keep it, in spite of -hell!" - -"You will lose it in any event," said Armstrong, as calm as Fosdick was -tempestuous. "You have choice of turning it over to me or having it -snatched from you by Atwater and Trafford and Langdon." - -"Atwater!" exclaimed Fosdick. - -"When I found you had arranged to destroy me," explained Armstrong, "I -formed a counter-arrangement, as I wasn't strong enough to fight you -alone." - -"You sold me out!" - -Armstrong winced. Fosdick's phrase was unjust, but since his talk with -Neva he was critical and sensitive in the matter of self-respect; and, -while his campaign of self-defense, of "fighting the devil with fire," -still seemed necessary and legitimate, it also seemed lacking in -courage. If Fosdick had crept and crawled up on him, had he not also -crawled and crept up on Fosdick? "I defended myself in the only way you -left me," replied Armstrong. "I formed an alliance with the one man who -could successfully attack you." - -"So, it is Atwater who has bought the governor--and Morris--yes, and -that ingrate, Westervelt!" - -"However that may be," replied Armstrong, "you will be destroyed and -Atwater will take the O.A.D. unless you meet my terms." He was flushing -deep red before Fosdick's look of recognition of a brother in chicane. - -He knew Atwater was simply using him, would destroy him or reduce him to -dependence, as soon as Fosdick was stripped and ruined. He felt he was -as fully justified in eluding the tiger by strategy as he had been in -procuring the tiger to defeat and destroy the lion that had been about -to devour him. Still, the business was not one a man would preen -himself upon in a company of honest men and women. And Fosdick's look, -which said, "This man, having sold me out, is now about to sell out his -allies," hit home and hit hard. - -But he must carry his project through, or fall victim to Atwater; he -must not let this melting mood which Neva had brought about enfeeble his -judgment and disarm his courage. "If you refuse my offer," he said to -Fosdick, "the investigation will go on, and Atwater will get the O.A.D. -and take from you every shred of your character and much of your -fortune--perhaps all. If you accept my offer, the investigation will -stop and you will retire from the O.A.D. peaceably and without having to -face proceedings to compel you to make restitution." - -"How do I know you can keep your bargain?" - -"I have the governor and Morris with me," replied Armstrong, frankly -exposing his whole hand. "They, no more than myself, wish to become the -puppets of the Atwater-Langdon-Trafford crowd." - -Fosdick reflected. Now that he knew the precise situation, he felt less -feeble. Before Armstrong explained, he had been like a man fighting in -a pitch dark room against foes he could not even number. Now, the light -was on; he knew just how many, just who they were; and, appalling though -the discovery was, it was not so appalling as that struggle in the pitch -dark. "You evidently think I'm powerless," he said at last. "But if -you press me too far, you will see that I am not. For instance, you -_need_ me. You must have me or fall into Atwater's clutches. You see, -I am far from powerless." - -"But you forget," replied Armstrong, "you are heavily handicapped by -your reputation. A man who has to fight for his good name is like a -soldier in battle with a baby on his arm and a woman clinging to his -neck. How can you fight without losing your reputation? The committee -is against you. At Monday's session, if you let matters take their -course, all that Westervelt's books show of your profits from the O.A.D. -will be exposed--even the way you made it pay for the carpets on your -floors, for the sheets on your beds, for towels and soap and matches." - -Armstrong would not have believed there was in Fosdick's whole body so -much red blood as showed in his face. "It's a custom that's grown up," -he muttered shufflingly. "They all do it--in every big company, more or -less, directly or indirectly." - -"True enough," said Armstrong. "But you'll be the only one on trial. -If you accept my offer, you'll be let alone. Cancel the worst of those -leases, settle the ugliest accounts, all at comparatively trifling cost, -and the public will soon forget." - -"And what guarantee do you give that the agreement would be carried -out?" - -"My pledge--that's all," replied Armstrong--and again he flushed. He -had avoided specifically giving his word to the Atwater crowd when he -formed alliance with them; still, his "my pledge" had a hollow, jeering -echo. "It's the only possible guarantee in the circumstances--and, as -you are solely responsible for the circumstances, Mr. Fosdick, I do not -see how you can complain." - -Fosdick again reflected; the awful, deathly pallor, the deep scams, the -palsylike trembling came back. After a long wait, with Armstrong -avoiding the sight of him, he quavered, "Horace, I'll agree to anything -except giving up the O.A.D." There he broke down and wept. "You don't -know what that institution means to me. It's my child. It's my heart. -It's my reason for being alive." - -"Yes, it has been a source of enormous profit to you, Mr. Fosdick," said -Armstrong calmly, for his own strengthening more than to get Fosdick -back to facts. "I appreciate how hard it must be to give up such a -source of easy wealth. But it must be done." - -"You don't understand," mourned the old man. "You have no sentiment. -You do not _feel_ those hundreds of thousands, those millions of -helpless people--how they look up to me, how they pray for me and are -full of gratitude to me. Do you think I could coldly turn over their -interests to strangers? Why, who knows what might not be done with -those sacred trust funds?" - -"If you persist in letting Atwater get control," said Armstrong, "I fear -those sacred trust funds will soon be larger by about two thirds of what -you regard as your private fortune. I do not like to say these things; -you compel me, Mr. Fosdick. It is waste of time and breath to cant to -me." - -If Fosdick had had anything less at stake than his fortune, he would -have broken then and there with Armstrong. As it was, his prudence -could not smother down the geyser of fury that boiled and spouted up -from his vanity. "I must be mad," he cried, "to imagine that such -matters of conscience would make an impression on you." - -Armstrong laughed slightly. "When a man is in the jungle, is fighting -with wild beasts, he has to put forward the beast in him. You tried to -ruin me--a more infamous, causeless attack never was made on a man. You -have failed; you are in the pit you dug for me. I am letting you off -lightly." And now Armstrong's blue eyes had the green gray of steel and -flashed with that furious temper which he had been compelled to learn to -rule because, once beyond control, it would have been a free force of -sheer destruction. "If you had not been interceded for, you would now -be a pariah, with no wealth to buy you the semblance of respect. Don't -try me too far! I do not love you. I have the normal instinct about -reptiles." - -At that very moment Fosdick was looking the reptile. "Yes, I did try to -tear you down," he hissed. "And I'll tell you why. Because I saw your -ambition--saw you would never rest until you had robbed me and mine of -that which you coveted. Was I not right?" - -Armstrong could not deny it. He had never definitely formed such an -ambition; but he realized, as Fosdick was accusing him, that had he been -permitted to go peacefully on as president, the day would have come when -he would have reached out for real power. - -Fosdick went on, with more repression and dignity, but no less energy of -feeling, "I cannot but believe that God in His justice will yet hurl you -to ruin. You are robbing me, but as sure as there is a God, Horace -Armstrong, He will bring you low!" - -Well as Armstrong knew him, he was for the moment impressed. The only -born monsters are the insane criminals; the monstrous among our powerful -and eminent and most respectable are by long and deliberate indulgence -in self-deception manufactured into monsters, protected from public -exposure by their position, wealth, and respectability. We do not -realize any more than they do themselves, that they have become insane -criminals like the monsters-born. There is a majesty in the trappings -of virtue that does not altogether leave them even when a hypocrite -wears them; also, Armstrong was more than half disarmed by his -new-sprung doubts whether he was wholly justified in meeting treachery -with treachery. He surprised Fosdick by breaking the silence with an -almost deprecating, "I said more than I intended. What you have done, -what I have done, is all part of the game. Let us continue to leave God -and morals--honesty and honor--out of it. Let us be practical, -businesslike. You wish to save your reputation and your fortune. I can -save them for you. I have given you my condition--it is the least I -will ask, or can ask. What do you say?" - -"I must have time to think it over," replied Fosdick. "I cannot decide -so important a matter in haste." - -"Quite right," Armstrong readily assented. "It will not be necessary to -have your decision before noon to-morrow. The committee has adjourned -until Monday. That will give us half of Saturday and Sunday to settle -the plans that hang on your decision." - -"To-morrow noon," said Fosdick, sunk into a stupor. "To-morrow noon." -And he moved vaguely to the door, one trembling hand out before him as -if he were blind and feeling his way. And, so all-powerful are -appearances with us, Armstrong hung his head and did not dare look at -the pitiful spectacle of age and feebleness and misery. "He's a -villain," said the young man to himself, "as nearly a -through-and-through villain as walks the earth. But he's still a man, -with a heart and pride and the power to suffer. And what am I that I -should judge him? In his place, with his chances, would I have been any -different? Was I not hell-bent by the same route? Am I not, still?" - -He walked beside Fosdick to the elevator, waited with him for the car. -"Good night," he said in a tone of gentlest courtesy. And it hurt him -that the old man did not seem to hear, did not respond. He wished that -Fosdick had offered to shake hands with him. - -He went to Morris, expecting him at a club across the way, and related -the substance of the interview. Morris, who had both imagination and -sensibility, guessed the cause of his obvious yet apparently unprovoked -depression, guessed why he had been so tender with Fosdick. -Nevertheless he twitted him on his soft-heartedness: "The old -bunco-steerer hasn't disgorged yet, has he?--and hasn't the remotest -intention of disgorging. So, my tears are altogether for the policy -holders he has been milking these forty years." Then he added, "Though, -why careless damn fools should get any sympathy in their misfortunes -does not clearly appear. As between knaves and fools, I incline toward -knaves. At least, they are teachers of wisdom in the school of -experience, while fools avail nothing, are simply provokers and -purveyors to knavery." - - - - - *XXII* - - *A DUEL AFTER LUNCH* - - -In the respectable morning newspaper the Fosdicks took in, the facts of -Josiah's latest public appearance were presented with those judicious -omissions and modifications which the respectable editor feels it his -duty to make, that the lower classes may not be led to distrust and -deride the upper classes. Thus, Amy, glancing at headlines in search of -the only important news--the doings of "our set"--got the impression -that her father had had an annoying lapse of memory in testifying about -something or other before somebody or other. But the servants took in a -newspaper that had no mission to safeguard the name and fame and -influence of the upper classes; probably not by chance, this newspaper -was left where its vulgar but vivid headlines caught her eye. - -She read, punctuating each paragraph with explosions of indignation. -But when she had finished, she reread--and began to think. As most of -us have learned by experience in great matters or small, truth is -rubberlike--it offers small resistance to the blows of prejudice, and, -as soon as the blow passes, it straightway springs back to its original -form and place. Amy downfaced a thousand little facts of her own -knowledge as to where the money came from--facts which tried to tell her -that the "low, lying sheet" had revealed only a trifling part of the -truth. But, when she saw her father, saw how he had suddenly broken, -his very voice emasculate and thin, she gave up the struggle to deceive -herself. There is a notion that a man's family is the last to believe -the disagreeable truth about his relations with the outside world. This -is part of the theory that a man has two characters, that he can be a -saint at six o'clock in the morning and a scoundrel at six o'clock in -the evening, that he is honest at a certain street and number and a liar -and a thief at another street and number. But the fact is that -character is the most closely woven and homogeneous of fabrics, and, -though a man's family do not admit it publicly when the truth about him -is exposed, they know him all the time for what he really is. Amy knew; -her father's appearance, indicating not that he was guilty but that he -was found out and was in an agony of dread of the consequences, threw -her into a hysteria of shame and terror. She avoided the servants; she -startled each time the door bell rang; it might mean the bursting of the -real disgrace, for, in her ignorance of political conditions, she -assumed that arrest and imprisonment would follow the detection of her -father and probably Hugo in grave crimes. She dared not face any of the -few that called; she would not even see Hugo. - -On Sunday morning came a note from Alois--a love letter, begging to see -her. She read it with tears flowing and with a heart swelling with -gratitude. "He does love me!" she said. "He must know we are about to -be disgraced, yet he has only been strengthened in his love." Though -the actual state of the family's affairs was vastly different from what -she imagined, though she would have been little disturbed had she known -that publicity was the only punishment likely to overtake persons so -respectable as Fosdick and his son, still the crisis was none the less -real to Amy. In such crises the best qualities of human nature rise in -all their grandeur and exert all their power. She sent off an immediate -answer--"Thank you, Alois--I need you-- Come at three o'clock. Yours, -Amy." - -When he came, she let him see what she wanted; how, with all she had -valued and had thought valuable transforming into trash and slipping -away from her, she had turned to him, to the only reality--to the love -that welcomes the storm which gives it the opportunity to show how -strong it is, how firmly rooted. With his first stammering, ardent -protestations, she flung herself into his arms. "I have loved you from -the beginning," she sobbed. "But I didn't realize it until I looked -round for some one to turn to. You do love me?" - -"I am here," he said simply, and there is nothing finer than was the -look in his eyes, the feeling in his heart. "And we must be married -soon. We must be together, now." - -"Yes, yes--soon--at once," she agreed. "And you will take me away, -won't you? Ah, I love you--I love you, Alois. I will show you how a -woman can love." And never had she been so beautiful, both without and -within. - -"As soon as you please," said he. He was not inclined to interrogate -his happiness; but he was surprised at her sudden and unconditional -surrender. He guessed that some quarrel about him with her father or -with Hugo had roused her to assert what he was quite ready to believe -had been in her heart all the time; or, it might be that she wished to -make amends for her father's having planned to send him away when honor -commanded him to stay and guard his reputation. Had the cause of her -hysteria been real, or had he known why she was so clinging and so -eager, he would not have changed--for he loved her and was never -half-hearted in any emotion. Though her money and her position were -originally her greatest attractions for him, his ideal of his own -self-respect was too high and too real for him to rest content until he -had forced love to put him under its spell. - -When he left her she sent for Hugo and told him. Hugo went off like a -charge at the snap of the spark. "You must be mad!" he shouted. "Why, -such a marriage is beneath you--is almost as bad as your sister's. It's -your duty to bring a gentleman into the family." - -She would not argue that; she would at any cost be forbearing with Hugo, -who must be in torture, if he was not altogether a fool--and sometimes -she thought he was. She restrained herself to saying gently, "You don't -seem to appreciate our changed position." - -"What 'changed position'? What are you talking about?" demanded Hugo, -rearing and beginning to stride the length of the room. - -She did not answer; answer seemed unnecessary, when Hugo was so -obviously blustering to hide his real state of mind. - -"You mean father's testimony?" he said. "What rot! Why, nobody that is -anybody pays the slightest attention to that. Everyone understands how -things are in finance and how vital it is to guard the secrets from -lying demagogues and the mob. There isn't a man of consequence, of high -respectability, on Manhattan Island, or in big affairs anywhere in the -country, who wouldn't be in as difficult or more difficult a position, -if he happened to be cornered. Everyone whose opinion we care anything -about is in the game, and this attack on us is simply a move of our -enemies." - -"Deceive yourself, if you want to," replied Amy. "But I know I can't get -married any too soon." - -"And marrying a nobody, a mere architect, whose sister works for a -living. You haven't even the excuse of caring for him." - -"Don't be too sure about that! In the last twenty-four hours I've -learned a great deal about life, about people. Everybody talks of love, -and of wanting love. But nobody knows what it really means, until he -has suffered. Oh, Hugo, don't be so hard! I need Alois!" And there -were tears in her eyes. - -Hugo tossed his head; but he was not unimpressed. "I'm sorry to see you -so weak," said he in a tone that was merely surly and therefore, by -contrast, kindly. "Of course, it's none of _my_ business. But I don't -approve it, I want you distinctly to understand." - -"You won't be disagreeable to Alois?" - -"I don't blame _him_," said Hugo. "It's natural he should be crazy to -marry you. And, in his way, he isn't a bad sort. He's been about in -our set long enough to get something of an air." Hugo was thinking that -Amy had now lost young Roebuck, the only eligible in her train; that, -after all, since he himself was to be the principal heir to his father's -estate, she was not exactly a first-class matrimonial offering and might -have to take something even less satisfactory than Alois, if she -continued to wait for the husband he could warm to. "Go ahead, if you -must," was his final remark. "I'll not interfere." - -This was equivalent to approval, and Amy, strengthened, moved upon her -father. To her astonishment, he listened without interest. She had to -say pointedly, "And I've come to find out whether you approve," before -he roused himself to respond. - -"Do as you like," he said wearily, not lifting his eyes from the sheet -of paper on which he had been making aimless markings, when she -interrupted him. - -"You wouldn't object if I married--soon?" - -"Don't bother me," he flamed out. "Do as you please. Only, don't fret -me. And, no splurge! I'm sick. I want quiet." - -Thus it came about that on the Thursday following the engagement, a week -almost to the hour from Fosdick's tumble into his own carefully and -deeply dug pit, Amy married Alois Siersdorf, "with only the two families -present, because of Mr. Fosdick's age and illness"; and at noon they -sailed away on the almost empty _Deutschland_. - -Alois did not let his perplexity before Amy's astounding docility -interfere with his happiness. He saw that, whatever the cause, she was -in love with him, so deeply in love that she had descended from the -pedestal, had lifted him from his knees, had set him upon it, and had -fallen down meekly to worship. There were a few of "our people" on the -steamer--half a dozen families or parts of families, of "the push," who -were on their way to freeze and sneeze in the "warm" Riviera for the -sake of fashion. Alois was delighted that Amy was so absorbed in him -that she would have nothing to do with them--this for the first three -days. He had not believed her capable of the passion and the tenderness -she was lavishing upon him. She made him hold her in his arms hours at -a time; she developed amazing skill at those coquetries of intimacy so -much more difficult than the enticements that serve to make the period -of the engagement attractive. And he found her more beautiful, too, -than he had thought. She was one of those women who are not at their -best when on public or semipublic view, but reserve for intimacy a charm -which explains the otherwise inexplicable hold they get upon the man to -whom they fully reveal and abandon themselves. - -And Alois, in love with the woman herself now rather than with what she -represented to his rather material imagination, surprised her in turn. -She had thought him somewhat stilted, a distinctly professional man, -with too little lightness of mind--interesting, satisfactory beyond the -prosy and commonplace and patterned run of men she knew; but still with -a tendency to be wearisome if taken in too large doses. She had to -confess that she had misjudged him. He was no longer under the nervous -strain of trying to win her, was no longer handicapped by a vague but -potent notion that he would get more than he gave in a marriage with -her. He revealed his real self--light-hearted, varied, most adaptable; -thoroughgoing masculine, yet with a femininity, a knowledge of and -interest in matters purely feminine, that made companionship as easy as -it was delightful. - -They were in the full rapture of these agreeable surprises each about -the other when the representatives of "our set" began to insist upon -associating with them. Amy shrank from the first advances; this only -made the bored fashionables the more determined. Even in her morbidness -about the lost reputation and the menace of prison, she could not -deceive herself as to the meaning of their persistent friendliness. And -soon she was delighted by a third surprise. She found that Hugo had -been right, and she absurdly wrong, about public opinion. There might -be, probably was, a public opinion that misunderstood her father and -judged him by provincial, old-fashioned standards. But it was not _her_ -public opinion. All the people of her set were more or less involved, -directly or through their relations by blood and marriage, in -enterprises that necessitated what in the masses--the "lower classes" -and the "criminal classes"--would be called lying, swindling, and -stealing; they, therefore, had no fault to find with Fosdick. Had he -not his fortune still? And was he not impregnable against the mob -howling that he be treated as a common malefactor? Where, then, was the -occasion for Phariseeism? Was it not the plain duty of respectable -people to stand firmly by the Fosdicks and show the mob that -respectability was solidly against demagogism, against attempts to judge -the upper class by lower class standards? Yes; that was the wise -course, and the safe course. Why, even the public prosecutor, a -suspiciously demagogical shouter for "equal justice"--respectability -appreciated that he had to get the suffrages of the mob, but thought he -went a little too far in demagogic speech--why, even he had shown that -the gentleman was stronger in him than the politician. Had he not, -after a few days of silence, come out boldly rebuking "the attempt to -defame and persecute one of the country's most public-spirited and -useful citizens, in advance of judicial inquiry"? - -Amy was amazed that she had been so preposterously unnerved by what she -now saw was literally nothing at all, a mere morbid phantasy. But at -the same time, she was devoutly thankful that she had been deluded. -"But for that," said she to herself, "I might not have married 'Lois, -might have stifled the best, the most beautiful emotion of my life, -might have missed happiness entirely." This thought so moved her that -she rose--it was in the dead of night--and went into his room and bent -over him, asleep, and kissed him softly. And she stood, admiring in the -dim light the manliness and the beauty of his head, his waving hair, his -small, becoming blond beard. - -"I love you," she murmured passionately. "No price would have been too -dear to pay for you." - - -Meanwhile Fosdick was settling to the new conditions with a facility -that admirably illustrated the infinite adaptability of the human -animal. The inevitable, however cruel, is usually easy to accept. It -is always mitigated by such reflections as that it could not have been -avoided and that it might have been worse. The more intelligent the -victim, the shorter his idle bewailings and the quicker his -readjustment--and Fosdick was certainly intelligent. Also, among -"practical" men, as youth with its ardent courage and its enthusiasms -retreats and old age advances, there is a steady decay of self-respect, -a rapid decline of belief that in life, so brief, so unsatisfactory at -best, so fundamentally sordid, anything which interferes with comfort, -personal comfort, is worth fighting for; where a young man will -challenge an almost fanciful infringement of his self-respect, an old -man will accept with a resigned and cynical shrug the most degrading -conditions, if only they leave him material comfort and peace. - -To aid old Fosdick in making the best of it, the sensational but -influential part of the press each morning and each afternoon girded at -him, at Morris and at the authorities, asking the most impertinent -questions, making the most disgusting demands. Thus, the old man was -not permitted to lose sight or sound of the foaming-jowled bloodhounds -Armstrong was protecting him from. And when he gave full weight to the -fact that Armstrong was also saving him from the -Atwater-Langdon-Trafford crowd, he ceased to hate him, began to look on -him as a friend and ally. - -Now that Fosdick and Armstrong were on a basis on which he was compelled -to respect the young man, each began to take a more favorable view of -the other than he had ever taken before. Rarely indeed is any human -being--any living being--altogether or even chiefly bad. If the evil is -the predominant force in a man's life, it is usually because of some -system of which he is the victim, some system whose appeal to appetite -or vanity, or, often, to sheer necessities, is too strong for the -natural instincts of the peaceful, patient human animal. And even the -man who lives wholly by outrages upon his fellow men lives so that all -but a very few of his daily acts are either not bad, or positively good. -The mad beasts of creation, high and low, are few--and they are mad. -All Fosdick's strongest instincts--except those for power and -wealth--were decent, and some of them were fine. It was not surprising -that, with so much of the genuinely good in him, he was able to delude -himself into believing there was reality behind his reputation as a -philanthropic business man. - -The hard part of his readjustment was requesting those through whom he -had controlled the O.A.D. to transfer their allegiance to Armstrong. It -is a tribute to Armstrong's diplomacy--and where was there ever -successful diplomat who was not at bottom a good fellow, a sympathetic -appreciator of human nature?--it is a tribute to Armstrong's diplomatic -skill that Fosdick came to look on this transfer--and to hasten it and -to make it complete--as the best, the only means of checking that -"infamous Atwater-Trafford gang." He felt he was simply retreating one -step further into that shadow behind the throne of power in which he had -always been careful to keep himself pretty well concealed. He felt--so -considerate and delicate was Armstrong--that he would still be a power -in the councils of the O.A.D. He himself suggested that Hugo should -retire from the fourth vice-presidency "as soon as this thing blows -over." - -The public knew nothing of the transfer. Even when one gang bursts open -the doors to fling another gang out, the public gets no more than a -hasty and shallow glimpse behind the facade of the great institutions -that exploit it and administer its affairs. It was not let into the -secret that for the first time in the history of the O.A.D. its -president did preside, and that he not only presided but ruled as -autocratically as Fosdick had ruled, as some one man always does rule -sooner or later in any human institution. But the -Atwater-Langdon-Trafford "gang" soon heard what was occurring, and, as -Armstrong had known that they must hear, he awaited results with not a -little anxiety. Of Trafford he was not at all afraid--Trafford's tricks -were the familiar common-places by which most men who get on in the -world of chicane achieve their success. About Langdon, he was somewhat -more unquiet; but Atwater was the one he dreaded. What was Atwater -doing, now that he realized--as he must realize--that he had been duped, -that Armstrong had used him to conquer Fosdick and was now facing him, -armed with Fosdick's weapons and with youth and energy and astuteness; -that Morris and the governor were not his tools, as he had been -imagining, but Armstrong's allies; that, instead of being about to -absorb the O.A.D., he might, should Armstrong force the fighting, lose -the great Universal, the greater Gibraltar Mutual, and the Hearth and -Home, which gathered in, and kept, the pennies of poverty? - -A few days before the committee was to reassemble, Atwater telephoned -Armstrong, asking him to come to lunch with him. Armstrong accepted and -drew a long breath of relief. He knew that Atwater's agents had been -sounding both the governor and Morris, had "persuaded" little Kenworthy -to pretend to be ill, and to put off the reassembling of the committee. -So, this invitation, this request for a face-to-face talk, must mean -that neither the governor nor Morris had yielded. - -When Armstrong and Atwater met, each looked the other over genially but -thoroughly. "I congratulate you, my young friend," said Atwater -heartily. "I can admire a stroke of genius, even though it cuts my own -plans." - -No reference from Armstrong to the fact that Atwater had planned to -destroy him as soon as he had used him to get the O.A.D.; no reference -from Atwater, beyond this smiling and friendly hint, to the fact that -Armstrong had allied himself with Atwater ostensibly to destroy Fosdick, -and had shifted just in time to outgeneral his ally. Atwater was a -fine, strong-looking man of sixty and odd years, with the kindest eyes -in the world, and the wickedest jaw--in repose. When he smiled, his -whole face was like his eyes. He had a peculiarly agreeable voice, and -so much magnetism that his enemies liked him when with him. He was a -man of audacious financial dreams, which he carried out with dazzling -boldness--at least, carried out to the point where he himself could "get -from under" with a huge profit and could shift the responsibility of -collapse to others. He was a born pirate, the best-natured of pirates, -the most chivalrous and generous. He was of a type that has recurred in -the world each time the diffusion of intelligence and of liberty has -released the energy of man and given it a chance to play freely. Such -men were the distinction of Athens in the heyday of its democracy; of -Rome in the period between the austere and cruel republic of the -patricians and the ferocious tyranny of Caesardom; of Bagdad and Cordova -after the Moslems became liberalized and before they became degenerate; -of Italy in the period of the renaissance; of France after the -Revolution and before Friedland infatuated Napoleon into megalomania. - -During the lunch the two men talked racing and automobile and -pictures--Atwater had a good eye for line and color. They would have -gone on to talk music, had there been time--for Atwater loved music and -sang well and played the violin amazingly, though he practiced only -about two hours a day, and that not every day. But they did not get -round to music; the coffee and cigars were brought, and the waiters -withdrew. - -"What is your committee going to do, when it gets together, day after -to-morrow?" said Atwater, the instant the door closed on the head -waiter. - -"You'll have to see Morris, to find out that," replied Armstrong. - -Atwater smiled and waved his hand. "Bother!" he retorted. "What's your -programme?" - -"Morris is the man to see," repeated Armstrong. "I wouldn't give up his -secrets, if I knew them." - -"Our man up at Buffalo wires," continued Atwater, "that you have got -Kenworthy out of bed and completely cured. So, you are going on. And I -know you are not the man to wait in the trenches. Now, it happens that -Langdon and I have several matters on at this time--as much as we can -conveniently look after. Besides, what's to be gained by tearing up the -public again, just when it was settling down to confidence? I like a -fight as well as any man; but I don't believe in fighting for mere -fighting's sake, when there are so many chances for a scrimmage with -something to be gained. It ain't good business. The first thing we -know, the public is going to have some things impressed on it so deeply -that even its rotten bad memory will hold the stamp." - -"I agree with you," said Armstrong. "I love peace, myself. But I don't -believe in laying down arms while the other fellow is armed to the -teeth, and hiding in the bushes before my very door." - -"That means me, eh?" inquired Atwater cheerfully. - -"That means you," said Armstrong. "And it isn't of any use for you to -call out from the bushes that you've gone away and are back at your -plowing." - -"But I haven't gone away," replied Atwater; "I'm still in the bushes. -However, I'm willing to go. - -"On what condition?" - -"Give us the two first vice-presidents of the O.A.D. and the -chairmanship of the Finance Committee." - -That meant practical control. Armstrong knew that his worst -anticipations were none too gloomy. "And if we don't?" said he. - -"Our people have been collecting inside facts about the O.A.D., about -its management ever since you came on to take old Shotwell's place--poor -old Shotwell! If we are not put in a position where we can bring about -reforms in your management and a better state of affairs, we'll have to -take the only other alternative. We have the arrangements made to fire -a broadside from four newspapers to-morrow morning. And we've got it so -fixed that any return fire you might make would get into the columns of -only two newspapers--and one of them would discredit you editorially. -Also, we will at the same time expose your committee." Atwater set out -this programme with the frankness of a large man of large affairs to one -of his own class, one with whom evasions, concealments, and -circumlocutions would be waste of time. - -Armstrong smiled slightly. "Then it's war?" he said. - -"If you insist." - -"You know we've got the governor and the attorney-general?" - -"But we've got the press, practically all respectability, and a better -chance with the Grand Jury and the judges." - -Armstrong gazed reflectively into space. "A good fight!" he said -judicially. "If I were a very rich man I should hesitate to precipitate -it. But, having nothing but my salary--and a _good, clean, personal_ -record--I think I'll enjoy myself. I'll not try to steal the credit of -making the fight, Mr. Atwater. I'll see that you get all the glory that -comes from kicking the cover off hell." - -"Speaking of your personal record," said Atwater absently. "Let me see, -you were in the A. & P. bond syndicate, in the little steel syndicate -last spring, in two stock syndicates a couple of months ago. Your -profits were altogether $72,356--I forget the odd cents. And they tell -me you've sworn to three reports that won't stand examination." - -Armstrong lifted his eyebrows, drew at his cigar awhile. "I see you've -been looking me up," he said, unruffled apparently. "Of course," he -went on, "I shouldn't expect to escape an occasional shot. But they'd -hardly be noted in the general fusillade. The Universal has been a mere -shell ever since you used it, in that traction reorganization which -failed--I've got a safe full of facts about it. And Morris tells me he -can have mobs trying to hang Trafford and his board of directors for -their doings in the Home Defender." - -Atwater smiled grimly. "I'm sorry to say, Armstrong, we'd concentrate -on you. Several of the strong men look on you as a dangerous person. -They don't like new faces down in this part of the town, unless they -wear a more deferential expression than yours does. Personally, I'd -miss you. You're the kind of man I like as friend or as foe. But I -couldn't let my personal feelings influence me or oppose the advice of -the leading men of finance." - -"Naturally not," assented Armstrong. - -"I've got to be off now," continued Atwater, rising. - -"So have I," said Armstrong. - -They went to the street door of the building, Atwater holding Armstrong -by the arm. There, Armstrong put out his hand. "Good-by, Mr. Atwater," -he said; "I'll meet you at Philippi." - -"Think it over, young man, think it over," said Atwater, a friendly, sad -expression in his handsome, kind eyes. "I don't want to see you come a -nasty cropper--one that'll make you crawl about with a broken back the -rest of your life. Put off your ambitions--or, better still, come in -with us. We'll do more for you than you can do for yourself." - -"Thank you," replied Armstrong ironically. - -"Consult with your people. The governor has almost weakened, and I'm -sure Morris will fall in line with whatever you do." - -"You've got my answer," said Armstrong, unruffled in his easy good -nature. "And I'll tell you, Mr. Atwater, that if you do take the cover -off hell, I'll see that it isn't put on again until you've had a -look-in, at least." - -"You know the situation too well to imagine you can win," urged Atwater. -"You must be thinking I'm bluffing." - -"Frankly, I don't know," replied Armstrong. "As you will lose so much -and I so little, I rather believe you are." - -"Put that idea out of your mind," said Atwater; and now his face, -especially his eyes, gave Armstrong a look full into the true man, the -reckless and relentless tyrant, with whom tyranny was an instinct -stronger than reason. - -"I have," was Armstrong's quiet answer. - -"Then--you agree?" - -Armstrong shook his head, without taking his eyes off Atwater's. - -Atwater shrugged his shoulders. - -"Fallen women have been known to reform," said Armstrong. "But there's -no recorded case of a fallen man's reforming. I find nothing to attract -me, Atwater, in the lot of the most splendid of these male Messalinas -you and your kind maintain in such luxury as officials, public and -private. I belong to myself--and I shall continue to belong to myself." - -Atwater's smile was cynical; but there was the cordiality of respect in -the hand clasp he abruptly forced on Armstrong, as he parted from him. - - - - - *XXIII* - - *"THE WOMAN BORIS LOVED"* - - -At last Neva had made a portrait she could look at without becoming -depressed. For the free workman there is always the joy of the work -itself--the mingling of the pain which is happiness and the happiness -which is pain, that resembles nothing so much as what a woman -experiences in becoming a mother. But, with the mother, birth is a -climax; with the artist, an anti-climax. The mother always sees that -her creation is good; her critical faculty is the docile echo of her -love. With the artist, the critical faculty must be never so -mercilessly just as when he is judging the offspring of his own soul; he -looks upon the finished work, only to see its imperfections; how -woefully it falls short of what he strove and hoped. The joy of life is -the joy of work--the prize withers in its winner's hand. - -After her first year under Raphael, Neva's portraits had been -successful--more successful, perhaps, than they would have been if she -had had to succeed in order to live. She suspected that her work was -overpraised; Raphael said not, and thought not, and his critical faculty -was so just that neither vanity nor love could trick it. But when she -finished the portrait of Narcisse--Narcisse at her drawing table, her -face illumined from within--her eyes full of dreams, one capable yet -womanly hand against her smooth, round cheek, the background a hazed, -mysterious mirage of fairylike structures--when this portrait was done, -Neva looked on it and knew that it was good. "It might be better," said -she. "It is far, far from best--even _my_ best, I hope. But it is -good." - -She did not let her master see it until she had made the last stroke. -Theretofore he had always said some word of encouragement the moment he -looked at any of her work submitted to him. Now, he stood silent, his -eyes searching for flaws, instead of for merits. There was no mistaking -the meaning of that criticism; Neva thrilled until she trembled. It was -the happiest moment of her life. - -"I guess you've hit it, this time," he said at length. "Worse work than -that has lived--on its merits." - -"I'm afraid I'll never be able to do it again," she sighed. "It seems -to me an accident." - -"And so it was," replied he. "So is all inspired work. Yes, it's an -accident--but that kind of accidents happen again and again to those who -keep good and ready for good luck." He turned and, almost forgetting -the woman in the artist, put his hand affectionately, admiringly, on her -shoulder. "And you--my dear--you have worked well." - -"Not so well as I shall hereafter," replied she. "I've been discouraged. -This will put heart into me." - -He smiled with melancholy. "Yes--you'll work better. But not because -you're less discouraged. This picture gives you pleasure now. Six -months hence it will be a source of pain every time you think of it. -There's a picture I did about twelve years ago that has stretched me on -the rack a thousand times. I never think of it without a twinge. Why? -Because I feel I've never equaled it since. They say I have--say it's -far inferior to my later work. But I know--and it galls." - -The bell rang and presently Molly appeared with Raphael's -man-of-all-work carrying a large canvas, covered. "Ah--here it is!" -cried Boris, and when the two servants were gone, he said to Neva: "Now, -shut your eyes, and don't open them till I tell you." - -A few seconds, then he cried laughingly, "Behold!" She looked; it was a -full-length portrait of herself. She was entering a room, was holding -aside a dark purple curtain that was in daring, exquisite contrast with -her soft, clinging, silver-white dress, and the whiteness of her -slender, long, bare arms. The darkness in which her figure, long and -slim and slight, was framed, the flooding light upon it as if from it, -the exceeding beauty of her slender face, of her dreaming, dazzled eyes, -all combining to suggest a soul, newly awakened from a long, long sleep, -and entering life, full equipped for all that life has for a mind that -can think and a heart that can love and laugh and weep-- It was Neva at -her best, Boris at his best. - -He looked from the portrait to her, and back again. "Not right," he -muttered discontentedly. "not yet. However, I'll touch it up here." -Then to her, "I want a few sittings, if you'll take the trouble to get -out that dress." - -She was gazing at his work with awe; it did not seem to her to be -herself. "It is finished, now," said she to him. - -"It will never be finished," he replied. "I shall keep it by me and -work at it from time to time." He stood off and looked at it lovingly. -"You're mine, there," he went on. "All mine, young woman." And he took -one of her long brushes and scrawled "Boris" across the lower left -corner of the canvas. "It shall be my bid for immortality for us both. -When you've ceased to belong to yourself or anyone, when you shall have -passed away and are lost forever in the abyss of forgotten centuries, -Boris's Neva will still be Boris's. And men and women of races we never -dreamed of will stand before her and say, 'She--oh, I forget her name, -but she's the woman Boris loved.'" - -A note in his mock-serious tone, a gleam in his smiling gaze made the -tears well into her eyes; and he saw them, and the omen put him in a -glow. In his own light tone, she corrected, "_A_ woman Boris -_fancied_." - -"_The_ woman Boris _loved_," he repeated. "The woman he was never -separated from, the woman he never let out of his sight. There are two -of you, now. And I have the immortal one. What do _you_ think of it?" - -"There's nothing left for the mortal one but to get and to stay out of -sight. No one that once saw your Neva would take much interest in -mine." - -"It's a portrait that's a likeness," said he. "With you, the outside -happens to be an adequate reflection of the inside." And he smiled at -her simplicity, which he knew was as unaffected as it always is with -those who think little about themselves, much about their surroundings. - -"I wish I could see it," she said wistfully. - -"You can see it in the face of any man who happens to be looking at -you." - -But she had turned to her portrait of Narcisse and was eying it -disdainfully. "I must hide that," she went on, "as long as yours is in -this room. How clumsy my work looks--how painstaking and 'talented.'" -She wheeled it behind a curtain. - -"None of that! None of that!" he protested severely. "Never depreciate -your own work to yourself. You can't be like me, nor I like you. Each -flower its own perfume, each bird its own song. You are a painter born; -so am I. No one can be more." - -"I know, I know," she apologized. "I'm not as foolishly self-effacing -as when you first took me in hand, am I?" - -"You make a braver front," replied he, "but sometimes I suspect it's -only a front. Will you give me a sitting this afternoon?" - -"I'll change to that dress, and tell Molly not to let anyone in." - -She had been gone about ten minutes when the bell rang again. Boris -continued to busy himself with paints and brushes until he caught -Armstrong's voice. He frowned, paused in his preparations, and listened. - -"Is Miss Genevieve at home?" Armstrong was saying. - -To Boris's astonishment, he heard the old woman answer, in a tone which -did not conceal her dislike for the man she was addressing, "Yes, sir. -Go into the studio. She will be in shortly." - -Armstrong entered, to find himself facing Raphael's most irritating -expression--an amused disdain, the more penetrating for a polite -pretense of concealment. "Come in, Mr. Armstrong," cried he. "But you -mustn't stay long, as we're at work." - -"How d'ye do," said Armstrong, all but ignoring him. "Sorry to annoy -you. But don't mind me. Go right on." And he began to wander about -the room--Raphael had thrown a drape over his picture of Neva. The -minutes dragged; the silence was oppressive. Finally Armstrong said, -"Miss Carlin must be dressing." - -"Beg pardon?" asked Boris, as if he had not heard. - -"Nothing," replied Armstrong. "Perhaps I was thinking aloud." - -Silence again, until Raphael, in the hope of inducing this untimely -visitor to depart, said, "Miss Carlin is getting ready for a sitting." - -"You are painting her portrait?" - -"Yes." - -"That will be interesting. I'd like to see how it's done. I'll sit by -quite quietly. You won't mind me." - -"I'm afraid you'll have to go," replied the painter. "I'd not be -disturbed, but a spectator has a disastrous effect on the sitter." - -"I see," said Armstrong. "Well, I'll wait until she comes. Are you -just beginning?" - -"No," replied Raphael curtly. - -"Is that the portrait?" asked Armstrong, indicating the covered canvas. - -Boris hesitated, suddenly flung off the cover. - -"Ah!" exclaimed Armstrong, under his breath, drawing back a step. - -He gazed with an expression that interested Boris the lover even more -than Boris the student and painter of human nature. Since the talk with -Atwater, Armstrong had been casting this way and that, night and day, -for some means, any means, to escape from the sentence the grandee of -finance had fixed upon him; for he had not even considered the -alternative--to strike his flag in surrender. But escape he could not -contrive, and it had pressed in upon him that he must go down, down to -the bottom. He might drag many with him, perhaps Atwater himself; but, -in the depths, under the whole mass of wreckage would be himself--dead -beyond resurrection. At thirty a man's reputation can be shot all to -pieces, and heal, with hardly a scar; but not at forty. Still young, -with less than half his strength of manhood run, he would be of the -living that are dead. And he had come to see Neva for the last time, -after fighting in vain against the folly of the longing--of yielding to -the longing, when yielding could mean only pain, more pain. - -And now that he had weakly yielded, here was this creation of the genius -who loved her, to put him quite down. He was like one waking to the -sanity of reality from a dream in which he has figured as all that he is -not but longs to be. "Even if there had been no one else seeking her," -he said to himself, "what hope was there for me? And with this man -loving her-- Whether she loves him as yet or not, she will, she must, -sooner or later." Beside the power to evoke such enchantment as that -which lived and breathed before him, his own skill at cheating and lying -in order to shift the position of sundry bags of tawny dirt seemed to -him so mean and squalid that he felt as if he were shrinking in stature -and Raphael were towering. At last, he was learning the lesson of -humility--the lesson that is the beginning of character. - -"I'll not wait," said he, in a voice that smote the heart of Boris, the -fellow being sensitive to feeling's faintest, finest note. "Say, -please, that I had to go." - -Raphael astonished himself by having an impulse of compassion. But he -checked it. "He'd better go," he said to himself. "Seeing her would -only increase his misery." And he silently watched Armstrong move -heavily toward the door into the hall. The big Westerner's hand was on -the portiere and his sad gray eyes were taking a last look at the -picture. The faint rustle of her approach made him hesitate. Before he -could go, she entered. She was not in the silver-white evening dress -Raphael expected, but in the house dress she was wearing when he came. - -"I'm just going," Armstrong explained. "I shan't interrupt your -sitting." - -"Oh, that's off for to-day," replied she. "Now that I've had the -trouble of changing twice on your account, you'll have to stop awhile. -Morning is better for a sitting, anyhow. We shouldn't have had more -than half an hour of good light." - -Boris was tranquilly acquiescent. "To-morrow morning!" he said, with -not a trace of irritation. - -"If you can come at noon." - -"Very well." - -He covered the picture, which had been quite forgotten by all three in -the stress of the meeting of living personalities. He had a queer -ironic smile as he pushed it back against the wall, took up his hat and -coat. - -"You're not going," she objected. - -His face shadowed at her tone, which seemed to him to betray a feeling -the opposite of objection. "Yes," said he--"since I can't do this, I -must do something else. I haven't the time to idle about." - -She colored at this subtle reflection upon her own devotion to work. -All she said was, "At noon to-morrow, then. And I'll be dressed and -ready." - -When he heard the outer door close Armstrong said, "I understand now why -you like him." He was looking at the draped easel with eyes that -expressed all he was thinking about Neva, and about Neva and Boris. - -"You liked the picture?" she asked. - -"Yes," he replied. And there he stopped; his expression made her glance -away and color faintly. - -"What's the trouble?" she inquired with friendly satire. "Have you lost -a few dollars?" - -He lowered his head. "Don't," he said humbly. "Please--not to-day." - -As he sat staring at the floor and looking somewhat shorn, yet a shorn -Samson, she watched him, her expression like a veil not thick enough to -hide the fact that there is emotion behind it, yet not thin enough to -reveal what, or even what kind of, emotion. Presently she went toward -the curtain behind which she had put her portrait of Narcisse. "I don't -think I've ever shown you any of my work, have I?" said she. - -"No, but I've seen--almost everything." - -"Why, you never spoke of it." - -"No," he said. Then he added, "I've always hated your work--not because -it was bad, but because it was good." - -She dropped her hand from the curtain she had been about to draw aside. - -"Let me see it," said he. "All that doesn't matter, now." - -She brought out the portrait. He looked in silence--he had hid himself -behind that impenetrable stolidity which made him seem not only -emotionless but incapable of emotion. When he took his gaze from the -picture, it was to stare into vacancy. She watched him with eyes -shining softly and sadly. As he became vaguely conscious of the light -upon the dark path and stirred, she said with irresistible gentleness, -"What is it, Horace?" - -"Blues--only the blues," replied he, rousing himself and rising heavily -from his chair. "I must go. I'll end by making you as uncomfortable as -I am myself. In the mood I'm in to-day, a man should hide in his bed -and let no one come near him." - -"Sit down--please," said she, touching his arm in a gesture of appeal. -She smiled with a trace of her old raillery. "You are more nearly human -than I've ever seen you." - -He yielded to the extent of seating himself tentatively on the arm of a -chair. "Human? Yes--that's it. I've sunk down to where I think I'd -almost be grateful even for pity." The spell of good luck, of -prosperity without reverse, that had held him a mere incarnate ambition, -was broken, was dissolving. - -She seated herself opposite, leaned toward him. "Horace," she said, "can -I help you?" And so soothing was her tone that her offer could not have -smarted upon the wound even of a proud man less humbled than he. - -"It's nothing in which you could be of the slightest assistance," -replied he. "I've got myself in a mess--who was ever in a mess that -wasn't of his own making? I jumped in, and I find there's no jumping -out. I might crawl out--but I never learned that way of traveling, and -at my age it can't be learned." - -"Whatever it is," she said, very slow and deliberate, "you must let me -help you bear it." - -In the silence that followed, the possible meaning of her words -penetrated to him. He looked at her in a dazed way. "What did you -say--just now?" he asked. - -"No matter what it is," she repeated, "we can and will bear it -together." - -"Does that mean you _care_ for me?" he asked, as if stunned. - -"It means I am giving you the friendship you once asked," was her -answer, in the same slow, earnest way. - -"Oh," he said. Then, as she colored and shrank, "I didn't mean to hurt -you. Yes, I want your friendship. It's all--it's more than I've the -right to ask, now. You did well to refuse me, when I wanted you and -thought I had something to give in return." - -"You didn't want _me_," she replied. "You wanted only what almost any -man wants of almost any woman. And you had nothing to give me in -return--for, I don't want from any man only what you think is all a man -ought to give a woman, or could give her. I am like you, in one way. I -want all or nothing." - -"Well--you'd get nothing, now, from me," said he with stolid bitterness. -"I'm done for. I wouldn't drag you down with me, even if you'd let me." -And he seized his hat and strode toward the door. But she was before -him, barring the way. "Drag me down!" she exclaimed. "A few months -ago, when you asked me to marry you--then you did want to drag me down. -The name of wife doesn't cover the shame of the plaything of passion. -Now----" - -His stern face relaxed. He looked down at her doubtfully, longingly. -It seemed to him that, if he were to try now, if he were to ask of her -pity what she had denied to his passion in his strength and pride, he -might get it. The perfume of her bright brown hair intoxicated him; his -whole body was inhaling her beauty, which seemed to be flowing like the -fumes of ecstasy itself through her delicate, almost diaphanous -draperies of lace and silk and linen. She had offered only friendship, -but passion was urging that she would yield all if he would but ask. -All! And what would be the price? Why, merely yielding to Atwater. He -need not tell her until he had made terms with him, had secured -something of a future materially, perhaps a great future, for he could -make himself most useful to Atwater---- - -"No matter what it is," she said, "you can count on me." - ---Yes, most useful to Atwater; and all would be well. Trick her into -marrying him--then, compromise with Atwater--and all would be well. He -thought he was about to stretch out his arms to take her, when suddenly -up started within him the will that was his real self. "I can't do it," -he cried roughly. "Stand away from the door!" - -"Can't--do--what?" she asked. - -"Can't give in to Atwater." Rapidly he gave her an outline of the -situation. Partly because he abhorred cant, partly because he was -determined not to say anything sounding like an appeal for her -admiration and sympathy, he carefully concealed the real reasons of -pride and self-respect that forbade him to make terms with Atwater. "I -won't bend to any man," he ended. "I may be, shall be, struck down. But -I'll never kneel down!" - -She seemed bewildered by the marshy maze of trickery through which his -explanation had been taking her. "It seems to me," she urged, "that if -you don't make terms with Mr. Atwater, don't return to what you -originally agreed to do, it'll mean disgrace you don't deserve, and -injury to the men who have stood by you." - -"So it will," was his answer in a monotonous, exasperating way. -"Nevertheless--" He shrugged his shoulders--"I can't do it. I've -always been that way. I don't know, myself, till the test comes, what I -may do and what I may not do." - -Her eyes lowered, but he thought he could see and feel her contempt. -She left the door, seated herself, resting her head on her arms. He -shifted awkwardly from one leg to the other. He felt he had -accomplished his purpose, had done what was the only decent thing in the -circumstances--had disgusted her. It was time to go. But he lingered. - -She startled him by suddenly straightening herself and saying, or rather -beginning, "If you really loved me----" - -He, stung with furious anger, made a scornful gesture. "Delilah!" he -cried. "It's always the same story. Love robs a man of his strength. -You would use love to tempt me to be a traitor to myself. Yes, a -traitor. I haven't much morality, or that sort of thing. But I've got -a standard, and to it I must hold. If I yielded to Atwater, I should go -straight to hell." - -"Ah," she exclaimed, as if the clouds had suddenly opened, "then you are -right, Horace. You must not yield! Why did you frighten me? Why -didn't you say that before? Why did you pretend it was mere -stubbornness?" - -"Because that's what it is--mere stubbornness. Stubbornness--that's my -manhood--all the manhood I've got. I grant terms--I do not accept -them." - -His manner chilled, where his words would have had small effect. And it -conveyed no impression of being an assumed manner; on the contrary, the -cold, immovable man before her seemed more like the Armstrong she had -known than the man of tenderness and passion. Her words were braver -than her manner, and more hopeful, as she said, "You can't deceive me, -Horace. It must be that it is impossible to make honorable terms with -Atwater." - -"As you please." - -"You are, for some reason, trying to drive away my friendship. Your -pride in your own self-sufficience----" - -"You force me to be perfectly frank," he interrupted. "My love for you -is nothing but a passion. It has been tempting me to play the traitor to -myself. I caught myself in time. I stand or fall alone. You would -merely burden and weaken me." - -She sat still and white and cold. Without looking at her, he, in a -stolid, emotionless way, and with a deliberation that seemed to have no -reluctance in it, left her alone. - -"Horace!" she cried, starting up, as the portiere dropped behind him. - -The only answer was the click of the closing outside door. She sank -back, stared in a stupor at the shrine which the god had visited after -so many years--had visited only to profane and destroy. - - - - - *XXIV* - - *NEVA SOLVES A RIDDLE* - - -Next morning she sent Boris a note asking him not to come until -afternoon. When he entered the studio he found her before the blazing -logs in the big fireplace, weary, depressed, bearing the unbecoming -signs of a sleepless night and a day crouched down in the house. "We -must go and walk this off," said he. - -"No," replied she listlessly. "Nothing could induce me to dress." - -He lit a cigarette, stretched himself at ease in a big chair opposite -her. "You have had bad news--very bad news." - -"I feel as if I had been ill--on the operating table--and the cocaine -were wearing off." - -"Armstrong?" - -Her answer was the silence of assent. - -"When you told Molly not to let anyone in, yesterday, you excepted him?" - -"Yes." - -"I thought it over afterwards and decided that must be so." Several -reflective puffs at the cigarette. Then, not interrogating, but -positively, "You care for him." - -"Do I?" she said, as if the matter were doubtful and in any event not -interesting. - -Boris drew a long breath. "That's why I've been unable to make a -beginning with you. I ought to have seen it long ago, but I didn't--not -until yesterday--not until I had solved the riddle of his being able to -get in." - -"That's rather a strong conclusion from such a trifling incident." - -"Proof is proof enough--to a discerning mind," replied he. A pause, she -staring into the fire, he studying her. "Strange!" he went on, -suspiciously abstract and judicial. "He's a man I'd have said you -couldn't care for." - -"So should I," said she, to herself rather than to him. - -He was more astonished and interested than he let appear. "There's no -accounting for caprices of the heart," he pursued. "But it's a fairly -good rule that indifference is always and hugely inflammatory--provided -it conveys the idea that if it were to take fire, there would be a flame -worth the trouble of the making." - -She made no comment. - -"And you came on here to win him back?" - -"Did I?" - -"A woman always does everything with a view to some man." He smiled in -cheerful self-mockery. "And I deluded myself into believing you thought -only of art. Yes, I believed it. Well--now what?" - -"Nothing," she said drearily. "Nothing." - -"You won, and then discovered you didn't care?" - -"No." She made a gesture that suggested to him utter emptiness. "I -lost," she said, as her hands dropped listlessly back to her lap. - -Boris winced. Usually a woman makes a confession so humiliating to -vanity, only to one whom, however she may trust and like him, she yet -has not the slightest desire to attract. Then he remembered that it -might have a different significance, coming from her, with her pride so -large and so free from petty vanity that the simple truth about a -personal defeat gave her no sense of humiliation. - -"I don't know what to do next," she continued, thinking aloud. "I seem -to have no desire to go on, and, if I had, there doesn't seem to be any -path to go on upon. You say I care for him. I don't know. I only know -I seem to have needed him--his friendship--or, rather, my friendship for -him." - -Boris smiled cynically. But her words impressed him. True friendship -was, as a rule, impossible between women and men; but every rule has -exceptions, and this woman was in so many other ways an exception to all -the rules that it might be just possible she had not fallen in love with -Armstrong's strength of body and of feature and of will. At any rate, -here was a wound, and a wound that was opportunity. The sorer the -heart, the more eagerly it accepts any medicine that offers. So Boris -suggested, with no apparent guile in his sympathy, "Why not go abroad -for a year--two years? We can work there, and perhaps--I can help you -to forget." Her expression made him hasten to add, "Oh, I understand. -I'm merely the artist to you." - -"_Merely_ the artist! It's because you are 'merely the artist' that I -could not look on you as just a man." - -Boris's smile was sardonic. "The women the men respect too highly to -love! The men the women revere too deeply for passion! Poor wretches." -The smile was still upon his lips as he added, "Poor, lonely wretches!" -But in his eyes she saw a pain that made her own pain throb in sympathy. - -"We are, all, alone--always," said she. "But only those like you are -great enough to realize it. I can deceive myself at times. I can dream -of perfect companionship--or the possibility of it." - -"But not with me?" - -"I don't trust you--in that way," she replied. "I estimate your fancy -for me at its true value. You see, I know a good deal of your history, -and that has helped me to take you--not too seriously as a lover." - -"How you have misread!" said he, and no one could have been sure whether -he was in earnest or not under the manner he wore to aid him in avoiding -what he called the colossal stupidity of taking oneself solemnly. "I'm -astonished at your not appreciating that a man who lives in and upon his -imagination can't be like your sober, calculating, bourgeois friends who -deal in the tangible only. Besides, since I've had you as a standard, -my imagination has been unable to cheat me. I've even begun to fear -I'll never be able to put you far enough into the background to become -interested again." - -As he thus brought sharply into view the line of cleavage between their -conceptions of the relations of men and women, she drew back coldly. "I -don't understand your ideas there," said she, "and I don't like them. -Anyone who lives on your theory fritters away his emotions." - -"Not at all. He makes heavy investments in education. He accumulates a -store of experience, of appreciation, of discrimination. He learns to -distinguish pearl from paste. It's the habit of women of your kind to -become offended if men tell them the honest truth.... Doubtless, -Armstrong----" - -"Don't! I don't care to hear." - -"You interrupt too quickly. I question whether women interest him at -all, he's so busy with his gambling. Sensible man, happy man--to have a -passion for inanimate things. What I was about to say is that you -women, with all your admiration for strength, are piqued and angered by -the discovery that a man who is worth while is stronger than any of his -passions, even the strongest, even love." - -"When a woman gives, she gives all." - -"Not a woman such as you are. And that's why I know you will recover, -will go on, the stronger and, some day, the happier for it. The broken -bone, when it has healed, is stronger than one that has never been -broken--and the broken heart also. The world owes its best to strong -hearts that have been broken and have healed." He let her reflect on -this before he repeated, "You should go abroad." - -"Not yet--not just yet." - -"Soon," said he. "It will be painful for you to stay here--especially -as the truth about him is coming out now." - -"The truth!" she exclaimed. Her look, like a deer that has just caught -the first faint scent and sound of alarm, warned him he had blundered. - -"Oh, nothing new," replied he carelessly. "You know the life of shame -they lead, downtown." - -"But what of him?" she insisted. She was sitting up in her chair now, -her face, her whole body, alert. - -"I hear he went too far--or put a paw on prey that belonged to some one -of the lions. So, he's going to get his deserts. Not that he's any -worse than the others. In fact, he's the superior of most of -them--unless you choose to think a man who has remnants of decent -instinct left and goes against them is worse than the fellow who is -rotten through and through and doesn't know any better." Raphael -realized he was floundering in deeper and deeper with every word; but he -dared not stop, and so went floundering on, more and more confused. -"You'll not sympathize with him, when the facts are revealed. It's all -his own fault." - -A long pause, with him watching her in dread as she sat lost in thought. -Presently she came back, drew a long breath, said, "Yes, all and -altogether his own fault." - -He felt enormously relieved. "Come abroad!" he cried. "Yours is simply -a case of a woman's being irritated by indifference into some emotion -which, for lack of another name, she calls love. Come abroad and forget -it all. Come abroad! Art is there, and dreams! -Paris--Italy--flowers--light--and love, perhaps. Come--Neva! Do you -want fame? Art will give you that. Do you want love?" Her quickened -breath, her widening, wistful eyes made him boldly abandon the pretense -that he was lingering with her in friendship's by-path, made him strike -into the main road, the great highway. "I will give you love, if you'll -not shut your heart against me. You and I have been happy together, -haven't we--in our work--happy many an hour, many a day?" - -"Yes," she admitted. "I owe you all the real happiness I've ever had." - -"Over there, with all this far away and vague--over there, you would -quite forget. And happiness would come. What pictures we would paint! -What thoughts! What dreams! You still have youth--all of the summer, -all of the autumn, and a long, long Indian summer. But no one has youth -enough to waste any of it. Come, Neva. Life is holding the brimming, -sparkling glass to your lips. Drink!" - -As he spoke, he seemed Life itself embodied; she could not but feel as -if soft light and sweet sound and the intoxicating odor of summer were -flooding, billow on billow, into the sick chamber where her heart lay -aching. - -"If I can," she said. And her glance made him think of morning sunbeams -on leaping waters. "If I can.... What a strange, stubborn thing a -sense of duty is!" - -"You're really just as far from your father here as you would be there." - -"I can't explain," said she. "I'll think it over." - -And he saw he would have to be content with that for the present. - - -About eleven that night Armstrong, his nerves on edge from long, -incessant pacing of the cage in which Atwater had him securely -entrapped, was irritated by a knock at his door. "Come in!" he called -sharply. - -He heard the door, which was behind him, open and close with less noise -than the hall boy ever made. Then nothing but the profound silence -again. - -"Well, what is it?" he demanded, turning in his chair--he was sitting -before an open fire. - -He started up, instantly recognized her, though her figure was swathed -in an opera wrap, and the lace scarf over and about her head concealed -her features without suggesting intent. - -"I was at the opera," she began. "All at once--just before the last -act--I felt I must see you--must see you to-night. I knew you'd not -come to me. So, I had to come to you." And she advanced to the middle -of the room. As he made no movement toward her, said nothing, she flung -aside the scarf and opened her wrap with a single graceful gesture. She -was in evening dress, and the upturned ermine of the collar of her wrap -made a beautiful setting for those slender white shoulders, the firm -round throat, the small, lightly poised head, crowned with masses of -bright brown hair. - -He took her hand. It was ice. "Come to the fire," said he. - -"I'm cold--with fright," she explained. And then he noted how pale she -was. "It wasn't easy to induce the hall boy to let me up unannounced. -I told him you were expecting me." - -She stretched one hand, one slender, round, bare arm toward the flames. -She put one foot on the fender, and his glance, dropping from the -allurement of the slim fingers, was caught by the narrow pale-gray -slipper, its big buckle of brilliants, the web of pale-gray translucent -silk over her instep---- - -"You've no business here," he said angrily. "You must go at once." - -"Not until I am warm." - -He looked as helpless as he was. - -"Won't you smoke--please?" she asked, after a brief silence. - -He took a cigarette from the box on the table, in mechanical obedience. -As he was lighting it, he felt that to smoke would somehow be a -concession. He tossed the cigarette into the fire. "You simply can't -stay here," he cried. - -"I simply can't go," she replied, "until I am warm." - -In his nervousness he forgot, lit a cigarette, felt he would look absurd -if he threw it away, continued to smoke--sullen, impatient. - -"Ever since you left, yesterday," she went on, "I've been thinking of -what you said, or, rather, of how you said it. And to-night, sitting -there with the Morrises, I saw through your pretenses." - -He turned upon her to make rude denial. But her eyes stopped him, made -him turn hastily away in confusion; for they gave him a sense that she -had been reading his inmost thoughts. - -"Horace," she said, "you came to say good-by." - -"Ridiculous," he scoffed, red and awkward. - -"Horace, look at me." - -His gaze slowly moved until it was almost upon hers, and there it -rested. - -"You have made up your mind to get out of the world, if they defeat -you." - -He laughed noisily. "Absurd! I'm not a romantic person, like your -friend Boris. I'm a plain man of business. We don't do melodramatic -things.... Come!" He took her scarf from the chair where she had -dropped it. "You must go." - -For answer she slipped off the cloak, deliberately lined a chair with -it, and seated herself. "I shall stay," said she, "until I have your -promise not to be a coward." - -He looked at her with measuring eyes. She was very pale and seemed -slight and frail; her skin was transparent, her expression ethereal. -But the curve of her chin, though oval and soft, was as resolute as his -own. - -[Illustration: "'I felt I must see you--must see you at once.'"] - -"You asked for my friendship," she continued. "I gave it. Now, the time -has come for me to show that my words were not an empty phrase.... -Horace, you are in no condition to judge of your own affairs. You live -alone. You have no one you can trust, no one you can talk things over -with." - -He nodded in assent. - -"You must tell me the whole story. Bring it out of the darkness where -you've been brooding over it. You can trust me. Just talking about it -will give you a new, a clearer point of view." - -"To-morrow--perhaps I'll come to you," he said, his voice hushed and -strained. "But you mustn't stay here. You've come on impulse----" - -"Where her reputation's concerned a woman never acts on impulse. You -might not come to-morrow. It must be to-night." Her voice was as -strange as his had been, was so low that its distinctness seemed weird -and ghostly. "Come, Horace, drop your silly melodramatics--for it's you -that are acting melodrama. Can't you see, can't you feel, that I am -indeed your friend?" - -He seated himself and reflected, she watching him. The stillness had the -static terror of a room where a soul is about to leave or about to enter -the world. It was not her words and her manner that had moved him, -direct and convincing though they were; it was the far subtler -revelation of her inmost self, and, through that, of a whole vast area -of human nature which he had not believed to exist. Suddenly, with a -look in his eyes which had never been there before, he reached out and -took her hand. "You don't know what this means to me," he said in a -slow, quiet voice. And he released her hand and went to lean his -forehead against the tall shelf of the chimney-piece, his face hidden -from her. - -She did not interrupt his thoughts and his emotions until he was -lighting a fresh cigarette at the table. Then she said, "Now, tell -me--won't you, please?" - -"It's a long story," he began. - -"Don't try to make it short," urged she. And she settled herself -comfortably. - -It took him an hour to tell it; they discussed it for an hour and a half -afterwards. Whenever he became uneasy about the time, she quieted him -by questions or comments that made him feel her interest and forget the -clock. At the last quarter before two, he rose determinedly. "I'm -going to put you into a cab," said he. "You have accomplished all you -came for--and more--a great deal more." - -She made no attempt to stay on longer. He helped her into her cloak, -helped her to adjust the scarf so that it would conceal her face. They -were both hysterically happy, laughing much at little or nothing. He -rang for the elevator, then they dashed down the stairs and escaped into -the street before the car could ascend and descend again. At the corner -where there was a cab stand, he drew her into the deep shadow of the -entrance to the church, took both her hands between his. "It will be a -very different fight from the one I was planning when you came," said -he. - -"And you'll win," asserted she confidently. - -"Yes, I'll win. At least, I'll not lose--thanks to you, Neva." He -laughed quietly. "When I'm old, I'll be able to tell how once the sun -shone at midnight and summer burst out of the icy heart of January." - -She nodded gayly. "Pretty good for a plain business man," said she. - -Another moment and she was in the cab and away, he standing at the curb -watching with an expression that made the two remaining cabmen grin and -wink at each other by the light of the street lamp. - - - - - *XXV* - - *TWO WOMEN INTERVENE* - - -"If I could find some way of detaching Trafford from Atwater," Armstrong -had said to her as he was explaining. "But," he had added, "that's -hopeless. He's more afraid of Atwater than of anybody or anything on -earth--and well he may be." Neva seized upon the chance remark, without -saying anything to him. She knew the Traffords well, knew therefore -that there was one person of whom his fear was greater than of Atwater, -and whose influence over him was absolute. Early the following morning -she called the Traffords on the telephone. Mrs. Trafford was in the -country, she learned, but would be home in the afternoon. Neva left a -message that she wished particularly to see her; at five o'clock she was -shown into the truly palatial room in which Mrs. Trafford always had -tea. - -"Narcisse has just left," said Mrs. Trafford. "She's been rummaging for -me in Letty Morris's rag bag--you know, my husband bought it. She has -found a few things, but not much. Still, Letty wasn't cheated any worse -than most people. The trash! The trash!" - -Neva was too intent upon her purpose to think of her surroundings that -day; but she had often before been moved to a variety of emotions, none -of them approaching admiration or approval or even tolerance, by Mrs. -Trafford's procession of halls and rooms in gilt and carving and -brocade, by the preposterous paintings, the glaring proclamation from -every wall and every floor and every ceiling of the alternately arid and -atrocious taste of the fashionable architects and connoisseurs to whom -Mrs. Trafford had trusted. As in all great houses, the beauties were -incidental and isolated, deformed by the general effect of coarse appeal -to barbaric love of the thing that is gaudy and looks costly. - -"You aren't going to move into Letty's house?" said Neva absently. She -was casting about for some not too abrupt beginning. - -"Heavens, no!" protested Mrs. Trafford, in horror and indignation. -"John bought it--some time ago. I don't know why." She laughed. "But I -do know he wishes he hadn't now. He wouldn't tell me the price he paid. -I suspect he found out that he had made a bad bargain as soon as it was -too late. There's some mystery about his buying that house. I don't--" -Mrs. Trafford broke off. Well as she knew Neva, and intimate and -confidential though she was with her, despite Neva's reserve--indeed, -perhaps because of it--still, she was careful about Trafford's business. -And Neva and Letty were cousins--not intimates or especially friendly, -but nevertheless blood relations. "I suppose he's ashamed of not having -consulted me," she ended. - -"How is Mr. Trafford?" asked Neva. "I haven't seen him for months. He -must be working very hard?" - -"He _thinks_ he is. But, my dear, I found the men out long, long ago, -in their pretense of hard work. They talk a great deal downtown, and -smoke and eat a great deal. But they work very little--even those that -have the reputation of working the hardest. Business--with the upper -class men--is a good deal like fishing, I guess. They spread their nets -or drop their hooks and wait for fish. My husband is killing himself, -eating directors' lunches. You know, they provide a lunch for the -directors, for those that meet every day--and give them a ten- or -twenty-dollar gold piece for eating it. It's a huge dinner--a banquet, -and all that have any digestion left stuff themselves. No wonder the -women hold together so much better than the men. If the men had to wear -our clothes, what sights they would be!" - -Neva returned to the business about which she had come. "They're having -an investigating committee down there now, aren't they?" - -"Not to investigate their diet," said Mrs. Trafford. "There'd be some -sense in that. I suppose it's another of those schemes of the people -who haven't anything, to throw discredit on the men who do the work of -the world. Universal suffrage is a great mistake. Only the propertied -class ought to be allowed to vote, don't you think so? Mr. Trafford -says it's getting positively dreadful, the corruption good men have to -resort to, with the legislatures and with buying elections, all because -everybody can vote." - -"I've not given the subject much thought," said Neva. "I heard-- Some -one was talking about the investigating committee--and said it was the -beginning of another war downtown." - -Mrs. Trafford looked amused. "I didn't dream you had any interest in -that sort of thing. I don't see how you can be interested. I never let -my husband talk business to me." - -"Usually I'm not interested," said Neva, now fairly embarked and at -ease. "But this particular thing was--different. It seems, there are -two factions fighting for control of some insurance companies, and each -is getting ready to accuse the other of the most dreadful things. Mr. -Atwater's faction is going to expose Mr. Fosdick's, and Mr. Fosdick's is -going to expose Mr. Atwater's." - -Mrs. Trafford's expression had changed. "Neva, you've got a reason for -telling me this," said she. - -"Yes," frankly admitted Neva. - -"Why?" - -"Because I thought you--Mr. Trafford--ought to be warned of what's -coming." - -"What _is_ coming?" - -"I don't know all the details. But, among other things, there's to be a -frightful personal attack on Mr. Trafford because he is one of Mr. -Atwater's allies. Mr. Atwater thinks, or pretends, he can prevent it; -but he can't. The attack is sure to come." - -"They couldn't truthfully say anything against Mr. Trafford," said his -wife, with a heat that was genuine, yet perfunctory, too. "He's human, -of course. But I who have lived with him all these years can honestly -say that he spends his whole life in trying to do good. He slaves for -the poor people who have their little all invested with his company." -Neva had not smiled, but Mrs. Trafford went on, as if she had: "I -suppose you're thinking that sounds familiar. Oh, I know every man -downtown pretends he is working only for the good of others, to keep -business going, and to give labor steady employment, when of course he's -really working to get rich, and-- Well, _somebody_ must be losing all -this money that's piling up in the hands of a few people who spend it in -silly, wicked luxury. Now, we have always frowned on that sort of -thing. We--Mr. Trafford and I--set our faces against extravagance and -simply live comfortably. He often says, 'I don't know what the country's -coming to. The men downtown, the leaders, seem to have gone mad. They -have no sense of responsibility. They aren't content with legitimate -profits, but grab, grab, until I wonder people don't rise up.' And he -says they will, though, of course, that wouldn't do any good, as -things'd just settle back and the same old round would begin all over -again. If people won't look after their own property, they can't expect -to keep it, can they?" - -"No," assented Neva. "Still--I sometimes wonder that the robbing should -be done by the class of men that does it. One would think he wouldn't -need to protect himself against those who claim to be the leaders in -honesty and honor. It's as if one should have to lock up all the -valuables if the bishop came to spend the night." - -"There's the shame of it!" exclaimed Mrs. Trafford. "Sometimes Trafford -tells me about the men that come here, the really fine, distinguished, -gentlemanly ones--well, if I could repeat some of the things to you!" - -"I should think," suggested Neva, "it would be dangerous to have -business dealings with such men. If trouble came, people might not -discriminate." - -Mrs. Trafford caught the under-meaning in Neva's words and tone. She -reflected a moment--thoughts that made her curiously serious--before -replying, "Sometimes I'm afraid my husband will get himself into just -that sort of miserable mess. He is so generous and confiding, and he -believes so implicitly in some of those men whom I don't believe in at -all. Tell me, Neva, are you sure--about that attack, and about Mr. -Atwater's being mistaken?" - -"There isn't a doubt of it," replied Neva. "Mr. Trafford ought not to -let anything anyone says to the contrary influence him." And Mrs. -Trafford's opinion of her directness and honesty gave her words the -greatest possible weight. - -"I'm ever so much obliged to you, dear," said she. "It isn't often one -gets a proof of real friendship in this walk of life." - -"I didn't do it altogether for your sake," replied Neva. "It seemed to -me, from what I heard, that the men downtown were rushing on to do -things that would result in no good and much harm and--unhappiness. I -suppose, if evil has been done, it ought to be exposed; but I think, -too, that no good comes of malicious and vengeful exposures." - -"Especially exposures that tend to make the lower classes suspicious and -unruly," said Mrs. Trafford. - -Neva colored and glanced at the two strapping men-servants who were -removing the tea table. But Mrs. Trafford was quite unconscious. A few -years before, when the English foreign habit of thinking and talking -about "lower classes" was first introduced, she had indulged in it -sparingly and nervously. But, falling in with the fashion of her set, -she had become as bold as the rest of these spoiled children of -democracy in spitting upon the parents and grandparents. It no longer -ever occurred to her to question the meaning of the glib, smug, ignorant -phrase; and, like the rest, she did not even restrain herself before the -"lower classes" themselves. It was a settled conviction with her that -she was of different clay from the working people, the doers of manual -labor, that their very minds and souls were different; the fact that -they seemed to think and act in much the same way as the "upper classes" -would have struck her, had she thought about it at all, as a phenomenon -not unlike the almost human performances of a well-trained, unusually -intelligent monkey. Indeed, she often said, without being aware of the -full implication of the speech, "In how many ways our servants are like -us!" - -Neva went away, dissatisfied, depressed, as if she were retreating in -defeat. She felt that she had gained her point; she understood Mrs. -Trafford, knew that her dominant passion of spotless respectability had -been touched, that the fears which would stir her most deeply had been -aroused; Mrs. Trafford, worldly shrewd, would put her husband through a -cross-examination which would reveal to her the truth, and would result -in her bringing to bear all her authority over him. And she knew that -Mrs. Trafford could compel her husband, where no force which Armstrong -could have brought to bear downtown would have the least effect upon -him. "I think I've won," Neva said to herself; but her spirits -continued to descend. Before the victory, she had thought only about -winning, not at all about what she was struggling for. Now she could -think only of that--the essential. - -Like almost all women and all but a few men, Neva was densely ignorant -of and wholly uninterested in business--the force that has within a few -decades become titanic and has revolutionized the internal as well as -the external basis of life as completely as if we had been whisked away -to another planet. She still talked and tried to think in the old -traditional lines in which the books, grave and light, are still written -and education is still restricted--although those lines have as -absolutely ceased to bear upon our real life as have the gods of the -classic world. It had never occurred to her that what the men did when -they went to their offices involved the whole of society in all its -relations, touched her life more intimately than even her painting. -But, without her realizing it, the idea had gradually formed in her mind -that the proceedings downtown were morally not unlike the occupation of -coal-heaver or scavenger physically. How strong this impression was she -did not know until she had almost reached home, revolving the whole way -the thoughts that had started as Trafford's bronze doors closed behind -her. - -She recalled all Armstrong and others had told her about the sources of -Trafford's wealth--Trafford, with his smooth, plausible personality that -left upon the educated palate an after taste like machine oil. From -Trafford her thoughts hastened on to hover and cluster about the real -perplexity--Armstrong himself--what he had confessed to her; worse -still, what he had told her as matter-of-course, had even boasted as -evidence of his ability at this game which more and more clearly -appeared to her as a combination of sneak-thieving and burglary. And -heavier and heavier grew her heart. "I have done a shameful thing," she -said to herself, as the whole repulsive panorama unrolled before her. - -She was in the studio building, was going up in the elevator. Just as -it was approaching her landing, Thomas, the elevator boy, gave a sigh so -penetrating that she was roused to look at him, to note his expression. - -"What is it, Thomas?" she asked. "Can I do anything for you?" - -"Nothing--nothing--thank you," said Thomas. "It's all over now. I was -just thinking back over it." - -She saw a band of crape round his sleeve. "You have lost some one?" she -said gently. - -"My father," replied the boy. "He died day before yesterday. And we -had to have the money for the funeral. We're all insured to provide for -that. And my mother went down to collect father's insurance. It was for -a hundred and twenty-five dollars. We'd paid in a hundred and forty on -the policy, it had been running so long. And when my mother went to -collect, they told her they couldn't get it through and pay it for about -three weeks--and she had to have the money right away. So, they told -her to go down to some offices on the floor below--it was a firm that's -in cahoots with them insurance sharks. And she went, and they give her -eighty-two dollars for the policy--and she had to take it because we had -to bury father right away. Only, they didn't give her cash. They gave -her a credit with an undertaker--he's in cahoots, too. And it took all -the eighty-two dollars, and father was buried like a pauper, at that. I -tell you, Miss Carlin, it's mighty hard." His voice broke. "Them rich -people make a fellow pay for being poor and having no pull. That's the -way we get it soaked to us, right and left, especially in sickness or -hard luck or death." - -Neva lingered, though she could not trust herself to speak. - -"You wouldn't think," Thomas went on, "that such things'd be done by -such a company as----" - -"Don't!" cried Neva, pressing her hands hysterically to her ears. "I -mustn't hear what company it was!" - -And she rushed from the car and fled into her apartment, all unstrung. -At last, at last, she not merely knew but felt, and felt with all her -sensitive heart, the miseries of thousands, of hundreds of thousands, -out of which those "great men" wrought their careers--those "great men" -of whom her friend Armstrong was one! - - -Trafford reached home at half past six and, following his custom, went -directly to his dressing room. Instead of his valet, he found his -wife--seated before the fire, evidently waiting for him. "Is the door -closed?" she said. "And you'd better draw the curtain over it." - -"Well, well," he cried, all cheerfulness. "What now? Have the servants -left in a body?" It had been a banner day downtown, with several big -nets he had helped to set filled to overflowing, and the fish running -well at all his nets, seines, lines, and trap-ponds. He felt the jolly -fisherman, at peace with God and man, brimming generosity. - -"I want to talk to you about that investigation," said his wife in a -tone that cleared his face instantly of all its sparkling good humor. - -"Whatever started you in that direction?" he exclaimed. "Don't bother -your head about it, my dear. There'll be no investigation. Not that I -was afraid of it. Thank God, I've always tried to live as if each -moment were to be my last." - -"Mr. Atwater is going to attack Mr. Fosdick, isn't he?" - -Trafford showed his amazement. "Why, where did you hear _that_?" - -"And he thinks Mr. Fosdick and his friends won't be able to retort," -continued Mrs. Trafford. "Well, he's mistaken. They are going to -retort. And you are the man they'll attack the most furiously." - -Trafford sat down abruptly. All the men who are able to declare for -themselves and their families such splendid dividends in cash upon a -life of self-sacrifice to humanity, are easily perturbed by question or -threat of question. Trafford, with about as much courage as a white -rabbit, had only to imagine the possibility of being looked at sharply, -to be thrown into inward tremors like the beginnings of sea-sickness. - -"It don't matter," continued his wife, "whether you are innocent or not. -They are going to hold you up to public shame." - -"Who told you this?" - -"Neva." - -"She must have got it from the Morrises--or Armstrong." - -"She came here especially to tell me, and she would not have come if she -did not know it was serious." - -"They sent her here to frighten me," said Trafford. "Yes, that's it!" -And he rose and paced the floor, repeating now aloud and now to himself, -"That's it! That's undoubtedly it." - -"Tell me the whole story," commanded his wife, when the limit of her -patience with his childishness had been reached. "You need an outside -point of view." - -She had told Neva she never permitted Trafford to talk business with -her. In fact, he consulted her at every crisis, both to get courage and -to get advice. He now hastened to comply. "It's very simple. Some time -ago, a few of us who like to see things run on safe, conservative lines, -decided that Fosdick's and Armstrong's management of the O.A.D. was a -menace to stability. Armstrong and Fosdick had quarreled. It was -Armstrong who came to us and suggested our interfering. I thought the -man was honest, and I did everything I could to help him and Morris." - -"Including buying Morris's house," interjected Mrs. Trafford, to prevent -him from so covering the truth with cant that it would be invisible to -her. - -"That did figure in it," admitted Trafford, in some confusion. "Then, -we found out they were simply using us to get control of the O.A.D. for -themselves. So we--Atwater and Langdon and I--arranged quietly to drop -them into their own trap. We've done it--that's all. Next week we're -going to expose them and their false committee; and the policy holders -of the O.A.D. will be glad to put their interests in the hands of men we -can keep in order. Fosdick and Armstrong can't retaliate. We've got the -press with us, and have made every arrangement. Anything they say will -be branded at once as malicious lies." - -"What kind of malicious lies will they tell?" - -"How should I know?" And Trafford preened, with his small, precisely -clad figure at its straightest. - -"But you do know," said Mrs. Trafford slowly and with acidlike -significance. - -Trafford made no reply in words. His face, however, was eloquent. - -"You've been hypnotized by Atwater," pursued Mrs. Trafford. "You think -him more powerful than he is. And--he isn't in any insurance company -directly, is he?" - -"No." - -"Mr. Langdon?" - -"No--they keep in the background." Trafford's upper lip was trembling -so that she could see it despite his mustache. - -"Then you'll be right out in front of the guns. You--alone." - -"There aren't any guns." - -"I'm surprised at you!" exclaimed his wife. "Don't you know Horace -Armstrong better than that!" - -"The treacherous hound!" - -"He has his bad side, I suppose, like everybody else," said Mrs. -Trafford, who felt that it was not wise to humor him in his prejudices -that evening. "His character isn't important just now. It's his -ability you've got to consider." - -"Atwater's got him helpless." - -"Impossible!" declared Mrs. Trafford, in a voice that would have been -convincing to him, had her words and his own doubts been far less -strong. "You may count on it that there's to be a frightful attack on -you next week. Neva Carlin knew what she was about." - -"There's nothing they can say--nothing that anybody'd believe." His -whiskers and his hair were combed to give him a resolute, courageous -air. The contrast between this artificial bold front and the look and -voice now issuing from it was ludicrous and pitiful. - -Mrs. Trafford flashed scorn at him. "What nonsense!" she exclaimed. "I -never heard of a big business that could stand it to have the doors -thrown open and the public invited to look where it pleased. I doubt if -yours is an exception, whatever you may think." - -"But the doors won't be thrown open," he pleaded rather than protested. -"Our private business will remain private." - -"Armstrong is going to attack you, I tell you. He's not the man to fire -unless he has a shot in his gun--and powder behind it." - -"But he can't. He knows nothing against me." And Trafford seated -himself as if he were squelching his own doubts and fears. - -"He knows as much about the inside of your company as you know about the -inside of his. You can assume that." - -Trafford shifted miserably in his chair. - -"What reason have you to suppose that as keen a man as he is would not -make it his business to find out all about his rivals?" - -"What if he does know?" blustered Trafford. "To hear you talk, my dear, -you'd think I ran some sort of--of a"--with a nervous little laugh--"an -unlawful resort." - -"I know you wouldn't do anything you thought was wrong," replied his -wife, in a strained, insincere voice. "But--sometimes the public -doesn't judge things fairly." - -"People who have risen to our position must expect calumny." He was of -the color of fear and his fingers and his mouth and his eyelids were -twitching. - -"What difference would it make to Atwater and Langdon, if you were -disgraced?" she urged. "Mightn't they even profit by it?" - -At this he jumped up, and began to pace the floor. "You ought to be -ashamed of yourself!" he cried. "To put suspicion in my head against -these honorable men!" - -"I want you to protect yourself and your family," she retorted -crushingly. "The temptation to make a little more money, or a good deal -more, ought not to lead you to risk your reputation. Look at the men -that were disgraced by that last investigation." - -"But they had done wrong." - -"They don't think so, do they? How do you know what some of the things -you've done will look like when they're blazoned in the newspapers?" - -"I'm not afraid!" declaimed Trafford, fright in his eyes and in his -noisy voice. - -"No," said his wife soothingly. "Of course, you've done nothing wrong. -You needn't tell _me_ that. But it's just as bad to be misunderstood as -to be guilty." - -During the silence which fell he paced the floor like a man running -away, and she gazed thoughtfully into the fire. When she spoke again it -was with a subdued, nervous manner and as if she were telling him -something which she wished him to think she did not understand. "One -day I was driving in the East Side, looking after some of my poor. -There was a block--in the Hester Street market. A crowd got around the -carriage, and a man--a dreadful, dirty, crazy-eyed creature--called out, -'There's the wife of the blood-sucker Trafford, that swindles the poor -on burial insurance!' And the crowd hissed and hooted at me, and shook -their fists. And a woman spat into the carriage." Mrs. Trafford paused -before going on: "I get a great many anonymous letters. I never have -worried you about these things. You have your troubles, and I knew it -was all false. But----" - -Her voice ceased. For several minutes, oppressive and menacing silence -brooded over that ostentatious room. Its costly comforts and costlier -luxuries weighed upon the husband and wife, so far removed from the -squalor of those whose earnings had been filched to create this pitiful, -yet admired, flaunting of vanity. Finally he said, speaking almost -under his breath, "What would you advise me to do?" - -Although she had long had ready her answer to that inevitable question, -she waited before replying. "Not to pull Atwater's chestnuts out of the -fire for him," said she slowly. "Stop the attack. I've an instinct -that evil will come of it--evil to us. Let Armstrong alone. If he's -not managing his business right, what concern is it of yours? And if -you try to get it, what if, instead of making money, you lose your -reputation--maybe, more? What does Atwater risk? Nothing. What does -Langdon risk? Nothing. What do you risk? Everything. That's not -sensible, is it?" - -"But I can't go back on Atwater," he objected in the tone that begs to -be overruled. "Armstrong would attack me, anyhow, and I'd simply have -both sides against me." - -She turned upon him, amazed, terrified. "Do you mean to say you've got -no hold on Atwater?" she exclaimed. - -"I am a gentleman, dealing with gentlemen," said he, with dignity. - -She made a gesture of contempt. "But suppose Atwater should prove not -to be a gentleman--what then?" - -"He'd hesitate to play fast and loose with me," Trafford now confessed. -"He owes our allied institutions too many millions." - -"Oh," she said, relieved. Then--"And what precaution has he taken -against your deserting him?" - -"None, so far as I know, except that he would probably join in -Armstrong's attack. But, my dear, you entirely misunderstand. Atwater -and I have the same interests. We----" - -"I know, I know," she interrupted impatiently. "What I'm trying to get -at is how you can induce him to come to an agreement with Armstrong. -Can you think of no way?" - -"I had never contemplated this emergency," he replied apologetically. -His conduct now seemed to him to have been headlong, imbecile. - -"You must do something this very night," said his wife. "There might be -a change of plan on one side or the other. You must see that your -position, unprotected among these howling beasts, is perilous." - -At that, Trafford fell to trembling so violently that, ashamed though he -was to have any human being, even his wife, see the coward in him, he -yet could not steady himself. "I can offer Armstrong peace and a voice -in our company. If he accepts, I can stop Atwater. I can frankly show -him that I am not prepared to withstand an attack and that it is surely -coming. He will not refuse. He won't dare. Besides--" He stopped -suddenly. - -"Besides--what?" - -"It is upon me--upon my men--that Atwater relies to make the attack. He -hasn't the necessary information--at least, I don't think he has." - -Mrs. Trafford gave a long sigh of relief. "Why didn't you say that at -first?" she cried. "All you have to do is to put Atwater off and make -terms with Armstrong." - -"Atwater is a very dangerous man to have as an enemy." - -"But he's not a fool. He'll never blame you for saving yourself from -destruction." - -Neither seemed to realize how much of their secret thought--thought not -clearly admitted even to their secret selves--was revealed in her using -that terrible word, and in his accepting it. - -He glanced at his watch. "I think I'll go now." - -"Yes, indeed," said she. "This is the best time to catch them. They'll -be dressing for dinner." - -And he hurried away. - - - - - *XXVI* - - *TRAFFORD AS DOVE OF PEACE* - - -As Trafford sprang from his cab at Armstrong's hotel, Armstrong was just -entering the door. "Mr. Armstrong! Mr. Armstrong!" he cried, hastening -after him. - -The big, easy-going-looking Westerner--still the Westerner, though his -surface was thoroughly Easternized--turned and glanced quizzically down -at the small, prim-looking Trafford. "Hello! What do you want?" - -"To see you for a few minutes, if it is quite convenient," replied -Trafford, still more nervous before Armstrong's good-natured contempt. - -"A very few minutes," conceded the big man. "I've a pressing -engagement." - -They went up to his apartment. As he opened the door, he saw a note on -the threshold. "Excuse me," he said, picking it up, and so precipitate -that he did not stand aside to let Trafford enter first. In the sitting -room he turned on the light, tore open the note and read; and Trafford -noted with dismay that, as he read, his face darkened. It was a note -from Neva, saying that she had just got a telegram from home, that her -father was ill; she had scrawled the note as she and Molly were rushing -away to catch the train. He glanced up, saw Trafford. "Oh--beg -pardon--sit down." And he read the note again; and again his mind -wandered away into the gloom. Once more, after a moment or two, his -eyes reminded him of Trafford. "Beg pardon--a most annoying message-- -Do sit down. Have a cigar?" - -"Not at present, thank you," said Trafford in his precise way, -reminiscent of the far days when he had taught school. - -"Well--what can I do for you?" inquired Armstrong, adding to himself, -"This is Atwater's first move." But he was not interested; his mind was -on Neva, on the note that had chilled him--"unreasonably," he muttered, -"yet, she might have put in just the one word--or something." - -Trafford saw that he had no part of Armstrong's attention. He coughed. - -"If you can give me--" he began. - -"Yes, yes," said Armstrong impatiently. "What is it? You can't expect -me to be enthusiastic, exactly, about you, you know. I didn't expect -anything of the others; but I was idiot enough to think you weren't -altogether shameless--you, the principal owner of the Hearth and Home!" -Armstrong's sarcasm was savage. - -"You are evidently laboring under some misapprehension, Mr. Armstrong," -cried Trafford, pulling at his neat little beard, while one of his neat -little feet tapped the carpet agitatedly. - -"Bosh!" said Armstrong. "I know all about you. Don't lie to me. What -do you want? Come to the point!" - -There was a pink spot in each of Trafford's cheeks. "I have been much -distressed," said he, "at the confusion downtown, at the strained -relations between interests that ought to be working together in harmony -for the general good." Armstrong's frown hastened him. "I have come to -see if it isn't possible to bring about good feeling and peace." - -"You come from Atwater?" - -"No--that is--Frankly, no." - -Armstrong rose with a gesture of dismissal. "We're wasting time. -Atwater is the man. Unless you have some authority from him, I'll not -detain you." - -"But, my dear sir," cried Trafford, in a ferment to the very depths now, -because convinced by Armstrong's manner that he was not dealing with a -beaten man but with one champing for the fray. "You do not seem to hear -me," he implored. "I tell you I can make terms. In this matter Atwater -is dependent upon me." - -"You've come about the attack he's going to make on the O.A.D.?" - -"Precisely. I've come to arrange to stop it, to say I wish to make no -attack." - -"You mean, you don't wish to be attacked," rejoined Armstrong with a -cold laugh that made Trafford's flesh creep. "By the time Morris gets -through with you, I don't see how you can possibly be kept out of the -penitentiary. He has all the necessary facts. I think he can compel -you to disgorge at least two thirds of what you've stolen and salted -away. I don't see where you got the courage to go into a fight, when -you're such an easy target. The wonder is you weren't caught and sent -up years ago." - -"This is strange language, very strange language," said Trafford in an -injured tone, and not daring to pretend or to feel insulted. "I am -surprised, Mr. Armstrong, that you should use it in your own house." - -"I didn't ask you here. You thrust yourself in," Armstrong reminded -him, but his manner was less savage. - -"True, I did come of my own accord. And I still venture to hope that -you will see the advantages of a peaceful solution." - -"What do you propose?--in as few words as possible," said Armstrong, -still believing Trafford was trying to trifle with him, for some hidden -purpose. - -"To call off our attack," Trafford answered, "provided you will agree to -call off yours. To give you a liberal representation in our board of -directors, including a member of the executive committee." - -Armstrong was astounded. He could not believe that Trafford's humble, -eager manner was simulated. Yet, these terms, this humiliating surrender -of assured victory--it was incredible. "You will have to explain just -how you happened to come here," said he, "or I shall be unable to -believe you." - -The pink spots which had faded from Trafford's cheeks reappeared. "It -was my wife," he replied. "She heard there was to be a scandal. She has -a horror of notoriety--you know how refined and sensitive she is. She -would not let me rest until I had promised to do what I could to bring -about peace." - -Armstrong was secretly scorning his own stupidity. He had spent days, -weeks on just this problem of breaking up the combination against him, -of separating Trafford or Langdon from Atwater; and the simple, easy, -obvious way to do it had never occurred to him, who dealt only with the -men and disregarded the women as negligible factors in affairs. To -Trafford he said, "You've not seen Atwater?" - -"No, but I shall go to him as soon as I have some assurance from you." - -Atwater--there was the rub. Armstrong felt that the time to hope had -not yet come. Still he would not discourage Trafford. He simply said, -"I can't give any assurance until I consult Morris." - -"But, as I understand it--at least, his original motive was simply a -political ambition. We can easily gratify that." - -"He wants fireworks--something that'll make the popular heart warm up to -him. He has a long head. He wants some basis, at least, in popularity, -so that he won't be quite at the mercy of you gentlemen, should you turn -against him." - -"I see--I see," said Trafford. "He was counting on the reputation he -would make as an inquisitor. Yes, that would give him quite a push. -But--there ought to be plenty of other matters he might safely and even, -perhaps, beneficially, inquire into. For instance, there is the Bee -Hive Mutual--a really infamous swindle. I've had dealings with many -unattractive characters in the course of my long business career, Mr. -Armstrong, but with none so repellent in every way as Dillworthy. He -has made that huge institution a private graft for himself and his -family. He is shocking, even in this day of loose conceptions of -honesty and responsibility." - -"Have you any facts?" - -"Some, and they are at Mr. Morris's disposal. But all he needs to do is -to send for the books of the Bee Hive. I am credibly informed--you can -rely on it--that the Dillworthys have got so bold that they do not even -look to the books. The grafting in that company is quite as extensive -and as open as in our large industrial and railway corporations--and, -you know, they haven't profited by the lesson we in the insurance -companies had in the great investigation." - -"Your proposal will content Morris, I think," Armstrong now said. "As -the Dillworthys aren't entangled with any of the other large interests, -showing them up will not cause a spreading agitation." He laughed. -"There's a sermon against selfishness! If old Dillworthy hadn't been so -greedy, so determined to keep it all in the family, he wouldn't be in -this position." - -"There will be general satisfaction over his exposure," replied -Trafford. "And it will greatly benefit, tone up, the whole business -world." - -"Really, it's our Christian duty to concentrate on the Busy Bee, isn't -it?" said Armstrong sardonically. "Well-- Can you see Atwater -to-night?" - -"I'm going direct to his house. But where shall I find you? You said -you had an engagement." - -Armstrong winced as if a wound had been roughly set to aching. "I'll be -here," he said gruffly. - -"We might dine together, perhaps? Atwater may be able to come, too." - -"No--can't do it," was Armstrong's reply. "But I'll be here from half -past eight on." - -Trafford, so much encouraged that he was almost serene again, sped away -to Atwater's palace in Madison Avenue. The palace was a concession to -Mrs. Atwater and the daughters. They loved display and had the tastes -that always accompany that passion; they, therefore, lived in the -unimaginative and uncomfortable splendor of the upper class heaven that -is provided by the makers of houses and furniture, whose one thought, -naturally, is to pile on the cost and thus multiply the profits. - -But Atwater had part of the house set aside for and dedicated to his own -personal satisfaction. With the same sense of surprise that one has at -the abrupt transition of a dream from one phantasy to another resembling -it in no way except as there is a resemblance in flat contradictions, -one passed out of the great, garish, price-encrusted entrance hall, -through a door to the left into a series of really beautiful -rooms--spacious, simple, solidly furnished; with quiet harmonies of -color, with no suggestions of mere ornamentation anywhere. The -Siersdorfs had built and furnished the whole house, and its double -triumph was their first success. With the palace part they had pleased -the Atwater women and the crowd of rich eager to display; with the part -sacred to Atwater, they had delighted him and such people as formed -their ideas of beauty upon beauty itself and not upon fashion or -tradition or outlay. Trafford was shown into a music room where Atwater -was playing on the piano, as he did almost every evening for an hour -before dinner. It was a vast room, walls and ceilings paneled in -rosewood; there were no hangings, except at the windows valances of -velvet of a rosewood tint, relieved by a broad, dull gold stripe; a few -simple articles of furniture; Boris Raphael's famous "Music" on the wall -opposite the piano, and no other picture; a huge vase of red and gold -chrysanthemums at the opposite side of the room to balance the painting; -Atwater at the piano, in a dark red, velvet house suit, over it a silk -robe of a somewhat lighter shade of red, as the room was not heated. - -"Business?" he said, pausing in his playing, with a careless, unfriendly -glance at Trafford. - -"I'll only trouble you a moment," apologized the intruder. His prim, -strait-laced appearance gave those surroundings, made sensuous by -Boris's intoxicatingly sensuous picture, an air of impropriety, of -immorality--like a woman in Quaker dress among the bare shoulders, -backs, and bosoms of a ballroom. - -"Business!" exclaimed Atwater, rising. "Not in this room, if you -please." - -He led the way to a smaller room with a billiard table in the center and -great leather seats and benches round the walls. "Do you play, -Trafford? Music, I mean." - -"I regret to say, I do not," replied Trafford. - -"Then you ought to get a mechanical piano. Music in the evening is like -a bath after a day in the trenches. Try it. It'll soothe you, put you -into a better condition for the next day's bout. What can I do for -you?" - -"I've come about the O.A.D. matter. Atwater, don't you think we might -lose more than we stand to gain?" - -Atwater concealed his satisfaction. Since his talk with Armstrong, he -had been remeasuring with more care that young man's character, and had -come to the conclusion that he was entering upon a much stiffer campaign -than he had anticipated. Atwater's dealings were, and for years had -been, with men of large fortune--industrial "kings," great bankers, huge -investors. Such men are as timid as a hen with a brood. They will fight -fiercely--if they must--for their brood of millions. But they would -rather run than fight, and much rather go clucking and strutting along -peacefully with their brood securely about them. To manage such men, -after one has shown he knows where the worms are and how they may be -got, all that is necessary is inflexible, tyrannical firmness. Their -minds, their hearts, their all, is centered in the brood; personal -emotions, they have none--that is, none that need be taken into account. -Atwater ruled, autocratic, undisputed. Who would dare quarrel with such -a liberal provider of the best worms? - -But Armstrong's personality presented another proposition. Here was a -man with no fortune, not even enough to have roused into a fierce -passion the universal craving for wealth. He had a will, a brain, -courage--and nothing to lose. And he, still comparatively poor, had -succeeded in lifting himself to a position of not merely nominal but -actual power. The misgivings of Atwater had been growing steadily. The -price of pulling down this man might too easily be far, far beyond its -profits. "We shall have to come together for a finish fight sooner or -later--if I live," reasoned Atwater. "But this is not the best time I -could have chosen. He isn't deeply enough involved. He isn't helpless -enough. I'm breaking my rule never to fight until I'm ready and the -other fellow isn't." - -Instead of answering Trafford's pointed and anxious question, Atwater -was humming softly. "I can't get that movement out of my head," he -broke off to explain. "I'm very fond of Grieg--aren't you?" - -"I know about music only in the most general way. My wife----" - -"You let your women attend to the family culture, eh?" interrupted -Atwater. "You originally suggested this war on Fosdick and Armstrong. -By the way, you heard the news this afternoon? Armstrong has thrown out -the whole executive staff of the O.A.D.--at one swoop--and has put in -his own crowd." - -Trafford leaped in the great leather chair in which his small body was -all but swallowed up. "Impossible!" he cried. "Why, such a thing would -be illegal." - -"Undoubtedly. But--how many years would it be before a court can pass -on it--pass on it finally? Meanwhile, Armstrong is in possession." - -"That completely alters the situation," said Trafford, in dismay. -"Atwater, it would be folly--madness!--for us to go on, if we could make -a treaty with Armstrong." - -"I don't agree with you," said Atwater, with perfect assurance now that -he saw that Trafford would not call his bluff by acquiescing. -"Trafford, I'm surprised; you're losing your nerve." - -"Using sound business judgment is not cowardice," retorted Trafford. "I -owe it to my family, to the stability of business, not to encourage a -senseless, a calamitous war." - -Atwater shrugged his shoulders. "As you please. I feel that, in this -affair, your wishes are paramount. But, at the same time, Trafford, I -tell you frankly, I don't like to be trifled with. Nor does Langdon." - -"Perhaps Morris and Armstrong might be induced to turn their attention -elsewhere--say, to the Busy Bee. Would you not feel compensated by -getting control there?" - -"Not a bad idea," mused Atwater aloud. "Not by any means a bad idea." -He reflected in silence. "If you could arrange that, it would be even -better than the plan you ask me to abandon at the eleventh hour." - -"Then you agree?" said Trafford, quivering with eagerness. - -"If we can get the Busy Bee. I've had an eye on that chap Dillworthy, -for some time." - -"I am much relieved," said Trafford, rising. His face was beaming; -there was once more harmony between his expression and the aggressive, -unbending cut of his hair and whiskers. - -Atwater looked at him sharply. "You've seen Armstrong," he jerked out. - -Trafford hesitated. "I thought," he said apologetically, "it would be -best to have a general talk with Armstrong first--just to sound him." - -"I understand." Atwater laughed sarcastically. "And may I ask, if it -wasn't the news of the upset in the O.A.D., what was it that set you to -running about so excitedly?" - -Trafford gave a nervous cough. "My wife--you know how refined and -sensitive she is-- She got wind of the impending scandal, and, being -very tender-hearted and also having a horror of notoriety, she urged me -to try to find a peaceful way out." - -"Petticoats!" said Atwater, with derision, but tolerant. - -"Not that I would have--" Trafford began to protest. - -"No apology necessary. I comprehend. I've got them in the house." - -Trafford laughed, relieved. "The ladies are difficult at times," said -he, "but, how would we do without them?" - -"I don't know, I'm sure," said Atwater dryly. "I never had the good -fortune of the opportunity to try it. What did Armstrong say, when you -sounded him? I believe you called it 'sounding,' though I suspect-- No -matter. What did he say?" - -"I think you may safely assume the matter is settled. In fact, -Armstrong has shown a willingness to make peace." - -"Rather!" said Atwater, edging his visitor toward the door. "Good -night," he added in the same breath; and he was rid of Trafford. He -went slowly back to the piano, and resumed the interrupted symphony -softly, saying every now and then, in a half sympathetic, half cynical -undertone, "Poor Dillworthy! Poor devil!" - - - - - *XXVII* - - *BREAKFAST AL FRESCO* - - -Armstrong sent Neva a prompt telegram of sympathy and inquiry. He got a -telegraphed reply--her thanks and the statement that her father was -desperately ill, but apparently not in immediate danger. He wrote her -about the highly satisfactory turn in his affairs; to help him to ease, -he tried to dismiss herself and himself, but at every sentence he had to -stem again the feeling that this letter would be read where he was -remembered as the sort of person it made him hot with shame to think he -had ever been. He waited two weeks; no answer. Again he wrote--a -lover's appeal for news of her. Ten days, and she answered, ignoring -the personal side of his letter, simply telling how ill her father was, -what a long struggle at best it would be to save him. Armstrong saw -that nursing and anxiety were absorbing all her time and thought and -strength. He wrote a humble apology for having annoyed her, asked her -to write him whenever she could, if it was only a line or so. - -Two more increasingly restless weeks, and he telegraphed that he was -coming. She telegraphed an absolute veto, and in the first mail came a -letter that was the more crushing because it was calm and free from -bitterness. "In this quiet town," wrote she, "where so little happens, -you know how they remember and brood and become bitter. What is past -and forgotten for us is still very vivid to him and magnified out of all -proportion. Please do not write again, until you hear from me." - -Thus, he learned that his worst fears were justified. If she had shown -that, in the home atmosphere again, she was seeing him as formerly, he -could have protested, argued, appealed. But how strive against her duty -to her sick, her dying father whose generous friendship he had -ruthlessly betrayed and whose life he had embittered? He debated going -to Battle Field and seeing Mr. Carlin and asking forgiveness. But such -an agitating interview would probably hasten death, even if he could get -admittance; besides, he remembered that Frederic Carlin, slow to -condemn, never forgave once he had condemned. "He feels toward me as -I'd feel in the same circumstances. I have got only what I deserve." -No judgments are so terrible as those that are just. - -The state of Armstrong's mind so preyed upon him that it affected even -his giant strength and health, and his friends urged him to take a -vacation. He worked only the harder, because in work alone could he get -any relief whatever from the torments of his remorse and his baffled -love. He became morose, given to bursts of unreasonable anger. -"Success is turning his head," was the general opinion. "He's getting -to be a tyrant, like the others." In some moods, he saw the lessons of -gentleness and forbearance in the fate his selfish arrogance had brought -upon him; but it is not in the nature of men of strong individuality and -unbroken will to practice such lessons. The keener his sufferings, the -bitterer, the harder he became. And soon he began to feel that there -was nearly if not quite a quittance of the balance between him and the -man he had wronged. He convinced himself that, if Neva's father were -dead, he could speedily win her. "Meanwhile," he reflected, "I must take -my punishment"; and with the stolid, unwhimpering endurance of those -whose ancestors have through countless generations been schooled in the -fields, the forests, and the camps, he waited for the news that would -mean the end of his expiation. - -Raphael, taking his walk in Fifth Avenue late one afternoon instead of -in Central Park, saw him in a closed motor in the halted mass of -vehicles at the Forty-second Street crossing. Boris happened to be in -his happiest mood. Always the philosopher, he was too catholic in his -interests and tastes to permit disappointment in any one direction or -even in many directions to close the other avenues to the joy of life. -There were times when he could not quite banish the shadows which the -thought of death cast over him--death, so exasperating to men of pride -and imagination because, of all their adversaries, it alone cannot be -challenged or compromised. But on that day, Boris had only the sense of -life, life at its best, with the sun bright and not too warm, with the -new garb of nature and of womankind radiantly fresh, and the whole world -laughing because the winter had been vanquished once more. As his -all-observing eyes noted Armstrong's profile, his face darkened. There -was for him, in that profile, rugged, stern, inflexible, a challenge of -the basis of his happiness. - -In all his willful life Boris had never wanted anything so intensely, so -exclusively as he wanted Neva. Every man who falls in love with a woman -feels that he is her discoverer, that he has a property right securely -based upon discovery. Raphael's sense of his right to Neva was far -stronger; it was the creator's sense. Had he not said, "Let there be -beauty and light and capacity to give and receive love"? And had not -these wonders sprung into existence before his magic? True, the beauty -and the light and the power to give and to receive were different both -in kind and in degree from what he had commanded. But that did not -alter his right. And this Armstrong, this coarse savage who would take -away his Galatea to serve in a vulgar, sooty tent of barbaric commerce-- -The very sight of Armstrong set all his senses on edge, as if each were -being assailed by its own particular abhorrence. - -That day the stern, inflexible profile somehow struck into him the same -chill that always came at the thought of death with its undebatable -"must." Yet there was in his pocket, at the very moment, warming his -heart like a flagon of old port, a long letter from Neva, a confidential -letter, full of friendly, intimate things about herself, her anxieties, -her hopes, and fears; and she asked him to stop off on his way to or -from his lectures before the Chicago art students. "Narcisse is here," -she wrote. "She will be leaving about that time, she says, and if you -stop on your way, she and you can go back together. How I wish I could -go, too! Not until I settled down here did I appreciate what you--and -New York--had done for me. Yet I had thought I did. Do stop off here. -It will be so good to see you, Boris." - -As he looked at Armstrong's profile, he laid his hand on his coat over -the letter and remembered that sentence--"It will be so good to see -you." But the shadow would not depart. That profile persisted; he -could not banish it. - -When he descended from the train at the Battle Field station and saw -Neva, with Narcisse beside her in a touring car, he saw that ominous -profile, plain as if Armstrong were there, too. This, though Neva's -welcome was radiantly bright. "What's the matter, Boris?" cried -Narcisse, climbing to the seat beside the chauffeur before Neva could -prevent. "Get in beside your hostess and cheer up. You ought to look -like a clear sunrise. The lecture was a triumph. I read two whole -columns of it aloud to Neva and her father this morning. No cant. No -hypocrisy. They agreed with me that your art ideas are like an island -in the boundless ocean of flap-doodle." - -"My father used to sell bananas from a cart in Chicago," said Boris, -"and we lived in the cellar where he ripened them." - -Neva glanced at him with quick sympathetic interest. It was the first -time he had happened to speak of his origin. "I always thought you were -born abroad," said she. - -"I think not," replied he. "I really don't know at exactly what point I -broke into the world. Those things matter so little. Countries, -governments, races--they mean nothing to me. I meet my fellow beings as -individuals." - -There he caught Neva studying him with an expression so curious that he -paused. She forestalled his question by plunging into an animated talk -about his lecture. He was well content to listen, enjoying now the -surroundings and now the beauty of the woman beside him. Both were -wonderfully soothing to him, filled him with innocent, virtuous -thoughts, made him envy, and half delude himself into fancying he wished -for himself, the joys of somnolescent, corpulent, middle-class life--the -life obviously led by the people dwelling in these flower-embedded -houses on either side of these shady streets. He sighed; Neva laughed. -And he saw that she was laughing at him. - -"Well, why not?" he demanded, knowing she understood his sigh. But -before she could answer he was laughing at himself. "Still, I like it, -for a change," said he. "And--" he was speaking now in an -undertone--"with you I could be happy in such a place--always. Just -with you; not if we let these stupid burghers in to fret me." - -She laughed outright. "I understand you better than you understand -yourself," said she. "Change and contrast are as necessary to you as -air. If you had to live here, you would commit suicide or become -commonplace.... And so should I." - -"Not with a husband you loved and children you adored and a home you had -created yourself. As the world expands, it contracts; as it contracts, -it expands. From end to end the universe is not so vast as such a -love." - -Neva, coloring deeply and profoundly moved, leaned forward. "I'm sorry -you're missing this," said she, lightly to Narcisse. "Boris is -sentimentalizing about the vine-clad cottage with children clambering." - -"It's about time you quit and came in to settle down," called Narcisse. -"A few years more and you'll cease to be romantic. An old beau is -ridiculous." - -Boris gave Neva a triumphant look. "Narcisse votes yes," said he. - -But they were arriving at the house. As the motor ran up the drive -under the elms toward the gorgeous masses of forsythia about the -entrance steps, Boris's eyes were so busy that he scarcely heard, while -Neva explained that her father was too weak to withstand the excitement -of visitors--"especially anyone distinguished. We're not telling him -you're here. He would feel it his duty to exert himself." - -"Distinguished!" he exclaimed. "In presence of these elms and this -house built for all time, and these eternal colors, how could mere -mortal be distinguished?" - -It was not until the next morning that he had a chance to talk with her -alone. He rose early and went out before breakfast. He strolled -through the woods back of the house until he came to a pavilion with a -creek rushing steeply down past it toward Otter Lake. In the pavilion he -found Neva with a great heap of roses in her lap, another on the table, -another on the bench. On her bright hair was a huge garden hat, its -broad streamers of pink ribbon flowing upon her shoulders. - -She dropped her shears and watched him with the expression in her eyes -that he had surprised there, as they were coming from the station in the -motor. "May I ask," said he, "what is the meaning of that look?" - -"Did you sleep well?" parried she. - -"Without a dream." - -"I don't know," replied she--"Let us have breakfast here--you and I.... -Washington!" she called. - -There rose from a copse below, near the brim of the creek, a small -colored boy, barefooted, bareheaded, with no garments but a blue shirt -and a pair of blue cotton jean trousers. She sent him off to the house -to tell them to bring breakfast. And soon a maid appeared with a tray -whose chief burden was a heating apparatus for coffee and milk. - -"I've heard you say you detested cold coffee," said Neva. "Your frown -when I suggested breakfast out here was premature." - -She scattered and heaped the roses into an odorous, dew-sprinkled mat of -green and pink and white, in the center of the rustic table. Then she -served the coffee. It was real coffee, and the milk was what is called -cream in many parts of the world. "Brother Tom has a model farm," she -explained. "These eggs were laid this morning." - -"So they were," exclaimed Boris, as he broke one. His eyes were -sparkling; all that was best in his looks and in his nature was -irradiating from him. Her sweet, lovely face, her delicate fresh -costume, the sight and odor of the roses, of the forest all round them, -the melody of the descending waters, and the superb coffee, crisp rolls, -and freshest of fresh eggs-- "You criticise me for my appreciation of -the sensuous side of life, my dear friend," said he. "But, tell me, is -there anywhere anything more delicious, more inspiring than this -breakfast?" - -"I never criticised you for loving the joys of the senses," cried she. -"Never! We are too much alike there." - -"What happiness we could have!" exclaimed he. "For do we not know how to -make life smooth and comfortable and beautiful, you and I?" - -"Only too well," confessed she. "I often think of it. But----" - -He waited for her to continue. When he saw that she would not, but was -lost in a reverie, he said, "You promised you would think about our -going abroad. Have you thought?" - -She nodded. - -"You will go?" - -She slowly shook her head. - -"Why not?" - -"I want to, but--I can't." - -"Why?" - -He had paused in buttering a bit of roll. Anyone coming up just then -would have thought he was looking at her, awaiting an answer to an -inquiry after salt or something like that. She said: "Because I do not -love you." - -He waved his knife in airy dismissal. "A trifle! And so easily -overcome." - -"Because I cannot love you, my dear." She looked at him affectionately. - -He balanced the bit of bread before his lips. "Not that brotherly look, -please," said he. "It--it hurts!" He put the bread in his mouth. - -She leaned forward and laid her hand on his. "We are too much alike. -You are too subtle, too nervous, too appreciative, too changeable. You -would soon cease to fancy you loved me. I--it so happens--have never -begun to fancy I loved you. That is fortunate for us both." - -"Armstrong!" he exclaimed. And suddenly, despite his ruddy coloring, he -suggested a dark Sicilian hate peering from an ambush, stiletto in -impatient hand. - -"Don't show me that side of you, Boris," she entreated. "Whether it is -Armstrong or not, did I not say the fact that I don't fancy I love you -is fortunate for us both?" - -"You love Armstrong," he insisted sullenly. - -"How can you know that, when I don't know it myself?" replied she. "As -I told you once before, the only matter that concerns you is that I do -not love you." She spoke sharply. Knowing him so well, she had small -patience with his childish, barbaric moods; she could not bear pettiness -in a man really and almost entirely great. "Will you be yourself?" she -demanded, earnest beneath her smiling manner. "How can I talk to you -seriously if you act like a spoiled, bad boy? If you'll only think -about the matter, as I've been compelled to think about it, you'll see -that you don't really love me--that I'm not the woman for you at all. -We'd aggravate each other's worst. What you need is a woman like -Narcisse." - -"You are most kind," he said sarcastically. - -"As she told you yesterday, you've got to settle down within a few years -or become absurd. And she----" - -"It is because of the women I have known that you will not give me -yourself," he said. "Oh, Neva, I have never loved but you." And in his -agitation he clasped her hands and, dropping into French, cried with -flaming eyes, "I adore you. You are my life, the light on my path--my -star shining through the storm. You make me tremble with passion and -with fear. Neva, my love, my soul----" - -She snatched her hands away. She tried to look at him mockingly, but -could not. - -"Neva, my girl," he said in English again. "Do not wither my heart!" - -"Boris," she answered gently, "I've tried to care for you as you wish me -to care. I sent for you because I thought I had begun to succeed. But -when I saw you again-- I liked you, admired you, more than ever, more -than anyone. But my dear, dear friend, I cannot give you what you ask. -It simply will not yield." - -He became calm as abruptly as he had burst into passion. Taking his -heavily jeweled and engraved gold cigarette case from his pocket, he -slowly extracted a cigarette, lighted it with great deliberation, blew -out the match, blew out the lamp of the portable stove. "Why?" he said -in a tone of pleasant bantering inquiry. "Please tell me why you do not -and cannot love me." - -She colored in confusion. - -"Do not fear lest you will offend," urged he. "I ask impersonally. -Feminine psychology is interesting." - -"I'd rather not talk about it." - -"Let me help you," he persisted amiably, so amiably that she had to -remind herself of the sort of nature she knew he had, to quell a -suspicion of treachery under his smoothness. "Because I am -too--feminine?" he went on. - -She nodded hesitatingly. Then, encouraged by his cynical, good-humored -laugh, "Though feminine doesn't quite express it. There isn't enough of -the primitive man left in you for a woman of my temperament. You have -been superrefined, Boris. You are too understanding, too sympathetic -for a feminine woman like me. There are two persons to you--one that -feels, one that reasons--criticises--analyzes--laughs. I couldn't for a -moment forget the one that laughs--at yourself, at any who respond to -the you that feels. I suppose you don't understand. I'm sure I don't." - -[Illustration: "'You are my life, the light on my path.'"] - -"Vaguely," said he, somewhat absently. "Who'd suspect it?" - -"Suspect what?" - -"That there was this--this coarse streak in _you_--this craving for the -ultramasculine, the rude, rough, aggressive male, inconsiderate, brutal, -masterful?" - -"A coarse streak," she repeated, half in assent, half in mere -reflection. - -He surveyed impersonally her delicately feminine charms, suggesting -fragility even. "And yet," he mused aloud, "I should have seen it. -What else could be the meaning of those sharp, even teeth--of the long -slits through which your green-gray-brown-blue eyes look. And your -long, slim, sensitive lines----" - -The impersonal faded into the personal, the Boris that analyzed into the -Boris that felt. The appeal of her beauty to his senses swept over and -submerged his pose of philosopher. His eyes shone and swam, like lights -seen afar through a mist; the fingers that held the cigarette trembled. -But, as he realized long afterwards, he showed then and there how right -she was as to his masculinity. For, his was the passive intensity of -the feminine, not the aggressive intensity of the male; instead of -forgetting her in the fury of his own baffled desire and seizing her, to -crush her until he had wrung some sensation, no matter what, from those -unmoved nerves of hers, he restrained himself, hid his emotion as -swiftly as he could, turned it off with a jest--"And I've let my coffee -grow cold!" He was once more Boris of the boyish vanity that feared, -more than ridicule, the triumph of a woman over him. He would rather -have risked losing her than have given her the opportunity to see and -perhaps enjoy her power. - -Presently Narcisse came into view. The lamp was relighted; the three -talked together; he was not alone with Neva again, made no attempt to -be. - - -That afternoon, just before the time for him and Narcisse to depart, -Neva took her in to say good-by to her father--a mere shadow of a wreck -of a man, whose remnant of vitality was ebbing almost breath by breath. -As they came from his room, it suddenly struck Narcisse how profoundly -Neva was being affected by her father's life, now that his mortal -illness was bringing it vividly before her. A truly noble character -moves so tranquilly and unobtrusively that it is often unobserved, -perhaps, rather, taken for granted, unless some startling event compels -attention to it. Neva was appreciating her father at last; and Narcisse -saw what there was to appreciate. No human being can live in one place -for half a century without indelibly impressing himself upon his -surroundings; Narcisse felt in the very atmosphere of the rooms he had -frequented a personality that revealed itself altogether by example, not -at all by precept; a human being that loved nature and his fellow -beings, lived in justice and mercy. - -"How much it means to have a father like yours!" she exclaimed. - -Neva did not reply for some time. When she did, the expression of her -eyes, of her mouth, made Narcisse realize that her words had some -deeper, some hidden meaning: "If ever I have children," she said, "they -shall have that same inheritance from their father." And presently she -went on, "I often, nowadays, contrast my father with the leading men -there in New York. What dreadful faces they have! What tyranny and -meanness and trickery! And, how wretched! It is hard to know whether -most to pity or to despise them." - -Narcisse knew instinctively that she meant Armstrong, and perhaps, to a -certain extent, Boris also. "We've no right to condemn them," said she. -"They are the victims of circumstances too strong for them." - -"_You_ have the right," insisted Neva. "You have been tempted; yet, you -are not like them. You have not let New York enslave you, but have made -it your servant." - -"The temptations that would have reached my weaknesses didn't happen to -offer," replied she. And there she sighed, for she felt the ache of her -wound--Alois. - -But it was time to go. Neva took them to the station; at the parting -Boris kissed her hand in foreign fashion, after his habit, with not a -hint of anything but self-control and ease at heart and mind, not even -such a hint as Neva alone would have understood. She bore up bravely -until they were gone; then solitude and melancholy suddenly enveloped -her in their black fog, and she went back home like a traveler in a -desert, alone and aimless. "He didn't really care," she thought -bitterly, indifferent to her own display of selfishness in having -secretly and furtively wished for a love that would only have brought -unhappiness to him, since, try however hard, she could not return it. -"Does anyone care about anyone but himself? ... If I could only have -loved him enough to deceive myself. He's so much more worth while -than--than any other man I ever knew or ever shall know." - - - - - *XXVIII* - - *FORAGING FOR SON-IN-LAW* - - -Narcisse had gone to Neva at Battle Field to get as well as to give -sympathy and companionship; to get the strength to tread alone the path -in which she had always had her brother to help her--and he had helped -her most of all by getting help from her. She had assumed that her -brother would marry some day; she herself looked forward to marrying, as -she grew older and appreciated why children are something beside a -source of annoyance and anxiety. But she had also assumed that he would -marry a woman with whom she would be friends, a woman in real sympathy -with his career. Instead, he married Amy, stunted in mind and warped in -character and withered in heart by the environment of the idle rich. -She knew that the end of the old life had come; and it was to get away -from the melancholy spectacle of her new brother that, two months after -his return from the honeymoon, she went West for that visit with Neva. - -"Amy has ruined him," she said, when she had been at Battle Field long -enough to feel free to open her heart wide. "It's only a question of -time; he will give up his career entirely." - -And, like the beginning of the fulfillment of her prophecy, there soon -came a letter from him which she showed Neva. With much beating round -the bush, he hinted dissolution of partnership. It gave Neva the -heartache to read, and she hardly dared look at Narcisse. "I'm afraid -you were right in your suspicions," she had to admit. - -"Certainly I was right," replied Narcisse. "But I'm not really so cut -up as you think. Nothing comes unannounced in this world, thank heaven. -I've been getting ready for this ever since he told me they were -engaged." - -"How brave you are!" exclaimed Neva. "I know what you must feel, yet -you can hide it." - -"I'm hiding nothing," Narcisse assured her. "I've lived a long -time--much longer than my birthdays show. I've been making my own -living since I was thirteen--and it wasn't easy until the last few -years. But I've learned to take life as I take weather. There are sunny -seasons, and stormy seasons, and middling seasons. When the sun shines, -I don't enjoy it less, but rather more, because I know foul weather is -certain to come. And when it does come, I know it won't last forever." -There were tears in her eyes, but through them she smiled dauntlessly. -"And the sun _will_ shine again--warm and bright and streaming -happiness." - -Neva's own heart was suddenly buoyant. "It will--it surely will!" she -cried. - -"And," proceeded Narcisse, "my troubles are trifles compared with -Alois's. I know him; I know he's unhappy. If ever there was a man -cheated in a marriage, that man is my poor brother. And he must realize -it by this time." - -She had guessed close to the truth. Alois and his bride had not been -honeymooning many weeks before he confessed to himself that he had -overestimated--or, perhaps, misestimated--her intellect. Not that she -was stupid or ignorant; no, merely, that she lacked the originality he -had attributed to her. He had pictured himself doing great work under -her inspiration, his own skill supplemented by her taste and cleverness -in suggesting and designing. He found that she knew only what he or -some book had told her, that her enthusiasm for architecture was in -large part one of those amiable pretenses wherewith the female aids the -passions of the male to beguile him to her will. - -But this discovery did not depress him. No man ever was depressed by -finding out that his wife was his mental inferior, though many a man has -been pitched headlong into permanent dejection by the discovery of the -reverse. She was more beautiful than he had thought, more loving and -more lovable--and those compensations more than made good the vanished -dream of companionship. Soon, however, her intense affection began to -wear upon him. Not that he liked it less or loved her less; but he saw -with the beginnings of alarm that he was on the way to being engulfed, -that he either must devote himself entirely to being Amy's husband or -must expect to lose her. It was fascinating, intoxicating, to be thus -encradled in love; but it was not exactly his notion of what was manly. - -He talked of the work "they" would do, of the fame "they" would win; she -responded with rapidly decreasing enthusiasm, finally listened without -comment. Once, when he was expanding upon this subject, with some -projected public buildings at Washington as the text, she suddenly threw -herself into his arms, and cried, "Oh, let Narcisse take care of those -things. We--you and I, dearest--have got only a little while to live. -Let us be happy--happy--_happy_!" - -"But you forget, you've married a poor man," he protested. "We've got -our living to make." - -"Oh--of course," said she. "I'd hate for you to be anything but -independent." - -"If I were, you'd soon lose respect for me, as I should for myself." - -"Yes--you must work," she conceded. "But not too hard. You mustn't -crowd _me_ aside." She clasped her arms more tightly about his neck. -"I'd _hate_ you, if you made me second to anybody or anything. I'm -horribly jealous, and I know I'd end by hating you." - -The way to reassure her, for the moment, was obvious and easy; and he -took it. They talked no more of "our" work until they got back to New -York. There, it was hard for him to find time to go to the office; for -she was always wanting him to do something with her, and as luck would -have it, the things he really couldn't get out of doing without -offending her always somehow came in office hours. Sometimes he had a -business appointment he dared not break; he would explain to her, and -she would try to be "sensible." But she felt irritated--was he not her -husband, and is not a husband's first duty to his wife? - -"Why do you make so many appointments just when you know I'll need you?" -she demanded. "I believe you do it on purpose!" - -He showed her how unreasonable this was, and she laughed at herself. -But her feeling at bottom was unchanged. After much casting about for -some one to blame for this, to her, obvious conspiracy to estrange her -husband from her, she fixed upon Narcisse. "She hates me because I took -him away from her," she thought; and when she had thought it often -enough, she was convinced. Yes, Narcisse was trying to drift them -apart. And she ought to be doubly ashamed of herself, because what -would the firm of A. & N. Siersdorf amount to but for Alois? Narcisse -was, no doubt, clever in a way--but almost anybody who had to work and -kept at it for years, could do as well. "Why, I, with no experience at -all, did wonders down at Overlook--better than Narcisse ever did -anywhere." Indeed, had Narcisse really ever done anything alone? "She -has been living off Alois's brains, and she's trying to get him back." - -That was all quite clear; also, a loving and watchful wife's duty in the -circumstances. She gave Alois no rest until he had agreed to break -partnership and take offices alone. "When you've got your own offices," -she cried, "what work we shall do! You must go down early and stay -late, and I'll have an office there, too." - -So weak is man before woman on her knees and worshipful, Alois began -dimly to believe that his wife was, in a measure, right; that Narcisse -had been something--not much, but something--of a handicap to his -genius; that her prudence and everyday practicality had chained down his -soaring imagination. He had no illusions as to the help Amy would give -him; there, she had not his vanity to aid her in deluding him. But he -felt he owed it to himself to free himself from the partnership. -Anyhow, something was wrong; something was preventing him from doing -good work--and it was just as well to see if that something was his -sister. "The sooner I discover just what I am, the better," he -reasoned. And he had no misgivings as to the event. - -Narcisse made the break easy for him. When she came back from Neva's, -she met him in her usual friendly way, and herself opened the subject. -"I think we'd better each go it alone," said she, as if she had not -penetrated the meaning of his letter. "You've reached the point where -you don't want to be bothered with the kind of things I do best. What -do you say?" - -"I had thought of that, too," confessed he. "But I-- Do you really -want it, Cis?" - -"No sentiment in business," replied she in her most offhand manner. "If -each of us can do better alone, it'd be silly not to separate. Anyhow, -where's the harm in trying?" - -"I was going to suggest that we take offices a little further uptown," -he went on. "We might do that, and keep on as we are for a while." - -"No. You move; let me keep these offices. I'm like a cat; I get -attached to places." - -And so it was settled. "Narcisse Siersdorf, Builder," appeared where -"A. & N. Siersdorf, Builders," had been. "Alois Siersdorf, Architect," -appeared upon the offices, spacious and most imposing, in a small but -extravagantly luxurious bank building in Fifth Avenue, within a few -blocks of home--"home" being Josiah Fosdick's house. - - -Amy insisted on their living "at home" because her father couldn't be -left quite alone; and Alois sat rent and food free; he had made a -vigorous fight for complete independence in financial matters, but -nothing had come of it--he felt that it was ridiculous solemnly to give -Amy each month a sum which would hardly pay for her dresses. "You are -too funny about money," she said. "Why attach so much importance to it? -We put it all in together, and no doubt some months you pay more than -our share, other months less--but what of that? You can't expect me to -bother my head with horrid accounts. And I simply won't have you -talking such matters with the housekeeper--and who else is there?" - -Alois grumbled, but gradually yielded. He consoled himself with the -reflection that presently his business would pay hugely, and then the -equilibrium would be restored. And after a while--an extremely short -while--he thought no more about the matter. This, in face of the fact -that the business did not expand as he had dreamed. He was offered -plenty to do at first, for he had reputation and the rich were eager for -his services. But he simply could not find time to attend to business; -he had to leave everything, even the making of plans, to assistants. -There were all sorts of entertainments to which he must go with -Amy--rides, coaching expeditions, luncheons, afternoon bridge parties, -week-end visits. And often he was up until very late at balls; she -loved to dance, and he found balls amusing, too. Indeed, he was well -pleased with all the gayety. Everybody paid court to him; the husband -of an heiress, and a distinguished, a successful, a famous man, one -whose opinions in professional matters were quoted with respect. And as -everybody talked and acted as if he were doing well, were rising -steadily higher and higher, he could not but talk and act and feel so, -himself--most of the time. He knew, as a matter of theory, that success -of any kind, except in being rich, and that exception only for the -enormously rich, is harder to keep than to win, must be won all over -again each day. But in those surroundings he could not feel this; he -seemed secure, permanent. - -It was not long before all their world, except only her and him, knew he -had practically given up the profession of architect for that of -husband. The outward forms of deference to the famous young architect -deceived him, enabled him to deceive himself; but his friends, in his -very presence, and just out of earshot, often in undertones at his -father-in-law's table, were sneering or, what is usually the same thing, -moralizing. "Poor Siersdorf! How he has fagged out. Well, was there -as much to him as some people said? And they tell me he is living off -his wife." - -When matters reach this pass, and when the man is really a man, the -explosion is not far off. It came with the first bitter quarrel he and -Amy had. She wished him to go away with her for two months; he wished -to go, and it infuriated him against himself that he had so far lost his -pride that he could even consider leaving his business when it needed -him imperatively. He curtly refused to go; by degrees their discussion -became a wrangle, a quarrel, a pitched battle. She was the first -completely to lose control of temper. She cast about for some missile -that would hit hard. - -"What does this business of yours amount to, anyhow?" she jeered. -"Sometimes, I can't help wondering what would have become of you if you -hadn't married me." - -She didn't mean it; she was hardly conscious that she was saying it -until the words were out. She grew white and shrank before the damage -she knew she must have done. He did not, could not, answer immediately. -When he did, it was a release of all that had been poisoning him for -months. - -"You think that, do you?" he cried. "I might have known! You dare to -think that, when you are responsible!" - -"That's manly," she retorted, eager to extricate herself by putting him -in the wrong. - -He strode to her; he was shaking with fury. "We'll not talk about what's -manly or womanly. Let's look at the facts. I loved you, and you took -advantage of it to ruin my career, to make it impossible for me to work, -to drive away my clients. You have taken my reputation, my brain, my -energy. And you dare to taunt me! Men have killed women for less." - -"Alois!" she sobbed. "Don't frighten me. Don't look--speak--like that! -Oh, I'm not responsible for what I say. I know I've been selfish--it's -all my fault. But what does anything matter except our happiness? -Forgive me. You know why I'm so bad tempered now--so different from my -usual self." And the sobs merged into a flood of hysterical tears. - -The reference to her condition, to their expectations, softened him, -caused his anger at once to begin to change into bitter shame, a shame -to be concealed, to eat, acidlike, in and in and make a wound that would -never heal, but would grow in venom until it would torture him without -ceasing. - -"I don't want you to work," she wept. "I want you all to myself. Ah, -Alois, some time you'll appreciate my love; you'll realize that love is -better than a career. And for you"--sob--"to reproach me"--sob, -sob--"when I thought you were as happy as I!" A wild outburst of grief. - -And he was consoling her, had her in his arms, was lulling her and -himself in the bright waves of the passion which she could always evoke -in him, as he in her. Never again did she speak of his dependent -position; it always made her flesh creep and chill to remember what she -had said. But from that time she was distinctly conscious that he was a -dependent--and she no longer respected him. From that time, he clearly -recognized his own position. He thought it out, decided to make a bold -stand; but he felt he could not begin at once. In her condition she -must not be crossed; he must go away with her, since go she must and go -alone she could not. He would make a new beginning as soon as the baby -was born. - - -Meanwhile, his office expenses were heavy, and the money he had saved -before he was married was gone. He went into debt fast, terrifyingly -fast. He borrowed two thousand dollars of Narcisse; he hoped it would -last, as usually Amy's bills were all paid by her father. But they were -away from Fosdick's house, and she, thinking and knowing nothing about -money, continued to spend as usual. He got everything on credit that -did not have to be paid for at once; but in spite of all his contriving, -when they reached New York again he was really penniless. He went to -Narcisse's office; she was out of town. In desperation he borrowed five -hundred dollars from his brother-in-law. - -Hugo loaned the money as if the transaction were a trifle that was -making no impression on him. Like all those who think of nothing but -money, he affected to think nothing of it. He noted Alois's -nervousness, then his thin and harassed look. "How do Amy and Alois -live?" he asked his father. - -"Live? What do you mean?" said Josiah. "Why, they're perfectly happy. -What put such nonsense in your head?" - -"Oh, bother!" exclaimed Hugo. "Certainly they're happy. Amy'd be a -fool not to be happy with as decent a chap as he is. I mean, how do -they get along about money?" - -"He's got a good business," said Fosdick. "You know it as well as I -do." - -"He used to have," replied Hugo. "But he's too busy with Amy to be -doing much else. He's always standing on her dress. And he has no -partner." - -"I don't know anything about it," said Fosdick. "If Amy needed money, -she'd come to me." Fosdick recalled that he had been paying even -heavier bills for her since she was married; but he had no mind to speak -of it to Hugo, as he did not wish Hugo to misunderstand. "You attend to -your own affairs, boy," he continued. "Those two are all right." And -he beamed benevolently. He delighted in Amy's happiness, felt that he -was entirely responsible for it. - -But Hugo was not to be put off. "Believe me, father, Alois is down to -bed-rock. He can't speak to Amy about it, or to you. He's a gentleman. -It's up to you to do something for him." - -"I guess looking after Amy does keep his time pretty well filled up," -chuckled the old man, much amused. "I'll fix him a place in the -O.A.D.--something that'll give him a good income and not take his mind -entirely off his job." - -"Why not get Armstrong to make him supervising architect? A big public -institution like that ought to pay more attention to cultivating the -artistic side. He could think out and carry out some general plan -that'd harmonize to high standards all the buildings, especially the -dwelling and apartment houses they own in the provinces." Hugo spoke of -the O.A.D. as "they" nowadays, though he still thought of it as "we." - -"That's a good idea, Hugo, as good as any other. I'll see Armstrong -to-day. I oughtn't to have neglected putting Alois on the pay rolls. -I'll give him something in the railway, too. We'll fix him up -handsomely. He's a fine young fellow, and he has made Amy happy. You -don't appreciate that, you young scoundrel, as we of the older -generation do." And Hugo had to listen patiently to a discourse on -decaying virtue and honor and family life; for, like all decaying men, -Fosdick mistook internal symptoms for an exterior and universal -phenomenon, just as a man who is going blind cries, "The light is -getting dim!" - -Fosdick did not forget. Now that his attention was upon the matter, he -reproached himself severely for his oversight. "I've been taking care -of scores of people, and neglecting my own. But I'll make up for it." -He ordered the president of the railway to put Alois on the pay rolls at -once with a salary of twelve thousand a year. "You need somebody to -supervise the stations. Everybody's going in for art, nowadays, and we -want the best. Mail him his first check to-day, with the notice of his -appointment." - -In the full glow of generosity, he went up to see Armstrong. They were -great friends nowadays. Since the peace, not a trace of cloud had come -between them; he was careful to keep his hands entirely off the O.A.D.; -Armstrong, on his side, gave the Fosdick railway and industrial -enterprises the same "courtesies" they had always enjoyed, except that -he charged them the current rate of interest, instead of the old special -rate. - -"Horace," he began, "I suppose you'll soon be organizing the -construction department on broader lines. I've come to put in a good -word for my son-in-law. I don't need to say anything about his merits -as an architect. As you know, there's none better." - -"None," said Armstrong heartily. "Anything we want in his line, he'll -get." - -"Thanks. Thanks. My idea, though, was a little more definite. I was -thinking you might want a man to pass on all buildings, plans, -improvements. He could raise the value of the company's -property--particularly the dwelling and apartment houses." - -"That's a valuable suggestion," said Armstrong. "And Siersdorf would be -just the man for the place. But will he take it?" - -"I think so." - -"But he'd have to be traveling about, most of the time. He'd be in the -West and South, where we're trying to get back the ground lost in those -big exposes. I shouldn't think he'd care for that sort of life." - -Fosdick was disconcerted. "I suppose that could be arranged. You -wouldn't expect a man of Siersdorf's caliber to go chasing about the -country like a retail drummer. He'd have assistants for that, and -drawings and pictures and those sort of things could be forwarded to him -here." - -"That would hardly do," replied Armstrong, like a man advancing -cautiously, but determined to advance. "Then, there's the matter of -pay. The work would take all of his time, and we couldn't afford much -of a salary. I should say the job was rather for some talented young -fellow, trying to get a start." - -"You'd simply waste whatever money you paid such a man," Fosdick -objected with a restraint of tone and manner that astonished himself. -"No, what you want is a high-class, a first-class, man at a good -salary--a first-class man's salary." - -"Say--how much?" inquired Armstrong. - -"I was thinking twenty thousand a year--or, perhaps fifteen." The lower -figure was an amendment suggested by the tightening of Armstrong's lips. - -Armstrong saw the point. What Fosdick was after was a sinecure; a soft -berth for his son-in-law to luxuriate idly in; another and a portly -addition to the O.A.D's vast family of "fixed charges." "I'd like to -oblige you, Mr. Fosdick," said he, with the reluctance of a man taking a -new road where the passage looks doubtful and may be dangerous. "And I -hate to deprive the O.A.D. of the chance to get Siersdorf's services at -what is undoubtedly a bargain. But, as you may perhaps have heard, I'm -directing all my efforts to lopping off expenses. I'm trying to get the -O.A.D. on a basis where we can pay the policy holders a larger share of -the profits we make on their money. Perhaps, later on, I can take the -matter up. But I hope you won't press it at present." - -The words were careful, the tone was most courteously regretful. But -the refusal was none the less a slap in the face to a man like Fosdick. -"As you please, as you please," he said hurriedly, and with averted -eyes. "I just thought it was a good arrangement all around.... -Everything going smoothly?" - -"So-so." - -"Well, good day." - -And he went, with a friendly nod and handshake that did not deceive -Armstrong. He drove to the magnificent Hearth and Home Defender -building which Trafford and his pals had built for their own profit out -of their stealings from millions of working men and women and children -of the poorest, most ignorant class. Trafford received his fellow adept -in the art of exploiting as Fosdick loved to be received; he did not let -him finish his request before granting it. "An excellent idea, -Fosdick," he cried. "I understand perfectly. I'll see that we get -Siersdorf at once. Would fifteen thousand be too small?" - -"About right, as a starter, I should say," was Fosdick's judicial -answer. "You see, the thing's more or less an experiment." - -"But certain to succeed," said Trafford confidently. "And, of course, -we'll accept any arrangements Mr. Siersdorf may make about assistants. -We can't expect him to give us all his time. We'll be quite content -with his advice and judgment. You've put me under obligations to you." - -Fosdick's eyes sparkled. As he went away, he said to himself, "Now, -there's a big man, a gentleman, one who knows how to do business, how to -treat another gentleman. I must put him in on something good." - -And he did. - - - - - *XXIX* - - *"IF I MARRIED YOU"* - - -When Armstrong saw the announcement of Frederic Carlin's death, he -assumed Neva would soon be in New York, to escape the loneliness of -Battle Field. He let three weeks pass, after her brief but gentle and -friendly answer to his telegram of condolence. Then, he wrote her he -was going to Chicago and wished to stop at Battle Field; she replied -that she would be glad to see him. He took the first Westbound -express--the through limited which, at his request, dropped him at the -little town it had always before rushed past at disdainful speed. The -respect with which he was treated, the deference of those who recognized -him at the station, the smallness and simplicity of the old town, all -combined to put the now triumphant and autocratic president of the -mighty O.A.D. in the mood to appreciate every inch of the dizzy depth -down from where he now blazed in glory to where he had begun, a barefoot -boy in jeans, delivering groceries at back doors and alley gates. It -was not in Armstrong to condescend; but it is in the sanest of us poor -mortals, with our dim sense of proportion and our feeble sense of humor -where we ourselves are the joke, to build up a grandiose mood upon less -foundation of vanity of achievement than had Armstrong. The mood gave -him a feeling of confidence, of conquest impending, as he strode in at -the gate beside the drive into the Carlin place a full hour before he -was expected. Memory was busy--not by any means altogether -unpleasantly--as he went more slowly up the narrow walk to the old -square stone house, with its walls all but hidden under the ivy, with -its verandas draped in honeysuckle, and its peaceful, dignified -foreground of primeval elms. The past was not quite forgotten; but he -felt that it was completely expiated. He had paid for his ingratitude, -his selfishness, his blindness, his folly--had paid in full, with -interest. - -He ascended to the veranda before the big oak front doors. The only -life in view was a hummingbird flitting and balancing like a sprite -among the honeysuckle blooms. The doors, the windows on either side, -were open wide; he looked in with the future-focused eyes of the -practical man of affairs. His past did not advance from those familiar -rooms to abash him. On the contrary his eager gaze entered, searching -for his future. - -"We must have, will have, a place like this near New York," thought he. -"Why not in New York? I can afford it." - -He rang several times at long intervals; it was Neva herself who finally -came--Neva, all in black and, so it seemed to him, more beautiful than -ever. That she was glad, more than glad, at sight of him was plain to -be seen in the color which submerged her pallor, in the swift lighting -up of her eyes, like the first flash of stars in the night sky. But -there was in her manner, as well as in her garb, a denial of the impulse -of his impetuous passion; the doubts that had tormented him began to -bore into his mood of self-confidence. She took him to the west -veranda, with its luminous green curtains of morning-glory. She made -him seat himself in the largest and laziest chair there, all the while -covering the constraint with the neutral conversation which women -command the more freely, the more difficult the situation. When the -pause came he felt that she had permitted it, that she was ready to -hear--and to speak. The doubts had made such inroads upon his assurance -that his tone was less conclusive than he would have liked, as he began: - -"Neva, I've come to take you back to New York." - -Her expression, her manner brought vividly back to him that crucial talk -of theirs at the lake shore. Only, now the advantage was wholly with -her, where then it had been so distinctly on his side that he had pitied -her, had felt almost cowardly. He looked at her impassive face, -impossible to read, and there rose in him a feeling of fear--the fear -every man at times has of the woman into whose hands his love has given -his destiny. - -"Everything is waiting on you," he went on. "The way lies smooth before -us. You have brought me good fortune, Neva. My future--our future--is -secure. With you to help me I shall go to the top. So--come, Neva!" -And his heart filled his eyes. - -She waited a moment before answering. "If we should fail this time, it -would be the end, wouldn't it?" she said. - -"But we can't fail!" he protested. He was strong in his assurance once -more; did not her question imply that she loved him? - -"We failed before, and we were younger and more adaptable." - -"But now we understand each other." - -"Do we?" she said, her eyes gravely upon him. - -"How can you ask that!" - -"Because so much depends on our seeing the truth exactly. The rest of -our lives is at stake." - -"Yes. I can't go on without you. Can _you_ go on without me?" - -"Each of us," she replied, "can go on without the other. I can paint -pictures; you can make money. The question is, what will we mean to each -other if we go on together? We aren't children any more, Horace. We -are a man and a woman full grown, experienced, unable to blind ourselves -even in our follies. And we aren't simply rushing into an episode of -passion that will rage and die out. If it were merely that, I shouldn't -be asking you and myself questions. When the end came, we could resume -our separate lives; and, even if our experience had cost us dear instead -of helping us, still we could recover, would in time be stronger and -better for having had it. But you offer me your whole self, your whole -life, and you ask me to give you mine. You ask me to marry you." - -He did not understand this; woman meant to him only sex, and the -difference between love and passion was a marriage ceremony. He felt -that in what she said there lurked traces of the immorality of the woman -who tries to think for herself instead of properly selecting a proper -man and letting him do the thinking for both. "I love you," said he, -"and there's the whole story. Love doesn't reason; it feels." - -"Then it ought never to get married," she said. "We tried marriage once -on the basis of husband and wife being absolute strangers to each other, -and at cross purposes." She paused; he did not suspect it was to steady -her constantly endangered self-control. "And," she added, "I shall never -try that kind of marriage again. Passion is a better kindler than -worldliness, but it is just as poor fuel." - -"Neva!" he exclaimed. - -"I couldn't be merely your mistress, Horace. I'd want _you_, and I'd -want you to take me, all of me. I'd want it to be our life, and not -merely an episode in our life. Can't you see what would come -afterwards--when you had grown calm about me--and I about you? Can't -you see that you'd turn back to your business and prostitute yourself -for money, while I'd turn perhaps to luxury and show and prostitute -myself to you for the means to exhibit myself? Don't you see it on -every side, there in New York--the traffic in the souls of men and women -viler than any on the sidewalks at night--the brazen faces of the men, -flaunting their shame, the brazen faces of the women, the so-called -wives, flaunting _their_ shame?" - -"But you could never be like them," he protested. "Never!" - -"As strong women as I, stronger, have been dragged down. No human being -can resist the slow, steady, insidious seduction of his daily -surroundings." - -"I don't understand this at all, Neva," he said, though his -ill-concealed anger showed that he did. Indeed, so angry was he that he -was almost forgetting his own warnings to himself of the injustice of -holding her responsible for anything she said in her obviously unstrung -condition. He asked, "What have you to do with that sort of woman?" He -hesitated, forced himself to go boldly on. "Why do you compare me to -those men? _I_ do not degrade myself." - -She did not answer immediately, but looked away across the beds of -blooming flowers. When she began again, she seemed calmer, under better -control. "All the time I was in New York," she said, "the life -there--the real life of money getting and money spending--never touched -me personally until toward the last. Then--I saw what it really meant, -saw it so plainly that I can't ever again hide the truth from myself. -And since I came away--out here--where it's calm, and one thinks of -things as they are--where father and the other way of living and acting -toward one's fellow beings, took strong hold of me----" - -"But, Neva--you----" - -"_Please_, let me finish," she begged, all excitement once more. "It's -so hard to say--so much harder than you think. But I must--must--_must_ -let you see what kind of woman I am, who it is you've asked to be your -wife. As I remember my acquaintances in New York, _our_ friends, do you -know what I always feel? I remember their palaces, their swarms of -servants, their jewels, their luxuries, the food they eat, the wine they -drink, all of it; and I wonder just whose dollar was stolen to help pay -for this or that luxury, just who is in want, how many are in want, that -that carriage might roll or the other automobile go darting about. You -_know_ the men steal it; they don't know from whom, and so they can -brazen it out to themselves." - -"That is harsh--too harsh, Neva!" - -She did not heed his interruption. "They can brazen it out," she went -on, "because no one can or will come forward and say, 'Take off that new -string of pearls. Your husband stole the money from me to-day to buy -it.' He did steal it, but not that day, not directly from one person, -but indirectly from many who hardly, if at all, knew they were being -robbed. That is what New York has come to mean to me these last few -weeks--my New York and yours--the people we know best." - -"But we need not know _them_. Have what friends you please." He took -an air of gentleness, of forbearance with her. He reminded himself that -she was overwrought by her father's illness and death, that she was not -in condition to see things normally and practically; such hysterical -ideas as these of hers naturally bred and flourished in the miasmatic -soil and atmosphere of the fresh grave. - -"Don't you see it?" she cried desperately. "I mean you--Horace--_you_, -that ask me to be your wife." - -"Me!" His amazement was wholly genuine. - -"Yes--you!" And she lost all control of herself, was seized and swept -away by the emotions that had grown stronger and stronger during her -father's illness, and since his death had dominated her day and night in -her loneliness. The scarlet of fever was in her cheeks, its flame in -her eyes. - -"Yes, you, Horace," she repeated. "Can't you see I'd be worse than -uneasy about everything we bought, about every dollar we spent? When -you left me to go downtown in the morning, I'd be thinking, 'Who is the -man I love going to rob to-day?' And when you came back at night, when -your hands touched mine, I'd be shuddering--for there might be blood on -them!" She covered her face. "There _would_ be blood on them. -Happiness! Why, I should be in hell! And soon you'd hate me for what I -would be thinking of you, would despise me for living a life I thought -degrading." - -If he had been self-analytic, he would have suspected the origin of the -furious anger that surged up in him. "I see!" said he, his voice hard. -"If these notions," he sneered, "were to prevail among the women, about -all the strongest men in the country would lose their wives." - -"That is not the question," she answered, maddened by his manner. "I'm -only trying to make _you_ acquainted with _me_. I don't understand, as -I look at it, now that my eyes have opened, how a woman can live with a -man who kills hundreds, thousands with his railway, to make dividends, -or who lets thousands live in hovels and toil all the daylight hours and -half starve part of the year that he may have a bigger income. Oh, I -don't know the morals of it or the practical business side of it. And I -don't want to know. My instinct tells me it's wrong, _wrong_. And I -dare not have anything to do with it, Horace, or I'd become like those -women, those so-called respectable women, one sees driving every -afternoon in Fifth Avenue, with their hard, selfish faces. Ah, I see -blood on their carriage wheels, the blood of their brothers and sisters -who paid for carriage and furs and liveries and jewels. It would be -dreadful enough for the intelligent and strong--for men like you, -Horace--to take from the ignorant and weak to buy the necessities of -life. But to snatch bread and shelter and warmth and education from -their fellow beings to buy vanities-- It isn't American--it isn't -decent--it isn't brave!" - -He saw that it would be idle to argue with her. Indeed, he began to -feel, rather than to see, that beneath her hysteria there was something -he would have to explore, something she was terribly in earnest about. -There was a long silence, she slowly calming, he hidden behind the mask -of that handsome, rugged face in which strength yielded so little for -grace. "Well, what are you going to do about it?" he said unemotionally. - -"All I can," she replied. "I can refuse to live that sort of life, to -live on human flesh and blood. I know good people do it, people who are -better than I. And if it seems right to them, why, I don't judge them. -Only, it doesn't seem right to me. I wish it did. I wish I could shut -my eyes again. But--I can't. My father won't let me!" - -He made a movement that suggested shrinking. But he said presently, "I -still don't see where I come in. In our business we don't get money -that way." - -"How do you get it?" she asked. - -He stared, stolid and silent, at the floor. - -"You told me once that----" - -"In some moods I say things I don't altogether mean.... I don't moon -about the miseries I can't possibly cure," he went on. "I don't -quibble; I act. I don't criticise life; I live. I don't create the -world or make the law of the survival of the fittest; I simply accept -conditions I could not change. As for this so-called stealing, even the -worst of the big men take only what's everybody's property and therefore -anybody's." - -"It seems to me," said she, "the question always is, 'Does this property -belong to me?' and if the answer is 'No,' then to take it is--" She -paused before the word. - -"To steal," he said bluntly. - -She made no comment. Finally he went on: "Let us understand each other. -You refuse to marry me unless I abandon my career, and sink down to a -position of no influence--become a nobody. For, of course, I can't play -the game unless I play it under the rules. At least, I can think of no -way." - -"I see I didn't express myself well," she replied. "I've not tried to -make conditions. I've simply shown you what kind of woman you were -asking to marry you--and that you don't want her--that you want only the -part of me that for the moment appeals to your senses. If I had married -you without telling you what was in my mind and heart would it have been -fair to you?" - -He did not answer. - -"Would it have been fair, Horace?" - -"No," he said--a simple negative. - -"You see that you do not want me--that you would find me more, far more, -of a drag on your career than I was before--a force pulling back instead -of merely a dead weight." - -He was looking at her--was looking from behind his impenetrable mask. -He looked for a long time, she now meeting his gaze and now glancing -away. At last he said, with slow deliberateness: "I see that I came -seeking a mistress. Whether I want her as a wife, I don't know. -Whether she wants me as a husband--I don't know." He relapsed into -thought which she did not interrupt. - -When he rose to go, he did not see how she flushed and trembled, and -fought down the longing to say the things that would have meant retreat. - -"I feel," said he with a faint smile, "like a man who goes down to the -pier thinking he is about to take an outing for the day, and finds that -if he goes aboard he will be embarked for a life journey into new lands -and will never come back. I never before really grasped what marriage -means." - -She had always been fascinated by his eyes, which seemed to her to -contain the essence of all that attracted and thrilled and compelled her -in the idea, man. As she stood touching the hand he extended, she had -never felt his eyes so deeply; never before had there been in them this -manly gentleness of respect and consideration. And her faltering -courage took heart. - -"I am going back to New York," he said. "I want to look about me." - -She looked straight and calm; but, through her hand, he felt that she -was vibrating like a struck, tense violin string. "Some men want a -mistress when they marry," she went on, smiling-serious, "and some want -a housekeeper, and some a parlor ornament, and some a mother for their -children. But very few want a wife. And I"--she sighed. "I couldn't -do anything at any of the other parts, unless I were also the wife." - -"I understand--at last," he said. "Or rather, I begin to understand. -You have thought it out. I haven't--and I must." - -She hoped he would kiss her; but he did not. He reluctantly released -her hand, gave her a lingering look which she had not the vanity or the -buoyance rightly to interpret, then gazed slowly round the gardens, -brilliant, alluring, warm. She stood motionless and tense, watching his -big form, his strong shoulders and forcefully set head as he crossed the -gardens, went down the walk and through the gate, to be hidden by the -hedge between the lawns and the street. When the last echo of his firm -step had ceased in her ears, she collapsed into the chair in which he -had sat, and was all passion and tenderness and tears and longings and -fears. - -"He thinks me cold! He thinks me cold!" she cried. "Oh, Father, why -won't You let me be weak? Why can't I take less than all? Why can't I -trust him, when I love him so!" - - - - - *XXX* - - *BY A TRICK* - - -By itself, Armstrong's insult to Fosdick in refusing to "take care of" -his son-in-law would have been of small consequence, unpleasant reminder -of his shorn power and rude check to his benevolent instincts though it -was. Fosdick was not likely, at least soon, to forget his lesson in the -wisdom of letting the big Westerner alone. Also, Armstrong was useful -to him--not so useful as a tool in the same position would have been; -still, far more useful than a representative of some hostile interest. -But this insult was the latest and the rashest of a series of similar -insults which Armstrong had been distributing right and left with an -ever freer, ever bolder hand. While he was "thinking over" Neva's plain -talk with him, he, by more than mere coincidence, was experimenting with -a new policy which was in the general direction of the one he had -adopted as soon as he got control of the O.A.D. It was a policy of -"anti-graft"; and once he had inaugurated it, once he had begun to look -about him in the O.A.D. for opportunities to stop the plundering, and -the pilfering as well, he had pushed on far beyond where he originally -intended to halt--as a strong man always does, whatever the course he -chooses. - -Everyone belongs to some section or class. He may quarrel with -individuals in that class, he may quarrel with individuals in another -class, or with the whole of it; but he may not break with the whole of -his own class. Be he cracksman or financier or preacher or carpenter or -lawyer or what not, he must be careful not to get his own class, as a -class, against him. If he does, he will find himself alone, -defenseless, doomed. Armstrong belonged to the class financier; he had -been in finance all his grown-up life. He stood for the idea financier -in the minds of financiers, in his own mind, in the public mind. His -battles with his fellow-financiers, being within the class lines, had -strengthened him, had given him clear title to recognition as a power in -finance; he had been like the politician who fights his way through and -over his fellow politicians to a nomination or a boss-ship, like the -preacher who bears off the bishopric from his rivals, the doctor who -absorbs the patronage of the rich, the lawyer who succeeds in the -competition among lawyers for the position of chief pander to the -plutocratic appetite for making and breaking laws. - -But this new policy of Armstrong's was a policy of war on his own class. -Cutting down commissions, cutting out "good things," lopping off -sinecures, bisecting salaries--why, he was hacking away at the very -foundations of the dominance of his class! No privileges, no -parasitism, no consideration for gentlemen, no "soft snaps," no -ornaments on the pay rolls--where were the profits to come from, the -profits that enabled the big fellows to fatten, that filled the crib for -their business and social hangers-on? Reform, economy, stoppage of -waste, all these were excellent to talk about; and, within limits that -recognized the rights of the dominant classes, even might be practiced -without offense, especially by a fellow trying to make a reputation and -judiciously doing it at the expense of financiers who had lost their -grip and so could expect no quarter. But to raise the banner of -"anti-graft" for a serious campaign-- Anarchy, socialism, chaos! - -Armstrong had inaugurated and was pressing a war on his own class. And -for whose benefit? Not for his own; he wasn't enriching himself--and -therein was a Phariseeism, an effort to pose as a censor of his class, -that alone would have made him a suspicious character. He was fighting -his own class, was making traitorous, familicidal war for the benefit of -the common enemy--the vast throng of the people who hated the upper -classes, as everybody knew, and were impudently restless in their -God-appointed position of hewers of wood and drawers of water for the -financial aristocracy. Were not the people weakening dangerously in -reverence for and gratitude to their superiors, the great and good men -who provided them with work, took care of their savings for them, -supported the church that guarded their souls and the medical profession -that healed their bodies, paid all the taxes, undertook all the large -responsibilities--and did this truly godlike work, supported this -Atlantean burden, in exchange for a trivial commission that brought no -benefit but the sorrows of luxury? These were the ignoramuses Armstrong -was inflating, these the ingrates he was encouraging. Already he had -doubled the dividends of the O.A.D., had made them a seeming rebuke to -the other insurance companies. Competition--yes! But not the cutthroat, -wicked, ruinous competition that would destroy his own class, its -profits and its power. If he were permitted to persist, the clamor for -so-called "honesty" might spread from policy holders to stockholders, to -wage earners, to the whole mass of the wards of high finance. And they -might compel the upper class to grant them more money to waste in drink -and in wicked imitation of the luxury of their betters! - -Armstrong was expelling himself from his own class--into what? Except -in finance, high finance, what career was there for him? He would be -like a politician without a party, like a general without an army, like -a preacher without a parish, like a disbarred lawyer. His reputation -would be gone--for morality is a relative word, and by his conduct he -was convincing the only class important to him as a man of action that -he had not the morality of his class, that he could not be trusted with -its interests. Every era, every race, every class has its own morality, -its own practical application of the general moral code to its peculiar -needs. The class financier, in the peculiar circumstances surrounding -life in the new era, had its code of what was honest and what dishonest, -what respectable and what disreputable, what loyal and what disloyal. -Under that code his new course was disloyal, disreputable, was -positively dishonest. It would avail him nothing, should other classes -vaguely approve; if his own class condemned, he was damned. - -"A hell of a mess I'm getting into," reflected he, "with trying to play -one game by the rules of another." He saw his situation clearly, but he -had no disposition to turn back. "All in a lifetime!" he concluded with -a shrug. "I'll just see what comes of it. Anything but monotony." To -him monotony, the monotony of simply taking in and putting away for his -own use money confided to him, was the dullest of lives--and it was -beginning to seem the most contemptible--"like going through the pockets -of sleepers," said he to himself. - -He saw the storm coming. Not that there were any clouds or gusty winds; -the great storms, the cyclones, don't come that way. No, his sky was -serene all round; everything looked bright, brilliant. But there was an -ominous stillness in the air--that dead, dead calm which fills an -experienced weather expert with misgivings. Before the great storms -that explode out of those utter calms, the domestic animals always act -queerly; and, in this case, that sign was not lacking. The big fellows -beamed on him, were most polite, most eager for his friendship. Not so -the little fellows--the underlings, both in the O.A.D. and in its allied -banks and in the institutions of high finance into which Armstrong -happened to go. At sight of him they became agitated, nervous, stood -aloof, watched him furtively. - -But he went his new way steadily, as if he did not know what was -impending. It secretly amused him greatly to observe his directors. -The new board he had selected was composed of men of substantial -fortune, who were just outside high finance--business men, trained in -business methods. But they had been agitated by what they had seen and -heard and read of the financiers--of the vast fortunes quickly made, of -the huge mysterious profits, of the great enterprises where the -financier risked only other people's money, and stood to lose nothing if -the venture failed, kept all the profits if it succeeded. They longed -for these fairylike lands where money grew on bushes and the rivers ran -gold. And when they were invited into the directory of the O.A.D., they -thought they were at last sweeping through the gates from the real world -of business to the Hesperian Gardens of finance. As they sat at the -meetings, hearing Armstrong and his lieutenants give accounts of -economies and safe investments and profits for the policy holders, each -felt like a child who had been led to believe it was going to a -Christmas festival and finds that it has been lured into a regular -session of the Sunday school. Why, the honor and the director's fees -were all there was in it! - -Then there were the agents, the officials, the staff of the company, -high and low, far and near. To the easy-going, golden days of finance -had succeeded these sober days of business. Instead of generosity, free -flinging about of the money that came in so easily, there was now the -most rigid economy--"regular, damn, pinch-penny honesty," complained -Duncan, the magnificent agent at Chicago. "I tell you frankly, -Armstrong, I'm going to get out. It isn't worth the while of a man of -my ability to work for what the company now allows." - -"Sorry to lose you, old man," said Armstrong, "but we can't allow any -secret rake-offs." - -It was Duncan who precipitated the cyclone. A cyclone at its start is a -little eddy of air which happens to be set whirling by a chance twist of -a sunbeam glancing from a cloud. Millions of these eddies occur every -hour everywhere. Only when conditions are just right does a cyclone -result, does the eddy continue to whirl, draw more and more air in -commotion, get a forward impulse that increases, until in an incredibly -short space of time destruction is raging over the land. The conditions -in the O.A.D. were just right. Armstrong was hated by the whole -personnel, at home and abroad, and hated as only the man is hated who -cuts his fellows off from "easy money." And he had not a friend. -Throughout high finance, he was hated and feared; at any moment, as the -result of his doings, some other big institution, all other big -institutions might have to adopt his policy. Directors, presidents, -officials great and small, all the recipients of the profits from the -system of using other people's money as if it were your own, regarded -him as a personal enemy. When Duncan said to one of his fellow agents, -"We must get that chap out," the right eddy had been started. - -Within two weeks, Duncan was at the head of an association of agents -gathering proxies from the policy holders to oust the Armstrong regime. -Duncan and his fellow conspirators sent out a circular, calling -attention to the recent rise in the profits to policy holders. "It is -evident," said the circular, "that there has been mismanagement of our -interests, and that the present powers have been frightened into giving -us a little larger part of our own. We ought to have it all! Send your -proxies to the undersigned, that the O.A.D. may be reorganized upon an -honest, democratic basis. A new broom, a clean sweep!" - -Duncan in person came to Armstrong with one of the circulars. "There's -nothing underhand about me," said he as he handed it to the president. -"Here's our declaration of war." - -Armstrong glanced at it, smiled satirically. "You've sent copies to the -newspapers also, haven't you?" replied he. "As you couldn't possibly -keep the matter secret, I can't get excited about your candor." And he -tossed the circular on his desk. - -"When you read it, you'll see we're fighting fair," said Duncan. - -"I've read it," was Armstrong's answer. "One of my friends among the -agents sent me a copy a week ago--the day you drew it up." - -Duncan began to "hedge." "I don't want you to have any hard feelings -toward me," said he. "All the boys were hot for this thing, and I had -to go in with them." - -"You were displaced as general Western agent this morning," said -Armstrong tranquilly. "I telegraphed your assistant to take charge. I -also telephoned him a memorandum of what you owe the company, with -instructions to bring suit unless you paid up in three days." - -"It ain't fair to single me out this way," cried Duncan. "It's -persecution." - -"I haven't singled you out," said Armstrong. "I bounced the whole crowd -of you at the same time, and in the same way. You charge me with -extravagance. Well, you see, I've admitted the charge and have begun to -retrench." - -Duncan's fat, round face was purple and his brown eyes were glittering. -"You think you've done us up," said he, with a nasty laugh. "But you're -not as 'cute' as you imagine. We provided against just that move." - -"I see that your committee of policy holders to receive proxies are -dummies," replied Armstrong. "I know all about your arrangements." - -"Then you know we're going to win." - -Armstrong looked indifferent. "That remains to be seen," said he. -"Good morning." - -When Duncan had got himself out of the room, Armstrong laid the circular -beside the one he himself had written and sent to each of the seven -hundred thousand policy holders. His circular was a straight-forward -statement of the facts--of how and why his policy of economy had stirred -up all the plunderers of the company, great and small. It ended with a -request that proxies be sent direct to him, by those who wished the new -order to persist and did not wish a return to the old order with its -long-standing and grave abuses. He compared the two circulars and -laughed at himself. "Mine's the unvarnished truth," thought he. "But -it doesn't sound as probable, as reasonable, as Duncan's lies. If the -policy holders do stand by me, it'll be because most people are fools -and hit it right by accident. Most of us are never so wrong as in our -way of being right. The wise thing is always to assume that the crowd -that's in is crooked." - -If Armstrong had been a reformer, with the passion to reorganize the -world on his own private plan, and in the event of the world's failure -to recognize his commission as vice-regent of the Almighty, ready to -denounce it as a hopeless case--if Armstrong had been a professional -regenerator, those would have been trying days for him. The measures he -took that were the most honest and the most honorable were the very -measures that made the other side strong. He had weeded out a multitude -of grafters and had shown an inflexible purpose to weed out the rest; -and so he had organized and made powerful the conspiracy to restore -graft. He had attacked the men--the big agents--who were using their -influence with the policy holders to enable them to rob freely; and so -he had stirred up those traitors still further to cozen their victims. -He had cut down the enormous subsidies to the press, had cut off the -graft of the great financiers who were the powers behind the great -organs of public opinion; and so he had enlisted the press as an open -and most helpful ally of the conspirators. The policy holders were told -by agents--whom they knew personally and regarded as their -representatives--that Armstrong was the "thieving tool of the Wall -Street crowd"; the policy holders read in their newspapers that "on the -whole the O.A.D. would probably benefit by a new management selected by -the body of the policy holders themselves." It was ridiculous, it was -tragic. Armstrong laughed, with a heavy and at times a bitter heart. -"I don't blame the poor devils," he said. "How are they to know? I'm -the damn fool, not they--I who, dealing with men all these years, have -put myself in a position where I am appealing from the men who run the -people to the people, who always have been run and always will be." - -Still, he began to hope against hope, as the proxies rolled in for -him--by hundreds, by thousands, by tens of thousands. Most of the -letters accompanying the proxies justified his cynical opinion that the -average man is never so wrong as when he is right; the writers gave the -most absurd reasons for supporting him, not a few of them frankly saying -that it was to the best interest of the company to leave the control to -the man who was in with the powers of Wall Street! But there were -letters, hundreds of them, from men and women who showed that they -understood the situation; and, curiously enough, most of these letters -were badly written, badly spelled, letters from so-called ignorant -people. It was a striking exhibit of how little education has to do -with brains. "I've always said," thought Armstrong, "that our rotten -system of education is responsible for most of the fools and all the -damn fools, but I never before knew how true it was." - -And the weeks passed, and the annual meeting and election drew nearer -and nearer. Instead of Armstrong's agitation increasing, it disappeared -entirely. Within, he was as calm as he had all along seemed at the -surface. It was an unexpected reward for trying to do the square thing. -He was eminently practical in his morals, was the last man in the world -to turn the other cheek, was disposed to return a blow both in kind and -in degree. But he knew, also, that the calm he now felt was due to the -changed course, could never have been his in the old course. - -On the morning of the great day, he stopped shaving to look into his own -eyes reflected in the glass. "Old man," said he aloud, "there's much to -be said for being clean--reasonably, humanly clean. It begins to have -compensations sooner than the preachers seem to think." - - -As Armstrong entered the splendid assembly chamber of the new O.A.D. -building, the first figure his eyes hit upon was that of Hugo Fosdick, -entering at the opposite door. To look at him was like hearing a good -joke. He was walking as if upon air, head rearing, lofty brow -corrugated, eyes rolling and serious, shoulders squared as if bearing -lightly a ponderous burden. Of all the trifles that flash and wink out -upon the expanse of the infinite, the physically vain man seems the most -trivial. The so-called upper classes, being condemned to think about -themselves almost all the time, furnish to the drama of life the most of -the low comedy, with their struttings and swellings and posings. Those -who in addition to class vanity have physical vanity are the clowns of -the great show. Hugo was of the clowns--and he dressed the part, that -day. He had on a tremendously loud tweed suit, a billycock hat of a -peculiar shade of brown to match, a huge plaid overcoat; he was wearing -a big, rough-looking chrysanthemum that seemed of a piece with his tie; -he diffused perfume like a woman who wishes to be known by the scent she -uses. As he drew off his big, thick driving gloves, he gazed grandly -around. His eyes met Armstrong's, and his haughty lip curled in a -supercilious smile. - -"Did you come down in an auto?" some one asked him. - -"No, not in an auto," he said in a voice intended to be heard by all. -"I drove down. I've dropped the auto--it's become vulgar, like the -bicycle. It was merely a fad, and the best people soon exhausted it. -There's no chance for individual taste in those mechanical things, as -there is in horses. Anyone can get together the best there is going in -automobiles; but how many men can provide themselves with well turned -out traps--horses, harness, the men on the box, just as a gentleman's -turnout should be?" - -One of the Western men laughed behind his hand, and said, "Wot t' hell!" -But most of the assembly gazed rather awedly at Hugo. They would have -thought him ridiculous had he been presented to them as a -laugh-provoker; but, as he was presented as a representative of the "top -notch" of New York, they were respectfully silent and obediently -impressed. - -And now, with Randall, a Duncan man, in the chair, the meeting -began--formalities, reading of reports to which nobody listened, making -of motions in which nobody was interested. Half an hour of this, with -the tension increasing. Duncan had dry-smoked three cigars, and the -corners of his fat mouth were yellow with tobacco stains; Hugo, -struggling hard for a gentleman's _sang froid_, had half torn out the -sweat band of his pot hat, had bit his lip till it bled. He was -watching Armstrong, was hating him and envying him--for the big -Westerner sat at the right of the chairman with no more trace of -excitement on his face than there is in the features of a bronze Buddha -who has been staring cross-legged into Nirvana for twenty-five -centuries. - -Nor did he rouse himself when the election began, though a nervous -shiver like an electric shock visibly shook every other man in the room. -His lieutenants proposed his list of candidates; Duncan's men proposed -the "Popular" list; the voting began. Barry, for Armstrong, cast -sixty-two thousand four hundred and fifteen votes--the proxies that had -come in for Armstrong in answer to his appeal and also the uncanceled -proxies of those he had had since the beginning of his term. Duncan and -his crowd burst into a cheer, and in rapid succession nine of them cast -forty-three thousand and eleven votes. Then they turned anxious eyes on -Hugo. Armstrong, too, looked at him. He could not understand. Hugo's -name was not on the Duncan list of persons to whom the "new broom" -proxies were to be sent. Hugo, pale and trembling, rose. He fixed -revengeful, triumphant, gloating eyes upon Armstrong and addressed him, -as he said to the chairman, "For Mr. Wolcott here, I cast for the -Popular, or anti-Armstrong ticket, the proxies of ninety thousand six -hundred and four policy holders." - -Armstrong looked at Hugo as if he were not seeing him; indeed, he seemed -almost oblivious of his surroundings, as if he were absorbed in some -tranquil, interesting mental problem. Silence followed Hugo's -announcement, and the porters brought in and piled upon the huge table, -over against the now insignificant bundles of Armstrong's proxies, the -packages which were the tangible demonstration of the overwhelming force -and power of his foes. As the porters completed their task, the -spectacle became so inspiring to Duncan and his friends that they forgot -their dignity, and gave way to their feelings. They yelled, they tossed -their hats; they embraced, shook hands, gave each other resounding slaps -upon the shoulders. Hugo condescended to join in their jubilations, -never taking his eyes off Armstrong's face. Armstrong and Barry and -Driggs sat silent, Armstrong impassive, Barry frowning, Driggs gnawing -his mustache. Armstrong's gaze went from face to face of these "policy -holders"; on each he saw written the basest emotions--emotions from the -jungle, emotions of tusk and claw. The O.A.D. with all its vast -treasures was theirs to despoil--and they were clashing their fangs and -licking their savage chops in anticipation of the feast. The vast -majority of the policy holders had been too indifferent to respond to -the appeal of either side--this, though the future of their widows and -their orphans was at stake! Of those who had responded, the -overwhelming majority had declared against Armstrong. - -He had long known it would be so and had resolved to accept the "popular -mandate." But the gleam of those greedy eyes, the grate of that greedy, -gloating laughter, was too horrible. "I _can't_ let things go to hell -like this!" he muttered--and he leaned toward Driggs and said in an -undertone, "I've changed my mind. Carry out my original programme." - -Driggs suddenly straightened himself, and his face changed from gloom to -delight, then sobered into alert calmness. Gradually the victors -quieted down. "Close the polls!" called Duncan. "Nobody else is going -to vote." - -"Before closing the polls, Mr. Chairman," said Driggs, "or, rather, -before the proxies offered by Mr. Fosdick are accepted, I wish to ask -Mr. Wolcott a question." And he turned toward young Wolcott, a distant -relative and henchman of Duncan's and one of the three men in whose -names stood all the "new-broom" proxies. - -"How old are you, Mr. Wolcott, please?" - -Wolcott stared at him, glanced at Hugo, at Duncan, grinned. "None of -your business," drawled he. "I may say none of your damn business." - -Driggs smiled blandly, turned to the chairman. "As a policy holder in -the O.A.D.," he said gently, "I ask that all the proxies on which the -name of Howard C. Wolcott appears be thrown out." - -Duncan and Hugo sprang up. "What kind of trick is this?" shouted Duncan -at Armstrong. - -Armstrong seemed not to be listening, was idly twisting his slender gold -watch guard round his forefinger. - -"By the constitution of the association," proceeded Driggs, "proxies -given to anyone under thirty years of age or to any committee any of -whose members is under thirty years are invalid. I refer you to Article -nine, Section five." - -"But Wolcott's over thirty," bawled Duncan. - -"I'm thirty-one--thirty-two the sixth of next month," blustered Wolcott. -"I demand to be sworn." - -Driggs drew several papers from his pocket. "I have here," he pursued, -"an official copy of Wolcott's application for a marriage license, in -which he gives the date of his birth. Also the sworn statement of the -physician who presided over his entrance into this wicked world. Also, -an official copy of Wolcott's statement to the election registrars of -Peoria, where he lives. All these documents agree that Mr. Wolcott is -not yet twenty-nine." Driggs leaned back and smiled benevolently at -Wolcott. "I think Mr. Wolcott's own testimony would be superfluous." - -"This is infamous--infamous!" cried Hugo, hysterically menacing -Armstrong with his billycock hat and big driving gloves and -crimson-fronted head. - -"Of all the outrages ever attempted, this is the most brazen!" shouted -Duncan. - -"Mr. Chairman," said Driggs, in that same gentle voice, not unlike the -purring of a stroked cat, "I believe the Constitution is self-executing. -As I understand it, all the proxies collected for the Duncan-Fosdick -party are on the same form--the one authorizing Wolcott and two others -to cast the vote. Thus, the only legal votes cast are those for the -regular ticket." - -"The election must be postponed!" Duncan screamed, waving his fists and -then beating them upon the table. "This outrage must not go on." - -The chairman, Randall, had been a Duncan man. He now fled to the -victors. "There is no legal way to postpone, Mr. Duncan," he responded -coldly. "No other votes offering, I declare the polls closed. Shall we -adjourn until this day week, gentlemen, according to custom, so that the -tellers may have time to examine the vote and report?" - -Armstrong spoke for the first time. "Move we adjourn," he said, rising -like a man who is weary from sitting too long in the same position. -Barry seconded; the meeting stood adjourned. Armstrong, followed by -Barry and Driggs, withdrew. - -As soon as they had gone, Hugo blazed on Duncan. "You are responsible -for this!" he cried. "You damn fool!" - -Duncan stared stupidly. Then, by a reflex action of the muscles rather -than as the result of any order from his dazed brain, his great, -fat-cushioned fist swung into Hugo's face and Hugo was flat upon his -back on the floor. - -"Come on, boys," said Duncan. "Let's go have a drink and feel ourselves -for broken bones." - - - - - *XXXI* - - *"I DON'T TRUST HIM"* - - -Armstrong was now the man of the hour, the one tenant of the public -pillories who was sure of a fling from every passer. The press shrieked -at him, the pulpit thundered; the policy holders organized into state -associations and threatened. Those who had sent him proxies wrote -revoking them and denouncing him as having betrayed their confidence. -Those who had given the Duncan crowd their proxies wrote excoriating him -for taking advantage of a technicality to cheat them out of their rights -and to gain one year more of power to plunder. - -"It's a blistering shame!" cried Barry, wrought up over some -particularly vicious attack. "It's so infernally unjust!" - -"I don't agree with you," replied Armstrong, as judicial as his friend -was infuriate. "The people are right; they simply are right in the -wrong way. They think I'm part of the system of wholesale, respectable -pocket-picking that has grown up in this country. You can't blame 'em. -And it does look ugly, my using that technical point to save myself." - -"I suppose you wish you had stuck to your first scheme," said Barry, -sarcastic, "and had let the Duncan broom sweep the safes." - -"No, I don't repent," replied Armstrong. "When I decided to save the -policy holders in spite of themselves, I knew this was coming. When you -try to save a mule from a burning stable, you're a fool to be surprised -if you get kicked." - -"You're not going to pay any attention to these yells for you to -resign?" Barry asked, even more alarmed than he showed. - -"No, I'll not resign," said Armstrong. - -"Then you ought to do something, ought to meet these charges. You ought -to fight back." Barry had been waiting for three weeks in daily -expectation; but Armstrong had not moved, had given no sign that he was -aware of the attack. - -"Yes, it is about time, I guess," said he. "Beginning to-day, I am going -to clean out of the O.A.D. all that's left of the old gang." - -Barry looked at him as if he thought he had gone crazy. "Why, Horace, -that'll simply raise hell!" he said. "We'll be put out by force. You -know what everybody'll say." - -Armstrong leaned back in his chair, put his big hands behind his head -and beamed on his first lieutenant. "It wouldn't surprise me if we had -to call on the police for protection before the end of next week." - -"The governor'll be forced to act," urged Barry. "As it is, he's -catching it for keeping his hands off." - -"Don't be alarmed. Morris understands the situation. We had a talk -last night--met on a corner and walked round in quiet streets for two -hours." - -"He sent for you, did he?" - -"Yes. He was weakening. But he's all right again." - -"Well, I don't see the advantage in this new move, in making a bad -matter worse." - -"The worse it gets, the quicker it'll improve when the turn comes," -Armstrong answered. "I've got to get rid of the old gang--you know -that. They were brought up on graft. They look on it as legitimate. -They never'll be right again, and if a single one of them stays, he'll -rot our new force. So out they all go. Now, as it's got to be done, -the best time is right now, and have it over with. I tell you, Jim," -and Armstrong brought his fist down on the desk, "I'm going to put this -company in order if I'm thrown into jail the day after I've done it! -But I ain't going to jail. I'm going to stay right here, and, inside of -six months, the crowd that's howling loudest for my blood will be -sending me proxies and praying that I'll live forever." - -"I wish I could think so," muttered Barry gloomily. - -"So you've lost confidence in me, too?" Armstrong said this with more -mockery than reproach. "It's lucky I don't rely on confidence in me to -get results, isn't it? Well, Jim----" - -"Oh, I'll stand by you, Armstrong, faith or no faith," interrupted -Barry. - -"Thanks," said Armstrong, somewhat dryly. "But I'm bound to tell you -that the result will be just the same, whether you do or not. If you -want to accept Trafford's offer that you have taken under consideration, -don't hesitate on my account." - -Barry was scarlet. "It was on account of my family," he stammered. "My -wife's been at me to----" - -"Of course she has," said Armstrong. "Don't say any more." - -"She's like all the women," Barry insisted on saying. "She likes luxury -and all that, and she's afraid I'll lose my hold, and she knows how -generous Trafford is." - -"Yes," drawled Armstrong. "This country is full of that kind of -generosity nowadays--generosity with other people's money." - -"The women don't think about that side of it," said Barry. "They think -that as pretty much everybody's doing that sort of thing--everybody that -is anybody--why, it must be all right. And, by gad, Horace, sometimes -it almost seems to me I'm a fool, a dumb one, to stick to the -old-fashioned ways. Why be so particular about not taking people's -property when they leave it around and don't look after it themselves, -and when somebody else'll take it, if I don't--somebody who won't make -as good use of it as I would?" - -"The question isn't whose property it is, but whose property it isn't," -said Armstrong. "And, when it isn't ours, why--I guess 'hands off' is -honest--and decent." And then he colored and his eyes shifted, as if -the other could read in them the source of this idea which he had -thought and spoken as if it were his own. - -"That's my notion, too," said Barry. "I suppose I'll never be rich. -But--" His face became splendidly earnest--"by heaven, Armstrong, I'll -never leave my children a dollar that wasn't honestly got." - -"We're rowing against the tide, Jim. You can't even console yourself -that your children would rather have had the heritage of an honest name -than the millions. And if you don't leave 'em rich, they'll either have -to plunge in and steal a fortune or become the servants of some rich man -or go to farming. No, even independent farming won't be open by the -time they grow up." - -"Well, I'm going to keep on," replied Barry. "And so are you." - -Armstrong laughed silently. "Guess you're right," said he. "God knows, -I tried hard enough to turn my boat round and row the other way. But -she would swing back. Queer about that sort of thing, isn't it? I -wonder, Jim, how many of the men most of us look on as obscurities and -failures are in the background or down because there was that queer -something in them that wouldn't let them subscribe to this code of -sneak, stab, and steal? We're in luck not to have been trampled clean -under--and our luck may not hold." - -A few days, and Barry decided that their luck was in the last tailings. -Armstrong's final move produced results that made the former tempests -seem mere fresh weather. The petty grafters and parasites he now -dislodged in a body were insignificant as individuals; but each man had -his coterie of friends; each was of a large group in each city or town, -a group of people similarly dependent upon small salaries and grafting -from large corporations. The whole solidarity burst into an uproar. -Armstrong was getting rid of all the honest men; he was putting his -creatures in their places, so that there might be no check on the flow -of plunder from the pockets of policy holders into his own private -pocket. The man was the greediest as well as the most insolent of -thieves! This was the cry in respectable circles throughout the -country--for his "victims" were all of "good" families, were the -relatives, friends, dependents of the leading citizens, each in his own -city or town. - -"Don't you think you'd better stop until things have quieted down a -bit?" asked Barry, when the work was about half done. - -"Go right on!" said Armstrong. "Tear up the last root. We must stand -or fall by this policy. If we try to compromise now, we're lost. The -way to cut off a leg is to cut it off. There's a chance to survive a -clean cut, but not a bungle." - -A fortnight, and all but a few of his personal friends in the board of -directors resigned after the board had, with only nine negative votes, -passed a resolution requesting him to resign. And finally, the policy -holders held a national convention at Chicago, and appointed a committee -of five to go to New York and "investigate the O.A.D. from garret to -cellar, especially cellar." - -"Now!" cried Armstrong jubilantly, when the telegram containing the news -was laid before him. - - -On a Thursday morning the newspapers told the whole country about the -convention, the committee, the impending capture of "the bandit." On -Saturday toward noon, Armstrong got a note: "I am stopping with -Narcisse. Won't you come to see me this afternoon, or to-morrow--any -time?--Neva." - -He read the note twice, then tore it into small pieces and tossed them -into the wastebasket. "Not I!" said he aloud, with a frown at the bits -of violet note paper. Through all those weeks he had been hoping for, -expecting, a message from her--something that would help him to feel -there was in this world of enemies and timid, self-interested friends, -at least the one person who understood and sympathized. But not a word -had come; and his heart, so hard when it was hard, and so sensitive when -it was touched at all, was sore and bitter. - -Nevertheless, it was he and none other who appeared at five that -afternoon, less than a block from Narcisse's house; and he wandered in -wide circles about the neighborhood for at least an hour before his -pride could shame him into dragging himself away. At three the next -afternoon he rang Narcisse's bell. The man servant showed him into her -small oval gray and dull gold salon which Raphael once said was probably -the most perfect room in the modern world. Adjoining it was a -conservatory, the two rooms being separated only by an alternation of -mirrors and lattices, the lattices overrun with pink rambler in full -bloom--and in the mirrors and through the opposite windows Armstrong saw -the snow falling and lying white upon the trees and the lawns of the -Park. In the center of the room was an open fire, its flue descending -from the ceiling, but so constructed that it and its oval chimney-piece -added to the effect of the room almost as much as the glimpses of the -conservatory, seen through the rambler-grown lattices. And the scent -of-growing flowers perfumed the air. These surroundings, this sudden -summer bursting and beaming through the snow and ice of winter, had -their inevitable effect upon Armstrong. He was beginning to look -favorably upon several possible excuses for Neva. "She may not have -heard of my troubles," he reflected. "She doesn't read the newspapers, -and people wouldn't talk to her of anything concerning me." - -She came in hurriedly, swathed in a coat of black broadtail, made very -simply, its lines following her long, slim figure. The color was high -in her cheeks; from her garments diffused the freshness of the winter -air. "I shouldn't have been out," she explained, "but I had to go to -see some one--Mrs. Trafford, who is ill." - -Then he noted that her face was thinner than when he last saw it, that -the look out of the eyes was weary. And for the moment he forgot his -bitterness over her "utter desertion" of him when he really needed the -cheer only a friend, a real friend, one beyond the suspicion of a -possibility of self-interest, can give; deserted him in troubles which -she herself had edged him on to precipitate. "When did you come?" he -asked. - -"Yesterday--yesterday morning. You see I sent you word immediately." - -He looked ironic. "I saw in the newspaper this morning that Raphael -landed yesterday." - -"He dined here last night," replied she. - -He turned as if about to go. "I can't imagine why you bothered to send -for me," he said. - -She showed that she was astonished and hurt. "Horace," she appealed, -"why do you say that? I read about all those troubles." - -"So, you did know!" He gave an abrupt, grim laugh. "And as you were -coming on to see Raphael, why, you thought you'd do an act of Christian -charity. Well, I wish I could oblige, but really, I don't need charity." - -She made no answer, simply sighed and drooped. When the country was -ringing with denunciations of him, "He will see the truth now," she had -said to herself, "now that the whole world is showing it to him instead -of only one person and she a woman." Then, with the bursting of the -great storm over his single head, she dismissed all but the one central -truth, that she loved him, and came straightway to New York. - -Well, here they were face to face; and as she looked at him in his -strength and haughtiness, she saw in his face, as if etched in steel, -inflexible determination to persist in the course that was making him an -object of public infamy, justly, she had to admit. "The madness for -money and for crushing down his fellow beings has him fast," she -thought. "There isn't anything left in him for his good instincts to -work on." She seated herself wearily. - -"Let's talk no more about it," she said to him. - -"You've been reading the papers?" he asked. - -"Yes--I read--all." - -"It must have been painful to you," said he with stolid sarcasm. - -She did not answer. In this mood of what seemed to her the most -shameless defiance of all that a human being would respect if he had -even a remnant of self-respect, he was almost repellent. - -"So," he went on, in that same stolid way, "you sent for me to revel in -that self-righteousness you paraded the last time I saw you. Well, it -will chagrin you, I fear, to learn that the _scoundrel_ you tried to -redeem will escape from the toils again, and resume his wicked way." - -"I wish you would go," she entreated. "I can't bear it to-day." - -She was taking off her hat now, was having great difficulty in finding -its pins; its black fur brought out all the beauty of her bright brown -hair. The graceful, fascinating movements of her head, her arms, her -fingers, put that into his fury which made it take the bit in its teeth. - -"Are you and Raphael going to marry?" he demanded so roughly that she, -startled, stood straight up, facing him. "Yes, I see that you are," he -rushed on. "And it puts me beside myself with jealousy. But you would -be mistaken if you thought I meant I would have you, even if I could get -you. What you said the last time I saw you, interpreted by what you've -done since, has revealed you to me as what I used to think you--a woman -incapable of love--not a woman at all. You are of this new type--the -woman that uses her brain. Give me the old-fashioned kind--the kind -that loved, without question." - -She blazed out at him--at his savage, sneering voice and eyes. "Without -question," she retorted, "and whether he was on the right side or the -wrong. Loved the man who won, so long as he won; was gladly a mere part -of the spoils of victory--that was the feature of her the poets and the -novel writers neglect to mention. But it was important. You like that, -however--you who think only of fighting, as you call it--though that's -rather a brave name for the game you play, as you yourself have -described it to me and as the whole world now knows you play it. You'd -have no use for the woman who really loves, the woman who would be proud -to bear a man's name if she loved him, though it were black with -dishonor, provided he said, 'Help me make this name clean and bright -again.' Why should not a woman be as jealous of dishonor in her husband -as he is of it in her?" - -Narcisse entered, hesitated; then, seeing Armstrong hat in hand and -apparently going, she came on. "Hello," said she, shaking hands with -him. She took a cigarette from the big silver box on the table, lit it, -held the box toward Armstrong. "Smoke, and cheer up. The devil is said -to be dying." - -"Thanks, no, I must be off," replied Armstrong. He took a long look -round the room, ending at the rambler-grown lattices. He bowed to -Narcisse. His eyes rested upon Neva; but she was not looking at him, -lest love should win a shameful victory over self-respect and over her -feeling of what was the right course toward him if there was any meaning -in the words woman and wife. - -When he was gone, Narcisse stretched herself out, extended her feet -toward the flames. "What a handsome, big man he is," said she, sending -up a great cloud of cigarette smoke. "How tremendously a man. If he had -some of Boris's temperament, or Boris some of his, either would be -perfect." - -A pause, with both women looking into the fire. - -"After you left us last night," Narcisse continued, "Boris asked me to -marry him." - -Neva was startled out of her brooding. - -"I refused," proceeded Narcisse. Another silence, then, "You don't ask -why?" - -"Why?" - -"Because he's in love with _you_. He told me so. He made quite an -interesting proposition. He suggested that, as we were both alone and -got on so well together and worked along lines that were sympathetic yet -could not cross and cause clashes, that--as the only way we could be -friends without a scandal was by marrying--why, we ought to marry." - -"It seems unanswerable," said Neva. - -"If you had been married, _and_ in love with your husband, I think I'd -have accepted." - -"What nonsense!" - -"Not at all," replied Narcisse. "I don't trust any man, least of all a -Boris Raphael; and I don't trust any woman--not even you. The time -might come when you would change your mind. Then, where should _I_ be?" - -"I'll not change my mind." - -"That's beyond your control," retorted Narcisse. "But--when you marry, I -may risk it." - -Neva's thoughts went back to Armstrong. Presently she vaguely heard -Narcisse saying, "I've got to put up a stiffer fight against this -loneliness. Do you ever think of suicide?" - -"I don't believe any sane person ever does." - -"But who is sane? Solitary confinement will upset the steadiest brain." -She gazed strangely at Neva. "Look out, my dear. Don't _you_ act so -that you'll sentence yourself to a life of solitary confinement. Some -people are lucky enough not to be discriminating. They can be just as -happy with imitation friendship and paste love as if they had the real -thing. But not you--or I." - -"There's worse than being alone," said Neva. - -Another silence; then Narcisse, still in the same train of thought, went -on, "Several years ago we made a house for a couple up on the West -Side--a good-looking young husband and wife devoted to each other and to -their two little children. He lavished everything on her. I got to -know her pretty well. She was an intelligent woman--witty, with the -streak of melancholy that always goes with wit and the other keen -sensibilities. I soon saw she was more than unhappy, that she was -wretched. I couldn't understand it. A year or so passed, and the -husband was arrested, sent to the 'pen'--he made his money at a -disreputable business. Then I understood. Another year or so, and I -met her in Twenty-third Street. She was radiant--I never saw such a -change. 'My husband is to be released next month,' said she, quite -simply, like a natural human being who assumes that everybody -understands and sympathizes. 'And,' she went on, 'he has made up his -mind to live straight. We're going away, and we'll take a nice, new -name, and be happy.'" - -Neva had so changed her position that Narcisse could not see her slow, -hot tears that are the sweat of a heart in torment. To Narcisse, the -reason for that wife's wretchedness was an ever-present terror lest the -husband should be exposed. But Neva, more acutely sensitive, or -perhaps, because of what she had passed through, saw, or fancied she -saw, a deeper cause--beneath material terror of "appearances" the horror -of watching the manhood she loved shrivel and blacken, the horror of -knowing that the lover who lay in her arms would rise up and go forth to -prey, a crawling, stealthy beast. - -To understand a human being at all in any of his or her aspects, however -far removed from the apparently material, it is necessary to understand -how that man or woman comes by the necessities of life--food, clothing, -shelter. To study human nature either in the broad or in detail, -leaving those matters out of account, is as if an anatomist were to try -to understand the human body, having first taken away the vital organs -and the arteries and veins. It is the method of the man's income that -determines the man; and his paradings and posings, his loves, hatreds, -generosities, meannesses, all are either unimportant or are but the -surface signs of the deep, the real emotions that constitute the vital -nucleus of the real man. In the material relations of a man or a woman, -in the material relations of husband and wife, of parents and children, -lie the ultimate, the true explanations of human conduct. This has -always been so, in all ages and classes; and it will be so until the -chief concern of the human animal, and therefore its chief compelling -motive, ceases to be the pursuit of the necessities and luxuries that -enable it to live from day to day and that safeguard it in old age. The -filling and emptying and filling again of the purse perform toward the -mental and moral life a function as vital as the filling and emptying -and refilling of heart or lungs performs in the life of the body. - -Narcisse suspected Neva had turned away to hide some sad heart secret; -but it did not occur to her to seek a clew to it in the story she had -told. She had never taken into account, in her estimate of Armstrong, -his life downtown--the foundations and framework of his whole being. -This though, under her very eyes, to the torture of her loving heart, -just those "merely material" considerations had determined her brother's -downfall, while her own refusal of whatever had not been earned in honor -and with full measure of service rendered had determined her salvation. - -In the "Arabian Nights" there is the story of a man who marries a woman, -beautiful as she in Solomon's Song. He is happy in his love for her and -her love for him until he wakens one night, as she is stealing from his -side. He follows; she joins a ghoul at a ghoul's orgy in a graveyard. -Next morning there she lies by his side, in stainless beauty. Since her -father's death, not even when Armstrong was before Neva and his -magnetism was exerting its full power over her, not even then could she -quite forget the other Armstrong whom she had surprised at his -"business." She could no longer think of that "business" merely as -"doing what everybody has to do, to get on." She had seen what -"finance" meant; she could not picture Armstrong without the stains of -the ghoul orgy upon him. - -"And now," she thought despairingly, "he has broken finally and -altogether with honor and self-respect; has flung me out of his -life--forever!" - - -That night Narcisse took her to a concert at the Metropolitan. Her mind -was full of the one thought, the one hatred and horror, and she could -not endure the spectacle. The music struck upon her morbid senses like -the wailing and moaning of the poverty and suffering of millions that -had been created to enable those smiling, flashing hundreds to assemble -in splendor. "I must go!" she exclaimed at the first intermission. "I -can think only of those jewels and dresses, this shameless flaunting of -stolen goods--bread and meat snatched from the poor. You know these -women round us in the boxes. You know whose wives and daughters they -are. Where did the money come from?" She was talking rapidly, her eyes -shining, her voice quivering. "Do you see the Atwaters there with Lona -Trafford in their box? Do you know that Atwater just robbed a hundred -thousand more people of their savings by lying about an issue of bonds? -Do you know that Trafford steals outright one-third of every dollar the -poor people, the day laborers, intrust to him as insurance for their old -age and for their orphans? Do you know that Langdon there robs a -million farmers of their earnings and drives them to the mortgage and -the tax sale and pauperism and squalor--all so that the Langdons may -have palaces and carriages and the means to degrade thousands into -dependence and to steal more and more money from more and more people?" - -Narcisse's eyes traveled slowly round the circle, then rested in wonder -on Neva. "What set you to thinking of these things?" she asked. - -"What always sets a _woman_ to thinking?" - -When they reached home, Narcisse broke the silence to say, "After all, -it's nobody's fault. It's a system and they're the victims of it." - -"Because one has the chance to steal--that's no excuse for his -stealing," replied Neva, with a certain sternness in her face that -curiously reminded Narcisse of Armstrong. "Nor is it any excuse that -everyone is doing it, and so making it respectable. I'm going back -home--back where at least I shan't be tormented by seeing these things -with my very eyes." - -On impulse, perhaps tinged with selfishness, Narcisse exclaimed, "Neva, -why don't you marry Armstrong?" - -"Because I don't trust him," replied she. "One may love without trust, -but not marry." - -"Yet," said Narcisse, "I'd marry Boris, though I never could trust -him--never!" - -"If you had been married, you wouldn't do it," replied Neva. Then, "But -every case is individual, and everyone must judge for himself." - -"You know best--about Armstrong." - -"I should say I did!" exclaimed Neva bitterly. "There's no excuse for my -folly--none!" - - - - - *XXXII* - - *ARMSTRONG ASKS A FAVOR* - - -Neva, arranging to go West on the afternoon express, was stopped by a -note from Armstrong: - -"I hope you will come to my office at eleven to-morrow. I beg you not to -refuse this, the greatest favor, except one, that I have ever asked." - -At eleven the next morning she entered the ante-room to his office. He -and his secretary were alone there, he walking up and down with a -nervousness Morton had never seen in him. At sight of her, his manner -abruptly changed. "I was afraid something would happen to prevent your -coming," he said as they shook hands. He avoided her glance. "Thank -you. Thank you." And he took her into his inner office. "I have an -engagement--a meeting that will keep me a few minutes," he went on. -"It's only in the next room here." - -"Don't hurry on my account," said she. - -"I'll just put you at this desk here," he continued, with a curious -elaborateness of manner. "There are the morning's papers--and some -magazines. I shall be back--as soon as possible. You are sure you -don't mind?" - -"Indeed, no," she replied, seating herself. "This is most comfortable." - -There were sounds of several persons entering the adjoining room. "I'll -go now," said he. "The sooner I go, the sooner I shall be free. You -will wait?" - -"Here," she assured him, wondering that he would not let his eyes meet -hers even for an instant. - -He went into the next room, leaving the door ajar, but not widely enough -for her to see or to be seen. She took up a magazine, began a story. -The sound of the voices disturbed her. She heard enough to gather that -some kind of business meeting was going on, resumed the story. Suddenly -she heard Armstrong's voice. She listened. He, all of them, were so -near that she could hear every word. - -"You will probably be surprised to learn, gentlemen," he was saying, -loudly, clearly, "that I have been impatiently awaiting your coming. -And now that you are here, I shall not only give you every opportunity -to examine the affairs of the O.A.D., but I shall insist upon your -taking advantage of it to the fullest. I look to you, gentlemen, to end -the campaign of calumny against your association and its management." - -Neva's magazine had dropped into her lap. She knew now why he had asked -her to come. If only she could see! But no--that was impossible; she -must be content with hearing. She sat motionless, eager, yet in dread -too; for she knew that Armstrong had summoned her to his trial, that she -was to hear with her own ears the truth, the whole truth about him. The -truth! Would it seem to her as it evidently seemed to him? No matter; -she believed in him again. "At least," she said, "he _thinks_ he's -right, and the best man can get no nearer right than that." - -If she could have looked into the next room, she would have seen two -large tables, men grouped about each. At one were Armstrong and the -five committee-men, and the lawyer, Drew, whom they had brought with -them from Chicago to conduct the examination and cross-examinations. At -the other sat a dozen reporters from the newspapers. - -"I have told the gentlemen of the press," said Armstrong, "that my -impression was that the sessions of the committee were to be public. It -is, of course, for you to decide." - -Drew rubbed his long lean jaw reflectively. "I see, Mr. Armstrong," -said he, in a slow, bantering tone, "that you are disposed to assist us -to the extent of taking charge of the investigation. Now, I came with -the notion that _I_ was to do that, to whatever extent the committee -needed leading." - -"Then you do not wish the investigation to be public?" said Armstrong. - -"Public, yes," replied Drew. "But I doubt if we can conduct it so -thoroughly or so calmly, if our every move is made under the limelight." - -"Before we go any further," said Armstrong, "there is a matter I wish to -bring to the attention of the committee, which it might, perhaps, seem -better to you to keep from the press. If so, will you ask the reporters -to retire for a few minutes?" - -"Now, _there's_ just the kind of matter I think the press ought to -hear," said Drew. "_We_ haven't any secrets, Mr. Armstrong." - -"Very well," said Armstrong. "The matter is this: The campaign against -the O.A.D. and against me was instigated and has been kept up by Mr. -Atwater and several of his associates, owners and exploiters of our -rivals in the insurance business. In view of that fact, I think the -committee will see the gross impropriety, the danger, the disaster, I -may say, of having as its counsel, as its guide, one of Mr. Atwater's -personal lawyers?" - -"That's a lie," drawled Drew. - -Armstrong did not change countenance. He rested his gaze calmly on the -lawyer. "Where did you dine last night, Mr. Drew?" he asked. - -"This is the most impertinent performance I was ever the amused victim -of," said Drew. "You are on trial here, sir, not I. Of course, I shall -not answer your questions." - -Farthest from Drew and facing him sat the chairman of the committee, its -youngest member, Roberts of Denver--a slender, tall man, with sinews -like steel wires enwrapping his bones, and nothing else beneath a skin -tanned by the sun into leather. He had eyes that suggested the full-end -view of the barrel of a cocked revolver. "Speak your questions to me, -Mr. Armstrong," now said this quiet, dry, dangerous-looking person, "and -I'll put 'em to our counsel. Where _did_ you dine last night, Mr. Drew?" - -Drew glanced into those eyes and glanced away. "It is evidently Mr. -Armstrong's intention to foment dissension in the committee," said he. -"I trust you gentlemen will not fall headlong into his trap." - -"Why do you object to telling us where you dined last night?" asked -Roberts. - -"I can see no relevancy to our mission in the fact that I dined with my -old friend, Judge Bimberger." - -"Ask him how long he has known Judge Bimberger," said Armstrong. - -"I have known him for years," said Drew. "But I have not seen much of -him lately." - -"Then, ask him," said Armstrong to Roberts, "why it was necessary for -Mr. Atwater to give Bimberger a letter of introduction to him, a letter -which the judge sent up with his card at the Manhattan Hotel at four -o'clock yesterday afternoon." - -Drew smiled contemptuously, without looking at either Armstrong or the -chairman. "It was not a letter of introduction. It was a friendly note -Mr. Atwater asked the judge to deliver." - -"It had 'Introducing Judge Bimberger' on the envelope," said Armstrong. -"There it is." And he tossed an envelope on the table. - -Drew sprang to his feet, sank back with a ghastly grin. "You see, we -have a very clever man to deal with, gentlemen," said he, "a man who -stops at nothing, and is never so at ease as when he is stooping." - -"Ask him," pursued Armstrong tranquilly, "how much he made in counsel -fees from Atwater, from the Universal Life, from the Hearth and Home -Defender, last year." - -"I am counsel to a great many men and corporations," cried Drew, -ruffled. "You will not find a lawyer of my standing who has not -practically all the conspicuous interests as his clients." - -"Probably not," said Roberts dryly. "That's the hell of it for us -common folks." - -"Ask him," said Armstrong, "what arrangements he made with Bimberger to -pervert the investigation, to make it simply a slaughter of its present -management, to----" - -"Gentlemen, I appeal to you!" exclaimed Drew with great dignity. "I did -not come here to be insulted. I have too high a position at the bar to -be brought into question. I protest. I demand that this cease." - -"Ask him," said Armstrong, "what he and Bimberger and Atwater and -Langdon talked about at the dinner last night." - -"You have heard my protest, gentlemen," said Drew coldly. "I am -awaiting your answer." - -A silence of perhaps twenty seconds that seemed as many minutes. Then -Roberts spoke: "Well, Mr. Drew, in view of the fact that the reporters -are present----" - -Involuntarily Drew wheeled toward the reporters' table, wild terror in -his eyes. He had forgotten that the press was there; all in a rush, he -realized what those silent, almost effaced dozen young men meant--the -giant of the brazen lungs who would in a few brief hours be shrieking -into every ear, from ocean to ocean, the damning insinuations of -Armstrong. He tried to speak, but only a rattling sound issued from his -throat. - -"As the reporters are present," Roberts went on pitilessly--he had seen -too much of the tragic side of life in his years as Indian fighter and -cowboy to be moved simply by tragedy without regard to its cause--"I -think, and I believe the rest of the committee think, that you will have -to answer Mr. Armstrong's grave charges." - -Drew collected himself. "I doubt if a reputable counsel has ever been -subjected to such indignities," said he in his slow, dignified way. "I -not only decline to enter into a degrading controversy, I also decline -to serve longer as counsel to a committee which has so frankly put -itself in a position to have its work discredited from the outset." - -"Then you admit," said Roberts, "that you have entered into improper -negotiations with parties interested to queer this investigation?" - -"Such a charge is preposterous," replied Drew. - -"You admit that you deceived us a few moments ago as to your relations -with this judge?" pursued Roberts. - -Drew made no answer. He was calmly gathering together his papers. - -"I suggest that some one move that Mr. Drew's resignation be not -accepted, but that he be dismissed." - -"I so move," said Reed, the attorney-general of Iowa. - -"Second," said Bissell, a San Franciscan. - -The motion was carried, as Drew, head in the air, and features -inscrutably calm behind his dark, rough skin, marched from the room, -followed by several of the reporters. - -"As there are two lawyers on the committee," said Roberts, "it seems to -me we had better make no more experiments with outside counsel." - -The others murmured assent. "Let Mr. Reed do the questioning," -suggested Mulholland. It was agreed, and Reed took the chair which Drew -had occupied, as it was conveniently opposite to that in which Armstrong -was seated. The reporters who had pursued Drew now returned; one of -them said in an audible undertone to his fellow--"He wouldn't talk--not -a word," and they all laughed. - -"Now--Mr. Armstrong," said Reed, in a sharp, businesslike voice. - -"I was summoned," began Armstrong, "as the first witness, I assume. I -should like to preface my examination with a brief statement." - -"Certainly," said Reed. Roberts nodded. He had his pistol-barrel eyes -trained upon Armstrong. It was evident that Armstrong's exposure of -Drew, far from lessening Roberts's conviction that he was a bandit, had -strengthened it, had made him feel that here was an even wilier, more -resourceful, more dangerous man than he had anticipated. - -"For the past year and a half, gentlemen," said Armstrong, "I have been -engaged in rooting out a system of graft which had so infected the -O.A.D. that it had ceased to be an insurance company and had become, -like most of our great corporations, a device for enabling a few -insiders to gather in the money of millions of people, to keep -permanently a large part of it, to take that part which could not be -appropriated and use it in gambling operations in which the gamblers got -most of the profits and the people whose money supplied the stakes bore -all the losses. As the inevitable result of my effort to snatch the -O.A.D. from these parasites and dependents, who filled all the -positions, high and low, far and near, there has been a determined and -exceedingly plausible campaign to oust me. Latterly, instead of -fighting these plotters and those whom they misled, I have been silent, -have awaited this moment--when a committee of the policy holders would -appear. Naturally, I took every precaution to prevent that committee -from becoming the unconscious tool of the enemies of the O.A.D." - -Armstrong's eyes now rested upon the fifth member of the committee, De -Brett, of Ohio. De Brett's eyes slowly lowered until they were studying -the dark leather veneer of the top of the table. - -"I think," continued Armstrong, "that I have gone far enough in -protecting the O.A.D. and myself and my staff which has aided me in the -big task of expelling the grafters. I have here----" - -Armstrong lifted a large bundle of typewritten manuscript and let it -fall with a slight crash. De Brett jumped. - -"I have here," said Armstrong, "a complete account of my stewardship." - -De Brett drew a cautious but profound breath of relief. - -"It shows who have been dismissed, why they were dismissed, each man -accounted for in detail; what extravagances I found, how I have cut them -off; the contrast of the published and the actual conditions of the -company when I became its president, the present condition--which I may -say is flourishing, with the expenses vastly cut down and the profits -for the policy holders vastly increased. As soon as your committee -shall have vindicated the management, the O.A.D. will start upon a new -era of prosperity and will soon distance, if not completely put out of -business, its rivals, loaded down, as they are, with grafters." - -Armstrong took up the bundle of typewriting and handed it to Reed. -"Before you give that document to the press," he went on, "I want to -make one suggestion. The men who have been feeding on the O.A.D. are, -of course, personally responsible--but only in a sense. They are, -rather, the product of a system. No law, no safeguards will ever be -devised for protecting a man in the possession of anything which he -himself neglects and leaves open as a temptation to the appetites of the -less scrupulous of his fellow men. These ravagers of your property, of -our property, are like a swarm of locusts. They came; they found the -fields green and unprotected; they ate. They have passed on. They are -simply one of a myriad of similar swarms. If we leave our property -unguarded again, they will return. If we guard it, they will never -bother us again. The question is whether we--you--would or would not do -well to publish the names and the records of these men. Will it do any -good beyond supplying the newspapers with sensations for a few days? -Will the good be overbalanced by the harm, by the--if I may say so--the -injustice? For is it not unjust to single out these few hundreds of -men, themselves the victims of a system, many of them the unconscious -victims--to single them out, when, all over the land, wherever there is -a great unguarded property, their like and worse go unscathed, and will -be free to swell the chorus of more or less hypocritical denunciations -of them?" - -"We shall let no guilty man escape," said Roberts, eying Armstrong -sternly, "not even you, Mr. Armstrong, if we find you guilty." - -"If there is any member of the committee who can, after searching his -own life, find no time when he has directly or indirectly grafted or -aided and abetted graft or profits by grafting--or spared relatives or -friends when he caught them in the devious but always more or less -respectable ways of the grafter--if there is such a one, then--" -Armstrong smiled--"I withdraw my suggestion." - -"We must recover what has been stolen! We must send the thieves to the -penitentiary!" exclaimed Mulholland. - -"But you can do neither," said Armstrong. - -"And why not?" demanded Reed. - -"Because they have too many powerful friends. They own the departments -of justice here and at Washington. We should only waste the money of -the O.A.D., send good money after bad. As you will see in my statement -there, I have recovered several millions. That is all we shall ever get -back. However, I shall say no more. I am ready to answer any questions. -My staff is ready. The books are all at your disposal." - -"I think we had better adjourn now," said Reed, "and examine the papers -Mr. Armstrong has submitted--adjourn, say until Thursday morning. And -in the meanwhile, we will hold the document, if the rest of the -committee please, and not give it to the press. We must not give out -anything that has not been absolutely verified." - -"I can't offer the committee lunch here," said Armstrong. "We have cut -off the lunch account of the O.A.D.--a saving of forty thousand a year -toward helping the policy holders buy their lunches." And he bowed to -the chairman, and withdrew by the door by which he had entered. - -"A smooth citizen," said Roberts, when the reporters were gone. - -"Very," said De Brett, at whom he was looking. - -"He's that--and more," said Mulholland. "He's an honest man." - -"We must be careful about hasty conclusions," replied Roberts. - -"He is probably laughing at us, even now," said De Brett. - -Roberts turned the pistol-barrel upon him again. "We've got to be a -damned sight more careful about prejudice against him," said he. - -And De Brett hastily and eagerly assented. - - -In the next room the man who "is probably laughing at us, even now" was -standing before a woman who could not lift her burning face to meet his -gaze. But he, looking long at her, thought he saw that there was no hope -for him, and shut himself in behind his stolidity of the Indian and the -pioneer. - -"Well," he said, "you don't believe. I was afraid it'd be so. Why -should you? I hardly believe in myself as yet." And he turned to stare -out of the window. - -She came hesitatingly, slid her arm timidly through his. She entreated -softly, earnestly, "Forgive me, Horace." Then in response to his quick -glance, "Forgive me, I won't again, ever." - -"Oh," was all he said. But his tone was like the arm he put round her -shoulders to draw her close against his broad chest, the rampart of a -dauntless soul. And as with one pair of eyes, not his nor hers, but -theirs, they gazed serenely down upon the vast panorama of snow-draped -skyscrapers, plumed like volcanoes and lifting grandly in the sparkling -air. - - - - THE END - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - *By DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS.* - - -*The Second Generation.* - -Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. - -"The Second Generation" is a double-decked romance in one volume, -telling the two love-stories of a young American and his sister, reared -in luxury and suddenly left without means by their father, who felt that -money was proving their ruination and disinherited them for their own -sakes. Their struggle for life, love and happiness makes a powerful -love-story of the middle West. - - -"The book equals the best of the great story tellers of all -time."--_Cleveland Plain Dealer_. - -"'The Second Generation,' by David Graham Phillips, is not only the most -important novel of the new year, but it is one of the most important -ones of a number of years past."--_Philadelphia Inquirer_. - -"A thoroughly American book is 'The Second Generation.' ... The -characters are drawn with force and discrimination."--_St. Louis Globe -Democrat_. - -"Mr. Phillips' book is thoughtful, well conceived, admirably written and -intensely interesting. The story 'works out' well, and though it is -made to sustain the theory of the writer it does so in a very natural -and stimulating manner. In the writing of the 'problem novel' Mr. -Phillips has won a foremost place among our younger American -authors."--_Boston Herald_. - -"'The Second Generation' promises to become one of the notable novels of -the year. It will be read and discussed while a less vigorous novel -will be forgotten within a week."--_Springfield Union_. - -"David Graham Phillips has a way, a most clever and convincing way, of -cutting through the veneer of snobbishness and bringing real men and -women to the surface. He strikes at shams, yet has a wholesome belief -in the people behind them, and he forces them to justify his good -opinions."--_Kansas City Times_. - - - - * * * * * - - - - *THE LEADING NOVEL OF TODAY.* - - -*The Fighting Chance.* - -By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS. Illustrated by A. B. Wenzell. 12mo. Ornamental -Cloth, $1.50. - -In "The Fighting Chance" Mr. Chambers has taken for his hero, a young -fellow who has inherited with his wealth a craving for liquor. The -heroine has inherited a certain rebelliousness and dangerous caprice. -The two, meeting on the brink of ruin, fight out their battles, two -weaknesses joined with love to make a strength. It is refreshing to -find a story about the rich in which all the women are not sawdust at -heart, nor all the men satyrs. The rich have their longings, their -ideals, their regrets, as well as the poor; they have their struggles -and inherited evils to combat. It is a big subject, painted with a big -brush and a big heart. - - -"After 'The House of Mirth' a New York society novel has to be very good -not to suffer fearfully by comparison. 'The Fighting Chance' is very -good and it does not suffer."--_Cleveland Plain Dealer_. - -"There is no more adorable person in recent fiction than Sylvia -Landis."--_New York Evening Sun_. - -"Drawn with a master hand."--_Toledo Blade_. - -"An absorbing tale which claims the reader's interest to the -end."--_Detroit Free Press_. - -"Mr. Chambers has written many brilliant stories, but this is his -masterpiece."--_Pittsburg Chronicle Telegraph_. - - - - * * * * * - - - - *A MASTERPIECE OF FICTION.* - - -*The Guarded Flame.* - -By W. B. MAXWELL, Author of "Vivien." Cloth, $1.50. - -"'The Guarded Flame, by W. B. Maxwell, is a book to challenge the -attention of the reading public as a remarkable study of moral law and -its infraction. Mr. Maxwell is the son of Miss M. E. Braddon (Mrs. John -Maxwell), whose novels were famous a generation ago, and his first book -'Vivien' made the English critics herald him as a new force in the world -of letters. 'The Guarded Flame' is an even more astonishing production, -a big book that takes rank with the most important fiction of the year. -It is not a book for those who read to be amused or to be entertained. -It touches the deepest issues of life and death."--_Albany Argus_. - -"The most powerfully written book of the year."--_The Independent_. - -"'The Guarded Flame' is receiving high praise from the critics -everywhere."--_Chicago Record-Herald_. - -"This is a book which cannot fail to make its mark."--_Detroit News_. - -"Great novels are few and the appearance of one at any period must give -the early reviewer a thrill of discovery. Such a one has come -unheralded; but from a source whence it might have been confidently -expected. The author is W. B. Maxwell, son of the voluminous novelist -known to the world as Miss Braddon. His novel is entitled 'The Guarded -Flame.'"--_Philadelphia Press_. - -"The books of W. B. Maxwell are essentially for thinkers."--_St. Louis -Post-Dispatch_. - - - - * * * * * - - - - *A ROMANCE OF THE CIVIL WAR.* - - -*The Victory.* - -By MOLLY ELLIOTT SEAWELL, author of "The Chateau of Montplaisir," "The -Sprightly Romance of Marsac," etc. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. - - -"With so delicate a touch and appreciation of the detail of domestic and -plantation life, with so wise comprehension of the exalted and sometimes -stilted notions of Southern honor and with humorous depiction of African -fidelity and bombast to interest and amuse him, it only gradually dawns -on a reader that 'The Victory' is the truest and most tragic -presentation yet before us of the rending of home ties, the awful -passions, the wounded affections personal and national, and the -overwhelming questions of honor which weighed down a people in the war -of son against father and brother against brother."--_Hartford Courant_. - -"Among the many romances written recently about the Civil War, this one -by Miss Seawell takes a high place.... Altogether, 'The Victory,' a -title significant in several ways, makes a strong appeal to the lover of -a good tale."--_The Outlook_. - -"Miss Seawell's narrative is not only infused with a tender and -sympathetic spirit of romance and surcharged with human interests, but -discloses, in addition, careful and minute study of local conditions and -characteristic mannerisms. It is an intimate study of life on a -Virginia plantation during an emergent and critical period of American -history."--_Philadelphia North American_. - -"It is one of the romances that make, by spirit as well as letter, for -youth and high feeling. It embodies, perhaps, the best work this author -yet has done."--_Chicago Record-Herald_. - -"Aside from the engaging story itself and the excellent manner in which -it is told there is much of historic interest in this vivid word-picture -of the customs and manners of a period which has formed the background -of much fiction."--_Brooklyn Citizen_. - - - - D. 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