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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1ee1355 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51953 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51953) diff --git a/old/51953-0.txt b/old/51953-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 54b090a..0000000 --- a/old/51953-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8322 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Manager of The B. & A., by Vaughan Kester - -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 -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Manager of The B. & A. - A Novel - -Author: Vaughan Kester - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51953] -Last Updated: March 15, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANAGER OF THE B. & A. *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - - - - - - - - -THE MANAGER OF THE B. & A. - -A Novel - -By Vaughan Kester - -Grosset & Dunlap, New York - -Published by Arrangement with Harper & Brothers - -1901 - -[Illustration: 0008] - - - -TO - -THE MEMORY OF MY UNCLE - -HARRY WATKINS - - - - - -THE MANAGER OF THE B. & A. - - - - -CHAPTER I - -OAKLEY was alone in the bare general offices of the Huckleberry line-as -the Buckhom and Antioch Railroad was commonly called by the public, -which it betrayed in the matter of meals and connections. He was lolling -lazily over his desk with a copy of the local paper before him, and the -stem of a disreputable cob pipe between his teeth. - -The business of the day was done, and the noise and hurry attending its -doing had given way to a sudden hush. Other sounds than those that had -filled the ear since morning grew out of the stillness. Big drops of -rain driven by the wind splashed softly against the unpainted pine door -which led into the yards, or fell with a gay patter on the corrugated -tin roof overhead. No. 7, due at 5.40, had just pulled out with twenty -minutes to make up between Antioch and Harrison, the western terminus -of the line. The six-o'clock whistle had blown, and the men from the car -shops, a dingy, one-story building that joined the general offices on -the east, were straggling off home. Across the tracks at the ugly little -depot the ticket-agent and telegraph-operator had locked up and hurried -away under one umbrella the moment No. 7 was clear of the platform. From -the yards every one was gone but Milton McClintock, the master mechanic, -and Dutch Pete, the yard buss. Protected by dripping yellow oil-skins, -they were busy repairing a wheezy switch engine that had been -incontinently backed into a siding and the caboose of a freight. - -Oakley was waiting the return of Clarence, the office-boy, whom he had -sent up-town to the post-office. Having read the two columns of local -and personal gossip arranged under the heading “People You Know,” he -swept his newspaper into the wastebasket and pushed back his chair. The -window nearest his desk overlooked the yards and a long line of shabby -day coaches and battered freight cars on one of the sidings. They were -there to be rebuilt or repaired. This meant a new lease of life to the -shops, which had never proved profitable. - -Oakley had been with the Huckleberry two months. The first intimation -the office force received that the new man whom they had been expecting -for over a week had arrived in Antioch, and was prepared to take hold, -was when he walked into the office and quietly introduced himself to -Kerr and Holt. Former general managers had arrived by special after much -preliminary wiring. The manner of their going had been less spectacular. -They one and all failed, and General Cornish cut short the days of their -pride and display. - -Naturally the office had been the least bit skeptical concerning Oakley -and his capabilities, but within a week a change was patent to every one -connected with the road: the trains began to regard their schedules, -and the slackness and unthrift in the yards gave place to an ordered -prosperity. Without any apparent effort he found work for the shops, -a few extra men even were taken on, and there was no hint as yet of -half-time for the summer months. - -He was a broad-shouldered, long-limbed, energetic young fellow, with -frank blue eyes that looked one squarely in the face. Men liked him -because he was straightforward, alert, and able, with an indefinite -personal charm that lifted him out of the ordinary. These were the -qualities Cornish had recognized when he put him in control of his -interests at Antioch, and Oakley, who enjoyed hard work, had earned his -salary several times over and was really doing wonders. - -He put down his pipe, which was smoked out, and glanced at the clock. -“What's the matter with that boy?” he muttered. - -The matter was that Clarence had concluded to take a brief vacation. -After leaving the post-office he skirted a vacant lot and retired -behind his father's red barn, where he applied himself diligently to the -fragment of a cigarette that earlier in the day McClintock, to his great -scandal, had discovered him smoking in the solitude of an empty box-car -in the yards. The master mechanic, who had boys of his own, had called -him a runty little cuss, and had sent him flying up the tracks with a -volley of bad words ringing in his ears. - -When the cigarette was finished, the urchin bethought him of the purpose -of his errand. This so worked upon his fears that he bolted for the -office with all the speed of his short legs. As he ran he promised -himself, emotionally, that “the boss” was likely to “skin” him. But -whatever his fears, he dashed into Oakley's presence, panting and in hot -haste. “Just two letters for you, Mr. Oakley!” he gasped. “That was all -there was!” - -He went over to the superintendent and handed him the letters. Oakley -observed him critically and with a dry smile. For an instant the boy -hung his head sheepishly, then his face brightened. - -“It's an awfully wet day; it's just sopping!” - -Oakley waived this bit of gratuitous information. - -“Did you run all the way?” - -“Yep, every step,” with the impudent mendacity that comes of long -practice. - -“It's rather curious you didn't get back sooner.” - -Clarence looked at the clock. - -“Was I gone long? It didn't seem long to me,” he added, with a candor he -intended should disarm criticism. - -“Only a little over half an hour, Clarence.” - -The superintendent sniffed suspiciously. - -“McClintock says he caught you smoking a cigarette to-day--how about -it?” - -“Cubebs,” in a faint voice. - -The superintendent sniffed again and scrutinized the boy's hands, which -rested on the corner of his desk. - -“What's that on your fingers?” - -Clarence considered. - -“That? Why, that must be walnut-stains from last year. Didn't you ever -get walnut-stains on your hands when you was a boy, Mr. Oakley?” - -“I suppose so, but I don't remember that they lasted all winter.” - -Clarence was discreetly silent. He felt that the chief executive of the -Huckleberry took too great an interest in his personal habits. Besides, -it was positively painful to have to tell lies that went so wide of the -mark as his had gone. - -“I guess you may as well go home now. But I wouldn't smoke any more -cigarettes, if I were you,” gathering up his letters. - -“Good-night, Mr. Oakley,” with happy alacrity. - -“Good-night, Clarence.” - -The door into the yards closed with a bang, and Clarence, gleefully -skipping the mud-puddles which lay in his path, hurried his small person -off through the rain and mist. - -Oakley glanced at his letters. One he saw was from General Cornish. It -proved to be a brief note, scribbled in pencil on the back of a telegram -blank. The general would arrive in Antioch that night on the late train. -He wished Oakley to meet him. - -The other letter was in an unfamiliar hand. Oakley opened it. Like the -first, it was brief and to the point, but he did not at once grasp its -meaning. This is what he read: - -_“DEAR Sir,--I enclose two newspaper clippings which fully explain -themselves. Your father is much interested in knowing your whereabouts. -I have not furnished him with any definite information on this point, as -I have not felt at liberty to do so. However, I was able to tell him -I believed you were doing well. Should you desire to write him, I will -gladly undertake to see that any communication you may send care of this -office will reach him._ - -“_Very sincerely yours,_ - -_“Ezra Hart.”_ - -It was like a bolt from a clear sky. He drew a deep, quick breath. Then -he took up the newspaper clippings. One was a florid column-and-a-half -account of a fire in the hospital ward of the Massachusetts State -prison, and dealt particularly with the heroism of Roger Oakley, a life -prisoner, in leading a rescue. The other clipping, merely a paragraph, -was of more recent date. It announced that Roger Oakley had been -pardoned. - -Oakley had scarcely thought of his father in years. The man and his -concerns--his crime and his tragic atonement--had passed completely out -of his life, but now he was free, if he chose, to enter it again. There -was such suddenness in the thought that he turned sick on the moment; a -great wave of self-pity enveloped him, the recollection of his struggles -and his shame--the bitter, helpless shame of a child--returned. He felt -only resentment towards this man whose crime had blasted his youth, -robbing him of every ordinary advantage, and clearly the end was not -yet. - -True, by degrees, he had grown away from the memory of it all. He -had long since freed himself of the fear that his secret might be -discovered. With success, he had even acquired a certain complacency. -Without knowing his history, the good or the bad of it, his world had -accepted him for what he was really worth. He was neither cowardly -nor selfish. It was not alone the memory of his own hardships that -embittered him and turned his heart against his father. His mother's -face, with its hunted, fugitive look, rose up before him in protest. He -recalled their wanderings in search of some place where their story was -not known and where they could begin life anew, their return to Burton, -and then her death. - -For years it had been like a dream, and now he saw only the slouching -figure of the old convict, which seemed to menace him, and remembered -only the evil consequent upon his crime. - -Next he fell to wondering what sort of a man this Roger Oakley was who -had seemed so curiously remote, who had been as a shadow in his way -preceding the presence, and suddenly he found his heart softening -towards him. It was infinitely pathetic to the young man, with his -abundant strength and splendid energy; this imprisonment that had -endured for almost a quarter of a century. He fancied his father as -broken and friendless, as dazed and confused by his unexpected freedom, -with his place in the world forever lost. After all, he could not sit in -judgment, or avenge. - -So far as he knew he had never seen his father but once. First there had -been a hot, dusty journey by stage, then he had gone through a massive -iron gate and down a narrow passage, where he had trotted by his -mother's side, holding fast to her hand. - -All this came back in a jerky, disconnected fashion, with wide gaps and -lapses he could not fill, but the impression made upon his mind by his -father had been lasting and vivid. He still saw him as he was then, with -the chalky prison pallor on his haggard face. A clumsily made man of -tremendous bone and muscle, who had spoken with them through the bars of -his cell-door, while his mother cried softly behind her shawl. The boy -had thought of him as a man in a cage. - -He wondered who Ezra Hart was, for the name seemed familiar. At length -he placed him. He was the lawyer who had defended his father. He was -puzzled that Hart knew where he was; he had hoped the little New England -village had lost all track of him, but the fact that Hart did know -convinced him it would be quite useless to try to keep his whereabouts -a secret from his father, even if he wished to. Since Hart knew, there -must be others, also, who knew. - -He took up the newspaper clippings again. By an odd coincidence they had -reached him on the very day the Governor of Massachusetts had set apart -for his father's release. - -Outside, in the yards, on the drenched town, and in the sweating fields -beyond, the warm spring rain fell and splashed. - -It was a fit time for Roger Oakley to leave the gray walls, and the gray -garb he had worn so long, and to re-enter the world of living things and -the life of the one person in all that world who had reason to remember -him. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -OAKLEY drew down the top of his desk and left the office. Before -locking the door, on which some predecessor had caused the words, -“Department of Transportation and Maintenance. No admittance, except on -business,” to be stencilled in black letters, he called to McClintock, -who, with Dutch Pete, was still fussing over the wheezy switch-engine. - -“Will you want in the office for anything, Milt?” The master-mechanic, -who had been swearing at a rusted nut, got up from his knees and, -dangling a big wrench in one hand, bawled back: “No, I guess not.” - -“How's the job coming on?” - -“About finished. Damn that fool Bennett, anyhow! Next time he runs this -old bird-cage into a freight, he'll catch hell from me!” - -After turning the key on the Department of Transportation and -Maintenance, Oakley crossed the tracks to the station and made briskly -off up-town, with the wind and rain blowing in his face. - -He lived at the American House, the best hotel the place could boast. It -overlooked the public square, a barren waste an acre or more in extent, -built about with stores and offices; where, on hot summer Saturdays, -farmers who had come to town to trade, hitched their teams in the -deep shade of the great maples that grew close to the curb. Here, on -Decoration Day and the Fourth of July, the eloquence of the county -assembled and commuted its proverbial peck of dirt in favor of very -fine dust. Here, too, the noisiest of brass-bands made hideous hash of -patriotic airs, and the forty odd youths constituting the local militia -trampled the shine from each other's shoes, while their captain, who -had been a sutler's clerk in the Civil War, cursed them for a lot of -lunkheads. And at least once in the course of each summer's droning -flight the spot was abandoned to the purely carnal delights of some -wandering road circus. - -In short, Antioch had its own life and interests, after the manner of -every other human ant-hill; and the Honorable Jeb Barrow's latest public -utterance, Dippy Ellsworth's skill on the snare-drum, or “Cap” Roberts's -military genius, and whether or not the Civil War would really have -ended at Don-elson if Grant had only been smart enough to take his -advice, were all matters of prime importance and occupied just as much -time to weigh properly and consider as men's interests do anywhere. - -In Antioch, Oakley was something of a figure. He was the first manager -of the road to make the town his permanent headquarters, and the town -was grateful. It would have swamped him with kindly attention, but he -had studiously ignored all advances, preferring not to make friends. In -this he had not entirely succeeded. The richest man in the county, Dr. -Emory, who was a good deal of a patrician, had taken a fancy to him, and -had insisted upon entertaining him at a formal dinner, at which there -were present the Methodist minister, the editor of the local paper, the -principal merchant, a judge, and an ex-Congressman, who went to sleep -with the soup and only wakened in season for the ice-cream. It was the -most impressive function Oakley had ever attended, and even to think of -it still sent the cold chills coursing down his spine. - -That morning he had chanced to meet Dr. Emory on the street, and the -doctor, who could always be trusted to say exactly what he thought, had -taken him to task for not calling. There was a reason why Oakley had -not done so. The doctor's daughter had just returned from the East, and -vague rumors were current concerning her beauty and elegance. Now, women -were altogether beyond Oakley's ken. However, since some responsive -courtesy was evidently expected of him, he determined to have it over -with at once. Imbued with this idea, he went to his room after supper to -dress. As he arrayed himself for the ordeal, he sought to recall a past -experience in line with the present. Barring the recent dinner, his most -ambitious social experiment had been a brakesmen's ball in Denver, years -before, when he was conductor on a freight. He laughed softly as he -fastened his tie. - -“I wonder what Dr. Emory would think if I told him I'd punched a fellow -at a dance once because he wanted to take my girl away from me.” He -recalled, as pointing his innate conservatism, that he had decided not -to repeat the experiment until he achieved a position where a glittering -social success was not contingent upon his ability to punch heads. - -It was still raining, a discouragingly persistent drizzle, when Oakley -left his hotel and turned from the public square into Main Street. This -Main Street was never an imposing thoroughfare, and a week of steady -downpour made it from curb to curb a river of quaking mud. It was lit -at long intervals by flickering gas-lamps that glowed like corpulent -fireflies in the misty darkness beneath the dripping maple-boughs. As in -the case of most Western towns, Antioch had known dreams of greatness, -dreams which had not been realized. It stood stockstill, in all its raw, -ugly youth, with the rigid angularity its founders had imposed upon -it when they hacked and hewed a spot for it in the pine-woods, whose -stunted second growth encircled it on every side. - -The Emory home had once been a farm-house of the better class; various -additions and improvements gave it an air of solid and substantial -comfort unusual in a community where the prevailing style of -architecture was a square wooden box, built close to the street end of a -narrow lot. - -The doctor himself answered Oakley's ring, and led the way into the -parlor, after relieving him of his hat and umbrella. - -“My wife you know, Mr. Oakley. This is my daughter.” - -Constance Emory rose from her seat before the wood fire that smoldered -on the wide, old-fashioned hearth, and gave Oakley her hand. He saw a -stately, fair-haired girl, trimly gowned in an evening dress that to his -unsophisticated gaze seemed astonishingly elaborate. But he could not -have imagined anything more becoming. He decided that she was very -pretty. Later he changed his mind. She was more than pretty. - -For her part, Miss Emory saw merely a tall young fellow, rather -good-looking than otherwise, who was feeling nervously for his cuffs. -Beyond this there was not much to be said in his favor, but she was -willing to be amused. - -She had been absent from Antioch four years. These years had been spent -in the East, and in travel abroad with a widowed and childless sister of -her father's. She was, on the whole, glad to be home again. As yet she -was not disturbed by any thoughts of the future. She looked on the world -with serene eyes. They were a limpid blue, and veiled by long, dark -lashes. She possessed the poise and unshaken self-confidence that comes -of position and experience. Her father and mother were not so well -satisfied with the situation; they already recognized that it held the -elements of a tragedy. In their desire to give her every opportunity -they had overreached themselves. She had outgrown Antioch as surely as -she had outgrown her childhood, and it was as impossible to take her -back to the one as to the other. - -The doctor patted Oakley on the shoulder. - -“I am glad you've dropped in. I hope, now you have made a beginning, we -shall see more of you.” - -He was a portly man of fifty, with kindly eyes and an easy, gracious -manner. Mrs. Emory was sedate and placid, a handsome, well-kept woman, -who administered her husband's affairs with a steadiness and economy -that had made it possible for him to amass a comfortable fortune from -his straggling country practice. - -Constance soon decided that Oakley was not at all like the young men -of Antioch as she recalled them, nor was he like the men she had known -while under her aunt's tutelage--the leisurely idlers who drifted with -the social tide, apparently without responsibility or care. - -He proved hopelessly dense on those matters with which they had been -perfectly familiar. It seemed to her that pleasure and accomplishment, -as she understood them, had found no place in his life. The practical -quality in his mind showed at every turn of the conversation. He -appeared to hunger after hard facts, and the harder these facts were the -better he liked them. But he offended in more glaring ways. He was too -intense, and his speech too careful and precise, as if he were uncertain -as to his grammar, as, indeed, he was. - -Poor Oakley was vaguely aware that he was not getting on, and the strain -told. It slowly dawned upon him that he was not her sort, that where -he was concerned, she was quite alien, quite foreign, with interests -he could not comprehend, but which gave him a rankling sense of -inferiority. - -He had been moderately well satisfied with himself, as indeed he had -good reason to be, but her manner was calculated to rob him of undue -pride; he was not accustomed to being treated with mixed indifference -and patronage. He asked himself resentfully how it happened that he -had never before met such a girl. She fascinated him. The charm of her -presence seemed to suddenly create and satisfy a love for the beautiful. -With generous enthusiasm he set to work to be entertaining. Then a -realization of the awful mental poverty in which he dwelt burst upon him -for the first time. He longed for some light and graceful talent with -which to bridge the wide gaps between the stubborn heights of his -professional erudition. - -He was profoundly versed on rates, grades, ballast, motive power, and -rolling stock, but this solid information was of no avail He could on -occasion talk to a swearing section-boss with a grievance and a brogue -in a way to make that man his friend for life; he also possessed the -happy gift of inspiring his subordinates with a zealous sense of duty, -but his social responsibilities numbed his faculties and left him a -bankrupt for words. - -The others gave him no assistance. Mrs. Emory, smiling and good-humored, -but silent, bent above her sewing. She was not an acute person, and the -situation was lost upon her, while the doctor took only the most casual -part in the conversation. - -Oakley was wondering how he could make his escape, when the door-bell -rang. The doctor slipped from the parlor. When he returned he was not -alone. He was preceded by a dark young man of one or two and thirty. -This was Griffith Ryder, the owner of the Antioch _Herald_. - -“My dear,” said he, “Mr. Ryder.” Ryder shook hands with the two -ladies, and nodded carelessly to Oakley; then, with an easy, graceful -compliment, he lounged down in a chair at Miss Emory's side. - -Constance had turned from the strenuous Oakley to the new-comer with a -sense of unmistakable relief. Her mother, too, brightened visibly. She -did not entirely approve of Ryder, but he was always entertaining in a -lazy, indifferent fashion of his own. - -“I see, Griff,” the doctor said, “that you are going to support Kenyon. -I declare it shakes my confidence in you,” And he drew forward his -chair. Like most Americans, the physician was something of a politician, -and, as is also true of most Americans, not professionally concerned in -the hunt for office, this interest fluctuated between the two extremes -of party enthusiasm before and non-partisan disgust after elections. - -Ryder smiled faintly. “Yes, we know just how much of a rascal Kenyon is, -and we know nothing at all about the other fellow, except that he -wants the nomination, which is a bad sign. Suppose he should turn out -a greater scamp! Really it's too much of a risk.” he drawled, with an -affectation of contempt. - -“Your politics always were a shock to your friends, but this serves to -explain them,” remarked the doctor, with latent combativeness. But Ryder -was not to be beguiled into argument. He turned again to Miss Emory. - -“Your father is not a practical politician, or he would realize that it -is only common thrift to send Kenyon back, for I take it he has served -his country not without profit to himself; besides, he is clamorous and -persistent, and there seems no other way to dispose of him. It's either -that or the penitentiary.” - -Constance laughed softly. “And so you think he can afford to be honest -now? What shocking ethics!” - -“That is my theory. Anyhow, I don't see why your father should wish me -to forego the mild excitement of assisting to re-elect my more or less -disreputable friend. Antioch has had very little to offer one until -you came,” he added, with gentle deference. Miss Emory accepted the -compliment with the utmost composure. Once she had been rather flattered -by his attentions, but four years make a great difference. Either he had -lost in cleverness, or she had gained in knowledge. - -He was a very tired young man. At one time he had possessed some -expectations and numerous pretensions. The expectation had faded out -of his life, but the pretence remained in the absence of any vital -achievement. He was college-bred, and had gone in for literature. From -literature he had drifted into journalism, and had ended in Antioch as -proprietor of the local paper, which he contrived to edit with a lively -irresponsibility that won him few friends, though it did gain him some -small reputation as a humorist. - -His original idea had been that the management of a country weekly would -afford him opportunity for the serious work which he believed he could -do, but he had not done this serious work, and was not likely to do it. -He derived a fair income from the _Herald_, and he allowed his ambitions -to sink into abeyance, in spite of his cherished conviction that he -was cut out for bigger things. Perhaps he had wisely decided that his -pretensions were much safer than accomplishment, since the importance of -what a man actually does can generally be measured, while what he might -do admits of exaggerated claims. - -Oakley had known Ryder only since the occasion of the doctor's dinner, -and felt that he could never be more than an acquired taste, if at all. - -The editor took the floor, figuratively speaking, for Miss Emory's -presence made the effort seem worth his while. He promptly relieved -Oakley of the necessity to do more than listen, an act of charity for -which the latter was hardly as grateful as he should have been. He was -no fool, but there were wide realms of enlightenment where he was an -absolute stranger, so, when Constance and Ryder came to talk of books -and music, as they did finally, his only refuge was in silence, and -he went into a sort of intellectual quarantine. His reading had been -strictly limited to scientific works, and to the half-dozen trade and -technical journals to which he subscribed, and from which he drew the -larger part of his mental sustenance. As for music, he was familiar -with the airs from the latest popular operas, but the masterpieces were -utterly unknown, except such as had been brought to his notice by -having sleeping-cars named in their honor, a practice he considered very -complimentary, and possessing value as a strong commercial endorsement. - -He amused himself trying to recall whether it was the “Tannhauser” - or the “Lohengrin” he had ridden on the last time he was East. He was -distinctly shocked, however, by “Gôtterdammerung,” which was -wholly unexpected. It suggested such hard swearing, or Dutch Pete's -untrammelled observations in the yards when he had caught an urchin -stealing scrap-iron--a recognized source of revenue to the youth of -Antioch. But he felt more and more aloof as the evening wore on. It was -something of the same feeling he had known as a boy, after his mother's -death, when, homeless and friendless at night, he had paused to glance -in through uncurtained windows, with a dumb, wordless longing for the -warmth and comfort he saw there. - -It was a relief when the doctor took him into the library to examine -specimens of iron-ore he had picked up west of Antioch, where there were -undeveloped mineral lands for which he was trying to secure capital. -This was a matter Oakley was interested in, since it might mean business -for the road. He promptly forgot about Miss Emory and the objectionable -Ryder, and in ten minutes gave the doctor a better comprehension of the -mode of procedure necessary to success than that gentleman had been able -to learn in ten years of unfruitful attempting. He also supplied him -with a few definite facts and figures in lieu of the multitude of -glittering generalities on which he had been pinning his faith as a -means of getting money into the scheme. - -When, at last, they returned to the parlor, they found another caller -had arrived during their absence, a small, shabbily dressed man, with a -high, bald head and weak, near-sighted eyes. It was Turner Joyce. Oakley -knew him just as he was beginning to know every other man, woman, and -child in the town. - -Joyce rose hastily, or rather stumbled to his feet, as the doctor and -Oakley entered the room. - -“I told you I was coming up, doctor,” he said, apologetically. “Miss -Constance has been very kind. She has been telling me of the galleries -and studios. What a glorious experience!” - -A cynical smile parted Ryder's thin lips. - -“Mr. Joyce feels the isolation of his art here.” The little man blinked -doubtfully at the speaker, and then said, with a gentle, deprecatory -gesture, “I don't call it art.” - -“You are far too modest. I have heard my foreman speak in the most -complimentary terms of the portrait you did of his wife. He was -especially pleased with the frame. You must know. Miss Constance, that -Mr. Joyce usually furnishes the frames, and his pictures go home ready -to the wire to hang on the wall.” - -Mr. Joyce continued to blink doubtfully at Ryder. He scarcely knew how -to take the allusion to the frames. It was a sore point with him. - -Constance turned with a displeased air from Ryder to the little artist. -There was a faint, wistful smile on her lips. He was a rather pathetic -figure to her, and she could not understand how Ryder dared or had the -heart to make fun. - -“I shall enjoy seeing all that you have done, Mr. Joyce; and of course I -wish to see Ruth. Why didn't she come with you to-night?” - -“Her cousin, Lou Bentick's wife, is dead, and she has been over at his -house all day. She was quite worn out, but she sent you her love.” - -Ryder glanced again at Miss Emory, and said, with hard cynicism: “The -notice will appear in Saturday's _Herald_, with a tribute from her -pastor. I never refuse his verse. It invariably contains some -scathing comment on the uncertainty of the Baptist faith as a means of -salvation.” - -But this was wasted on Joyce. Ryder rose with a sigh. - -“Well, we toilers must think of the morrow.” - -Oakley accepted this as a sign that it was time to go. Joyce, too, -stumbled across the room to the door, and the three men took their leave -together. As they stood on the steps, the doctor said, cordially, -“I hope you will both come again soon; and you, too, Turner,” he added, -kindly. - -Ryder moved off quickly with Oakley. Joyce would have dropped behind, -but the latter made room for him at his side. No one spoke until Ryder, -halting on a street corner, said, “Sorry, but it's out of my way to go -any farther unless you'll play a game of billiards with me at the hotel, -Oakley.” - -“Thanks,” curtly. “I don't play billiards.” - -“No? Well, they are a waste of time, I suppose. Good-night.” And he -turned down the side street, whistling softly. - -“A very extraordinary young man,” murmured Joyce, rubbing the tip of -his nose meditatively with a painty forefinger. “And with quite an -extraordinary opinion of himself.” - -A sudden feeling of friendliness prompted Oakley to tuck his hand -through the little artist's arm. “How is Bentick bearing the loss of his -wife?” he asked. “You said she was your cousin.” - -“No, not mine. My wife's. Poor fellow! he feels it keenly. They had not -been married long, you know.” - -The rain was falling in a steady downpour. They had reached Turner -Joyce's gate, and paused. - -“Won't you come in and wait until it moderates, Mr. Oakley?” - -Oakley yielded an assent, and followed him through the gate and around -the house. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THERE were three people in the kitchen, the principal living room of -the Joyce home--Christopher Berry, the undertaker; Jeffy, the local -outcast, a wretched ruin of a man; and Turner Joyce's wife, Ruth. - -Jeffy was seated at a table, eating. He was a cousin of the Benticks, -and Mrs. Joyce had furnished him with a complete outfit from her -husband's slender wardrobe for the funeral on the morrow. - -Oakley had never known him to be so well or so wonderfully dressed, and -he had seen him in a number of surprising costumes. His black trousers -barely reached the tops of his shoes, while the sleeves of his shiny -Prince Albert stopped an inch or more above his wrists; he furthermore -appeared to be in imminent danger of strangulation, such was the height -and tightness of his collar. The thumb and forefinger of his right hand -were gone, the result of an accident at a Fourth of July celebration, -where, at the instigation of Mr. Gid Runyon--a gentleman possessing -a lively turn of mind and gifted with a keen sense of humor--he -had undertaken to hold a giant fire-cracker while it exploded, the -inducement being a quart of whiskey, generously donated for the occasion -by Mr. Runyon himself. - -Mrs. Joyce had charged herself with Jeffy's care. She was fearful that -he might escape and sell his clothes before the funeral. She knew they -would go immediately after, but then he would no longer be in demand as -a mourner. - -As for Jeffy, he was feeling the importance of his position. With a fine -sense of what was expected from him as a near relative he had spent -the day in the stricken home: its most picturesque figure, seated bolt -upright in the parlor, a spotless cotton handkerchief in his hand, and -breathing an air of chastened sorrow. - -He had exchanged mournful greetings with the friends of the family, and -was conscious that he had acquitted himself to the admiration of all. -The Swede “help,” who was new to Antioch, had thought him a person of -the first distinction, so great was the curiosity merely to see him. - -Christopher Berry was a little, dried-up man of fifty, whose name -was chance, but whose profession was choice. He was his own best -indorsement, for he was sere and yellow, and gave out a faint, dry -perfume as of drugs, or tuberoses. “Well, Mrs. Joyce,” he was saying, -as Oakley and the little artist entered the room, “I guess there ain't -nothing else to settle. Don't take it so to heart; there are grand -possibilities in death, even if we can't always realize them, and we got -a perfect body. I can't remember when I seen death so majestic, and I -may say--ca'm.” - -Mrs. Joyce, who was crying, dried her eyes on the corner of her apron. - -“Wasn't it sad about Smith Roberts's wife! And with all those children! -Dear, dear! It's been such a sickly spring!” - -The undertaker's face assumed an expression of even deeper gloom than -was habitual to it. He coughed dryly and decorously behind his hand. - -“They called in the other undertaker. I won't say I didn't feel it, Mrs. -Joyce, for I did. I'd had the family trade, one might say, always. There -was her father, his mother, two of her brothers, and the twins. You -recollect the two twins, Mrs. Joyce, typhoid--in one day,” with as near -an approach to enthusiasm as he ever allowed himself. - -“Mrs. Poppleton told me over at Lou's that it was about the pleasantest -funeral she'd ever been to, and it's durn few she's missed, I'm telling -you!” remarked the outcast, hoarsely. He usually slept at the gas-house -in the winter on a convenient pile of hot cinders, and was troubled with -a bronchial affection. “She said she'd never seen so many flowers. Some -of Roberts's folks sent 'em here all the ways from Chicago. Say! that -didn't cost--oh no! I just wisht I'd the money. It'd do me for a spell.” - -“Well, they may have had finer flowers than we got, but the floral -offerings weren't much when the twins passed away. I remember thinking -then that was a time for display, if one wanted display. Twins, you -know--typhoid, too, and in one day!” He coughed dryly again behind his -hand. “I wouldn't worry, Mrs. Joyce. Their body didn't compare with our -body, and the body's the main thing, after all.” With which professional -view of the case he took himself out into the night. - -The outcast gave way to a burst of hoarse, throaty mirth. “It just makes -Chris Berry sick to think there's any other undertakers, but he knows -his business; I'll say that for him any time.” - -He turned aggressively on Joyce. “Did you get me them black gloves? Now, -don't give me no fairy tales, for I know durn well from your looks you -didn't.” - -“I'll get them for you the first thing in the morning, Jeffy.” - -Jeffy brandished his fork angrily in the air. - -“I never seen such a slip-shod way of doing things. I'd like to know -what sort of a funeral it's going to be if I don't get them black -gloves. It'll be a failure. Yes, sir, the durndest sort of a failure! -All the Chris Berrys in the world can't save it. I declare I don't see -why I got to have all this ornery worry. It ain't my funeral!” - -“Hush, Jeffy!” said Mrs. Joyce. “You mustn't take on so.” - -“Why don't he get me them gloves?” And he glared fiercely at the meek -figure of the little artist. Then suddenly he subsided. “Reach me the -pie, Ruthy.” - -Mrs. Joyce turned nervously to her husband. - -“Aren't you going to show Mr. Oakley your pictures, Turner?” - -“Would you care to see them?” with some trepidation. - -“If you will let me,” with a grave courtesy that was instinctive. - -Joyce took a lamp from the mantel. “You will come, too, Ruth?” he -said. His wife was divided between her sense of responsibility and her -desires. She nodded helplessly towards the outcast, where he grovelled -noisily over his food. - -“Jeffy will stay here until we come back, won't you, Jeffy?” ventured -Joyce, insinuatingly. - -“Sure I will. There isn't anything to take me out, unless it's them -black gloves.” - -Mrs. Joyce led the way into the hall. “I am so afraid when he's out of -my sight,” she explained to Oakley. “We've had such trouble in getting -him put to rights. I couldn't go through it again. He's so trying.” - -The parlor had been fitted up as a studio. There were cheap draperies on -the walls, and numerous pictures and sketches. In one corner was a -shelf of books, with Somebody's _Lives of the Painters_ ostentatiously -displayed. Standing on the floor, their faces turned in, were three or -four unfinished canvases. There was also a miscellaneous litter about -the room, composed of Indian relics and petrified wood. - -It was popularly supposed that an artist naturally took an interest in -curios of this sort, his life being devoted to an impractical search -after the beautiful, and the farmer who ploughed up a petrified rail, or -discovered an Indian hand-mill, carted it in to poor Joyce, who was -too tender-hearted to rebel; consequently he had been the recipient -of several tons of broken rock, and would have been swamped by the -accumulation, had not Mrs. Joyce from time to time conveyed these -offerings to the back yard. - -Joyce held the lamp, so Oakley might have a better view of the pictures -on the wall. “Perhaps you will like to see my earlier paintings first. -There! Is the light good? That was Mrs. Joyce just after our marriage.” - -Oakley saw a plump young lady, with her hair elaborately banged and a -large bouquet in her hand. The background was a landscape, with a ruined -Greek temple in the distance. “Here she is a year later; and here she is -again, and over there in the corner above my easel.” - -He swept the lamp back to the first picture. “She hasn't changed much, -has she?” - -Oakley was no critic, yet he realized that the little artist's work was -painfully literal and exact, but then he had a sneaking idea that a good -photograph was more satisfactory than an oil painting, anyhow. - -What he could comprehend and appreciate, however, was Mrs. Joyce's -attitude towards her husband's masterpieces. She was wholly and -pathetically reverent. It was the sublime, unshaken faith and approval -that marriage sometimes wins for a man. - -“I am so sorry the light isn't any better. Mr. Oakley must come in in -the afternoon,” she said, anxiously. - -“I suppose you have seen some of the best examples of the modern -painters,” said Joyce, with a tinge of wistful envy in his tones. “You -know I never have. I haven't been fifty miles from Antioch in my life.” - -Oakley was ashamed to admit that the modern painters were the least of -his cares, so he said nothing. - -“That's just like Mr. Joyce. He is always doubting his ability, and -every one says he gets wonderful likenesses.” - -“I guess,” said Oakley, awkwardly, inspired by a feeling of large -humanity, “I guess you'll have to be my guest when I go East this fall. -You know I can always manage transportation,” he added, hastily. - -“Oh, that would be lovely!” cried Mrs. Joyce, in an ecstasy of happiness -at the mere thought. “Could you?” - -Joyce, with a rather unsteady hand, placed the lamp on the centre-table -and gazed at his new friend with a gratitude that went beyond words. - -Oakley recognized that in a small way he was committed as a patron of -the arts, but he determined to improve upon his original offer, and -send Mrs. Joyce with her husband. She would enter into the spirit of his -pleasure as no one else could. - -“Can't I see more of your work?” he asked, anxious to avoid any -expression of gratitude. - -“I wish you'd show Mr. Oakley what you are doing now, Turner. He may -give you some valuable criticisms.” - -For, by that unique, intuitive process of reasoning peculiar to women, -she had decided that Oakley's judgment must be as remarkable as his -generosity. - -His words roused Joyce, who had stood all this while with misty eyes -blinking at Oakley. He turned and took a fresh canvas from among those -leaning against the wall and rested it on the easel. “This is a portrait -I'm doing of Jared Thome's daughter. I haven't painted in the eyes yet. -That's a point they can't agree upon. You see, there's a slight cast--” - -“She's cross-eyed, Turner,” interjected Mrs. Joyce, positively. - -“Jared wants them the way they'll be after she's been to Chicago to be -operated on, and his wife wants them as they are now. They are to settle -it between them before she comes for the final sitting on Saturday.” - -“That is a complication,” observed Oakley, but he did not laugh. It was -not that he lacked a sense of humor. It was that he was more impressed -by something else. - -The little artist blinked affectionately at his work. - -“Yes, it's going to be a good likeness, quite as good as any I ever got. -I was lucky in my flesh tints there on the cheek,” he added, tilting his -head critically on one side. - -“What do you think of Mr. Joyce's work?” asked Mrs. Joyce, bent on -committing their visitor to an opinion. - -“It is very good, indeed, and perhaps he is doing a greater service -in educating us here at Antioch than if he had made a name for himself -abroad. Perhaps, too, he'll be remembered just as long.” - -“Do you really think so, Mr. Oakley?” said the little artist, -delighted. “It may sound egotistical, but I have sometimes thought that -myself--that these portraits of mine, bad as I know they must be, give -a great deal of pleasure and happiness to their owners, and it's a great -pleasure for me to do them, and we don't get much beyond that in this -world, do we?” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -OAKLEY took the satchel from General Cornish's hand as the latter -stepped from his private car. - -“You got my note, I see,” he said. “I think I'll go to the hotel for the -rest of the night.” - -He glanced back over his shoulder, as he turned with Dan towards the bus -which was waiting for them at the end of the platform. - -“I guess no one else got off here. It's not much of a railroad centre.” - -“No,” agreed Oakley, impartially; “there are towns where the traffic is -heavier.” - -Arrived at the hotel, Oakley led the way up-stairs to the general's -room. It adjoined his own. Cornish paused on the threshold until he had -lighted the gas. - -“Light the other burner, will you?” he requested. “There, thanks, that's -better.” - -He was a portly man of sixty, with a large head and heavy face. His -father had been a Vermont farmer, a man of position and means, according -to the easy standard of his times. When the Civil War broke out, young -Cornish, who was just commencing the practice of the law, had enlisted -as a private in one of the first regiments raised by his State. Prior to -this he had overflowed with fervid oratory, and had tried hard to look -like Daniel Webster, but a skirmish or two opened his eyes to the fact -that the waging of war was a sober business, and the polishing off of -his sentences not nearly as important as the polishing off of the enemy. -He was still willing to die for the Union, if there was need of it, -but while his life was spared it was well to get on. The numerical -importance of number one was a belief too firmly implanted in his nature -to be overthrown by any patriotic aberration. - -His own merits, which he was among the first to recognize, and the solid -backing his father was able to give, won him promotion. He had risen -to the command of a regiment, and when the war ended was brevetted a -brigadier-general of volunteers, along with a score of other anxious -warriors who wished to carry the title of general back into civil life, -for he was an amiable sort of a Shylock, who seldom overlooked his pound -of flesh, and he usually got all, and a little more, than was coming to -him. - -After the war he married and went West, where he resumed the practice of -his profession, but he soon abandoned it for a commercial career. It was -not long until he was ranked as one of the rich men of his State. Then -he turned his attention to politics, He was twice elected to Congress, -and served one term as governor. One of his daughters had married an -Italian prince, a meek, prosaic little creature, exactly five feet three -inches tall: another was engaged to an English earl, whose debts were a -remarkable achievement for so young a man. His wife now divided her time -between Paris and London. She didn't think much of New York, which had -thought even less of her. He managed to see her once or twice a year. -Any oftener would have been superfluous. But it interested him to read -of her in the papers, and to feel a sense of proprietorship for this -woman, who was spending his money and carrying his name into the centres -of elegance and fashion. Personally he disliked fashion, and was rather -shy of elegance. - -There were moments, however, when he felt his life to be wholly -unsatisfactory. He derived very little pleasure from all the luxury that -had accumulated about him, and which he accepted with a curious placid -indifference. He would have liked the affection of his children, to have -had them at home, and there was a remote period in his past when his -wife had inspired him with a sentiment at which he could only wonder. He -held it against her that she had not understood. - -He lurched down solidly into the chair Oakley placed for him. “I hope -you are comfortable here,” he said, kindly. - -“Oh yes.” He still stood. - -“Sit down,” said Cornish. “I don't, as a rule, believe in staying up -after midnight to talk business, but I must start East to-morrow.” - -He slipped out of his chair and began to pace the floor, with his hands -thrust deep in his trousers-pockets. “I want to talk over the situation -here. I don't see that the road is ever going to make a dollar. I've -an opportunity to sell it to the M. & W. Of course this is extremely -confidential. It must not go any further. I am told they will -discontinue it beyond this point, and of course they will either move -the shops away or close them.” He paused in his rapid walk. “It's too -bad it never paid. It was the first thing I did when I came West. I -thought it a pretty big thing then. I have always hoped it would justify -my judgment, and it promised to for a while until the lumber interests -played out. Now, what do you advise, Oakley? I want to get your ideas. -You understand, if I sell I won't lose much. The price offered will just -about meet the mortgage I hold, but I guess the stockholders will come -out at the little end of the horn.” - -Oakley understood exactly what was ahead of the stockholders if the road -changed hands. Perhaps his face showed that he was thinking of this, for -the general observed, charitably: - -“It's unfortunate, but you can't mix sentiment in a transaction of this -sort. I'd like to see them all get their money back, and more, too.” - -His mental attitude towards the world was one of generous liberality, -but he had such excellent control over his impulses that, while he -always seemed about to embark in some large philanthropy, he had never -been known to take even the first step in that direction. In short, he -was hard and unemotional, but with a deceptive, unswerving kindliness -of manner, which, while it had probably never involved a dollar of his -riches, had at divers times cost the unwary and the indiscreet much -money. - -No man presided at the board meetings of a charity with an air of larger -benevolence, and no man drove closer or more conscienceless bargains. -His friends knew better than to trust him--a precaution they observed in -common with his enemies. - -“I am sure the road could be put on a paying basis,” said Oakley. -“Certain quite possible economies would do that. Of course we can't -create business, there is just so much of it, and we get it all as it -is. But the shops might be made very profitable. I have secured a -good deal of work for them, and I shall secure more. I had intended to -propose a number of reforms, but if you are going to sell, why, there's -no use of going into the matter--” he paused. - -The general meditated in silence for a moment. “I'd hate to sacrifice my -interests if I thought you could even make the road pay expenses. Now, -just what do you intend to do?” - -“I'll get my order-book and show you what's been done for the shops,” - said Oakley, rising with alacrity. “I have figured out the changes, too, -and you can see at a glance just what I propose doing.” - -The road and the shops employed some five hundred men, most of whom had -their homes in Antioch. Oakley knew that if the property was sold it -would practically wipe the town out of existence. The situation was full -of interest for him. If Cornish approved, and told him to go ahead with -his reforms, it would be an opportunity such as he had never known. - -He went into his own room, which opened off Cornish's, and got his -order-book and table of figures, which he had carried up from the office -that afternoon. - -They lay on the stand with a pile of trade journals. For the first time -in his life he viewed these latter with an unfriendly eye. He thought of -Constance Emory, and realized that he should never again read and digest -the annual report of the Joint Traffic Managers' Association with -the same sense of intellectual fulness it had hitherto given him. No, -clearly, that was a pleasure he had outgrown. - -He had taken a great deal of pains with his figures, and they seemed -to satisfy Cornish that the road, if properly managed, was not such a -hopeless proposition, after all. Something might be done with it. - -Oakley rose in his good esteem; he had liked him, and he was justifying -his good opinion. He beamed benevolently on the young man, and thawed -out of his habitual reserve into a genial, ponderous frankness. - -“You have done well,” he said, glancing through the order-book with -evident satisfaction. - -“Of course,” explained Oakley, “I am going to make a cut in wages this -spring, if you agree to it, but I haven't the figures for this yet.” The -general nodded. He approved of cuts on principle. - -“That's always a wise move,” he said. “Will they stand it?” - -“They'll have to.” And Oakley laughed rather nervously. He appreciated -that his reforms were likely to make him very unpopular in Antioch. -“They shouldn't object. If the road changes hands it will kill their -town.” - -“I suppose so,” agreed Cornish, indifferently. - -“And half a loaf is lots better than no loaf,” added Oakley. Again the -general nodded his approval. That was the very pith and Gospel of his -financial code, and he held it as greatly to his own credit that he had -always been perfectly willing to offer halfloaves. - -“What sort of shape is the shop in?” he asked, after a moment's silence. - -“Very good on the whole.” - -“I am glad to hear you say so. I spent over a hundred thousand dollars -on the plant originally.” - -“Of course, the equipment can hardly be called modern, but it will do -for the sort of work for which I am bidding,” Oakley explained. - -“Well, it will be an interesting problem for a young man, Oakley. If you -pull the property up it will be greatly to your credit. I was going -to offer you another position, but we will let that go over for the -present. I am very much pleased, though, with all you have done, very -much pleased, indeed. I go abroad in about two weeks. My youngest -daughter is to be married in London to the Earl of Minchester.” - -The title rolled glibly from the great man's lips. “So you'll have the -fight, if it is a fight, all to yourself. I'll see that Holloway does -what you say. He's the only one you'll have to look to in my absence, -but you won't be able to count on him for anything; he gets limp in a -crisis. Just don't make the mistake of asking his advice.” - -“I'd rather have no advice,” interrupted Dan, hastily, “unless it's -yours,” he added. - -“I'll see that you are not bothered. You are the sort of fellow who will -do better with a free hand, and that is what I intend you shall have.” - -“Thank you,” said Oakley, his heart warming with the other's praise. - -“I shall be back in three months, and then, if your schemes have worked -out at all as we expect, why, we can consider putting the property in -better shape.”--A part of Oakley's plan.--“As you say, it's gone down -so there won't be much but the right of way presently.” - -“I hope that eventually there'll be profits,” said Oakley, whose mind -was beginning to reach out into the future. - -“I guess the stockholders will drop dead if we ever earn a dividend. -That's the last thing they are looking forward to,” remarked Cornish, -dryly. “Will you leave a six-thirty call at the office for me? I forgot, -and I must take the first train.” - -Oakley had gathered up his order-book and papers. The general was -already fumbling with his cravat and collar. - -“I am very well satisfied with your plan, and I believe you have the -ability to carry it out.” - -He threw aside his coat and vest and sat down to take off his shoes. -“Don't saddle yourself with too much work. Keep enough of an office -force to save yourself wherever you can. I think, if orders continue to -come in as they have been doing, the shops promise well. It just shows -what a little energy will accomplish.” - -“With judicious nursing in the start, there should be plenty of work for -us, and we are well equipped to handle it.” - -“Yes,” agreed Cornish. “A lot of money was spent on the plant. I wanted -it just right.” - -“I can't understand why more hasn't been done with the opportunity -here.” - -“I've never been able to find the proper man to take hold, until I found -you, Oakley. You have given me a better insight into conditions than -I have had at any time since I built the road, and it ain't such a bad -proposition, after all, especially the shops.” The general turned out -the gas as he spoke, and Oakley, as he stood in the doorway of his own -room, saw dimly a white figure moving in the direction of the bed. - -“I'd figure close on all repair work. The thing is to get them into the -habit of coming to us. Don't forget the call, please. Six-thirty sharp.” - -The slats creaked and groaned beneath his weight. “Good-night.” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE next morning Oakley saw General Cornish off on the 7.15 train, and -then went back to his hotel for breakfast Afterwards, on his way to -the office he mailed a check to Ezra Hart for his father. The money was -intended to meet his expenses in coming West. - -He was very busy all that day making out his new schedules, and in -figuring the cuts and just what they would amount to. He approached -his task with a certain reluctance, for it was as unpleasant to him -personally as it was necessary to the future of the road, and he knew -that no half-way measures would suffice. He must cut, as a surgeon cuts, -to save. By lopping away a man here and there, giving his work to some -other man, or dividing it up among two or three men, he managed to peel -off two thousand dollars on the year. He counted that a very fair day's -work. - -He would start his reform with no particular aggressiveness. He would -retire the men he intended to dismiss from the road one at a time. He -hoped they would take the hint and hunt other positions. At any rate, -they could not get back until he was ready to take them back, as Cornish -had assured him he would not be interfered with. He concluded not to -hand the notices and orders to Miss Walton, the typewriter, to copy. She -might let drop some word that would give his victims an inkling of what -was in store for them. He knew there were unpleasant scenes ahead of -him, but there was no need to anticipate. When at last his figures for -the cuts were complete he would have been grateful for some one with -whom to discuss the situation. All at once his responsibilities seemed -rather heavier than he had bargained for. - -There were only two men in the office besides himself--Philip Kerr, the -treasurer, and Byron Holt, his assistant. They were both busy with the -payroll, as it was the sixth of the month, and they commenced to pay off -in the shops on the tenth. - -He had little or no use for Kerr, who still showed, where he dared, in -small things his displeasure that an outsider had been appointed manager -of the road. He had counted on the place for himself for a number of -years, but a succession of managers had come and gone apparently without -its ever having occurred to General Cornish that an excellent executive -was literally spoiling in the big, bare, general offices of the line. - -This singular indifference on the part of Cornish to his real interests -had soured a disposition that at its best had more of acid in it than -anything else. As there was no way in which he could make his resentment -known to the general, even if he had deemed such a course expedient, he -took it out of Oakley, and kept his feeling for him on ice. Meanwhile -he hided his time, hoping for Oakley's downfall and his own eventual -recognition. - -With the assistant treasurer, Dan's relations were entirely cordial. -Holt was a much younger man than Kerr, as frank and open as the other -was secret and reserved. When the six-o'clock whistle blew he glanced up -from his work and said: - -“I wish you'd wait a moment, Holt. I want to see you.” - -Kerr had already gone home, and Miss Walton was adjusting her hat before -a bit of a mirror that hung on the wall back of her desk. “All right,” - responded Holt, cheerfully. - -“Just draw up your chair,” said Oakley, handing his papers to him. At -first Holt did not understand; then he began to whistle softly, and fell -to checking off the various cuts with his forefinger. - -“What do you think of the job, Byron?” inquired Oakley. - -“Well, I'm glad I don't get laid off, that's sure. Say, just bear in -mind that I'm going to be married this summer.” - -“You needn't worry; only I didn't know that.” - -“Well, please don't forget it, Mr. Oakley.” - -Holt ran over the cuts again. Then he asked: - -“Who's going to stand for this? You or the old man? I hear he was in -town last night.” - -“I stand for it, but of course he approves.” - -“I'll bet he approves,” and the assistant treasurer grinned. “This is -the sort of thing that suits him right down to the ground.” - -“How about the hands? Do you know if they are members of any union?” - -“No, but there'll be lively times ahead for you. They are a great lot of -kickers here.” - -“Wait until I get through. I haven't touched the shops yet; that's to -come later. I'll skin closer before I'm done.” Oakley got up and lit -his pipe. “The plant must make some sort of a showing. We can't continue -at the rate we have been going. I suppose you know what sort of shape it -would leave the town in if the shops were closed.” - -“Damn poor shape, I should say. Why, it's the money that goes in and -out of this office twice a month that keeps the town alive. It couldn't -exist a day without that.” - -“Then it behooves us to see to it that nothing happens to the shops or -road. I am sorry for the men I am laying off, but it can't be helped.” - -“I see you are going to chuck Hoadley out of his good thing at the -Junction. If he was half white he'd a gone long ago. He must lay awake -nights figuring how he can keep decently busy.” - -“Is the list all right?” - -“Yes. No, it's not, either. You've marked off Joe Percell at Harrison. -He used to brake for the Huckleberry until he lost an arm. His is a -pension job.” - -“Put his name back, then. How do you think it's going to work?” - -“Oh, it will work all right, because it has to, but they'll all be -cussing you,” with great good humor. “What's the matter, anyhow? Did the -old man throw a fit at the size of the pay-roll?” - -“Not exactly, but he came down here with his mind made up to sell the -road to the M. & W.” - -“You don't say so!” - -“I talked him out of that, but we must make a showing, for he's good and -tired, and may dump the whole business any day.” - -“Well, if he does that there'll be no marrying or giving in marriage -for me this summer. It will be just like a Shaker settlement where I am -concerned.” - -Dan laughed. “Oh, you'd be all right, Holt. You'd get something else, or -the M. & W. would keep you on.” - -“I don't know about that. A new management generally means a clean sweep -all round, and my berth's a pretty good one.” - -In some manner a rumor of the changes Oakley proposed making did get -abroad, and he was promptly made aware that his popularity in Antioch -was a thing of the past. He was regarded as an oppressor from whom some -elaborate and wanton tyranny might be expected. While General Cornish -suffered their inefficiency, his easy-going predecessors had been -content to draw their salaries and let it go at that, a line of conduct -which Antioch held to be entirely proper. This new man, however, was -clearly an upstart, cursed with an insane and destructive ambition to -earn money from the road. - -Suppose it did not pay. Cornish could go down into his pocket for the -difference, just as he had always done. - -What the town did not know, and what it would not have believed even -if it had been told, was that the general had been on the point of -selling--a change that would have brought hardship to every one. The -majority of the men in the shops owned their own homes, and these homes -represented the savings of years. The sudden exodus of two or three -hundred families meant of necessity widespread ruin. Those who were -forced to go away would have to sacrifice everything they possessed to -get away, while those who remained would be scarcely better off. But -Antioch never considered such a radical move as even remotely possible. -It counted the shops a fixture; they had always been there, and for this -sufficient reason they would always remain. - -The days wore on, one very like another, with their spring heat and -lethargy. Occasionally, Oakley saw Miss Emory on the street to bow to, -but not to speak with; while he was grateful for these escapes, he -found himself thinking of her very often. He fancied--and he was not far -wrong--that she was finding Antioch very dull. He wondered, too, if she -was seeing much of Ryder. He imagined that she was; and here again he -was not far wrong. Now and then he was seized with what he felt to be a -weak desire to call, but he always thought better of it in time, and -was always grateful he had not succumbed to the impulse. But her mere -presence in Antioch seemed to make him dissatisfied and resentful of its -limitations. Ordinarily he was not critical of his surroundings. Until -she came, that he was without companionship and that the town was -given over to a deadly inertia which expressed itself in the collapsed -ambition of nearly every man and woman he knew, had scarcely affected -him beyond giving him a sense of mild wonder. - -He had heard nothing of his father, and in the pressure of his work and -freshened interest in the fortunes of the Huckleberry, had hardly given -him a second thought. He felt that, since he had sent money to him, he -was in a measure relieved of all further responsibility. If his father -did not wish to come to him, that was his own affair. He had placed no -obstacle in his way. - -He had gone through life without any demand having been made on his -affections. On those rare occasions that he devoted to self-analysis -he seriously questioned if he possessed any large capacity in that -direction. The one touch of sentiment to which he was alive was the -feeling he centred about the few square feet of turf where his mother -lay under the sweet-briar and the old elms in the burying-plot of the -little Eastern village. The sexton was instructed to see that the spot -was not neglected, and that there were always flowers on the grave. She -had loved flowers. It was somehow a satisfaction to Dan to overpay him -for this care. But he had his moments of remorse, because he was unable -to go back there. Once or twice he had started East, fully intending to -do so, but had weakened at the last moment. Perhaps he recognized that -while it was possible to return to a place, it was not possible to -return to an emotion. - -Oakley fell into the habit of working at the office after the others -left in the evening. He liked the quiet of the great bare room and the -solitude of the silent, empty shops. Sometimes Holt remained, too, and -discussed his matrimonial intentions, or entertained his superior with -an account of his previous love affairs, for the experiences were far -beyond his years. He had exhausted the possibilities of Antioch quite -early in life. At one time or another he had either been engaged, or -almost engaged, to every pretty girl in the place. He explained his -seeming inconsistency, however, by saying he was naturally of a very -affectionate disposition. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -LATE one afternoon, as Oakley sat at his desk in the broad streak of -yellow light that the sun sent in through the west windows, he heard -a step on the narrow board-walk that ran between the building and the -tracks. The last shrill shriek of No. 7, as usual, half an hour late, -had just died out in the distance, and the informal committee of -town loafers which met each train was plodding up Main Street to the -post-office in solemn silence. - -He glanced around as the door into the yards opened, expecting to see -either Holt or Kerr. Instead he saw a tall, gaunt man of sixty-five, a -little stoop-shouldered, and carrying his weight heavily and solidly. -His large head was sunk between broad shoulders. It was covered by a -wonderful growth of iron-gray hair. The face was clean-shaven and had -the look of a placid mask. There was a curious repose in the man's -attitude as he stood with a big hand--the hand of an artisan--resting -loosely on the knob of the door. - -“Is it you. Dannie?” - -The smile that accompanied the words was at once anxious, hesitating, -and inquiring. He closed the door with awkward care and coming a step -nearer, put out his hand. Oakley, breathing hard, rose hastily from his -chair, and stood leaning against the corner of his desk as if he needed -its support. He was white to the lips. - -There was a long pause while the two men looked into each other's eyes. - -“Don't you know me, Dannie?” wistfully. Dan said nothing, but he -extended his hand, and his father's fingers closed about it with a -mighty pressure. Then, quite abruptly, Roger Oakley turned and walked -over to the window. Once more there was absolute silence in the room, -save for the ticking of the clock and the buzzing of a solitary fly high -up on the ceiling. - -The old convict was the first to break the tense stillness. - -“I had about made up my mind I should never see you again, Dannie. When -your mother died and you came West it sort of wiped out the little there -was between me and the living. In fact, I really didn't know you would -care to see me, and when Hart told me you wished me to come to you and -had sent the money, I could hardly believe it.” - -Here the words failed him utterly. He turned slowly and looked into his -son's face long and lovingly. “I've thought of you as a little boy for -all these years, Dannie--as no higher than that,” dropping his hand -to his hip. “And here you are a man grown. But you got your mother's -look--I'd have known you by it among a thousand.” - -If Dan had felt any fear of his father it had left him the instant he -entered the room. Whatever he might have done, whatever he might have -been, there was no question as to the manner of man he had become. He -stepped to his son's side and took his hand in one of his own. - -“You've made a man of yourself. I can see that. What do you do here for -a living?” - -Dan laughed, queerly. “I am the general manager of the railroad, father,” - nodding towards the station and the yards. “But it's not much to brag -about. It's only a one-horse line,” he added. - -“No, you don't mean it, Dannie!” And he could see that his father was -profoundly impressed. He put up his free hand and gently patted Dan's -head as though he were indeed the little boy he remembered. - -“Did you have an easy trip West, father?” Oakley asked. “You must be -tired.” - -“Not a bit, Dannie. It was wonderful. I'd been shut off from it all for -more than twenty years, and each mile was taking me nearer you.” - -The warm yellow light was beginning to fade from the room. It was -growing late. - -“I guess we'd better go up-town to the hotel and have our supper. Where -is your trunk? At the station?” - -“I've got nothing but a bundle. It's at the door.” - -Dan locked his desk, and they left the office. - -“Is it all yours?” Roger Oakley asked, pausing as they crossed the -yards, to glance up and down the curving tracks. - -“It's part of the property I manage. It belongs to General Cornish, who -holds most of the stock.” - -“And the train I came on, Dannie, who owned that?” - -“At Buckhorn Junction, where you changed cars for the last time, -you caught our local express. It runs through to a place called -Harrison--the terminus of the line. This is only a branch road, you -know.” - -But the explanation was lost on his father. His son's relation to the -road was a magnificent fact which he pondered with simple pleasure. - -After their supper at the hotel they went up-stairs. Roger Oakley had -been given a room next his son's. It was the same room General Cornish -had occupied when he was in Antioch. - -“Would you like to put away your things now?” asked Dan, as he placed -his father's bundle, which he had carried up-town from the office, on -the bed. - -“I'll do that by and by. There ain't much there--just a few little -things I've managed to keep, or that have been given me.” - -Dan pushed two chairs before an open window that overlooked the square. -His father had taken a huge blackened meerschaum from its case and was -carefully filling it from a leather pouch. - -“You don't mind if I light my pipe?” he inquired. - -“Not a bit. I've one in my pocket, but it's not nearly as fine as -yours.” - -“Our warden gave it to me one Christmas, and I've smoked it ever since. -He was a very good man, Dannie. It's the old warden I'm speaking of, not -Kenyon, the new one, though he's a good man, too.” - -Dan wondered where he had heard the name of Kenyon before; then he -remembered--it was at the Emorys'. - -“Try some of my tobacco, Dannie,” passing the pouch. - -For a time the two men sat in silence, blowing clouds of white smoke -out into the night. Under the trees, just bursting into leaf, the -street-lamps flickered in a long, dim perspective, and now and then -a stray word floated up to them, coming from a group of idlers on the -corner below the window. - -Roger Oakley hitched his chair nearer his son's, and rested a heavy hand -on his knee. “I like it here,” he said. - -“Do you? I am glad.” - -“What will be the chances of my finding work? You know I'm a -cabinet-maker by trade.” - -“There's no need of your working; so don't worry about that.” - -“But I must work, Dannie. I ain't used to sitting still and doing -nothing.” - -“Well,” said Oakley, willing to humor him, “there are the car shops.” - -“Can you get me in?” - -“Oh yes, when you are ready to start. I'll have McClintock, the master -mechanic, find something in your line for you to do.” - -“I'll need to get a kit of tools.” - -“I guess McClintock can arrange that, too. I'll see him about it when -you are ready.” - -“Then that's settled. I'll begin in the morning,” with quiet -determination. - -“But don't you want to look around first?” - -“I'll have my Sundays for that.” And Dan saw that there was no use in -arguing the point with him. He was bent on having his own way. - -The old convict filled his lungs with a deep, free breath. “Yes, I'm -going to like it. I always did like a small town, anyhow. Tell me about -yourself, Dannie. How do you happen to be here?” - -Dan roused himself. “I don't know. It's chance, I suppose. After -mother's death--” - -“Twenty years ago last March,” breaking in upon him, softly; then, -nodding at the starlit heavens, “She's up yonder now, watching us. -Nothing's hidden or secret. It's all plain to her.” - -“Do you really think that, father?” - -“I know it, Dannie.” And his tone was one of settled conviction. - -Dan had already discovered that his father was deeply religious. It -was a faith the like of which had not descended to his own day and -generation. - -“Well, I had it rather hard for a while,” going back to his story. - -“Yes,” with keen sympathy. “You were nothing but a little boy.” - -“Finally, I was lucky enough to get a place as a newsboy on a train. I -sold papers until I was sixteen, and then began braking. I wanted to -be an engineer, but I guess my ability lay in another direction. At any -rate, they took me off the road and gave me an office position instead. -I got to be a division superintendent, and then I met General Cornish. -He is one of the directors of the line I was with at the time. Three -months ago he made me an offer to take hold here, and so here I am.” - -“And you've never been back home, Dannie?” - -“Never once. I've wanted to go, but I couldn't.” He hoped his father -would understand. - -“Well, there ain't much to take you there but her grave. I wish she -might have lived, you'd have been a great happiness to her, and she got -very little happiness for her portion any ways you look at it. We were -only just married when the war came, and I was gone four years. Then -there was about eleven years When we were getting on nicely. We had -money put by, and owned our own home. Can you remember it, Dannie? -The old brick place on the corner across from the post-office. A new -Methodist church stands there now. It was sold to get money for my -lawyer when the big trouble came. Afterwards, when everything was spent, -she must have found it very hard to make a living for herself and you.” - -“She did,” said Dan, gently. “But she managed somehow to keep a roof -over our heads.” - -“When the law sets out to punish it don't stop with the guilty only. -When I went to her grave and saw there were flowers growing on it, and -that it was being cared for, it told me what you were. She was a very -brave woman, Dannie.” - -“Yes,” pityingly, “she was.” - -“Few women have had the sorrow she had, and few women could have borne -up under it as she did. You know that was an awful thing about Sharp.” - -He put up his hand and wiped the great drops of perspiration from his -forehead. - -Dan turned towards him quickly. - -“Why do you speak of it? It's all past now.” - -“I'd sort of like to tell you about it.” - -There was a long pause, and he continued: - -“Sharp and I had been enemies for a long time. It started back before -the war, when he wanted to marry your mother. We both enlisted in the -same regiment, and somehow the trouble kept alive. He was a bit of a -bully, and I was counted a handy man with my fists, too. The regiment -was always trying to get us into the ring together, but we knew it was -dangerous. We had sense enough for that. I won't say he would have done -it, but I never felt safe when there was a fight on in all those four -years. It's easy enough to shoot the man in front of you and no one be -the wiser. Many a score's been settled that way. When we got home -again we didn't get along any better. He was a drinking man, and had no -control over himself when liquor got the best of him. I did my share -in keeping the feud alive. What he said of me and what I said of him -generally reached both of us in time, as you can fancy. - -“At last, when I joined the church, I concluded it wasn't right to -hate a man the way I hated Sharp, for, you see, he'd never really done -anything to me. - -“One day I stopped in at the smithy--he was a blacksmith--to have a talk -with him and see if we couldn't patch it up somehow and be friends. It -was a Saturday afternoon, and he'd been drinking more than was good for -him. - -“I hadn't hardly got the first words out when he came at me with a big -sledge in his hand, all in a rage, and swearing he'd have my life. I -pushed him off and started for the door. I saw it was no use to try to -reason with him, but he came at me again, and this time he struck me -with his sledge. It did no harm, though it hurt, and I pushed him out of -my way and backed off towards the door. The lock was caught, and before -I could open it, he was within striking distance again, and I had to -turn to defend myself. I snatched up a bar of iron perhaps a foot long. -I had kept my temper down until then, but the moment I had a weapon -in my hand it got clean away from me, and in an instant I was -fighting--just as he was fighting--to kill.” - -Roger Oakley had told the story of the murder in a hard, emotionless -voice, but Dan saw in the half-light that his face was pale and drawn. -Dan found it difficult to associate the thought of violence with the -man at his side, whose whole manner spoke of an unusual restraint -and control. That he had killed a man, even in self-defence, seemed -preposterous and inconceivable. - -There was a part of the story Roger Oakley could not tell, and which his -son had no desire to hear. - -“People said afterwards that I'd gone there purposely to pick a quarrel -with Sharp, and his helper, who, it seems, was in the yard back of -the smithy setting a wagon tire, swore he saw me through a window as I -entered, and that I struck the first blow. He may have seen only the end -of it, and really believed I did begin it, but that's a sample of how -things got twisted. Nobody believed my motive was what I said it -was. The jury found me guilty of murder, and the judge gave me a life -sentence. A good deal of a fuss was made over what I did at the fire -last winter. Hart told me he'd sent you the papers.” - -Dan nodded, and his father continued: - -“Some ladies who were interested in mission work at the prison took the -matter up and got me my pardon. It's a fearful and a wicked thing for a -man to lose his temper, Dannie. At first I was bitter against every one -who had a hand in sending me to prison, but I've put that all from my -heart. It was right I should be punished.” - -He rose from his chair, striking the ashes from his pipe. - -“Ain't it very late, Dannie? I'll just put away my things, and then we -can go to bed. I didn't mean to keep you up.” - -Oakley watched his precise and orderly arrangement of his few -belongings. He could see that it was a part of the prison discipline -under which he had lived for almost a quarter of a century. When the -contents of his bundle were disposed of to his satisfaction, he put on a -pair of steel-rimmed spectacles, with large, round glasses, and took up -a well-thumbed Bible, which he had placed at one side. - -“I hope you haven't forgotten this book, Dannie,” tapping it softly with -a heavy forefinger. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -KERR and Holt were at Buckhom Junction with the pay-car, a decrepit -caboose that complained in every wheel as the engine jerked it over -the rails. Holt said that its motion was good for Kerr's dyspepsia. -He called it the pay-car cure, and professed to believe it a subtle -manifestation of the general's benevolence. - -Miss Walton was having a holiday. This left Oakley the sole tenant of -the office. - -He had returned from Chicago the day before, where he had gone to drum -up work. - -It was a hot, breathless morning in May. The machinery in the shops -droned on and on, with the lazy, softened hum of revolving wheels, or -the swish of swiftly passing belts. A freight was cutting out cars in -the yards. It was rather noisy and bumped discordantly in and out of the -sidings. - -Beyond the tracks and a narrow field, where the young corn stood in -fresh green rows, was a line of stately sycamores and vivid willows that -bordered Billup's Fork. Tradition had it that an early settler by the -name of Billup had been drowned there--a feat that must have required -considerable ingenuity on his part, as the stream was nothing but a -series of shallow riffles, with an occasional deep hole. Once Jeffy, -generously drunk, had attempted to end his life in the fork. He had -waded in above his shoe-tops, only to decide that the water was too -cold, and had waded out again, to the keen disappointment of six -small boys on the bank, who would have been grateful for any little -excitement. He said he wanted to live to invent a drink that tasted as -good coming up as it did going down; there was all kinds of money in -such a drink. But the boys felt they had been swindled, and threw stones -at him. It is sometimes difficult to satisfy an audience. Nearer at -hand, but invisible, Clarence was practising an elusive dance-step in an -empty coal-car. He was inspired by a lofty ambition to equal--he dared -not hope to excel--a gentleman he had seen at a recent minstrel -performance. - -McClintock, passing, had inquired sarcastically if it was his busy day, -but Clarence had ignored the question. He felt that he had nothing in -common with one who possessed such a slavish respect for mere industry. - -Presently McClintock wandered in from the hot out-of-doors to talk over -certain repairs he wished undertaken in the shops. He was a typical -American mechanic, and Oakley liked him, as he always liked the man who -knew his business and earned his pay. - -They discussed the repairs, and then Oakley asked, “How's my father -getting along, Milt?” - -“Oh, all right. He's a little slow, that's all.” - -“What's he on now?” - -“Those blue-line cars that came in last month.” - -“There isn't much in that batch. I had to figure close to get the work. -Keep the men moving.” - -“They are about done. I'll put the painters on the job to-morrow.” - -“That's good.” - -McClintock went over to the water-cooler in the corner and filled a -stemless tumbler with ice-water. - -“We'll be ready to send them up to Buckhorn the last of next week. Is -there anything else in sight?” - -He gulped down the water at a single swallow. “No, not at present, but -there are one or two pretty fair orders coming in next month that I was -lucky enough to pick up in Chicago. Isn't there any work of our own we -can go at while things are slack?” - -“Lots of it,” wiping his hands on the legs of his greasy overalls. “All -our day coaches need paint, and some want new upholstery.” - -“We'd better go at that, then.” - -“All right. I'll take a look at the cars in the yards, and see what I -can put out in place of those we call in. There's no use talking, Mr. -Oakley, you've done big things for the shops,” he added. - -“Well, I am getting some work for them, and while there isn't much -profit in it, perhaps, it's a great deal better than being idle.” - -“Just a whole lot,” agreed McClintock. - -“I think I can pick up contracts enough to keep us busy through the -summer. I understand you've always had to shut down.” - -“Yes, or half-time,” disgustedly. - -“I guess we can worry through without that; at any rate, I want to,” - observed Oakley. - -“I'll go see how I can manage about our own repairs,” said McClintock. - -He went out, and from the window Oakley saw him with a bunch of keys in -his hand going in the direction of a line of battered day coaches on one -of the sidings. The door opened again almost immediately to admit Griff -Ryder. This was almost the last person in Antioch from whom Dan was -expecting a call. The editor's cordiality as he greeted him made him -instantly suspect that some favor was wanted. Most people who came to -the office wanted favors. Usually it was either a pass or a concession -on freight. - -As a rule, Kerr met all such applicants. His manner fitted him for just -such interviews, and he had no gift for popularity, which suffered in -consequence. - -Ryder pushed a chair over beside Oakley's and seated himself. By sliding -well down on his spine he managed to reach the low sill of the window -with his feet. He seemed to admire the effect, for he studied them in -silence for a moment. - -“There's a little matter I want to speak to you about, Oakley. I've -been intending to run in for the past week, but I have been so busy I -couldn't.” - -Oakley nodded for him to go on. - -“In the first place, I'd like to feel that you were for Kenyon. You can -be of a great deal of use to us this election. It's going to be close, -and Kenyon's a pretty decent sort of a chap to have come out of these -parts. You ought to take an interest in seeing him re-elected.” - -Oakley surmised that this was the merest flattery intended to tickle his -vanity. He answered promptly that he didn't feel the slightest interest -in politics one way or the other. - -“Well, but one good fellow ought to wish to see another good fellow get -what he's after, and you can help us if you've a mind to; but this isn't -what I've come for. It's about Hoadley.” - -“What about Hoadley?” quickly. - -“He's got the idea that his days with the Huckleberry are about -numbered.” - -“I haven't said so.” - -“I know you haven't.” - -“Then what is he kicking about? When he's to go, he'll hear of it from -me.” - -“But, just the same, it's in the air that there's to be a shake-up, and -that a number of men, and Hoad-ly among them, are going to be laid off. -Now, he's another good fellow, and he's a friend of mine, and I told him -I'd come in and fix it up with you.” - -“I don't think you can fix it up with me, Mr. Ryder. Just the same, I'd -like to know how this got out.” - -“Then there is to be a shake-up?” - -Oakley bit his lips. “You seem to take it for granted there is to be.” - -“I guess there's something back of the rumor.” - -“I may as well tell you why Hoadley's got to go.” - -“Oh, he is to go, then? I thought my information was correct.” - -“In the first place, he's not needed, and in the second place, he's a -lazy loafer. The road must earn its keep. General Cornish is sick -of putting his hand in his pocket every six months to keep it out of -bankruptcy. You are enough of a business man to know he won't stand that -sort of thing forever. Of course I am sorry for Hoadley if he needs the -money, but some one's got to suffer, and he happens to be the one. -I'll take on his work myself. I can do it, and that's a salary saved. I -haven't any personal feeling in the matter. The fact that I don't like -him, as it happens, has nothing to do with it. If he were my own brother -he'd have to get out.” - -“I can't see that one man, more or less, is going to make such a hell of -a difference, Oakley,” Ryder urged, with what he intended should be an -air of frank good-fellowship. - -“Can't you?” with chilly dignity. Oakley was slow to anger, but he had -always fought stubbornly for what he felt was due him, and he wished the -editor to understand that the management of the B. & A. was distinctly -not his province. - -Ryder's eyes were half closed, and only a narrow slit of color showed -between the lids. - -“I am very much afraid we won't hit it off. I begin to see we aren't -going to get on. I want you to keep Hoadley as a personal favor to me. -Just wait until I finish. If you are going in for reform, I may have -it in my power to be of some service to you. You will need some backing -here, and even a country newspaper can manufacture public sentiment. -Now if we aren't to be friends you will find me on the other side, and -working just as hard against you as I am willing to work for you if you -let Hoadley stay.” - -Oakley jumped up. - -“I don't allow anybody to talk like that to me. I am running this for -Cornish. They are his interests, not mine, and you can start in and -manufacture all the public sentiment you damn please.” Then he cooled -down a bit and felt ashamed of himself for the outburst. - -“I am not going to be unfair to any one if I can help it. But if the -road's earnings don't meet the operating expenses the general will -sell it to the M. & W. Do you understand what that means? It will knock -Antioch higher than a kite, for the shops will be closed. I guess when -all hands get that through their heads they will take it easier.” - -“That's just the point I made. Who is going to enlighten them if it -isn't me? I don't suppose you will care to go around telling everybody -what a fine fellow you are, and how thankful they should be that you -have stopped their wages. We can work double, Oakley. I want Hoadley -kept because he's promised me his influence for Kenyon if I'd exert -myself in his behalf. He's of importance up at the Junction. Of course -we know he's a drunken beast, but that's got nothing to do with it.” - -“I am sorry, but he's got to go,” said Oakley, doggedly. “A one-horse -railroad can't carry dead timber.” - -“Very well.” And Ryder pulled in his legs and rose slowly from his -chair. “If you can't and won't see it as I do it's your lookout.” - -Oakley laughed, shortly. - -“I guess I'll be able to meet the situation, Mr. Ryder.” - -“Perhaps you will, and perhaps you won't. We'll see about that when the -time comes.” - -“You heard what I said about the M. & W.?” - -“Well, what about that?” - -“You understand what it means--the closing of the shops?” - -“Oh, I guess that's a long ways off.” - -He stalked over to the door with his head in the air. He was mad clear -through. At the door he turned. Hoadley's retention meant more to him -than he would have admitted. It was not that he cared a rap for Hoadley. -On the contrary, he detested him, but the fellow was a power in country -politics. - -“If you should think better of it--” and he was conscious his manner was -weak with the weakness of the man who has asked and failed. - -“I sha'n't,” retorted Oakley, laconically. - -He scouted the idea that Ryder, with his little country newspaper could -either help or harm him. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -ROGER OAKLEY had gone to work in the car-shops the day following -his arrival in Antioch. Dan had sought to dissuade him, but he was -stubbornness itself, and the latter realized that the only thing to do -was to let him alone, and not seek to control him. - -After all, if he would be happier at work, it was no one's affair but -his own. - -It never occurred to the old convict that pride might have to do with -the stand Dan took in the matter. - -He was wonderfully gentle and affectionate, with a quaint, unworldly -simplicity that was rather pathetic. His one anxiety was to please Dan, -but, in spite of this anxiety, once a conviction took possession of him -he clung to it with unshaken tenacity in the face of every argument his -son could bring to bear. - -Under the inspiration of his newly acquired freedom, he developed in -unexpected ways. As soon as he felt that his place in the shops -was secure and that he was not to be interfered with, he joined the -Methodist Church. Its services occupied most of his spare time. Every -Thursday night found him at prayer-meeting. Twice each Sunday he went -to church, and by missing his dinner he managed to take part in the -Sunday-school exercises. A social threw him into a flutter of pleased -expectancy. Not content with what his church offered, irrespective of -creed, he joined every society in the place of a religious or temperance -nature, and was a zealous and active worker among such of the heathen -as flourished in Antioch. There was a stern Old Testament flavor to -his faith. He would have dragged the erring from their peril by main -strength, and have regulated their morals by legal enactments. Those of -the men with whom he came in contact in the shops treated him with the -utmost respect, partly on his own account, and partly because of Dan. - -McClintock always addressed him as “The Deacon,” and soon ceased to -overflow with cheerful profanity in his presence. The old man had early -taken occasion to point out to him the error of his ways and to hint at -what was probably in store for him unless he curbed the utterances of -his tongue. He was not the only professing Christian in the car-shops, -but he was the only one who had ventured to “call down” the -master-mechanic. - -Half of all he earned he gave to the church. The remainder of his -slender income he divided again into two equal parts. One of these he -used for his personal needs, the other disappeared mysteriously. He was -putting it by for “Dannie.” - -It was a disappointment to him that his son took only the most casual -interest in religious matters. He comforted himself, however, with -the remembrance that at his age his own interest had been merely -traditional. It was only after his great trouble that the awakening -came. He was quite certain “Dannie” would experience this awakening, -too, some day. - -Finally he undertook the regeneration of Jeffy. Every new-comer in -Antioch of a philanthropic turn of mind was sure sooner or later to fall -foul of the outcast, who was usually willing to drop whatever he was -doing to be reformed. It pleased him and interested him. - -He was firmly grounded in the belief, however, that in his case -the reformation that would really reform would have to be applied -externally, and without inconvenience to himself, but until the -spiritual genius turned up who could work this miracle, he was perfectly -willing to be experimented upon by any one who had a taste for what he -called good works. - -After Mrs. Bentick's funeral he had found the means, derived in part -from the sale of Turner Joyce's wardrobe, to go on a highly sensational -drunk, which comprehended what was known in Antioch as “The Snakes.” - -Roger Oakley had unearthed him at the gas-house, a melancholy, tattered -ruin. He had rented a room for his occupancy, and had conveyed him -thither under cover of the night. During the week that followed, while -Jeffy was convalescent, he spent his evenings there reading to him from -the Bible. - -Jeffy would have been glad to escape these attentions. This new moral -force in the community inspired an emotion akin to awe. Day by day, -as he recognized the full weight of authority in Roger Oakley's manner -towards him, this awe increased, until at last it developed into an -acute fear. So he kept his bed and meditated flight. He even considered -going as far away as Buckhom or Harrison to be rid of the old man. Then, -by degrees, he felt himself weaken and succumb to the other's control. -His cherished freedom--the freedom of the woods and fields, and the -drunken spree variously attained, seemed only a happy memory. But -the last straw was put upon him, and he rebelled when his benefactor -announced that he was going to find work for him. - -At first Jeffy had preferred not to take this seriously. He assumed to -regard it as a delicate sarcasm on the part of his new friend. He closed -first one watery eye and then the other. It was such a good joke. -But Roger Oakley only reiterated his intention with unmistakable -seriousness. It was no joke, and the outcast promptly sat up in bed, -while a look of slow horror overspread his face. - -“But I ain't never worked, Mr. Oakley,” he whined, hoarsely. “I don't -feel no call to work. The fact is, I am too busy to work. I would be -wasting my time if I done that. I'd be durn thankful if you could reform -me, but I'll tell you right now this ain't no way to begin. No, sir, you -couldn't make a worse start.” - -“It's high time you went at something,” said his self-appointed guide -and monitor, with stony conviction, and he backed his opinion with a -quotation from the Scriptures. - -Now to Jeffy, who had been prayerfully brought up by a pious mother, -the Scriptures were the fountain-head of all earthly wisdom. To invoke -a citation from the Bible was on a par with calling in the town marshal. -It closed the incident so far as argument was concerned. He was vaguely -aware that there was one text which he had heard which seemed to give -him authority to loaf, but he couldn't remember it. - -Roger Oakley looked at him rather sternly over the tops of his -steel-rimmed spectacles, and said, with quiet determination, “I am going -to make a man of you. You've got it in you. There's hope in every human -life. You must let drink alone, and you must work. Work's what you -need.” - -“No, it ain't. I never done a day's work in my life. It'd kill me if I -had to get out and hustle and sweat and bile in the sun. Durnation! of -all fool ideas! I never seen the beat!” He threw himself back on the -bed, stiff and rigid, and covered his face with the sheet. - -For perhaps a minute he lay perfectly still. Then the covers were -seen to heave tumultuously, while short gasps and sobs were distinctly -audible. Presently two skinny but expressive legs habited in red flannel -were thrust from under the covers and kicked violently back and forth. - -A firm hand plucked the sheet from before the outcast's face, and the -gaunt form of the old convict bent grimly above him. - -“Come, come, Jeffy, I didn't expect this of you. I am willing to help -you in every way I can. I'll get my son to make a place for you at the -shops. How will you like that?” - -“How'll I like it? You ought to know me well enough to know I won't like -it a little bit!” in tearful and indignant protest. “You just reach me -them pants of mine off the back of that chair. You mean well, I'll say -that much for you, but you got the sweatiest sort of a religion; durned -if it ain't all work! Just reach me them pants, do now,” and he half -rose up in his bed, only to encounter a strong arm that pushed him back -on the pillows. - -“You can't have your pants, Jeffy, not now. You must stay here until you -get well and strong.” - -“How am I going to get well and strong with you hounding me to death? -I never seen such a man to take up with an idea and stick to it against -all reason. It just seems as if you'd set to work to break my spirit,” - plaintively. - -Roger Oakley frowned at him in silence for a moment, then he said: - -“I thought we'd talked all this over, Jeffy.” - -“I just wanted to encourage you. I was mighty thankful to have you take -hold. I hadn't been reformed for over a year. It about seemed to me that -everybody had forgotten I needed to be reformed, and I was willing to -give you a chance. No one can't ever say I ain't stood ready to do that -much.” - -“But, my poor Jeffy, you will have to do more than that.” - -“Blamed if it don't seem to me as if you was expecting me to do it all!” - -The old convict drew up a chair to the bedside and sat down. - -“I thought you told me you wanted to be a man and to be respected?” said -this philanthropist, with evident displeasure. - -Jeffy choked down a sob and sat up again. He gestured freely with his -arms in expostulation. - -“I was drunk when I said that. Yes, sir, I was as full as I could stick. -Now I'm sober, I know rotten well what I want.” - -“What do you want, Jeffy?” - -“Well, I want a lot of things.” - -“Well, what, for instance?” - -“Well, sir, it ain't no prayers, and it ain't no Bible talks, and it -ain't no lousy work. It's coming warm weather. I want to lay up along -the crick-bank in the sun and do nothing--what I always done. I've had a -durned hard winter, and I been a-living for the spring.” - -A look of the keenest disappointment clouded Roger Oakley's face as -Jeffy voiced his ignoble ambitions. His resentment gave way to sorrow. -He murmured a prayer that he might be granted strength and patience for -his task, and as he prayed with half-closed eyes, the outcast plugged -his ears with his fingers. He was a firm believer in the efficacy of -prayer, and he felt he couldn't afford to take any chances. - -Roger Oakley turned to him with greater gentleness of manner than he had -yet shown. - -“Don't you want the love and confidence of your neighbors, Jeffy?” he -asked, pityingly. - -“I ain't got no neighbors, except the bums who sleep along of me at the -gas-house winter nights. I always feel this way when I come off a spree; -first it seems as if I'd be willing never to touch another drop of -licker as long as I lived. I just lose interest in everything, and I -don't care a durn what happens to me. Why, I've joined the Church lots -of times when I felt that way, but as soon as I begin to get well it's -different. I am getting well now, and what I told you don't count any -more. I got my own way of living.” - -“But what a way!” sadly. - -“Maybe it ain't your way, and maybe it ain't the best way, but it suits -me bully. I can always get enough to eat by going and asking some one -for it, and you can't beat that. No, sir. You know durn well you can't!” - becoming argumentative. “It just makes me sick to think of paying for -things like vittles and clothes. A feller's got to have clothes, -anyhow, ain't he? You know mighty well he has, or he'll get pinched, and -supposing I was to earn a lot of money, even as much as a dollar a day, -I'd have to spend every blamed cent to live. One day I'd work, and then -the next I'd swaller what I'd worked for. Where's the sense in that? And -I'd have all sorts of ornery worries for fear I'd lose my job.” A look -of wistful yearning overspread his face. “Just you give me the hot days -that's coming, when a feller's warm clean through and sweats in the -shade, and I won't ask for no money. You can have it all!” - -That night, when he left him, Roger Oakley carefully locked the door -and pocketed the key, and the helpless wretch on the bed, despairing -and miserable, and cut off from all earthly hope, turned his face to the -white wall and sobbed aloud. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -THEY were standing on the street corner before the hotel. Oakley had -just come up-town from the office. He was full of awkward excuses and -apologies, but Mr. Emory cut them short. - -“I suppose I've a right to be angry at the way you've avoided us, but -I'm not. On the contrary, I'm going to take you home to dinner with me.” - -If Dan find consulted his preferences in the matter, he would have -begged off, but he felt he couldn't, without giving offence; so he -allowed the doctor to lead him away, but he didn't appear as pleased or -as grateful as he should have been at this temporary release from the -low diet of the American House. - -Miss Emory was waiting for her father on the porch. An errand of hers -had taken him downtown. - -She seemed surprised to see Oakley, but graciously disposed towards him. -While he fell short of her standards, he was decidedly superior to the -local youth with whom she had at first been inclined to class him. Truth -to tell, the local youth fought rather shy of the doctor's beautiful -daughter. Mr. Burt Smith, the gentlemanly druggist and acknowledged -social leader, who was much sought after by the most exclusive circles -in such centres of fashion as Buckhorn and Harrison, had been so chilled -by her manner when, meeting her on the street, he had attempted to -revive an acquaintance which dated back to their childhood, that he was -a mental wreck for days afterwards, and had hardly dared trust himself -to fill even the simplest prescription. - -When the Monday Club and the Social Science Club and the History Club -hinted that she might garner great sheaves of culture and enlightenment -at their meetings, Constance merely smiled condescendingly, but held -aloof, and the ladies of Antioch were intellectual without her abetment. -They silently agreed with the Emorys' free-born help, who had seen -better days, that she was “haughty proud” and “stuck up.” - -Many was the informal indignation meeting they held, and many the -vituperate discussion handed down concerning Miss Emory, but Miss Emory -went her way with her head held high, apparently serenely unconscious of -her offence against the peace and quiet of the community. - -It must not be supposed that she was intentionally unkind or arrogant. -It was unfortunate, perhaps, but she didn't like the townspeople. She -would have been perfectly willing to admit they were quite as good as -she. The whole trouble was that they were different, and the merits of -this difference had nothing to do with the case. Her stand in the matter -shocked her mother and amused her father. - -Dr. Emory excused himself and went into the house. Dan made himself -comfortable on the steps at Miss Emory's side. In the very nearness -there was something luxurious and satisfying. He was silent because he -feared the antagonism of speech. - -The rest of Antioch had eaten its supper, principally in its -shirt-sleeves, and was gossiping over front gates, or lounging on front -steps. When Antioch loafed it did so with great singleness of purpose. - -Here and there through the town, back yards had been freshly ploughed -for gardens. In some of these men and boys were burning last year's -brush and litter. The smoke hung heavy and undispersed in the twilight. -Already the younger hands from the car-shops had “cleaned up,” and, -dressed in their best clothes, were hurrying back down-town to hang -about the square and street corners until it was time to return home and -go to bed. - -Off in the distance an occasional shrill whistle told where the -ubiquitous small boy was calling a comrade out to play, and every now -and then, with a stealthy patter of bare feet, some coatless urchin -would scurry past the Emorys' gate. - -It was calm and restful, but it gave one a feeling of loneliness, too; -Antioch seemed very remote from the great world where things happened, -or were done. In spite of his satisfaction, Dan vaguely realized this. -To the girl at his side, however, the situation was absolutely tragic. -The life she had known had been so different, but it had been purchased -at the expense of a good deal of inconvenience and denial on the part -of her father and mother. It was impossible to ask a continuance of the -sacrifice, and it was equally impossible to remain in Antioch. She -did not want to be selfish, but the day was not far off when it would -resolve itself into a question of simple self-preservation. She had not -yet reached the point where she could consider marriage as a possible -means of escape, and, even if she had, it would not have solved the -problem, for whom was she to marry? - -There was a tired, fretful look in her eyes. She had lost something of -her brilliancy and freshness. In her despair she told herself she was -losing everything. - -“I was with friends of yours this afternoon, Mr. Oakley,” she said, by -way of starting the conversation. - -“Friends of mine, here?” - -“Yes. The Joyces.” - -“I must go around and see them. They have been very kind to my father,” - said Dan, with hearty good-will. - -“How long is your father to remain in Antioch, Mr. Oakley?” inquired -Constance. - -“As long as I remain, I suppose. There are only the two of us, you -know.” - -“What does he find to do here?” - -“Oh,” laughed Dan, “he finds plenty to do. His energy is something -dreadful. Then, too, he's employed at the shops; that keeps him pretty -busy, you see.” - -But Miss Emory hadn't known this before. She elevated her eyebrows in -mild surprise. She was not sure she understood. - -“I didn't know that he was one of the officers of the road,” with -deceptive indifference. - -“He's not. He's a cabinet-maker,” explained the literal Oakley, to whom -a cabinet-maker was quite as respectable as any one else. There was a -brief pause, while Constance turned this over in her mind. It struck -her as very singular that Oakley's father should be one of the hands. -Perhaps she credited him with a sensitiveness of which he was entirely -innocent. - -She rested her chin in her hands and gazed out into the dusty street. - -“Isn't it infinitely pathetic to think of that poor little man and his -work?” going back to Joyce. “Do you know, I could have cried? And his -wife's faith, it is sublime, even if it is mistaken.” She laughed in a -dreary fashion. “What is to be done for people like that, whose lives -are quite uncompensated?” - -To Oakley this opened up a field for future speculation, but he -approved of her interest in Joyce. It was kindly and sincere, and it was -unexpected. He had been inclined to view her as a proud young person, -unduly impressed with the idea of her own beauty and superiority. It -pleased him to think he had been mistaken. - -They were joined by the doctor, who had caught a part of what Constance -said, and divined the rest. - -“You see only the pathos. Joyce is just as well off here as he would -be anywhere else, and perhaps a little better. He makes a decent living -with his pictures.” As he spoke he crossed the porch and stood at her -side, with his hand resting affectionately on her shoulder. - -“I guess there's a larger justice in the world than we conceive,” said -Oakley. - -“But not to know, to go on blindly doing something that is really very -dreadful, and never to know!” - -She turned to Oakley. “I am afraid I rather agree with your father. He -seems happy enough, and he is doing work for which there is a demand.” - -“Would you be content to live here with no greater opportunity than he -has?” - -Oakley laughed and shook his head. - -“No. But that's not the same. I'll pull the Huckleberry up and make it -pay, and then go in for something bigger.” - -“And if you can't make it pay?” - -“I won't bother with it, then.” - -“But if you had to remain?” - -Oakley gave her an incredulous smile. - -“That couldn't be possible. I have done all sorts of things but stick in -what I found to be undesirable berths; but, of course, business is not -at all the same.” - -“But isn't it? Look at Mr. Ryder. He says that he is buried here in the -pine-woods, with no hope of ever getting back into the world, and I am -sure he is able, and journalism is certainly a business, like anything -else.” - -Oakley made no response to this. He didn't propose to criticise Ryder, -but, all the same, he doubted his ability. - -“Griff's frightfully lazy,” remarked the doctor. “He prefers to settle -down to an effortless sort of an existence rather than make a struggle.” - -“Don't you think Mr. Ryder extremely clever, Mr. Oakley?” - -“I know him so slightly, Miss Emory; but no doubt he is.” - -Mrs. Emory appeared in the doorway, placid and smiling. - -“Constance, you and Mr. Oakley come on in; dinner's ready.” - -When Dan went home that night he told himself savagely that he -would never go to the Emorys' again. The experience had been most -unsatisfactory. In spite of Constance's evident disposition towards -tolerance where he was concerned, she exasperated him. Her unconscious -condescension was a bitter memory of which he could not rid himself. -Certainly women must be petty, small-souled creatures if she was at all -representative of her sex. Yet, in spite of his determination to avoid -Constance, even at the risk of seeming rude, he found it required -greater strength of will than he possessed to keep away from the Emorys. - -He realized, in the course of the next few weeks, that a new stage in -his development had been reached. Inspired by what he felt was a false -but beautiful confidence in himself, he called often, and, as time wore -on, the frequency of these calls steadily increased. All this while he -thought about Miss Emory a great deal, and was sorry for her or admired -her, according to his mood. - -In Constance's attitude towards him there was a certain fickleness that -he resented. Sometimes she was friendly and companionable, and then -again she seemed to revive all her lingering prejudices and was utterly -indifferent to him, and her indifference was the most complete thing of -its kind he had ever encountered. - -Naturally Dan and Ryder met very frequently, and when they met they -clashed. It was not especially pleasant, of course, but Ryder was -persistent and Oakley was dogged. Once he started in pursuit of an -object, he never gave up or owned that he was beaten. In some form he -had accomplished everything he set out to do; and if the results had -not always been just what he had anticipated, he had at least had the -satisfaction of bringing circumstances under his control. He endured the -editor's sarcasms, and occasionally retaliated with a vengeance so heavy -as to leave Griff quivering with the smart of it. - -Miss Emory found it difficult to maintain the peace between them, but -she admired Dan's mode of warfare. It was so conclusive, and he showed -such grim strength in his ability to look out for himself. - -But Dan felt that he must suffer by any comparison with the editor. -He had no genius for trifles, but rather a ponderous capacity. He had -worked hard, with the single determination to win success. He had -the practical man's contempt, born of his satisfied ignorance for all -useless things, and to his mind the useless things were those whose -value it was impossible to reckon in dollars and cents. - -He had been well content with himself, and now he felt that somehow he -had lost his bearings. Why was it he had not known before that the mere -strenuous climb, the mere earning of a salary, was not all of life? He -even felt a sneaking envy of Ryder of which he was heartily ashamed. - -Men fall in love differently. Some resist and hang back from the -inevitable, not being sure of themselves, and some go headlong, never -having any doubts. With characteristic singleness of purpose, Dan went -headlong; but of course he did not know what the trouble was until long -after the facts in the case were patent to every one, and Antioch had -lost interest in its speculations as to whether the doctor's daughter -would take the editor or the general manager, for, as Mrs. Poppleton, -the Emorys' nearest neighbor, sagely observed, she was “having her -pick.” - -To Oakley Miss Emory seemed to accumulate dignity and reserve in the -exact proportion that he lost them, but he was determined she should -like him if she never did more than that. - -She was just the least bit afraid of him. She knew he was not deficient -in a proper pride, and that he possessed plenty of self-respect, but for -all that he was not very dexterous. It amused her to lead him on, -and then to draw back and leave him to flounder out of some untenable -position she had beguiled him into assuming. - -She displayed undeniable skill in these manoeuvres, and Dan was by turns -savage and penitent. But she never gave him a chance to say what he -wanted to say. - -Ryder made his appeal to her vanity. It was a strong appeal. He was -essentially presentable and companionable. She understood him, and they -had much in common, but for all that her heart approved of Oakley. -She felt his dominance; she realized that he was direct and simple and -strong. Yet in her judgment of him she was not very generous. She could -not understand, for instance, how it was that he had been willing to -allow his father to go to work in the shops like one of the common -hands. It seemed to her to argue such an awful poverty in the way of -ideals. - -The old convict was another stumbling-block. She had met him at the -Joyces', and had been quick to recognize that he and Dan were very much -alike--the difference was merely that of age and youth. Indeed, the -similarity was little short of painful. There was the same simplicity, -the same dogged stubbornness, and the same devotion to what she -conceived to be an almost brutal sense of duty. In the case of the -father this idea of duty had crystallized in a strangely literal belief -in the Deity and expressed itself with rampant boastfulness at the very -discomforts of a faith which, like the worship of Juggernaut, demanded -untold sacrifices and apparently gave nothing in return. - -She tried to stifle her growing liking for Oakley and her unwilling -admiration for his strength and honesty and a certain native refinement. -Unconsciously, perhaps, she had always associated qualities of this sort -with position and wealth. She divined his lack of early opportunity, and -was alive to his many crudities of speech and manner, and he suffered, -as he knew he must suffer, by comparison with the editor; but, in spite -of this, Constance Emory knew deep down in her heart that he possessed -solid and substantial merits of his own. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -KENYON came to town to remind his Antioch friends and supporters that -presently he would be needing their votes. - -He was Ryder's guest for a week, and the _Herald_ recorded his movements -with painstaking accuracy and with what its editor secretly considered -metropolitan enterprise. The great man had his official headquarters at -the _Herald_ office, a ramshackle two-story building on the west side of -the square. Here he was at home to the local politicians, and to such of -the general public as wished to meet him. The former smoked his cigars -and talked incessantly of primaries, nominations, and majorities--topics -on which they appeared to be profoundly versed. Their distinguishing -mark was their capacity for strong drink, which was far in excess -of that of the ordinary citizen who took only a casual interest in -politics. The _Herald's_ back door opened into an alley, and was -directly opposite that of the Red Star saloon. At stated intervals Mr. -Kenyon and Mr. Ryder, followed by the faithful, trailed through this -back door and across the alley, where they cheerfully exposed themselves -to such of the gilded allurements of vice as the Red Star had to offer. - -The men of Antioch eschewed front doors as giving undue publicity to -the state of their thirst, a point on which they must have been very -sensitive, for though a number of saloons flourished in the town, only a -few of the most reckless and emancipated spirits were ever seen to enter -them. - -Kenyon was a sloppily dressed man of forty-five or thereabouts, -who preserved an air of rustic shrewdness. He was angular-faced and -smooth-shaven, and wore his hair rather long in a tangled mop. He was -generally described in the party papers as “The Picturesque Statesman -from Old Hanover.” He had served one term in Congress; prior to that, by -way of apprenticeship, he had done a great deal of hard work and dirty -work for his party. His fortunes had been built on the fortunes of a -bigger and an abler man, who, after a fight which was already famous in -the history of the State for its bitterness, had been elected Governor, -and Kenyon, having picked the winner, had gone to his reward. Just now -he had a shrewd idea that the Governor was anxious to unload him, and -that the party leaders were sharpening their knives for him. Their -change of heart grew out of the fact that he had “dared to assert his -independence,” as he said, and had “played the sneak and broken his -promises,” as they said, in a little transaction which had been left to -him to put through. - -Personally Ryder counted him an unmitigated scamp, but the man's breezy -vulgarity, his nerve, and his infinite capacity to jolly tickled his -fancy. - -He had so far freed himself of his habitual indifference that he was -displaying an unheard-of energy in promoting Kenyon's interest. Of -course he expected to derive certain very substantial benefits from the -alliance. The Congressman had made him endless promises, and Ryder saw, -or thought he saw, his way clear to leave Antioch in the near -future. For two days he had been saying, “Mr. Brown, shake hands with -Congressman Kenyon,” or, “Mr. Jones, I want you to know Congressman -Kenyon, the man we must keep at Washington.” - -He had marvelled at the speed with which the statesman got down to first -names. He had also shown a positive instinct as to whom he should invite -to make the trip across the alley to the Red Star, and whom not. Mr. -Kenyon said, modestly, when Griff commented on this, that his methods -were modern--they were certainly vulgar. - -“I guess I'm going to give 'em a run for their money, Ryder. I can -see I'm doing good work here. There's nothing like being on the ground -yourself.” - -It was characteristic of him that he should ignore the work Ryder had -done in his behalf. - -“You are an inspiration, Sam. The people know their leader,” said the -editor, genially, but with a touch of sarcasm that was lost on Kenyon, -who took himself quite seriously. - -“Yes, sir, they'd 'a' done me dirt,” feelingly, “but I am on my own -range now, and ready to pull off my coat and fight for what's due me.” - -They were seated before the open door which looked out upon the square. -Kenyon was chewing nervously at the end of an unlit cigar, which he -held between his fingers. “When the nomination is made I guess the other -fellow will discover I 'ain't been letting the grass grow in my path.” - He spat out over the door-sill into the street. “What's that you were -just telling me about the Huckleberry?” - -“This new manager of Cornish's is going to make the road pay, and he's -going to do it from the pockets of the employés,” said Ryder, with a -disgruntled air, for the memory of his interview with Dan still rankled. - -“That ain't bad, either. You know the Governor's pretty close to -Cornish. The general was a big contributor to his campaign fund.” - -Ryder hitched his chair nearer his companion's. - -“If there's a cut in wages at the shops--and I suppose that will be the -next move--there's bound to be a lot of bad feeling.” - -“Well, don't forget we are for the people.” remarked the Congressman, -and he winked slyly. - -Ryder smiled cynically. - -“I sha'n't. I have it in for the manager, anyhow.” - -“What's wrong with him?” - -“Oh, nothing, but a whole lot,” answered Griff, with apparent -indifference. - -At this juncture Dr. Emory crossed the square from the post-office and -paused in front of the _Herald_ building. - -“How's Dr. Emory?” said Kenyon, by way of greeting. - -Ryder had risen. - -“Won't you come in and sit down, doctor?” he inquired. - -“No, no. Keep your seat, Griff. I merely strolled over to say how d'ye -do?” - -Kenyon shot past the doctor a discolored stream. That gentleman moved -uneasily to one side. - -“Don't move,” said the statesman, affably. “Plenty of room between you -and the casing.” - -He left his chair and stood facing the doctor, and unpleasantly close. -“Say, our young friend here's turned what I intended to be a vacation -into a very busy time. He's got me down for speeches and all sorts of -things, and it will be a wonder if I go home to Hanover sober. I -won't if he can help it, that's dead sure. Won't you come in and have -something?--just a little appetizer before supper?” - -“No, I thank you.” - -“A cigar, then?” fumbling in his vest-pocket with fingers that were just -the least bit unsteady. - -“No, I must hurry along.” - -“We hope to get up again before Mr. Kenyon leaves town,” said Ryder, -wishing to head the statesman off. He was all right with such men as Cap -Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Burrows, but he had failed signally to take the -doctor's measure. The latter turned away. - -“I hope you will, Griff,” he said, kindly, his voice dwelling with the -least perceptible insistence on the last pronoun. - -“Remember me to the wife and daughter,” called out Kenyon, as the -physician moved up the street with an unusual alacrity. - -It was late in the afternoon, and the men from the car-shops were -beginning to straggle past, going in the direction of their various -homes. Presently Roger Oakley strode heavily by, with his tin -dinner-pail on his arm. Otherwise there was nothing, either in his dress -or appearance, to indicate that he was one of the hands. As he still -lived at the hotel with Dan, he felt it necessary to exercise a certain -care in the matter of dress. As he came into view the Congressman swept -him with a casual scrutiny; then, as the old man plodded on up the -street with deliberate step, Kenyon rose from his chair and stood in the -doorway gazing after him. - -“What's the matter, Sam?” asked Ryder, struck by his friend's manner. - -“Who was that old man who just went past?” - -“That? Oh, that's the manager's father. Why?” - -“Well, he looks most awfully like some one else, that's all,” and he -appeared to lose interest. - -“No, he's old man Oakley. He works in the shops.” - -“Oakley?” - -“Yes, that's his name. Why?” curiously. - -“How long has he been here, anyhow?” - -“A month perhaps, maybe longer. Do you know him?” - -“I've seen him before. A cousin of mine, John Kenyon, is warden of a -prison back in Massachusetts. It runs in the blood to hold office. I -visited him last winter, and while I was there a fire broke out in the -hospital ward, and that old man had a hand in saving the lives of two or -three of the patients. The beggars came within an ace of losing their -lives. I saw afterwards by the papers that the Governor had pardoned -him.” - -Ryder jumped up with sudden alacrity. - -“Do you remember the convict's full name?” Kenyon meditated a moment; -then he said: - -“Roger Oakley.” - -The editor turned to the files of the _Herald_. - -“I'll just look back and see if it's the same name. I've probably got it -here among the personals, if I can only find it. What was he imprisoned -for?” he added. - -“He was serving a life sentence for murder, I think, John told me, but I -won't be sure.” - -“The devil, you say!” ejaculated Ryder. “Yes, Roger Oakley, the name's -the same.” - -“I knew I couldn't be mistaken. I got a pretty good memory for names and -faces. Curious, ain't it, that he should turn up here?” - -Ryder smiled queerly as he dropped the _Herald_ files back into the -rack. - -“His son is manager for Cornish here. He's the fellow I was telling you -about.” - -Kenyon smiled, too. - -“I guess you won't have any more trouble with him. You've got him where -you can hit him, and hit him hard whenever you like.” - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -ROGER OAKLEY carried out his threat to find work for Jeffy. As soon -as the outcast was able to leave his bed, he took him down to the -car-shops, which were destined to be the scene of this brief but -interesting industrial experiment. - -It was early morning, and they found only Clarence there. He was -sweeping out the office--a labor he should have performed the night -before, but, unless he was forcibly detained, he much preferred to let -it go over, on the principle that everything that is put off till the -morrow is just so much of a gain, and, in the end, tends to reduce the -total of human effort, as some task must necessarily be left undone. - -As Roger Oakley pushed open the door and entered the office in search -of his son, his charge, who slunk and shuffled after him with legs which -bore him but uncertainly, cast a long and lingering look back upon the -freedom he was leaving. The dignity of labor, on which his patron had -been expatiating as they walked in the shortening shadows under the -maples, seemed a scanty recompense for all he was losing. A deep, -wistful sigh escaped his lips. He turned his back on the out-of-doors -and peered over the old man's shoulder at Clarence with bleary eyes. Of -course, he knew Clarence. This was a privilege not denied the humblest. -Occasionally the urchin called him names, more often he pelted him with -stones. The opportunities for excitement were limited in Antioch, and -the juvenile population heedfully made the most of those which existed. - -Jeffy was a recognized source of excitement. It was not as if one stole -fruit or ran away from school. Then there was some one to object, and -consequences; but if one had fun with Jeffy there was none to object but -Jeffy, and, of course, he didn't count. - -“Is my son here, Clarence?” asked Roger Oakley. - -“Nope. The whistle ain't blowed yet. I am trying to get the place -cleaned up before he comes down,” making slaps at the desks and chairs -with a large wet cloth. “What you going to do with him, Mr. Oakley?” - -He nodded towards Jeffy, who seemed awed by the unaccustomedness of -his surroundings, for he kept himself hidden back of the old man, his -battered and brimless straw hat held nervously in his trembling fingers. - -“I am going to get work for him.” - -“Him work! Him! Why, he don't want no work, Mr. Oakley. He's too strong -to work.” And Clarence went off into gales of merriment at the mere -idea. - -For an instant Jeffy gazed in silence at the boy with quickly mounting -wrath, then he said, in a hoarse _tremolo_: - -“You durned little loafer! Don't you give me none of your lip!” - -Clarence had sufficiently subsided to remark, casually: “The old man'd -like to know what you got for that horse-blanket and whip you stole from -our barn. You're a bird, you are! When he was willing to let you sleep -in the barn because he was sorry for you!” - -“You lie, durn you!” fiercely. “I didn't steal no whip or -horse-blanket!” - -“Yes, you did, too! The old man found out who you sold 'em to,” smiling -with exasperating coolness. - -The outcast turned to Roger Oakley. “Nobody's willing to let by-gones be -by-gones,” and two large tears slid from his moist eyes. Then his manner -changed abruptly. He became defiant, and, step-ing from behind his -protector, shook a long and very dirty forefinger in Clarence's face. - -“You just tell Chris Berry this from me--I'm done with him. I don't like -no sneaks, and you just tell him this--he sha'n't never bury me.” - -“I reckon he ain't sweatin' to bury any paupers,” hastily interjected -the grinning Clarence. “The old man ain't in the business for his -health.” - -“And if he don't stop slandering me”--his voice shot up out of its -huskiness--“if he don't stop slandering me, I'll fix him!” He turned -again to Roger Oakley. “Them Berrys is a low-lived lot! I hope you won't -never have doings with 'em. They'll smile in your face and then do you -dirt behind your back; I've done a lot for Chris Berry, but I'm durned -if I ever lift my hand for him again.” - -Perhaps he was too excited to specify the exact nature of the benefits -which he had conferred upon the undertaker. Clarence ignored the attack -upon his family. He contented himself with remarking, judiciously: -“Anybody who can slander you's got a future ahead of him. He's got -unusual gifts.” - -Here Roger Oakley saw fit to interfere in behalf of his protégé. He -shook his head in grave admonition at the grinning youngster. “Jeffy is -going to make a man of himself. It's not right to remember these things -against him.” - -“They know rotten well that's what I'm always telling 'em. Let by-gones -be by-gones--that's my motto--but they are so ornery they won't never -give me a chance.” - -“It's going to be a great shock to the community when Jeffy starts -to work, Mr. Oakley,” observed Clarence, politely. “He's never done -anything harder than wheel smoke from the gas-house. Where you going to -put up, Jeffy, when you get your wages?” - -“None of your durn lip!” screamed Jeffy, white with rage. - -“I suppose you'll want to return the horse-blanket and whip. You can -leave 'em here with me. I'll take 'em home to the old man,” remarked the -boy, affably. “I wouldn't trust you with ten cents; you know mighty well -I wouldn't,” retorted Jeffy. - -“Good reason why--you ain't never had that much.” - -Dan Oakley's step was heard approaching the door, and the wordy warfare -ceased abruptly. Clarence got out of the way as quickly as possible, for -he feared he might be asked to do something, and he had other plans for -the morning. - -Jeffy was handed over to McClintock's tender mercies, who put him to -work in the yards. - -It was pay-day in the car-shops, and Oakley posted a number of notices -in conspicuous places about the works. They announced a ten-per-cent, -reduction in the wages of the men, the cut to go into effect -immediately. - -By-and-by McClintock came in from the yards. He was hot and perspiring, -and his check shirt clung moistly to his powerful shoulders. As he -crossed to the water-cooler, he said to Dan: - -“Well, we've lost him already. I guess he wasn't keen for work.” - -Oakley looked up inquiringly from the letter he was writing. - -“I mean Jeffy. He stuck to it for a couple of hours, and then Pete saw -him making a sneak through the cornfield towards the crick. I haven't -told your father yet.” - -Dan laughed. - -“I thought it would be that way. Have you seen the notices?” - -“Yes,” nodding. - -“Heard anything from the men yet?” - -“Not a word.” - -McClintock returned to the yards. It was the noon hour, and in the shade -of one of the sheds he found a number of the hands at lunch, who lived -too far from the shops to go home to dinner. - -“Say, Milt,” said one of these, “have you tumbled to the notices?--ten -per cent, all round. You'll be having to go down in your sock for coin.” - -“It's there all right,” cheerfully. - -“I knew when Cornish came down here there would be something drop -shortly. I ain't never known it to fail. The old skinflint! I'll bet he -ain't losing any money.” - -“You bet he ain't, not he,” said a second, with a short laugh. - -The first man, Branyon by name, bit carefully into the wedge-shaped -piece of pie he was holding in his hand. “If I was as rich as Cornish -I'm damned if I'd be such an infernal stiff! What the hell good is his -money doing him, anyhow?” - -“What does the boss say, Milt?” - -“That wages will go back as soon as he can put them back.” - -“Yes, they will! Like fun!” said Branyon, sarcastically. - -“You're a lot of kickers, you are,” commented McClintock, -good-naturedly. “You don't believe for one minute, do you, that the -Huckleberry or the shops ever earned a dollar?” - -“You can gamble on it that they ain't ever cost Cornish a red cent,” - said Branyon, as positively as a mouthful of pie would allow. - -“I wouldn't be too sure about that,” said the master-mechanic, walking -on. - -“I bet he ain't out none on this,” remarked Branyon, cynically. “If he -was he wouldn't take it so blamed easy.” - -The men began to straggle back from their various homes and to form in -little groups about the yards and in the shops. They talked over the cut -and argued the merits of the case, as men will, made their comments on -Cornish, who was generally conceded to be as mean in money matters as -he was fortunate, and then went back to their work when the one-o'clock -whistle blew, in a state of high good-humor with themselves and their -critical ability. - -The next day the _Herald_ dealt with the situation at some length. The -whole tone of the editorial was rancorous and bitter. It spoke of the -parsimony of the new management, which had been instanced by a number of -recent dismissals among men who had served the road long and faithfully, -and who deserved other and more considerate treatment. It declared that -the cut was but the beginning of the troubles in store for the hands, -and characterized it as an attempt on the part of the new management -to curry favor with Cornish, who was notoriously hostile to the best -interests of labor. It wound up by regretting that the men were not -organized, as proper organization would have enabled them to meet this -move on the part of the management. - -When Oakley read the obnoxious editorial his blood grew hot and his mood -belligerent. It showed evident and unusual care in the preparation, -and he guessed correctly that it had been written and put in type in -readiness for the cut. It was a direct personal attack, too, for the -expression “the new management,” which was used over and over, could -mean but the one thing. - -Dan's first impulse was to hunt Ryder up and give him a sound thrashing, -but his better sense told him that while this rational mode of -expressing his indignation would have been excusable enough a few years -back, when he was only a brakeman, as the manager of the Buckhom and -Antioch Railroad it was necessary to pursue a more pacific policy. - -He knew he could be made very unpopular if these attacks were persisted -in. This he did not mind especially, except as it would interfere with -the carrying out of his plans and increase his difficulties. After -thinking it over he concluded that he would better see Ryder and have -a talk with him. It would do no harm, he argued, and it might do some -good, provided, of course, that he could keep his temper. - -He went directly to the _Herald_ office, and found Griff in and alone. -When Dan strode into the office, looking rather warm, the latter turned -a trifle pale, for he had his doubts about the manager's temper, and no -doubts at all about his muscular development, which was imposing. - -“I came in to see what you meant by this, Ryder,” his caller said, and -he held out the paper folded to the insulting article. Ryder assumed to -examine it carefully, but he knew every word there. - -“Oh, this? Oh yes! The story of the reduction in wages down at the -car-shops. There! You can take it from under my nose; I can see quite -clearly.” - -“Well?” - -“Well,” repeated Ryder after him, with exasperating composure. The -editor was no stranger to intrusions of this sort, for his sarcasms were -frequently personal. His manner varied to suit each individual -case. When the wronged party stormed into the office, wrathful and -loud-lunged, he was generally willing to make prompt reparation, -especially if his visitor had the advantage of physical preponderance on -his side. When, however, the caller was uncertain and palpably in awe of -him, as sometimes happened, he got no sort of satisfaction. With Oakley -he pursued a middle course. - -“Well?” he repeated. - -“What do you mean by this?” - -“I think it speaks for itself, don't you?” - -“I went into this matter with you, and you know as well as I do why -the men are cut. This,” striking the paper contemptuously with his open -hand, “is the worst sort of rubbish, but it may serve to make the men -feel that they are being wronged, and it is an attack on me.” - -“Did you notice that? I didn't know but it was too subtle for you.” - -He couldn't resist the gibe at Oakley's expense. - -“Disguised, of course, but intended to give the men less confidence in -me. Now, I'm not going to stand any more of this sort of thing!” - -He was conscious he had brought his remarks to a decidedly lame -conclusion. - -“And I'll tell you one thing, Mr. Oakley, I'm editor of the _Herald_, -and I don't allow any man to dictate to me what I shall print. That's a -point I'll pass on for myself.” - -“You know the situation. You know that the general will dispose of his -interests here unless they can be made self-sustaining; and, whether you -like him or not, he stands as a special providence to the town.” - -“I only know what you have told me,” sneeringly. - -Oakley bit his lips. He saw it would have been better to have left Ryder -alone. He felt his own weakness, and his inability to force him against -his will to be fair. He gulped down his anger and chagrin. - -“I don't see what you can gain by stirring up this matter.” - -“Perhaps you don't.” - -“Am I to understand you are hostile to the road?” - -“If that means you--yes. You haven't helped yourself by coming here as -though you could bully me into your way of thinking. I didn't get much -satisfaction from my call on you. You let me know you could attend to -your own affairs, and I can attend to mine just as easily. I hope you -appreciate that.” - -Dan turned on his heel and left the office, cursing himself for his -stupidity in having given the editor an opportunity to get even. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -IN the course of the next few days Dan decided that there was no danger -of trouble from the hands. Things settled back into their accustomed -rut. He was only a little less popular, perhaps. - -He was indebted to Clarence for the first warning he received as to what -was in store for him. - -It came about in this way. Clarence had retired to the yards, where, -secure from observation, he was indulging in a quiet smoke, furtively -keeping an eye open for McClintock, whose movements were uncertain, as -he knew from sad experience. - -A high board fence was in front of him, shutting off the yards from the -lower end of the town. At his back was a freight car, back of that again -were the interlacing tracks, and beyond them a cornfield and Billup's -Fork, with its inviting shade of sycamores and willows and its tempting -swimming-holes. - -Suddenly he heard a scrambling on the opposite side of the fence, and -ten brown fingers clutched the tops of the boards, then a battered straw -hat came on a level with the fingers, at the same instant a bare foot -and leg were thrown over the fence, and the owner of the battered straw -hat swung himself into view. All this while a dog whined and yelped; -then followed a vigorous scratching sound, and presently a small, -dilapidated-looking yellow cur squeezed itself beneath the fence. -Clarence recognized the intruders. It was Branyon's boy, Augustus, -commonly called “Spide,” because of his exceeding slimness and the -length of his legs, and his dog Pink. - -As soon as Branyon's boy saw Clarence he balanced himself deftly on the -top of the fence with one hand and shaded his eyes elaborately with the -other. An amiable, if toothless, smile curled his lips. When he spoke it -was with deep facetiousness. - -“Hi! come out from behind that roll of paper!” - -But Clarence said not a word. He puffed away at his cigarette, -apparently oblivious of everything save the contentment it gave him, -and as he puffed Spide's mouth worked and watered sympathetically. -His secret admiration was tremendous. Here was Clarence in actual and -undisturbed possession of a whole cigarette. He had to purchase his -cigarettes in partnership with some other boy, and go halves on the -smoking of them. It made him feel cheap and common. - -“Say I got one of them coffin-tacks that ain't working?” he inquired. -Clarence gazed off up the tracks, ignoring the question and the -questioner. Spide's presence was balm to his soul. But as one of the -office force of the Buckhom and Antioch he felt a certain lofty reserve -to be incumbent upon him. Besides, he and Spide had been engaged in -a recent rivalry for Susie Poppleton's affections. It is true he had -achieved a brilliant success over his rival, but that a mere school-boy -should have ventured to oppose him, a salaried man, had struck him as an -unpardonable piece of impertinence for which there could be no excuse. - -Spide, however, had taken the matter most philosophically. He had -recognized that he could not hope to compete with a youth who possessed -unlimited wealth, which he was willing to lay out on chewing-gum and -candy, his experience being that the sex was strictly mercenary and -incapable of a disinterested love. Of course he had much admired Miss -Poppleton; from the crown of her small dark head, with its tightly -braided “pig-tails,” down to her trim little foot he had esteemed her -as wholly adorable; but, after all, his affair of the heart had been an -affair of the winter only. With the coming of summer he had found more -serious things to think of. He was learning to swim and to chew tobacco. -The mastering of these accomplishments pretty well occupied his time. - -“Say!” he repeated, “got another?” - -Still Clarence blinked at the fierce sunlight which danced on the rails, -and said nothing. Spide slid skilfully down from his perch, but his -manner had undergone a change. - -“Who throwed that snipe away, anyhow?” he asked, disdainfully. Clarence -turned his eyes slowly in his direction. - -“Lookee here. You fellows got to keep out of these yards, or I'll tell -McClintock. First we know some of you kids will be getting run over, and -then your folks will set up a lively howl. Get on out! It ain't no place -for little boys!” - -He put the cigarette between his lips and took a deep and tantalizing -pull at it. Spide kept to his own side of the ditch that ran between the -fence and the tracks. - -“Huh!” with infinite scorn. “Who's a kid? You won't be happy till I come -over there and lick you!” - -“First thing I know you'll be stealing scrap iron!” - -“My gosh! The Huckleberry'd have to stop running if I swiped a -coupling-pin!” - -Clarence had recourse to the cigarette, and again Spide was consumed -with torturing jealousies. “Where did you shoot that snipe, anyhow?” he -inquired, insultingly. - -Once more Clarence allowed his glance to stray off up the tracks. - -“For half a cent I'd come across and do what I say!” added Spide, -stooping down to roll up his trousers leg, and then easing an unelastic -“gallus” that cut his shoulders. This elicited a short and contemptuous -grunt from Clarence. He was well pleased with himself. He felt Spide's -envy. It was sweet and satisfying. - -“Say!” with sudden animation. “You fellers will be going around on your -uppers in a day or so. I'll bet you'd give a heap to know what I know!” - -“I wouldn't give a darned cent to know all you know or ever will know!” - retorted Clarence, promptly. - -“Some people's easily upset here in the cupola,” tapping his brimless -covering. “I wouldn't want to give you brain-fever; I don't hate you bad -enough.” - -“Well, move on. You ain't wanted around here. It may get me into trouble -if I'm seen fooling away my time on you.” - -“I hope to hell it will,” remarked Branyon's boy, Augustus, with cordial -ill-will and fluent profanity. He was not a good little boy. He himself -would have been the first to spurn the idea of personal sanctity. But -he was literally bursting with the importance of the facts which he -possessed, and Clarence's indifference gave him no opening. - -“What will you bet there ain't a strike?” - -“I ain't betting this morning,” said Clarence, blandly. “But if there -is one we are ready for it. You bet the hands won't catch us napping. -We are ready for 'em any time and all the time.” This, delivered with a -large air, impressed Spide exceedingly. - -“Have you sent for the militia a'ready?” he asked, anxiously. - -“That's saying,” noting the effect of his words. “I can't go blabbing -about, telling what the road's up to, but we are awake, and the hands -will get it in the neck if they tackle the boss. He's got dam little use -for laboring men, anyhow.” - -To Clarence, Oakley was the most august person he had ever known. -He religiously believed his position to be only second in point of -importance and power to that of the President of the United States. - -He was wont to invest him with purely imaginary attributes, and to lie -about him at a great rate among his comrades, who were ready to credit -any report touching a man who was reputed to be able to ride on the cars -without a ticket. Human grandeur had no limits beyond this. - -“There was a meeting last night. I bet you didn't know that,” said -Spide. - -“I heard something of it. Was your father at the meeting, Spide?” he -asked, dropping his tone of hostility for one of gracious familiarity. -The urchin promptly crossed the ditch and stood at his side. - -“Of course the old man was. You don't suppose he wouldn't be in it?” - -“Oh, well, let 'em kick. You see the boss is ready for 'em,” remarked -Clarence, indifferently. He wanted to know what Spide knew, but he -didn't feel that he could afford to show any special interest. “Where -you going--swimming?” he added. - -“Yep.” But Spide was not ready to drop the fascinating subject of the -strike. He wished to astonish Clarence, who was altogether too knowing. - -“The meeting was in the room over Jack Britt's saloon,” he volunteered. - -“I suppose you think we didn't know that up at the office. We got our -spies out. There ain't nothing the hands can do we ain't on to.” - -Spide wrote his initials in the soft bank of the ditch with his big toe, -while he meditated on what he could tell next. - -“Well, sir, you'd 'a' been surprised if you'd 'a' been there.” - -“Was you there, Spide?” - -“Yep.” - -“Oh, come off; you can't stuff me.” - -“I was, too, there. The old lady sent me down to fetch pap home. She was -afraid he'd get full. Joe Stokes was there, and Lou Bentick, and a whole -slew of others, and Griff Ryder.” - -Clarence gasped with astonishment. “Why, he ain't one of the hands.” - -“Well, he's on their side.” - -“What you giving us?” - -“Say, they are going to make a stiff kick on old man Oakley working in -the shops. They got it in for him good and strong.” He paused to weigh -the effect of this, and then went on rapidly: “He's done something. -Ryder knows about it. He told my old man and Joe Stokes. They say he's -got to get out. What's a convicted criminal, anyhow?” - -“What do you want to know that for, Spide?” questioned the artful -Clarence, with great presence of mind. - -“Well, that's what old man Oakley is. I heard Ryder say so myself, and -pap and Joe Stokes just kicked themselves because they hadn't noticed it -before, I suppose. My! but they were hot! Say, you'll see fun to-morrow. -I shouldn't be surprised if they sent you all a-kiting.” - -Clarence was swelling with the desire to tell Oakley what he had heard. -He took the part of a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. - -“Have one?” he said. - -Spide promptly availed himself of his companion's liberality. - -“Well, so long,” the latter added. “I got to get back,” and a moment -later he might have been seen making his way cautiously in the direction -of the office, while Spide, his battered hat under his arm, and the -cigarette clutched in one hand, was skipping gayly across the cornfield -towards the creek followed by Pink. He was bound for the “Slidy,” a -swimming-hole his mother had charged him on no account to visit. Under -these peculiar circumstances it was quite impossible for him to consider -any other spot. Nowhere else was the shade so cool and dense, nowhere -else did the wild mint scent the summer air with such seductive odors, -and nowhere else were such social advantages to be found. - -There were always big boys hanging about the “Slidy” who played cards -and fished and loafed, but mostly loafed, because it was the easiest, -and here Mr. Tink Brown, Jeffy's logical successor and unofficial heir -apparent, held court from the first of June to the last of August. The -charm of his society no respectable small boy was able to withstand. His -glittering indecencies made him a sort of hero, and his splendid lawless -state was counted worthy of emulation. - -But Spide discovered that the way of the transgressor is sometimes as -hard as the moralists would have us believe. - -It was the beginning of the season, and a group of boys, in easy -undress, were clustered on the bank above the swimming-hole. They were -“going in” as soon as an important question should be decided. - -The farmer whose fields skirted Billup's Fork at this point usually -filled in the “Slidy” every spring with bits of rusty barb-wire -and osage-orange cuttings. The youth of Antioch who were prejudiced -maintained that he did it to be mean, but the real reason was that he -wished to discourage the swimmers, who tramped his crops and stole his -great yellow pumpkins to play with in the water. - -The time-honored method of determining the condition of the hole was -beautifully simple. It was to catch a small boy and throw him in, and -until this rite was performed the big boys used the place but gingerly. -Mr. Brown and his friends were waiting for this small boy to happen -along, when the unsuspecting Spide ran down the bank. He was promptly -seized by the mighty Tink. - -“Been in yet, Spide?” asked his captor, genially. - -“Nope.” - -“Then this is your chance.” Whereat Spide began to cry. He didn't -want to go in. All at once he remembered he had promised his mother he -wouldn't and that his father had promised him a licking if he did--two -excellent reasons why he should stay out--but Tink only pushed him -towards the water's edge. - -“You're hurting me! Lemme alone, you big loafer! Lemme go, or I'll -tell the old man on you!” and he scratched and clawed, but Tink merely -laughed, and the other boys advised him to “chuck the little shaver in.” - -“Lemme take off my shirt and pants! Lemme take off my pants--just my -pants, Tink!” he entreated. - -But he was raised on high and hurled out into the stream where the -sunlight flashed among the shadows cast by the willows. His hat went one -way and his cigarette another. Pink was considerately tossed after him, -and all his earthly possessions were afloat. - -There was a splash, and he disappeared from sight to reappear a second -later, with streaming hair and dripping face. - -“How is it?” chorussed the big boys, who were already pulling off their -clothes, as they saw that neither barb-wire nor osage-orange brush -festooned the swimmer. - -“Bully!” ecstatically, and he dived dexterously into the crown of his -upturned hat, which a puff of wind had sent dancing gayly down-stream. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -SAY!” Clarence blurted out, “there's going to be a strike!” - -Oakley glanced up from his writing. - -“What's that you are telling me, Clarence?” - -“There's going to be a strike, Mr. Oakley.” - -Dan smiled good-naturedly at the boy. - -“I guess that has blown over, Clarence,” he said, kindly. - -“No, it ain't. The men had a meeting last night. It was in the room over -Jack Britt's saloon. I've just been talking with a fellow who was there; -he told me.” - -“Sit down,” said Oakley, pushing a chair towards him. - -“Now, what is it?” as soon as he was seated. And Clarence, editing his -reminiscences as he saw fit, gave a tolerably truthful account of his -conversation with Spide. The source of his information, its general -incompleteness, and the frequent divergences, occasioned by the boy's -attempt to incorporate into the narrative a satisfactory reason for his -own presence in the yards, did not detract from its value in Oakley's -estimation. The mere fact that the men had held a meeting was in itself -significant. Such a thing was new to Antioch, as yet unvisited by labor -troubles. - -“What is that you say about my father?” For he had rather lost track of -the story and caught at the sudden mention of his father's name. - -“Spide says they got it in for him. I can't just remember what he did -say. It was something or other Griff Ryder knows about him. It's funny, -but it's clean gone out of my head, Mr. Oakley.” - -Oakley started. What could Ryder know about his father? What could any -one know? - -He was not left long in doubt. The next morning, shortly after he -arrived at the office, he heard the heavy shuffling of many feet on -the narrow platform outside his door, and a deputation from the -carpenter-shop, led by Joe Stokes and Branyon, entered the room. For a -moment or so the men stood in abashed silence about the door, and then -moved over to his desk. - -Oakley pushed back his chair, and, as they approached, came slowly to -his feet. There was a hint of anger in his eyes. The whole proceeding -smacked of insolence. The men were in their shirt-sleeves and overalls, -and had on their hats. Stokes put up his hand and took off his hat. The -others accepted this as a signal, and one after another removed theirs. -Then followed a momentary shuffling as they bunched closer. Several, who -looked as if they would just as soon be somewhere else, breathed deep -and hard. The office force--Kerr, Holt, and Miss Walton--suspended their -various tasks and stood up so as not to miss anything that was said of -done. - -“Well, men, what is it?” asked Oakley, sharply--so sharply that -Clarence, who was at the water-cooler, started. He had never heard the -manager use that tone before. - -Stokes took a step forward and cleared his throat, as if to speak. Then -he looked at his comrades, who looked back their encouragement at him. - -“We want a word with you, Mr. Oakley,” said he. - -“What have you to say?” - -“Well, sir, we got a grievance,” began Stokes, weakly, but Branyon -pushed him to one side hastily and took his place. He was a stockily -built Irish-American, with plenty of nerve and a loose tongue. The men -nudged each other. They knew Mike would have his say. - -“It's just this, Mr. Oakley: There's a man in the carpenter-shop who's -got to get out. We won't work with him no longer!” - -“That's right,” muttered one or two of the men under their breath. - -“Whom do you mean?” asked Oakley, and his tone was tense and strenuous, -for he knew. There was an awkward silence. Branyon fingered his hat a -trifle nervously. At last he said, doggedly: - -“The man who's got to go is your father.” - -“Why?” asked Oakley, sinking his voice. He guessed what was coming next, -but the question seemed dragged from him. He had to ask it. - -“We got nothing against you, Mr. Oakley, but we won't work in the same -shop with a convicted criminal.” - -“That's right,” muttered the chorus of men again. - -Oakley's face flushed scarlet. Then every scrap of color left it. - -“Get out of here!” he ordered, hotly. - -“Don't we get our answer?” demanded Branyon. - -While the interview was in progress, McClintock had entered, and now -stood at the opposite end of the room, an attentive listener. - -“No,” cried Oakley, hoarsely. “I'll put whom I please to work in the -shops. Leave the room all of you!” - -The men retreated before his fury, their self-confidence rather dashed -by it. One by one they backed sheepishly out of the door, Branyon being -the last to leave. As he quitted the room he called to Dan: - -“We'll give you until to-morrow to think it over, but the old man's got -to go.” - -McClintock promptly followed Branyon, and Clarence darted after him. He -was in time to witness the uncorking of the master-mechanic's vials of -wrath, and to hear the hot exchange of words which followed. - -“You can count your days with the Huckleberry numbered, Branyon,” he -said. “I'm damned if I'll have you under me after this.” - -“We'll see about that,” retorted Branyon, roughly. “Talk's cheap.” - -“What's the old man ever done to you, you infernal loafer?” - -“Shut up, Milt, and keep your shirt on!” said Stokes, in what he -intended should be conciliatory tones. “We only want our rights.” - -“We'll have 'em, too,” said Branyon, shaking his head ominously. “We -ain't Dagoes or Pollacks. We're American mechanics, and we know our -rights.” - -“You're a sneak, Branyon. What's he ever done to you?” - -“Oh, you go to hell!” ruffling up his shirt-sleeves. - -“Well, sir,” said McClintock, his gray eyes flashing, “you needn't be so -particular about the old man's record. You know as much about the inside -of a prison as he does.” - -“You're a damn liar!” Nevertheless McClintock spoke only the truth. -At Branyon's last word he smashed his fist into the middle of the -carpenter's sour visage with a heavy, sickening thud. No man called him -a liar and got away with it. - -“Gee!” gasped the closely attentive but critical Clarence. “What a -soaker!” Branyon fell up against the side of the building near which -they were standing. Otherwise he would have gone his length upon the -ground, and the hands rushed in between the two men. - -Stokes and Bentick dragged their friend away by main strength. The -affair had gone far enough. They didn't want a fight. - -McClintock marched into the office, crossed to the water-cooler, and -filled himself a tumbler; then he turned an unruffled front on Oakley. - -“I guess we'd better chuck those fellows--fire 'em out bodily, the -impudent cusses! What do you say, Mr. Oakley?” - -But Dan was too demoralized to consider or even reply to this. He was -feeling a burning sense of shame and disgrace. The whole town must -know his father's history, or some garbled version of it. Worse still, -Constance Emory must know. The pride of his respectability was gone from -him. He felt that he had cheated the world of a place to which he had no -right, and now he was found out. He could not face Kerr, nor Holt, nor -McClintock. But this was only temporary. He couldn't stand among his -ruins. Men survive disgrace and outlive shame just as they outlive -sorrow and suffering. Nothing ever stops. Then he recognized that, since -his secret had been wrested from him, there was no longer discovery -to fear. A sense of freedom and relief came when he realized this. The -worst had happened, and he could still go on. How the men had learned -about his father he could not understand, but instinct told him he -had Ryder to thank. Following up the clew Kenyon had given him, he -had carefully looked into Roger Oakley's record, a matter that simply -involved a little correspondence. - -He had told Branyon and Stokes only what he saw fit, and had pledged -himself to support the men in whatever action they took. He would drive -Oakley out of Antioch. That was one of his motives; he was also bent on -cultivating as great a measure of personal popularity as he could. -It would be useful to Kenyon, and so advantageous to himself. The -Congressman had large ambitions. If he brought his campaign to a -successful issue it would make him a power in the State. Counting in -this victory, Ryder had mapped out his own career. Kenyon had force and -courage, but his judgment and tact were only of a sort. Ryder aspired to -supply the necessary brains for his complete success. Needless to say, -Kenyon knew nothing of these benevolent intentions on the part of his -friend. He could not possibly have believed that he required anything -but votes. - -Oakley turned to Clarence. - -“Run into the carpenter-shop, and see if you can find my father. If he -is there, ask him to come here to me at once.” - -The boy was absent only a few moments. Roger Oakley had taken off his -work clothes and had gone up-town before the men left the shop. He had -not returned. - -Dan closed his desk and put on his hat, “I am going to the hotel,” he -said to Kerr. “If anybody wants to see me you can tell them I'll be back -this afternoon.” - -“Very well, Mr. Oakley.” The treasurer was wondering what would be his -superior's action. Would he resign and leave Antioch, or would he try -and stick it out? - -Before he left the room, Dan said to McClintock: - -“I hope you won't have any further trouble, Milt Better keep an eye on -that fellow Branyon.” - -McClintock laughed shortly, but made no answer, and for the rest of the -morning Clarence dogged his steps in the hope that the quarrel would -be continued under more favorable circumstances. In this he was -disappointed. Branyon had been induced to go home for repairs, and -had left the yards immediately after the trouble occurred, with a wet -handkerchief held gingerly to a mashed and bloody nose. His fellows -had not shown the sympathy he felt they should have shown under the -circumstances. They told him he had had enough, and that it was well to -stop with that. - -Dan hurried up-town to the hotel. He found his father in his room, -seated before an open window in his shirt-sleeves, and with his Bible in -his lap. He glanced up from the book as his son pushed open the door. - -“Well, Dannie?” he said, and his tones were mild, meditative, and -inquiring. - -“I was looking for you, father. They told me you'd come up-town.” - -“So I did; as soon as I heard there was going to be trouble over my -working in the shops I left.” - -“Did they say anything to you?” - -“Not a word, Dannie, but I knew what was coming, and quit work.” - -“You shouldn't have done it, daddy,” said Dan, seating himself on the -edge of the bed near the old man. “I can't let them say who shall -work in the shops and who not. The whole business was trumped up out of -revenge for the cut. They want to get even with me for _that_, you see. -If I back down and yield this point, there is no telling what they'll -ask next--probably that the wages be restored to the old figure.” - -He spoke quite cheerfully, for he saw his father was cruelly hurt. - -“It was all a mistake, Dannie--my coming to you, I mean,” Roger Oakley -said, shutting the book reverently and laying it to one side. “The -world's a small place, after all, and we should have known we couldn't -keep our secret. It's right I should bear my own cross, but it's not -your sin, and now it presses hardest on you. I'm sorry, Dannie--” and -his voice shook with the emotion he was striving to hide. - -“No, no, father. To have you here has been a great happiness to me.” - -“Has it, Dannie? has it really?” with a quick smile. “I am glad you can -say so, for it's been a great happiness to me--greater than I deserved,” - and he laid a big hand caressingly on his son's. - -“We must go ahead, daddy, as if nothing had happened. If we let this -hurt us, we'll end by losing all our courage.” - -“It's been a knock-out blow for me, Dannie,” with a wistful sadness, -“and I've got to go away. It's best for you I should. I've gone in one -direction and you've gone another. You can't reconcile opposites. I've -been thinking of this a good deal. You're young, and got your life ahead -of you, and you'll do big things before you're done, and people will -forget I can't drag you down just because I happen to be your father -and love you. Why, I'm of a different class even, but I can't go on. I'm -just as I am, and I can't change myself.” - -“Why, bless your heart, daddy,” cried Dan, “I wouldn't have you changed. -You're talking nonsense. I won't let you go away.” - -“But the girl, Dannie, the girl--the doctor's daughter! You see I hear a -lot of gossip in the shop, and even if you haven't told me, I know.” - -“We may as well count that at an end,” said Dan, quietly. - -“Do you think of leaving here?” - -“No. If I began by running, I'd be running all the rest of my life. I -shall remain until I've accomplished everything I've set out to do, if -it takes ten years.” - -“And what about Miss Emory, Dannie? If you are going to stay, why is -that at an end?” - -“I dare say she'll marry Mr. Ryder. Anyhow, she won't marry me.” - -“But I thought you cared for her?” - -“I do, daddy.” - -“Then why do you give up? You're as good as he is any day.” - -“I'm not her kind, that's all. It has nothing to do with this. It would -have been the same, anyhow. I'm not her kind.” - -Roger Oakley turned this over slowly in his mind. It was most -astonishing. He couldn't grasp it. - -“Do you mean she thinks she is better than you are?” he asked, -curiously. - -“Something of that sort, I suppose,” dryly. “I want you to come back -into the shops, father.” - -“I can't do it, Dannie. I'm sorry if you wish it, but it's impossible. -I want to keep out of sight. Back East, when they pardoned me, every -one knew, and I didn't seem to mind, but here it's not the same. I can't -face it. It may be cowardly, but I can't.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -OAKLEY had told his father he was going to call at the Emorys'. He -wanted to see Constance once more. Then it didn't much matter what -happened. - -As he passed up the street he was conscious of an impudent curiosity in -the covert glances the idlers on the corners shot at him. With hardly -an exception they turned to gaze after him as he strode by. He realized -that an unsavory distinction had been thrust upon him. He had become a -marked man. He set his lips in a grim smile. This was what he would have -to meet until the silly wonder of it wore off, or a fresh sensation took -its place, and there would be the men at the shops; their intercourse -had hitherto been rather pleasant and personal, as he had recognized -certain responsibilities in the relation which had made him desire to be -more than a mere task-master. The thought of his theories caused him -to smile again. His humanitarian-ism had received a jolt from which it -would not recover in many a long day. - -The hands already hated him as a tyrant, and probably argued that his -authority was impaired by the events of the morning, though how they -arrived at any such conclusion was beyond him, but he had felt something -of the kind in Branyon's manner. When the opportunity came it would be -a satisfaction to undeceive them, and he was not above wishing this -opportunity might come soon, for his mood was bitter and revengeful, -when he recalled their ignorant and needlessly brutal insolence. - -Early as he was, he found, as he had anticipated when he started out, -that Ryder was ahead of him. The editor was lounging on the Emorys' -porch with the family. He had dined with them. - -As Dan approached he caught the sound of Constance's voice. There was -no other voice in Antioch which sounded the same, or possessed the -same quality of refinement and culture. His heart beat with quickened -pulsations and his pace slackened. He paused for an instant in the -shadow of the lilac-bushes that shut off the well-kept lawn from the -street. Then he forced himself to go on. There was no gain in deferring -his sentence; better have it over with. Yet when he reached the gate -he would gladly have passed it without entering had it not been that he -never abandoned any project simply because it was disagreeable. He had -done too many disagreeable things not to have outlived this species of -cowardice. - -The instant he saw him, the doctor rose from his seat on the steps and -came quickly down the walk. There was no mistaking the cordiality he -gave his greeting, for he intended there should be none. Mrs. Emory, -too, took pains that he should feel the friendliness of her sentiment -towards him. Constance, however, appeared embarrassed and ill at ease, -and Dan's face grew very white. He felt that he had no real appreciation -of the changed conditions since his father's story had become public -property. He saw it made a difference in the way his friends viewed him. -He had become hardened, and it had been impossible for him to foresee -just how it would affect others, but to these people it was plainly a -shock. The very kindliness he had experienced at the hands of the doctor -and Mrs. Emory only served to show how great the shock was. In their -gracious, generous fashion they had sought to make it easy for him. - -Oakley and the editor did not speak. Civility seemed the rankest -hypocrisy under the circumstances. A barely perceptible inclination -of the head sufficed, and then Ryder turned abruptly to Miss Emory and -resumed his conversation with her. - -Dan seated himself beside the doctor on the steps. He was completely -crushed. He hadn't the wit to leave, and he knew that he was a fool for -staying. What was the good in carrying on the up-hill fight any longer? -Courage is a fine quality, no doubt, but it is also well for a man to -have sense enough to know when he is fairly beaten, and he was fairly -beaten. - -He took stock of the situation. Quite independent of his hatred of the -fellow, he resented Ryder's presence there beside Constance. But what -was the use of struggling? The sooner he banished all thought of her -the better it would be for him. His chances had never been worth -considering. - -He stole a glance at the pair, who had drawn a little to one side, and -were talking in low tones and with the intimacy of long acquaintance. He -owned they were wonderfully well suited to each other. Ryder was no mean -rival, had it come to that. The world had given him its rub. He knew -perfectly the life with which Miss Emory was familiar, his people had -been the right sort. He was well-born and well-bred, and he showed it. - -It dawned upon the unwilling Oakley slowly and by degrees that to -Constance Emory he must be nothing more nor less than the son of a -murderer. He had never quite looked at it in that light before. He had -been occupied with the effect rather than the cause, but he was sure -that if Ryder had told her his father's history he had made the most of -his opportunity. He wondered how people felt about a thing of this kind. -He knew now what his portion would be. Disgrace is always vicarious in -its consequences. The innocent generally suffer indiscriminately along -with the guilty. - -The doctor talked a steady stream at Oakley, but he managed to say -little that made any demand on Dan's attention. He was sorry for the -young man. He had liked him from the start, and he believed but a small -part of what he had heard. It is true he had had the particulars -from Ryder, but Ryder said what he had to say with his usual lazy -indifference, as if his interest was the slightest, and had vouched for -no part of it. - -He would hardly have dared admit that he himself was the head and front -of the offending. Dr. Emory would not have understood how it could have -been any business of his. It would have finished him with the latter. As -it was he had been quick to resent his glib, sneering tone. - -But Dan's manner convinced the doctor that there were some grounds -for the charges made by the hands when they demanded Roger Oakley's -dismissal, or else he was terribly hurt by the occurrence. While Dr. -Emory was reaching this conclusion Dan was cursing himself for his -stupidity. It would have been much wiser for him to have remained away -until Antioch quieted down. Perhaps it would have been fairer, too, to -his friends, but since he had blundered he would try and see Miss Emory -again; she should know the truth. It was characteristic of him that he -should wish the matter put straight, even when there was no especial -advantage to be gained. - -Soon afterwards he took his leave. The doctor followed him down to the -gate. There was a certain constraint in the manner of the two men, now -that they were alone together. As they paused by the gate, Dr. Emory -broke silence with: - -“For God's sake, Oakley, what is this I hear about your father? I'd like -your assurance that it is all a pack of lies.” - -A lump came into Dan's throat, and he answered, huskily: “I am sure it -is not at all as you have heard; I am sure the facts are quite different -from the account you have had--” - -“But--” - -“No, I can't deny it outright, much as I'd like to.” - -“You don't mean--Pardon me, for, of course, I have no right to ask.” - -Dan turned away his face. “I don't know any one who has a better right -to ask,” he said. - -“Well, I shouldn't have asked if I'd thought there was a word of truth -in the story. I had hoped I could deny it for you. That was all.” - -“I guess I didn't appreciate how you would view it. I have lived in the -shadow of it so long--” - -The doctor looked aghast at the admission. He had not understood before -that Dan was acknowledging the murder. Even yet he could not bring -himself to believe it. Dan moved off a step, as if to go. - -“Do you mean it is true, Oakley?” he asked, detaining him. - -“Substantially, yes. Good-night,” he added, hopelessly. - -“Wait,” hastily. “I don't want you to go just yet.” He put out his -hand frankly. “It's nothing you have done, anyhow,” he said, as an -afterthought. - -“No, but I begin to think it might just as well have been.” - -Dr. Emory regarded him earnestly. “My boy, I'm awfully sorry for you, -and I'm afraid you have gotten in for more than you can manage. It looks -as though your troubles were all coming in a bunch.” - -Dan smiled. “My antecedents won't affect the situation down at the -shops, if that is what you mean. The men may not like me any the better, -or respect me any the more for knowing of them, but they will discover -that that will make no difference where our relations are concerned.” - -“To be sure. I only meant that public opinion will be pretty strong -against you. It somehow has an influence,” ruefully. - -“I suppose it has,” rather sadly. - -“Do you have to stay and face it? It might be easier, you know--I don't -mean exactly to run away--” - -“I am pledged to put the shops and road on a paying basis for General -Cornish. He'd about made up his mind to sell to the M. & W. If he does, -it will mean the closing of the shops, and they will never be opened up -again. That will wipe Antioch off the map. Not so very long ago I had -a good deal of sympathy for the people who would be ruined, and I can't -change simply because they have, can I?” with a look on his face which -belonged to his father. - -The doctor stroked his beard meditatively and considered the question. - -“I suppose there is such a thing as duty, but don't you think, under the -circumstances, your responsibility is really very light?” - -Dan laughed softly. - -“I didn't imagine you would be the first to advise me to shirk it.” - -“I wouldn't ordinarily, but you don't know Antioch. They can make it -very unpleasant for you. The town is in a fever of excitement over what -has happened to-day. It seems the men are not through with you yet.” - -“Yes, I know. My father should have gone back. It looks as if I'd -yielded, but I couldn't ask him to when I saw how he felt about it.” - -“You see the town lives off the shops and road. It is a personal matter -to every man, woman, and child in the place.” - -“That's what makes me so mad at the stupid fools!” said Oakley, with -some bitterness. “They haven't the brains to see that they have a lot -more at stake than any one else. If they could gain anything from a -fight I'd have plenty of patience with them, but they are sure losers. -Even if they strike, and the shops are closed for the next six months, -it won't cost Cornish a dollar; indeed, it will be money in his pocket.” - -“I don't think they'll strike,” said the doctor. “I didn't mean that -exactly, but they'll try to keep you on a strain.” - -“They have done about all they can in that direction. The worst has -happened. I won't say it didn't bruise me up a bit. Why, I am actually -sore in every bone and muscle. I was never so battered, but I'm -beginning to get back, and I'm going to live the whole thing down right -here. I can't have skeletons that are liable to be unearthed at any -moment.” - -He took a letter from his pocket, opened it and handed it to the doctor. - -“I guess you can see to read this if you will step nearer the -street-lamp.” - -The letter was an offer from one of the big Eastern lines. While the -doctor knew very little of railroads, he understood that the offer was a -fine one, and was impressed accordingly. - -“I'd take it.” he said. “I wouldn't fritter away my time here. Precious -little thanks you'll ever get.” - -“I can't honorably break with General Cornish. In fact, I have already -declined, but I wanted you to see the letter.” - -“I am sorry for your sake that you did. You are sure to have more -trouble.” - -“So much the more reason why I should stay.” - -“I am quite frank with you, Oakley. Some strong influence is at work. -No, it hasn't to do with your father. You can't well be held accountable -for his acts.” - -Ryder's laughter reached them as he spoke. Oakley could see him faintly -outlined in the moonlight, where he sat between Constance Emory and her -mother. The influence was there. It was probably at work at that very -moment. - -“I wouldn't be made a martyr through any chivalrous sense of duty,” - continued the doctor. “I'd look out for myself.” - -Dan laughed again. “You are preaching cowardice at a great rate.” - -“Well, what's the use of sacrificing one's self? You possess a most -horrible sense of rectitude.” - -“I would like to ask a favor of you,” hesitating. - -“I was going to say if there was anything I could do--” - -“If you don't mind,” with increasing hesitancy, “will you say to Miss -Emory for me that I'd like to see her to-morrow afternoon? I'll call -about three--that is--” - -“Yes, I'll tell her for you.” - -“Thank you,” gratefully. “Thank you very much. You think she will be at -home?” awkwardly, for he was afraid the doctor had misunderstood. - -“I fancy so. I can see now, if you wish.” - -“No, don't. I'll call on the chance of finding her in.” - -“Just as you prefer.” - -Oakley extended his hand. “I won't keep you standing any longer. Somehow -our talk has helped me. Good-night.” - -“Good-night.” - -The doctor gazed abstractedly after the young man as he moved down the -street, and he continued to gaze after him until he had passed from -sight in the shadows that lay beneath the whispering maples. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -PERHAPS it showed lack of proper feeling, but Oakley managed to sleep -off a good deal of his emotional stress, and when he left his hotel the -next morning he was quite himself again. - -His attitude towards the world was the decently cheerful one of the -man who is earning a good salary, and whose personal cares are fax from -being numerous or pressing. He was still capable of looking out for -Cornish's interests, and his own, too, if the need arose. - -He went down to the office alert and vigorous. As he strode along he -nodded and smiled at the people he met on the street. If the odium of -his father's crime was to attach itself to him it should be without his -help. Antioch might count him callous if it liked, but it must not think -him weak. - -His first official act was to go for Kerr, who was unusually -cantankerous, and he gave that frigid gentleman a scare which lasted -him for the better part of a week. For Kerr, who had convinced himself -overnight that Oakley must resign, saw himself having full swing with -the Huckleberry, and was disposed to treat his superior with airy -indifference. He had objected to hunting up an old order-book Dan wished -to see, on the score that he was too busy, whereat, as Holt expressed -it, the latter “jumped on him with both feet.” His second official act -was to serve formal notice on Branyon that he was dismissed from the -shops, the master-mechanic's dismissal not having been accepted as -final, for Branyon had turned up that morning with a black eye as if to -go to work. He was even harsh with Miss Walton, and took exception -to her spelling of a typewritten letter, which he was sending off to -Cornish in London. - -He also inspected every department in the shops, and was glad of an -excuse he discovered to reprimand Joe Stokes, who was stock-keeper in -the carpenter's room, for the slovenly manner in which the stock was -handled. Then he returned to the office, and as a matter of discipline -kept Kerr busy all the rest of the morning hauling dusty order-books -from a dark closet. He felt that if excitement was what was wanted he -was the one to furnish it. He had been too easy. - -He even read Clarence, whom he had long since given up as hopeless, a -moving lecture on the sin of idleness, and that astonished youth, who -had fancied himself proof against criticism, actually searched for -things to do, so impressed and startled was he by the manager's -earnestness, and so fearful was he lest he should lose his place. If -that happened, he knew his father would send him to school, and he -almost preferred work, so he flew around, was under everybody's feet and -in everybody's way, and when Oakley left the office at half-past two, -Holt forcibly ejected him, after telling him he was a first-class -nuisance, and that if he Stuck his nose inside the door again he'd skin -him. - -Feeling deeply his unpopularity, Clarence withdrew to the yards, where -he sought out Dutch Pete With tears in his eyes he begged the yard boss -to find some task for him, it made no difference what, just so it was -work; but Dutch Pete didn't want to be bothered, and sent him away with -what Clarence felt to be a superfluity of bad words. - -Naturally the office force gave a deep sigh of satisfaction when Oakley -closed his desk and announced that he was going up-town and would not -return. Miss Walton confided to Kerr that she just hoped he would never -come back. - -It was a little before three o'clock when Dan presented himself at the -Emorys'. The maid who answered his ring ushered him into the parlor -with marked trepidation. She was a timid soul. Then she swished from the -room, but returned almost immediately to say that Miss Emory would be -down in a moment. - -“I wonder what's troubling her,” muttered Oakley, with some -exasperation. “You'd think she expected me to take her head off.” - He guessed that, like her betters, she was enjoying to the limit the -sensation of which he was the innocent victim. - -When Constance entered the room, he advanced a little uncertainly. -She extended her hand quite cordially, however. There was no trace of -embarrassment or constraint in her manner. - -As he took her hand, Dan said, simply, going straight to the purpose of -his call: “I have thought a good deal over what I want to tell you, Miss -Emory.” Miss Emory instantly took the alarm, and was on the defensive. -She enveloped herself in that species of inscrutable feminine reserve -men find so difficult to penetrate. She could not imagine what he had -to tell her that was so pressing. He was certainly very curious and -unconventional. There was one thing she feared he might want to tell her -which she was firmly determined not to hear. - -Oakley drew forward a chair. - -“Won't you sit down?” he asked, gravely. - -“Thank you, yes.” It was all so formal they both smiled. - -Dan stood with his back to the fire-place, now filled with ferns, and -rested an elbow on the mantel. There was an awkward pause. At last he -said, slowly: - -“It seems I've been the subject of a lot of talk during the last two -days, and I have been saddled with a matter for which I am in no way -responsible, though it appears to reflect on me quite as much as if I -were.” - -“Really, Mr. Oakley”--began Constance, scenting danger ahead. But her -visitor was in no mood to temporize. - -“One moment, please,” he said, hastily. “You have heard the story from -Mr. Ryder.” - -“I have heard it from others as well.” - -“It has influenced you--” - -“No, I won't say that,” defiantly. She was not accustomed to being -catechised. - -“At least it has caused you to seriously doubt the wisdom of an -acquaintance,” blurted Oakley. “You are very unfair,” rising with latent -anger. - -“You will greatly oblige me by sitting down again.” - -And Constance, astonished beyond measure at his tone of command, sank -back into her chair with a little smothered gasp of surprise. No one had -ever ventured to speak to her like that before. It was a new experience. - -“We've got to finish this, you know,” explained Dan, with one of his -frankest smiles, and there was a genial simplicity about his smile which -was very attractive. Constance, however, was not to be propitiated, but -she kept her seat. She was apprehensive lest Oakley would do something -more startling and novel if she attempted to cut short the interview. - -She stole a glance at him from under her long lashes. He was studying -the carpet, apparently quite lost to the enormity of his conduct. “You -have heard their side of the story, Miss Emory. I want you to hear -mine. It's only fair, isn't it? You have heard that my father is an -ex-convict?” - -“Yes,” with a tinge of regret. - -“That he is a murderer?” plunging ahead mercilessly. - -“Yes.” - -“And this is influencing you?” - -“I suppose it is,” helplessly. “It would naturally. It was a great shock -to us all.” - -“Yes,” agreed Dan, “I can understand, I think, just how you must look at -it.” - -“We are very, very sorry for you, Mr. Oakley. I want to explain my -manner last night. The whole situation was so excessively awkward. I am -sure you must have felt it.” - -“I did,” shortly. - -“Oh, dear, I hope you didn't think me unkind!” - -“No.” Then he added, a trifle wearily, “It's taken me all this time to -realize my position. I suppose I owe you some sort of an apology. You -must have thought me fearfully thick-skinned.” He hoped she would say -no, but he was disappointed. Her conscience had been troubling her, and -she was perfectly willing to share her remorse with him, since he was -so ready to assume a part of it. She was as conventional as extreme -respectability could make her, but she had never liked Oakley half so -well. She admired his courage. He didn't whine. His very stupidity was -in its way admirable, but it was certainly too bad he could not see just -how impossible he was under the circumstances. - -Dan raised his eyes to hers. “Miss Emory, the only time I remember to -have seen my father until he came here a few weeks ago was through the -grating of his cell door. My mother took me there as a little boy. When -she died I came West, where no one knew me. I had already learned that, -because of him, I was somehow judged and condemned, too. It has always -been hanging over me. I have always feared exposure. I suppose I can -hush it up after a while, but there will always be some one to tell it -to whoever will listen. It is no longer a secret.” - -“Was it fair to your friends, Mr. Oakley, that it was a secret?” - -“I can't see what business it was of theirs. It's nothing I have done, -and, anyhow, I have never had any friends until now I cared especially -about.” - -“Oh!” and Miss Emory lowered her eyes. So long as he was merely -determined and stupid he was safe, but should he become sentimental it -might be embarrassing for them both. - -“You have seen my father. Do you think from what you can judge from -appearances that he would kill a man in cold blood? It was only after -years of insult that it came to that, and then the other man was the -aggressor. What my father did he did in self-defence, but I am pretty -sure you were not told this.” - -He was swayed by a sense of duty towards his father, and a desire to -vindicate him--he was so passive and enduring. The intimacy of their -relation had begotten warmth and sympathy. They had been drawn nearer -and nearer each other. The clannishness of his blood and race asserted -itself. It was a point of honor with him to stand up for his friends, -and to stand up for his father most of all. Could he, he would have -ground his heel into Ryder's face for his part in circulating the -garbled version of the old convict's history. Some one should suffer as -he had been made to suffer. - -“Of course, Mr. Ryder did not know what you have told me,” Constance -said, hastily. She could not have told why, but she had the uneasy -feeling that Griff required a champion, that he was responsible. “Then -you did hear it from Mr. Ryder?” - -She did not answer, and Oakley, taking her silence for assent, -continued: “I don't suppose it was told you either that he was pardoned -because of an act of conspicuous heroism, that, at the risk of his own -life, he saved the lives of several nurses and patients in the hospital -ward of the prison where he was confined.” He looked inquiringly at -Constance, but she was still silent. “Miss Emory, my father came to -me to all intents an absolute stranger. Why, I even feared him, for -I didn't know the kind of man he was, but I have come to have a great -affection and regard for him. I respect him, too, most thoroughly. There -is not an hour of the day when the remembrance of his crime is not with -him. Don't you think it cowardly that it should have been ventilated -simply to hurt me, when it must inevitably hurt him so much more? He -has quit work in the shops, and he is determined to leave Antioch. I may -find him gone when I return to the hotel.” - -“And you blame Mr. Ryder for this?” - -“I do. It's part of the debt we'll settle some day.” - -“Then you are unjust. It was Mr. Kenyon. His cousin is warden of the -prison. He saw your father there and remembered him.” - -“And told Mr. Ryder,” with a contemptuous twist of the lips. - -“There were others present at the time. They were not alone.” - -“But Mr. Ryder furnished the men with the facts.” - -“How do you know?” And once more her tone was one of defiance and -defence. - -“I have been told so, and I have every reason to believe I was correctly -informed. Why, don't you admit that it was a cowardly piece of business -to strike at me over my father's shoulder?” demanded Oakley, with -palpable exasperation. The narrowness of her nature and her evasions -galled him. Why didn't she show a little generous feeling. He expected -she would be angry at his words and manner. On the contrary, she -replied: - -“I am not defending Mr. Ryder, as you seem to think, but I do not -believe in condemning any one as you would condemn him--unheard.” - -She was unduly conscious, perhaps, that sound morality was on her side -in this. - -“Let us leave him out of it. After all, it is no odds who told. The harm -is done.” - -“No, I shall ask Griff.” - -Dan smiled, doubtfully. “That will settle it, if you believe what he -tells you.” - -“His denial will be quite sufficient for me, Mr. Oakley,” with chilly -politeness. - -There was a long pause, during which Dan looked at the carpet, and -Miss Emory at nothing in particular. He realized how completely he -had separated himself from the rest of the world in her eyes. The -hopelessness of his love goaded him on. He turned to her with sudden -gentleness and said, penitently: “Won't you forgive me?” - -“I have nothing to forgive, Mr. Oakley,” with lofty self-denial, and -again Dan smiled doubtfully. Her saying so did not mean all it should -have meant to him. - -He swept his hand across his face with a troubled gesture. “I don't know -what to do,” he observed, ruefully. “The turf seems knocked from under -my feet.” - -“It must have been a dreadful ordeal to pass through alone,” she -said. “We are so distressed for your sake.” And she seemed so keenly -sympathetic that Dan's heart gave a great bound in his breast. He put -aside his mounting bitterness against her. - -“I don't know why I came to see you to-day. I just wanted to, and so I -came. I don't want to force a friendship.” - -Miss Emory murmured that no excuse was necessary. - -“I am not too sure of that. I must appear bent on exhibiting myself and -my woes, but I can't go into retirement, and I can't let people see I'm -hurt.” - -His face took on a strong resolve. He couldn't go without telling her he -loved her. His courage was suddenly riotous. - -“Once, not long ago, I dared to believe I might level the differences -between us. I recognized what they were, but now it is hopeless. There -are some things a man can't overcome, no matter how hard he tries, and -I suppose being the son of a murderer is one of these.” He paused, -and, raising his eyes from the carpet, glanced at her, but her face was -averted. He went on, desperately: “It's quite hopeless, but I have dared -to hope, and I wanted you to know. I hate to leave things unfinished.” - -There was a long silence, then Miss Emory said, softly: - -“I am so sorry.” - -“Which means you've never cared for me,” dryly. - -But she did not answer him. She was wondering how she would have felt -had the confession come forty-eight hours earlier. - -“I suppose I've been quite weak and foolish,” said Dan. - -She looked into his face with a slow smile. - -“Why do you say that? Is it weak and foolish to care for some one?” - -“Wasn't it?” with suddenly kindled hope, for he found it hard to give -her up. - -Miss Emory drew herself together with a sigh. - -“I never thought of this,” she said, which was hardly true; she had -thought of it many times. - -“No,” admitted Dan, innocently enough, for her lightest word had become -gospel to him, such was his love and reverence. “You couldn't know.” - Poor Oakley, his telling of it was the smallest part of the knowledge. -“I think I see now, perfectly, how great a difference this affair of my -father's must make. It sort of cuts me off from everything.” - -“It is very tragic. I wish you hadn't told me just now.” Her lips -trembled pathetically, and there were tears in her eyes. - -“I've wanted to tell you for a long time.” - -“I didn't know.” - -“Of course you couldn't know,” he repeated; then he plunged ahead -recklessly, for he found there was a curious satisfaction in telling her -of his love, hopeless as it was. - -“It has been most serious and sacred to me. I shall never forget -you--never. It has helped me in so many ways just to know you. It has -changed so many of my ideals. I can't be grateful enough.” - -Miss Emory approved his attitude. It was as it should be. She was sorry -for him. She admired his dignity and repression. It made him seem so -strong and purposeful. - -“You will find your happiness some day, Mr. Oakley. You will find -some one more worthy than I.” She knew he would be insensible to the -triteness of her remark. - -“No,” generously, “that couldn't be. I'll not find any one. I'll not -look.” - -“Oh, but you will.” - -Already, with the selfishness of her sex, and a selfishness which was -greater than that of her sex, she was regretting that she had allowed -him to step so easily into the position of a rejected lover. - -“I don't want you to think it is going to ruin my life,” he said, -quietly, “or anything of that sort.” - -An appeal to her pity seemed weak and contemptible. - -“I have striven to win what I can't have, what is not for me, and I am -satisfied to have made the effort.” - -Miss Emory bit her lip. He was going to put her out of his life -entirely. It was ended, and he would do his best to forget her with what -speed he might, for he loved her, and was too generous to wish her -to suffer. This generosity, needless to say, was too altruistic for -Constance to fully appreciate its beauties. Indeed, she did not regard -it as generosity at all. She resented it. She realized that probably she -would not see him again; at least the meeting would not be of his making -or choosing. There was to be no sentimental aftermath. He was preparing -to go, like the sensible fellow he was, for good and all, and she -rebelled against the decree. It seemed brutal and harsh. She was angry, -hurt, and offended. Perhaps her conscience was troubling her, too. She -knew she was mean and petty. - -“I don't think it could have been very serious to you, Mr. Oakley,” she -murmured, gazing abstractedly from the window. - -“I don't know why you think that. I can't say any more than I have said. -It includes all.” She wanted to tell him he gave up too easily. - -“At any rate, we are friends,” he added. - -“Are you going?” she cried, with a ring of real longing and regret in -her voice, lifted out of herself for the moment at the thought of losing -him. - -Dan nodded, and a look of pain came into his face. - -“Yes, I am going.” - -“But you are not going to leave Antioch?” - -“Oh, no!” - -And Miss Emory felt a sense of relief. She rose from her chair. “Then I -shall see you again?” - -“Probably,” smiling. “We couldn't well avoid seeing each other in a -place the size of this.” - -He held out his hand frankly. - -“And I sha'n't see you here any more?” she asked, softly. - -“I guess not,” a little roughly. The bitterness of his loss stung him. -He felt something was wrong somewhere. He wondered, too, if she had -been quite fair to him, if her ability to guard herself was entirely -commendable, after all. He knew, in the end, his only memory of her -would be that she was beautiful. He would carry this memory and a -haunting sense of incompleteness with him wherever he went. - -She placed her hand in his and looked up into his face with troubled, -serious eyes. - -“Good-bye.” It was almost a whisper. - -Dan crossed the room to the door and flung it open. For an instant he -wavered on the threshold, but a moment later he was striding down the -street, with his hat jammed needlessly low over his ears, and his hands -thrust deep in his trousers pockets. - -At the window, Constance, with a white, scared face, was watching him -from between the parted curtains. She hoped he would look back, but he -never once turned his head. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -ON Thursday the _Herald_ published its report of the trouble at -the shops. Oakley had looked forward to the paper's appearance with -considerable eagerness. He hoped to glean from it some idea of the -tactics the men would adopt, and in this he was not disappointed. Ryder -served up his sensation, which was still a sensation, in spite of the -fact that it was common property and two days old before it was accorded -the dignity of type and ink, in his most impressive style: - -“The situation at the car-shops has assumed a serious phase, and a -strike is imminent. Matters came to a focus day before yesterday, and -may now be said to have reached an acute stage. It is expected that the -carpenters--of whom quite a number are employed on repair work--will be -the first to go out unless certain demands which they are to make to-day -are promptly acceded to by General Cornish's local representative. - -“Both sides maintain the strictest secrecy, but from reliable sources -the Herald gathers that the men will insist upon Mr. Branyon being taken -back by the company. - -“Another grievance of the men, and one in which they should have the -sympathy of the entire community, is their objection to working with -the manager's father, who came here recently from the East and has since -been employed in the shops. It has been learned that he is an ex-convict -who was sentenced for a long term of imprisonment in June, 1875, for the -murder of Thomas Sharp, at Burton, Massachusetts. - -“He was only recently set at liberty, and the men are natural-ly -incensed and indignant at having to work with him. Still another -grievance is the new schedule of wages. - -“A committee representing every department in the shops and possessing -the fullest authority, met last night at the Odd Fellows' Hall on South -Main Street, but their deliberations were secret. A well-authenticated -rumor has it, however, that the most complete harmony prevailed, and -that the employés are pledged to drastic measures unless they get fair -treatment from the company.” - -Ryder tacked a moral to this, and the moral was that labor required a -champion to protect it from the soulless greed and grinding tyranny -of the great corporations which had sprung into existence under the -fostering wing of corrupt legislation. Of course “the Picturesque -Statesman from Old Hanover” was the Hercules who was prepared to right -these wrongs of honest industry, and to curb the power of Cornish, whose -vampire lusts fattened on the sweat of the toiler, and especially the -toiler at Antioch. - -A copy of the paper was evidently sent the “Picturesque Statesman,” who -had just commenced his canvass, for in its very next issue the _Herald_ -was able to print a telegram in which he “heartily endorsed the -sentiments embodied in the _Herald's_ ringing editorial on the situation -at Antioch,” and declared himself a unit with his fellow-citizens of -whatever party in their heroic struggle for a fair day's wage for a fair -day's work. He also expressed himself as honored by their confidence, -as, indeed, he might well have been. - -Dan digested the _Herald's_ report along with his breakfast. Half an -hour later, when he reached the office, he found McClintock waiting for -him. - -“The men want to see you, Mr. Oakley. They were going to send their -committee in here, but I told 'em you'd come out to them.” - -“All right. It's just as well you did.” And Oakley followed him from the -office. - -“Did you read the _Herald's_ yap this morning?” Inquired the -master-mechanic. - -“Yes,” said Dan, “I did. It was rather funny, Wasn't it?” - -“The town will be owing Ryder a coat of tar and feathers presently. -He'll make these fools think they've got a reason to be sore on the -company.” - -The men were clustered about the great open door of the works in their -shirt-sleeves. From behind them, in the silence and the shadow, came -the pleasant, droning sound of machinery, like the humming of a million -bees. There was something dogged and reckless in the very way they stood -around, with folded arms, or slouched nervously to and fro. - -Dan singled out Bentick and Joe Stokes, and three or four others, as the -committee, and made straight towards them. - -“Well, men, what do you want?” he asked, briskly. - -“We represent every department in the shops, sir,” said Bentick, -civilly, “and we consider Branyon's discharge as unjust. We want him -taken back.” - -“And suppose I won't take him back, what are you going to do about -it--eh?” asked Dan, good-naturedly, and, not waiting for a reply, with -oldtime deftness he swung himself up into an empty flat-car which stood -close at hand and faced his assembled workmen. - -“You know why Branyon was dismissed. It was a business none of you have -much reason to be proud of, but I am willing to let him come back on -condition he first offers an apology to McClintock and to me. Unless he -does he can never set his foot inside these doors again while I remain -here. I agree to this, because I don't wish to make him a scapegoat for -the rest of you, and I don't wish those dependent on him to suffer.” - -He avoided looking in McClintock's direction. He felt, rather than -saw, that the latter was shaking his head in strong disapproval of -his course. The committee and the men exchanged grins. The boss was -weakening. They had scored twice. First against Roger Oakley, and now -for Branyon. - -“I guess Branyon would as lief be excused from making an apology, if -it's all the same to Milt,” said Bentick, less civilly than before, and -there was a ripple of smothered laughter from the crowd. - -Dan set his lips, and said, sternly but quietly, '“That's for him to -decide.” - -“Well, we'll tell him what you say, and if he's ready to eat humble-pie -there won't be no kick coming from us,” remarked Bentick, impartially. - -“Is this all?” asked Oakley. - -“No, we can't see the cut.” And a murmur of approval came from the men. - -Dan looked out over the crowd. Why couldn't they see that the final -victory was in his hands? “Be guided by me,” he said, earnestly, “and -take my word for it; the cut is necessary. I'll meet you half-way in the -Branyon matter; let it go at that.” - -“We want our old wages,” insisted Bentick, doggedly. - -“It is out of the question; the shops are running behind; they are not -earning any money, they never have, and it's as much to your interests -as mine, or General Cornish's, to do your full part in making them -profitable.” - -He pleaded with unmistakable sincerity in his tones, and now he looked -at McClintock, who nodded his head. This was the stiff talk he liked to -hear, and had expected from Oakley. - -The committee turned to the men, and the men sullenly shook their heads. -Some one whispered, “He'll knuckle. He's got to. We'll make him.” Dan -caught the sense of what was said, if not the words. - -“Wages can't go back until the business in the shops warrants it. If you -will continue to work under the present arrangement, good and well. If -not, I see no way to meet your demands. You will have to strike. That, -however, is an alternative I trust you will carefully weigh before you -commit yourselves. Once the shops are closed it will not be policy to -open them until fall, perhaps not until the first of the year. But if -you can afford to lie idle all summer, it's your own affair. That's -exactly what it means if you strike.” - -He jumped down from the car, and would have left them then and there, -but Bentick stepped in front of him. “Can't we talk it over, Mr. Oakley?” - -“There is nothing to talk over, Bentick. Settle it among yourselves.” - And he marched off up the tracks, with McClintock following in his wake -and commending the stand he had taken. - -The first emotion of the men was one of profound and depressing surprise -at the abruptness with, which Oakley had terminated the interview, and -his evident willingness to close the shops, a move they had not counted -on. It dashed their courage. - -“We'll call his bluff,” cried Bentick, and the men gave a faint cheer. -They were not so sure it was a bluff, after all. It looked real enough. - -There were those who thought, with a guilty pang, of wives and children -at home, and no payday--the fortnightly haven of rest towards which, -they lived. And there were the customarily reckless, souls, who thirsted -for excitement at any price, and who were willing to see the trouble to -a finish. These ruled, as they usually do. Not a man returned to work. -Instead, they hung about the yards and canvassed the situation. Finally -the theory was advanced that, if the shops were closed, it would serve -to bring down Cornish's wrath on Oakley, and probably result in his -immediate dismissal. This theory found instant favor, and straightway -became a conviction with the majority. - -At length all agreed to strike, and the whistle in the shops was set -shrieking its dismal protest. The men swarmed into the building, where -each got together his kit of tools. They were quite jolly now, and -laughed and jested a good deal. Presently they were streaming off -up-town, with their coats over their arms, and the strike was on. - -An unusual stillness fell on the yards and in the shops. The belts, as -they swept on and on in endless revolutions, cut this stillness with -a sharp, incisive hiss. The machinery seemed to hammer at it, as if -to beat out some lasting echo. Then, gradually, the volume of sound -lessened. It mumbled to a dotage of decreasing force, and then -everything stopped with a sudden jar. The shops had shut down. - -McClintock came from the office and entered the works, pulling the big -doors to after him. He wanted to see that all was made snug. He cursed -loudly as he strode through the deserted building. It was the first time -since he had been with the road that the shops had been closed, and it -affected him strangely. - -The place held a dreadful, ghostly inertness. The belts and shafting, -with its innumerable cogs and connections, reached out like the -heavy-knuckled tentacles of some great, lifeless monster. The sunlight -stole through the broken, cobwebbed windows, to fall on heaps of rusty -iron and heaps of dirty shavings. - -In the engine-room he discovered Smith Roberts and his assistant, Joe -Webber, banking the fires, preparatory to leaving. They were the only -men about the place. Roberts closed a furnace-door with a bang, threw -down his shovel, and drew a grimy arm across his forehead. - -“Did you ever see such a lot of lunkheads, Milt? I'll bet they'll be -kicking themselves good and hard before they get to the wind-up of -this.” - -McClintock looked with singular affection at the swelling girths of -iron which held the panting lungs of the monster the men had doomed to -silence, and swore his most elaborate oath. - -“No, I never did, Smith. You'd think they had money to burn the way they -chucked their job.” - -“When do you suppose I'll get a chance to build steam again?” - -“Oakley says we won't start up before the first of September.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -THE first weeks of the strike slipped by without excitement. Harvest -time came and went. A rainless August browned the earth and seared the -woods with its heat, but nothing happened to vary the dull monotony. The -shops, a sepulchre of sound, stood silent and empty. General Cornish, -in the rôle of the avenger, did not appear on the scene, to Oakley's -discomfiture and to the joy of the men. A sullen sadness rested on -the town. The women began to develop shrewish tempers and a trying -conversational habit, while their husbands squandered their rapidly -dwindling means in the saloons. There was large talk and a variety of -threats, but no lawlessness. - -Simultaneously with the inauguration of the strike, Jeffy reappeared -mysteriously. He hinted darkly at foreign travel under singularly -favorable auspices, and intimated that he had been sojourning in a -community where there was always some one to “throw a few whiskeys” into -him when his “coppers got hot,” and where he had “fed his face” three -times a day, so bounteous was the charity. - -At intervals a rumor was given currency that Oakley was on the verge of -starting up with imported labor, and the men, dividing the watches, -met each train; but only familiar types, such as the casual commercial -traveller with his grips, the farmer from up or down the line, with his -inevitable paper parcels, and the stray wayfarer were seen to step from -the Huckleberry's battered coaches. Finally it dawned upon the men that -Dan was bent on starving them into submission. - -Ryder had displayed what, for him, was a most _unusual_ activity. Almost -every day he held conferences with the leaders of the strike, and his -personal influence went far towards keeping the men in line. Indeed, -his part in the whole affair was much more important than was generally -recognized. - -The political campaign had started, and Kenyon was booked to speak in -Antioch. It was understood in advance that he would declare for the -strikers, and his coming caused a welcome flutter of excitement. - -The statesman arrived on No. 7, and the reception committee met him -at the station in two carriages. It included Cap Roberts, the Hon. -Jeb Barrows, Ryder, Joe Stokes, and Bentick. The two last were an -inspiration of the editor's, and proved a popular success. - -The brass-band hired for the occasion discoursed patriotic airs, as -Kenyon, in a long linen duster and a limp, wilted collar, presented -himself at the door of the smoker. The great man was all blandness and -suavity--an oily suavity that oozed and trickled from every pore. - -The crowd on the platform gave a faint, unenthusiastic cheer as it -caught sight of him. It had been more interested in staring at Bentick -and Stokes. They looked so excessively uncomfortable. - -Mr. Kenyon climbed down the steps and shook hands with Mr. Ryder. Then, -bowing and smiling to the right and left, he crossed the platform, -leaning on the editor's arm. At the carriages there were more greetings. -Stokes and Bentick were formally presented, and the Congressman mounted -to a place beside them, whereat the crowd cheered again, and Stokes -and Bentick looked, if possible, more miserable than before. They had a -sneaking idea that a show was being made of them. Ryder took his place -in the second carriage, with Cap Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Barrows, and -the procession moved off up-town to the hotel, preceded by the band -playing a lively two-step out of tune, and followed by a troop of -bare-legged urchins. - -After supper the statesman was serenaded by the band, and a little later -the members of the Young Men's Kenyon Club, attired in cotton-flannel -uniforms, marched across from the _Herald_ office to escort him to the -Rink, where he was to speak. He appeared radiant in a Prince Albert and -a shiny tile, and a _boutonnière_, this time leaning on the arm of Mr. -Stokes, to the huge disgust of that worthy mechanic, who did not know -that a statesman had to lean on somebody's arm. It is hoary tradition, -and yet it had a certain significance, too, if it were meant to indicate -that Kenyon couldn't keep straight unless he was propped. - -A wave of fitful enthusiasm swept the assembled crowd, and Mr. Stokes's -youngest son, Samuel, aged six, burst into tears, no one knew why, and -was led out of the press by an elder brother, who alternately slapped -him and wiped his nose on his cap. - -Mr. Kenyon, smiling his unwearied, mirthless smile, seated himself in -his carriage. Mr. Ryder, slightly bored and wholly cynical, followed his -example. Mr. Stokes and Mr. Bentick, perspiring and abject, and looking -for all the world like two criminals, dropped dejectedly into the -places assigned them. Only Cap Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Barrows seemed -entirely at ease. They were campaign fixtures. The band emitted a -harmony-destroying crash, while Mr. Jimmy Smith, the drum-major, -performed sundry bewildering passes with his gilt staff. The Young Men's -Kenyon Club fell over its own feet into line, and the procession started -for the Rink. It was a truly inspiring moment. - -As soon as the tail of the procession was clear of the curb, -it developed that Clarence and Spide were marshalling a rival -demonstration. Six small and exceedingly dirty youngsters, with reeking -torches, headed by Clarence and his trusty lieutenant, fell gravely in -at the rear of the Kenyon Club. Clarence was leaning on Spide's arm. -Pussy Roberts preceded them, giving a highly successful imitation of -Mr. Jimmy Smith. He owned the six torches, and it was unsafe to -suppress him, but the others spoke disparagingly of his performance as a -side-show. - -Since an early hour of the evening the people had been gathering at the -Rink. It was also the Opera-House, where, during the winter months, -an occasional repertory company appeared in “East Lynn,” the “New -Magdalen,” or Tom Robertson's “Caste.” The place was two-thirds full -at a quarter to eight, when a fleet courier arrived with the gratifying -news that the procession was just leaving the square, and that Kenyon -was riding with his hat off, and in familiar discourse with Stokes and -Bentick. - -Presently out of the distance drifted the first strains of the band. -A little later Cap. Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Barrows appeared on the -make-shift stage from the wings. There was an applausive murmur, for -the Hon. Jeb was a popular character. It was said of him that he always -carried a map of the United States in tobacco juice on his shirt front. -He was bottle-nosed and red faced. No man could truthfully say he had -ever seen him drunk, nor had any one ever seen him sober. He shunned -extremes. Next, the band filed into the balcony, and was laboriously -sweating its way through the national anthem, when Kenyon and Ryder -appeared, followed by the wretched Stokes and Bentick. A burst of -applause shook the house. When it subsided, the editor stepped to the -front of the stage. With words that halted, for the experience was a new -one, he introduced the guest of the evening. - -It was generally agreed afterwards that it had been a great privilege to -hear Kenyon. No one knew exactly what it was all about, but that was a -minor consideration. The Congressman was well on towards the end of his -speech, and had reached the local situation, which he was handling in -what the _Herald_ subsequently described as “a masterly fashion, cool, -logical, and convincing,” when Oakley wandered in, and, unobserved, took -a seat near the door. He glanced about him glumly. There had been a time -when these people had been, in their way, his friends. Now those nearest -him even avoided looking in his direction. At last he became conscious -that some one far down near the stage, and at the other side of the -building, was nodding and smiling at him. It was Dr. Emory. Mrs. Emory -and Constance were with him. Dan caught the fine outline of the latter's -profile. She was smiling an amused smile. It was her first political -meeting, and she was finding it quite as funny as Ryder had said it -would be. - -Dan listened idly, hearing only a word now and then. At length a -sentence roused him. The speaker was advising the men to stand for their -rights. He rose hastily, and turned to leave; he had heard enough; but -some one cried out, “Here's Oakley,” and instantly every one in the -place was staring at him. - -Kenyon took a step nearer the foot-lights. Either he misunderstood -or else he wished to provoke an argument, for he said, with slippery -civility: “I shall be very pleased to listen to Mr. Oakley's side of the -question. This is a free country, and I don't deny him or any man the -right to express his views. The fact that I am unalterably opposed -to the power he represents is no bar to the expression here of his -opinion.” - -Oakley's face was crimson. He paused irresolutely; he saw the jeer on -Ryder's lips, and the desire possessed him to tell these people -what fools they were to listen to the cheap, lungy patriotism of the -demagogue on the stage. - -He rested a hand on the back of the chair in front of him, and leaned -forward with an arm extended at the speaker, but his eyes were fixed -on Miss Emory's face. She was smiling at him encouragingly, he thought, -bidding him to speak. - -“This is doubtless your opportunity,” he said, “but I would like to ask -what earthly interest you have in Antioch beyond the votes it may give -you?” - -Kenyon smiled blandly and turned for one fleeting instant to wink at -Ryder. “And my reply is this: What about the twenty-million-dollar -specimen of American manhood who is dodging around London on the money -he's made here in this State--yes, and in this town? He's gone to -England to break his way into London society, and, incidentally, to -marry his daughter to a title.” - -A roar of laughter greeted this sally. - -“That may be,” retorted Oakley, hotly, “but Antioch has been getting its -share of his money, too. Don't forget that. There's not a store-keeper -in this audience whose bank account will not show, in hard American -dollars, what General Cornish does for Antioch when Antioch is willing -to let him do for it. But, granted that what you have said is true, who -can best afford to meet the present situation? General Cornish or these -men? On whom does the hardship fall heavier, on them or on him?” - -“That was not the spirit which prevailed at Bunker Hill and Lexington! -No, thank God! our fathers did not stop to count the cost, and we have -our battles to-day just as vital to the cause of humanity; and I, for -one, would rather see the strong arm of labor wither in its socket than -submit to wrong or injustice!” - -Oakley choked down his disgust and moved towards the door. There was -applause and one or two cat-calls. Not heeding them, he made his way -from the building. He had reached the street when a detaining hand was -placed upon his arm. He turned savagely, but it proved to be only Turner -Joyce, who stepped to his side, with a cheerful: - -“Good-evening, Mr. Oakley. They seem to be having a very gay time in -there, don't they?” - -“Have you been in?” demanded Oakley, grimly. - -“I? Oh, no! I have just been taking a picture home.” - -“Well,” said Oakley, “I have just been making a damned fool of myself. -I hope that is something you are never guilty of, Mr. Joyce?” Joyce -laughed, and tucked his hand through his companion's arm. - -“Doesn't every one do that occasionally?” he asked. - -Dan shook off his bitterness. Recently he had been seeing a great deal -of the little artist and his wife, who were about the only friends he or -his father had left in Antioch. They walked on in silence Joyce was -too tactful to ask any questions concerning his friend's affairs, so he -ventured an impersonal criticism on Kenyon, with the modest diffidence -of a man who knows he is going counter to public sentiment. - -“Neither Ruth nor I had any curiosity to hear him speak to-night. I -heard him when he was here last. It may be my bringing up, but I do like -things that are not altogether rotten, and I'm afraid I count him as -sort of decayed.” Then he added: “I suppose everybody was at the Rink -to-night?” - -“The place was packed.” - -“It promises to be a lively campaign, I believe, but I take very little -interest in politics. My own concerns occupy most of my time. Won't you -come in, Mr. Oakley?” for they had reached his gate. - -On the little side porch which opened off the kitchen they found Ruth. -She rose with a pleased air of animation when she saw who was with her -husband. Oakley had lived up to his reputation as a patron of the arts. -He had not forgotten, in spite of his anxieties, the promise made Joyce -months before, and at that very moment, safely bestowed in Mrs. Joyce's -possession, were two formidable-looking strips of heavy pink paper, -which guaranteed the passage of the holder to New York and return. - -“I hope this confounded strike is not going to interfere with you, Mr. -Joyce,” said Oakley, as he seated himself. He had discovered that they -liked to talk about their own plans and hopes, and the trip East was the -chief of these. Already he had considered it with them from every -conceivable point of view. - -“It is aggravating, for, of course, if people haven't money they -can't very well afford to have pictures painted. But Ruth is managing -splendidly. I really don't think it will make any special difference.” - -“I am determined Turner shall not miss this opportunity. I think, if it -wasn't for me, Mr. Oakley, he'd give up most everything he wants to do, -or has set his heart on.” - -“He's lucky to have you, then. Most men need looking after.” - -“I'm sure I do,” observed the little artist, with commendable meekness. -He was keenly alive to his own shortcomings. “I'd never get any sort of -prices for my work if she didn't take a hand in the bargaining.” - -“Some one has to be mercenary,” said Ruth, apologetically. “It's all -very well to go around with your head in the clouds, but it don't pay.” - -“No, it don't pay,” agreed Dan. - -There was a long pause, which a cricket improved to make itself heard -above the sweep of the night wind through the tree-tops. Then Ruth said: -“I saw Miss Emory to-day. She asked about you.” - -Mrs. Joyce and her husband had taken a passionate interest in Oakley's -love affair, and divined the utter wreck of his hopes. - -“Did she? I saw her at the Rink, too, but of course not to speak with.” - -Turner Joyce trod gently but encouragingly on his wife's foot. He felt -that Oakley would be none the worse for a little cheer, and he had -unbounded faith in his wife's delicacy and tact. She was just the person -for such a message. - -“She seemed--that is, I gathered from what she said, and it wasn't so -much what she said as what she didn't say--” - -Dan laughed outright, and Joyce joined in with a panic-stricken chuckle. -Ruth was making as bad a botch of the business as he could have made. - -“I am not at all sensitive,” said Dan, with sudden candor. “I have -admired her immensely; I do still, for the matter of that.” - -“Then why don't you go there?” - -“I can't, Mrs. Joyce. You know why.” - -“But I think she looks at it differently now.” - -Oakley shook his head. “No, she doesn't. There's just one way she can -look at it.” - -“Women are always changing their minds,” persisted Ruth. It occurred to -her that Constance had been at her worst in her relation with Oakley. If -she cared a scrap for him, why hadn't she stood by him when he needed -it most? The little artist blinked tenderly at his wife. He was lost in -admiration at her courage. He would not have dared to give their friend -this comfort. - -The conversation languished. They heard the strains of the band when -the meeting at the Rink broke up, and the voices of the people on the -street, and then there was silence again. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE hot days dragged on. Dan and his father moved down to the shops. -Two cots were placed in the pattern-room, where they slept, and where -Roger Oakley spent most of his time reading his Bible or in brooding -over the situation. Their meals were brought to them from the hotel. It -was not that Dan suspected the men of any sinister intentions, but he -felt it was just as well that they should understand the utter futility -of any lawlessness, and, besides, his father was much happier in -the solitude of the empty shops than he could have been elsewhere in -Antioch. All day long he followed McClintock about, helping with such -odd jobs as were necessary to keep the machinery in perfect order. He -was completely crushed and broken in spirit He had aged, too. - -At the office Dan saw only Holt and McClintock. Sick of Kerr's presence, -and exasperated at his evident sympathy for the strikers--a sympathy -he was at no pains to conceal--he had laid him off, a step that was -tantamount to dismissal. Miss Walton was absent on her vacation, which -he extended from week to week. It was maddening to him to have her -around with nothing to do, for he and Holt found it difficult to keep -decently busy themselves, now the shops had closed. - -Holloway, the vice-president of the road, visited Antioch just once -during the early days of the strike. He approved--being of an approving -disposition--of all Oakley had done, and then went back home to Chicago, -after telling him not to yield a single point in the fight. - -“We've got to starve 'em into submission,” said this genial soul. -“There's nothing like an empty stomach to sap a man's courage, -especially when he's got a houseful of hungry, squalling brats. I don't -know but what you'd better arrange to get in foreigners. Americans are -too independent.” - -But Oakley was opposed to this. “The men will be glad enough to accept -the new scale of wages a little later, and the lesson won't be wasted on -them.” - -“Yes, I know, but the question is, do we want 'em? I wish Cornish was -here. I think he'd advise some radical move. He's all fight.” - -Oakley, however, was devoutly thankful that the general was in England, -where he hoped he would stay. He had no wish to see the men ruined. -A wholesome lesson would suffice. He was much relieved when the time -arrived to escort Holloway to his train. - -All this while the _Herald_ continued its attacks, but Dan no longer -minded them. Nothing Ryder could say could augment his unpopularity. It -had reached its finality. He never guessed that, indirectly at least, -Constance Emory was responsible for by far the greater part of Ryder's -present bitterness. She objected to his partisanship of the men, and -this only served to increase his verbal intemperance. But, in spite -of the antagonism of their views, they remained friends. Constance was -willing to endure much from Ryder that she would have resented from any -one else. She liked him, and she was sorry for him; he seemed unhappy, -and she imagined he suffered as she herself suffered, and from the -same cause. There was still another motive for her forbearance, which, -perhaps, she did not fully realize. The strike and Oakley had become a -mania with the editor, and from him she was able to learn what Dan was -doing. - -The unpopularity of his son was a source of infinite grief to Roger -Oakley. The more so as he took the burden of it on his own shoulders. -He brooded over it until presently he decided that he would have a talk -with Ryder and explain matters to him, and ask him to discontinue his -abuse of Dan. There was a streak in the old convict's mind which was -hardly sane, for no man spends the best years of his life in prison and -comes out as clear-headed as he goes in. - -As he pottered about the shops with McClintock, he meditated on his -project. He was sure, if he could show Ryder where he was wrong and -unfair, he would hasten to make amends. It never occurred to him that -Ryder had merely followed in the wake of public opinion, giving it -definite expression. - -One evening--and he chose the hour when he knew Antioch would be at -supper and the streets deserted--he stole from the shops, without -telling Dan where he was going, as he had a shrewd idea that he would -put a veto on his scheme did he know of it. - -With all his courage his pace slackened as he approached the _Herald_ -office. He possessed unbounded respect for print, and still greater -respect for the man who spoke in print. - -The door stood open, and he looked in over the top of his steel-bowed -spectacles. The office was dark and shadowy, but from an inner room, -where the presses stood, a light shone. While he hesitated, the -half-grown boy who was Griff's chief assistant came from the office. -Roger Oakley placed a hand on his shoulder. - -“Is Mr. Ryder in, sonny?” he asked. - -“Yes, he's in the back room, where you see the light.” - -“Thank you.” - -He found Ryder busy making up, by the light of a single dingy lamp, -for the _Herald_ went to press in the morning. Griff gave a start of -surprise when he saw who his visitor was; then he said, sharply, “Well, -sir, what can I do for you?” - -It was the first time the old convict and the editor had met, and Roger -Oakley, peering over his spectacles, studied Ryder's face in his usual -slow fashion. At last he said: “I hope I am not intruding, Mr. Ryder, -for I'd like to speak with you.” - -“Then be quick about it,” snapped Griff. “Don't you see I'm busy?” - -With the utmost deliberation the old convict took from his pocket a -large red-and-yellow bandanna handkerchief. Then he removed his hat and -wiped his face and neck with elaborate thoroughness. When he finally -spoke he dropped his voice to an impressive whisper. “I don't think you -understand Dannie, Mr. Ryder, or the reasons for the trouble down at the -shops.” - -“Don't I? Well, I'll be charmed to hear your explanation.” And he -put down the rule with which he had been measuring one of the printed -columns on the table before him. - -Without being asked Roger Oakley seated himself in a chair by the door. -He placed his hat and handkerchief on a corner of the table, and took -off his spectacles, which he put into their case. Ryder watched him with -curious interest. - -“I knew we could settle this, Mr. Ryder,” said he, with friendly -simplicity. “You've been unfair to my son. That was because you did not -understand. When you do, I am certain you will do what you can to make -right the wrong you have done him.” - -A vicious, sinister smile wreathed Ryder's lips. He nodded. “Go on.” - -“Dannie's done nothing to you to make you wish to hurt him--for you are -hurting him. He don't admit it, but I know.” - -“I hope so,” said Ryder, tersely. “I should hate to think my energy had -been entirely wasted.” - -A look of pained surprise crossed Roger Oakley's face. He was quite -shocked at the unchristian feeling Griff was displaying. “No, you don't -mean that!” he made haste to say. “You can't mean it.” - -“Can't I?” cynically. - -Roger Oakley stole a glance from under his thick, bushy eyebrows at the -editor. He wondered if an apt quotation from the Scriptures would be of -any assistance. The moral logic with which he had intended to overwhelm -him had somehow gone astray-He presented the singular spectacle of a -man who was in the wrong, and who knew he was in the wrong and was yet -determined to persist in it. - -“There's something I'll tell you that I haven't told any one else.” He -glanced again at Ryder to see the effect of the proposed confidence, and -again the latter nodded for him to go on. - -“I am going away. I haven't told my son yet, but I've got it all -planned, and when I am gone you won't have any reason to hate Dannie, -will you?” - -“That's an admirable idea, Mr. Oakley, and if Dannie, as you call him, -has half your good-sense he'll follow your example.” - -“No; he can't leave. He must stay. He's the manager of the road,” with -evident pride. “He's got to stay, but I'll go. Won't that do just as -well?” a little anxiously, for he could not fathom the look on Ryder's -dark face. Ryder only gave him a smile in answer, and he continued, -hurriedly: - -“You see, the trouble's been about me and my working in the shops. If I -hadn't come here there'd have been no strike. As for Dannie, he's made -a man of himself. You don't know, and I don't know, how hard he's worked -and how faithful he's been. What I've done mustn't reflect on him. It -all happened when he was a little boy--so high,” extending his hand. - -“Mr. Oakley,” said Ryder, coldly and insultingly, “I propose, if I can, -to make this town too hot to hold your son, and I am grateful to you for -the unconscious compliment you have paid me by this visit.” - -“Dannie don't know I came,” quickly. - -“No, I don't suppose he does. I take it it was an inspiration of your -own.” - -Roger Oakley had risen from his seat. - -“What's Dannie ever done to you?” he asked, with just the least -perceptible tremor in his tones. - -Ryder shrugged his shoulders. “We don't need him in Antioch.” - -The old man mastered his wrath, and said, gently: - -“You can't afford to be unfair, Mr. Ryder. No one can afford to be -unfair. You are too young a man to persevere in what you know to be -wrong.” - -To maintain his composure required a great effort. In the riotous days -of his youth he had concluded most arguments in which he had become -involved with his fists. Aged and broken, his religion overlay his -still vigorous physical strength but thinly, as a veneer. He squared his -massive shoulders and stood erect, like a man in his prime, and glowered -heavily on the editor. - -“I trust you have always been able to make right your guiding star,” - retorted Ryder, jeeringly. The anger instantly faded from the old -convict's face. He was recalled to himself. - -Ordinarily, that is, in the presence of others, Ryder would have felt -bound to treat Roger Oakley with the deference due to his years. Alone, -as they were, he was restrained by no such obligation. He was in an ugly -mood, and he proceeded to give it rein. - -“I wish to hell you'd mind your own business,” he said, suddenly. “What -do you mean by coming here to tell me what I ought to do? If you want -to know, I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I am going to hound you and -that precious son of yours out of this part of the country.” - -The old man straightened up again as Ryder spoke. The restraint of years -dropped from him in a twinkling. He told him he was a scoundrel, and he -prefaced it with an oath--a slip he did not notice in his excitement. - -“Hey! What's that?” - -“You're a damned scoundrel!” repeated Roger Oakley, white with rage. He -took a step around the table and came nearer the editor. “I don't know -but what I ought to break every bone in your body! You are trying to -ruin my son!” He hit the table a mighty blow with his clinched fist, -and, thrusting his head forward, glared into Ryder's face. - -“You have turned his friends against him. Why, he ain't got none left -any more. They have all gone over to the other side; and you done it, -you done it, and it's got to stop!” - -Ryder had been taken aback for the moment by Roger Oakley's fierce -anger, which vibrated in his voice and flashed in his dark, sunken eyes. - -“Get out of here,” he shouted, losing control of himself. “Get out or, -damn you, I'll kick you out!” - -“When I'm ready to go I'll leave,” retorted the old man, calmly, “and -that will be when I've said my say.” - -“You'll go now,” and he shoved him in the direction of the door. The -shove was almost a blow, and as it fell on his broad chest Roger Oakley -gave a hoarse, inarticulate cry and struck out with his heavy hand. -Ryder staggered back, caught at the end of the table as he plunged past -it, and fell his length upon the floor. The breath whistled sharply from -the old man's lips. “There,” he muttered, “you'll keep your hands off!” - -Ryder did not speak nor move. All was hushed and still in the room. -Suddenly a nervous chill seized the old convict. He shook from head to -heel. - -“I didn't mean to hit you,” he said, speaking to the prostrate figure at -his feet. “Here, let me help you.” - -He stooped and felt around on the floor until he found Ryder's hand. -He released it instantly to take the lamp from the table. Then he knelt -beside the editor. In the corner where the latter lay stood a rusty -wood-stove. In his fall Griff's head had struck against it. - -The lamp shook in Roger Oakley's hand like a leaf in a gale. Ryder's -eyes were open and seemed to look into his own with a mute reproach. For -the rest he lay quite limp, his head twisted to one side. The old man -felt of his heart. One or two minutes elapsed. His bearing was one of -feverish intensity. He heard three men loiter by on the street, and the -sound of their footfalls die off in the distance, but Ryder's heart had -ceased to beat. Fully convinced of this, he returned the lamp to the -table and, sitting down in the chair by the door, covered his face with -his hands and sobbed aloud. - -Over and over he murmured: “I've killed him, I've killed him! Poor boy! -poor boy! I didn't goto do it!” - -Presently he got up and made a second examination. The man was dead -past every doubt. His first impulse was to surrender himself to the town -marshal, as he had done once before under similar circumstances. - -Then he thought of Dan. - -No, he must escape, and perhaps it would never be known who had killed -Ryder. His death might even be attributed to an accident. In his -excitement he forgot the boy he had met at the door. That incident had -passed entirely from his mind, and he did not remember the meeting until -days afterwards. - -He had been utterly indifferent to his own danger, but now he -extinguished the lamp and made his way cautiously into the outer room -and peered into the street. As he crouched in the darkness by the door -he heard the town bell strike the hour. He counted the strokes. It was -eight o'clock. An instant later and he was hurrying down the street, -fleeing from the ghastly horror of the white, upturned face, and the -eyes, with their look of mute reproach. - -When he reached the railroad track at the foot of Main Street, he paused -irresolutely. - -“If I could see Dannie once more, just once more!” he muttered, under -his breath; but he crossed the tracks with a single, longing look turned -towards the shops, a black blur in the night a thousand yards distant. - -Main Street became a dusty country road south of the tracks. He left -it at this point and skirted a cornfield, going in the direction of the -creek. - -At the shops Dan had waited supper for his father until half-past seven, -when he decided he must have gone up-town, probably to the Joyces'. So -he had eaten his supper alone. Then he drew his chair in front of an -open window and lighted his pipe. It was very hot in the office, and -by-and-by he carried his lamp into the pattern-room, where he and his -father slept. He arranged their two cots, blew out the light, which -seemed to add to the heat, partly undressed, and lay down. He heard the -town bell strike eight, and then the half-hour. Shortly after this he -must have fallen asleep, for all at once he awoke with a start. From -off in the night a confusion of sounds reached him. The town bell was -ringing the alarm. At first he thought it was a fire, but there was no -light in the sky, and the bell rang on and on. - -He got up and put on his coat and hat and started out. - -It was six blocks to the _Herald_ office, and as he neared it he could -distinguish a group of excited, half-dressed men and women where they -clustered on the sidewalk before the building. A carriage was standing -in the street. - -He elbowed into the crowd unnoticed and unrecognized. A small boy, -who had climbed into the low boughs of a maple-tree, now shouted in -a perfect frenzy of excitement: “Hi! They are bringing him out! Jimmy -Smith's got him by the legs!” - -At the same moment Chris. Berry appeared in the doorway. The crowd stood -on tiptoe, breathless, tense, and waiting. - -“Drive up a little closter, Tom,” Berry called to the man in the -carriage. Then he stepped to one side, and two men pushed past him -carrying the body of Ryder between them. The crowd gave a groan. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -RYDER'S murder furnished Antioch with a sensation the like of which -it had not known in many a day. It was one long, breathless shudder, -ramified with contingent horrors. - -Dippy Ellsworth remembered that when he drove up in his cart on the -night of the tragedy to light the street lamp which stood on the corner -by the _Herald_ office his horse had balked and refused to go near the -curb. It was generally conceded that the sagacious brute smelled blood. -Dippy himself said he would not sell that horse for a thousand dollars, -and it was admitted on all sides that such an animal possessed a value -hard to reckon in mere dollars and cents. - -Three men recalled that they had passed the _Herald_ office and noticed -that the door stood open. Within twenty-four hours they were hearing -groans, and within a week, cries for help, but they were not encouraged. - -Of course the real hero was Bob Bennett, Ryder's assistant, who had -discovered the body when he went back to the office at half-past eight -to close the forms. His account of the finding of Ryder dead on the -floor was an exceedingly grizzly narrative, delightfully conducive of -the shivers. He had been the quietest of youths, but two weeks after the -murder he left for Chicago. He said there might be those who could stand -it, but Antioch was too slow for him. - -Not less remarkable was Ryder's posthumous fame. Men who had never known -him in life now spoke of him with trembling voices and every outward -evidence of the sincerest sorrow. It was as if they had sustained a -personal loss, for his championship of the strike had given him a great -popularity, and his murder, growing out of this championship, as all -preferred to believe, made his death seem a species of martyrdom. - -Indeed, the mere fact that he had been murdered would have been -sufficient to make him popular at any time. He had supplied Antioch -with a glorious sensation. It was something to talk over and discuss and -shudder at, and the town was grateful and happy, with the deep, calm joy -of a perfect emotion. - -It determined to give him a funeral which should be creditable alike -to the cause for which he had died and to the manner of his death. So -widespread was the feeling that none should be denied a share in this -universal expression of respect and grief that Jeffy found it easy to -borrow five pairs of trousers, four coats, and a white vest to wear to -the funeral; but, in spite of these unusual preparations, he was unable -to be present. - -Meanwhile Dan had been arrested, examined, and set at liberty again, -in the face of the prevailing sentiment that he should be held. No one -doubted--he himself least of all--that Roger Oakley had killed Ryder. -Bob Bennett recalled their meeting as he left the office to go home -for supper on the night of the murder, and a red-and-yellow bandanna -handkerchief was found under the table which Dan identified as having -belonged to his father. - -Kenyon came to Antioch and made his re-election almost certain by the -offer of a reward of five hundred dollars for the arrest and conviction -of the murderer. This stimulated a wonderful measure of activity. -Parties of men and boys were soon scouring the woods and fields in quest -of the old convict. - -The day preceding that of the funeral a dusty countryman, on a -hard-ridden plough-horse, dashed into town with the news that a man who -answered perfectly to the description of Roger Oakley had been seen -the night before twenty-six miles north of Antioch, at a place called -Barrow's Saw Mills, where he had stopped at a store and made a number of -purchases. Then he had struck off through the woods. It was also learned -that he had eaten his breakfast the morning after the murder at a -farmhouse midway between Antioch and Barrow's Saw Mills. The farmer's -wife had, at his request, put up a lunch for him. Later in the day a man -at work in a field had seen and spoken with him. - -There was neither railroad, telegraph, nor telephone at Barrow's Saw -Mills, and the fugitive had evidently considered it safe to venture into -the place, trusting that he was ahead of the news of his crime. It was -on the edge of a sparsely settled district, and to the north of it was -the unbroken wilderness stretching away to the lakes and the Wisconsin -line. - -The morning of the funeral an extra edition of the _Herald_ was issued, -which contained a glowing account of Ryder's life and achievements. -It was an open secret that it was from the gifted pen of Kenyon. This -notable enterprise was one of the wonders of the day. Everybody wanted -a _Herald_ as a souvenir of the occasion, and nearly five hundred copies -were sold. - -All that morning the country people, in unheard-of numbers, flocked into -town. As Clarence remarked to Spide, it was just like a circus day. The -noon train from Buckhom Junction arrived crowded to the doors, as did -the one-o'clock train from Harrison. Antioch had never known anything -like it. - -The funeral was at two o'clock from the little white frame Methodist -church, but long before the appointed hour it was crowded to the verge -of suffocation, and the anxious, waiting throng overflowed into the yard -and street, with never a hope of wedging into the building, much less -securing seats. - -A delegation of the strikers, the Young Men's Kenyon Club, of which -Ryder was a member, and a representative body of citizens escorted the -remains to the church. These were the people he had jeered at, whose -simple joys he had ridiculed, and whose griefs he had made light of, but -they would gladly have forgiven him his sarcasms even had they known of -them. He had become a hero and a martyr. - -Chris Berry and Cap Roberts were in charge of the arrangements. On the -night of the murder the former had beaten his rival to the _Herald_ -office by exactly three minutes, and had never left Ryder until he lay -in the most costly casket in his shop. - -It was admitted afterwards by thoughtful men, who were accustomed to -weigh their opinions carefully, that Mr. Williamson, the minister, had -never delivered so moving an address, nor one that contained so obvious -a moral. The drift of his remarks was that the death of their brilliant -and distinguished fellow-townsman should serve as a warning to all that -there was no time like the present in which to prepare for the life -everlasting. He assured his audience that each hour of existence should -be devoted to consecration and silent testimony; otherwise, what did -it avail? It was not enough that Ryder had thrown the weight of his -personal influence and exceptional talents on the side of sound morality -and civic usefulness. And as he soared on from point to point, his -hearers soared with him, and when he rounded in on each well-tried -climax, they rounded in with him. He never failed them once. They always -knew what he was going to say before it was said, and were ready for the -thrill when the thrill was due. It might have seemed that Mr. Williamson -was paid a salary merely to make an uncertain hereafter yet more -uncomfortable and uncertain, but Antioch took its religion hot, with a -shiver and a threat of blue flame. - -When Mr. Williamson sat down Mr. Kenyon rose. As a layman he could be -entirely eulogistic. He was sure of the faith which through life had -been the guiding star of the departed. He had seen it instanced by -numerous acts of eminently Christian benevolence, and on those rare -occasions when he had spoken of his hopes and fears he had, in spite of -his shrinking modesty, shown that his standards of Christian duty were -both lofty and consistent. - -Here the Hon. Jeb Barrows, who had been dozing peacefully, awoke with a -start, and gazed with wide, bulging eyes at the speaker. He followed Mr. -Kenyon, and, though he tried hard, he couldn't recall any expression of -Ryder's, at the Red Star bar or elsewhere, which indicated that there -was any spiritual uplift to his nature which he fed at secret altars; -so he pictured the friend and citizen, and the dead fared well at his -hands, perhaps better than he was conscious of, for he said no more than -he believed. - -Then came the prayer and hymn, to be succeeded by a heavy, solemn pause, -and Mr. Williamson stepped to the front of the platform-. - -“All those who care to view the remains--and I presume there are many -here who will wish to look upon the face of our dead friend before it -is conveyed to its final resting-place--will please form in line at -the rear of the edifice and advance quietly up the right aisle, passing -across the church as quickly as possible and thence down the left aisle -and on out through the door. This will prevent confusion and make it -much pleasanter for all.” - -There was a rustle of skirts and the awkward shuffling of many feet as -the congregation formed in line; then it filed slowly up the aisle to -where Chris Berry stood, weazened and dry, with a vulture look on his -face and a vulture touch to his hands that now and again picked at the -flowers which were banked about the coffin. - -The Emorys, partly out of regard for public sentiment, had attended the -funeral, for, as the doctor said, they were the only real friends Griff -had in the town. They had known and liked him when the rest of Antioch -was dubiously critical of the new-comer, whose ways were not its ways. - -When the congregation thronged up the aisle, Constance, who had endured -the long service, which to her was unspeakably grotesque and horrible, -in shocked if silent rebellion slipped her hand into her mother's. “Take -me away,” she whispered, brokenly, “or I shall cry out! Take me away!” - -Mrs. Emory hesitated. It seemed a desertion of a trust to go and -leave Griff to these strangers, who had been brought there by morbid -curiosity. Constance guessed what was passing in her mind. - -“Papa will remain if it is necessary.” - -Mrs. Emory touched the doctor on the shoulder. “We're going home, John; -Constance doesn't feel well; but you stay.” - -When they reached the street the last vestige of Constance's -self-control vanished utterly. “Wasn't it awful!” she sobbed, “and his -life had only just begun! And to be snuffed out like this, when there -was everything to live for!” - -Mrs. Emory, surprised at the sudden show of feeling, looked into her -daughter's face. Constance understood the look. - -“No, no! He was only a friend! He could never have been more than that. -Poor, poor Griff!” - -“I am glad for your sake, dearie,” said Mrs. Emory, gently. - -“I wasn't very kind to him at the last, but I couldn't know--I couldn't -know,” she moaned. - -She was not much given to these confidences, even with her mother. -Usually she never questioned the wisdom or righteousness of her own -acts, and it was not her habit to put them to the test of a less -generous judgment. But she was remembering her last meeting with Ryder. -It had been the day before his death; he had told her that he loved her, -and she had flared up, furious and resentful, with the dull, accusing -ache of many days in her heart, and a cruel readiness to make him -suffer. She had tried to convince herself afterwards that it was only -his vanity that was hurt. - -Then she thought of Oakley. She had been thinking of him all day, -wondering where he was, if he had left Antioch, and not daring to ask. -They were going up the path now towards the house, and she turned to her -mother again. - -“What do they say of Mr. Oakley--I mean Mr. Dan Oakley? I don't know -why, but I'm more sorry for him than I am for Griff; he has so much to -bear!” - -“I heard your father say he was still here. I suppose he has to remain. -He can't choose.” - -“What will be done with his father if he is captured? Will they--” She -could not bring herself to finish the sentence. - -“Goodness knows! I wouldn't worry about him,” said Mrs. Emory, in a tone -of considerable asperity. “He's made all the trouble, and I haven't a -particle of patience with him!” - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -BY three o'clock the saloons and stores, which had closed at noon, -opened their doors, and Antioch emerged from the shadow of its funeral -gloom. - -By four o'clock a long procession of carriages and wagons was rumbling -out of town. Those who had come from a distance were going home, but -many lingered in the hope that the excitement was not all past. - -An hour later a rumor reached Antioch that Roger Oakley had been -captured. It spread about the streets like wildfire and penetrated to -the stores and saloons. At first it was not believed. - -Just who was responsible for the rumor no one knew, and no one cared, -but soon the additional facts were being vouched for by a score of -excited men that a search-party from Barrow's Saw Mills, which had been -trailing the fugitive for two days, had effected his capture after a -desperate fight in the northern woods, and were bringing him to Antioch -for identification. It was generally understood that if the prisoner -proved to be Roger Oakley he would be spared the uncertainty of a trial. -The threat was made openly that he would be strung up to the first -convenient lamp-post. As Mr. Britt remarked to a customer from Harrison, -for whom he was mixing a cocktail: - -“It'd be a pity to keep a man of his years waiting; and what's the -use of spending thousands of dollars for a conviction, anyhow, when -everybody knows he done it?” - -At this juncture Jim Brown, the sheriff, and Joe Weaver, the town -marshal, were seen to cross the square with an air of importance and -preoccupation. It was noted casually that the right-hand coat-pocket of -each sagged suggestively. They disappeared into McElroy's livery-stable. -Fifty men and boys rushed precipitately in pursuit, and were just in -time to see the two officers pass out at the back of the stable and jump -into a light road-cart that stood in the alley. A moment later and they -were whirling off up-town. - -All previous doubt vanished instantly. It was agreed on all sides that -they were probably acting on private information, and had gone to bring -in the prisoner. So strong was this conviction that a number of young -men, whose teams were hitched about the square, promptly followed, and -soon an anxious cavalcade emptied itself into the dusty country road. - -Just beyond the corporation line the North Street, as it was called, -forked. Mr. Brown and his companion had taken the road which bore to -the west and led straight to Barrow's Saw Mills. Those who were first -to reach the forks could still see the road-cart a black dot in the -distance. - -The afternoon passed, and the dusk of evening came. Those of the -townspeople who were still hanging about the square went home to supper. -Unless a man could hire or borrow a horse there was not much temptation -to start off on a wild-goose chase, which, after all, might end only at -Barrow's Saw Mills. - -Fortunately for him, Dan Oakley had gone to Chicago that morning, -intending to see Holloway and resign. In view of what had happened it -was impossible for him to remain in Antioch, nor could General Cornish -expect him to. - -Milton McClintock was at supper with his family, when Mrs. Stapleton, -who lived next door, broke in upon them without ceremony, crying, -excitedly: - -“They've got him, and they're going to lynch him!” - -Then she as suddenly disappeared. McClintock, from where he sat, holding -a piece of bread within an inch of his lips, and his mouth wide open to -receive it, could see her through the window, her gray hair dishevelled -and tossed about her face, running from house to house, a gaunt rumor in -flapping calico skirts. - -He sprang to his feet when he saw her vanish around the corner of Lou -Bentick's house across the way. “You keep the children in, Mary,” he -said, sharply. “Don't let them into the street.” And, snatching up his -hat and coat, he made for the door, but his wife was there ahead of him -and threw her arms about his neck. - -“For God's sake, Milt, stay with the boys and me!” she ejaculated. “You -don't know what may happen!” - -Outside they heard the trampling of many feet coming nearer and nearer. -They listened breathlessly. - -“You don't know what may happen!” she repeated. - -“Yes, I do, and they mustn't do it!” unclasping her hands. “Jim will -be needing help.” The sheriff was his wife's brother. “He's promised me -he'd hang the old man himself, or no one else should.” - -There was silence now in the street. The crowd had swept past the house. - -“But the town's full of strangers. You can't do anything, and Jim -can't!” - -“We can try. Look out for the children!” - -And he was gone. - -Mrs. McClintock turned to the boys, who were still at the table. “Go -up-stairs to your room and stay there until I tell you to come down,” - she commanded, peremptorily. “There, don't bother me with questions!” - For Joe, the youngest boy, was already whimpering. The other two, with -white, scared faces, sat bolt upright in their chairs. Some danger -threatened; they didn't know what this danger was, and their very -ignorance added to their terror. - -“Do what I say!” she cried. At this they left the table and marched -towards the stairs. Joe found courage to say: “Ain't you coming, too? -George's afraid.” But his mother did not hear him. She was at the window -closing the shutters. In the next yard she saw old Mrs. Smith, Mrs. -Stapleton's mother, carrying her potted plants into the house and -scolding in a shrill, querulous voice. - -McClintock, pulling on his coat as he ran, hurried up the street past -the little white frame Methodist church. The crowd had the start of him, -and the town seemed deserted, except for the women and children, who -were everywhere, at open doors and windows, some pallid and pitying, -some ugly with the brutal excitement they had caught from brothers or -husbands. - -As he passed the Emorys', he heard his name called. He glanced around, -and saw the doctor standing on the porch with Mrs. Emory and Constance. - -“Will you go with me, McClintock?” the physician cried. At the same -moment the boy drove his team to the door. McClintock took the fence at -a bound and ran up the drive. - -“There's no time to lose,” he panted. “But,” with a sudden, sickening -sense of helplessness, “I don't know that we can stop them.” - -“At least he will not be alone.” - -It was Constance who spoke. She was thinking of Oakley as struggling -single-handed to save his father from the howling, cursing rabble which -had rushed up the street ten minutes before. - -“No, he won't be alone,” said McClintock, not understanding whom it was -she meant. He climbed in beside the doctor. - -“You haven't seen him?” the latter asked, as he took the reins from the -boy. - -“Seen who?” - -“Dan Oakley.” - -“He's on his way to Chicago. Went this morning.” - -“Thank God for that!” and he pulled in his horses to call back to -Constance that Oakley had left Antioch. A look of instant relief came -into her face. He turned again to McClintock. - -“This is a bad business.” - -“Yes, we don't want no lynching, but it's lucky Oakley isn't here. I -hadn't thought of what he'd do if he was.” - -“What a pity he ever sent for his father! but who could have foreseen -this?” said the doctor, sadly. McClintock shook his head. - -“I can't believe the old man killed Ryder in cold blood. Why, he's as -gentle as a lamb.” - -As they left the town, off to the right in a field they saw a bareheaded -woman racing after her two runaway sons, and then the distant shouts -of men, mingled with the shrill cries of boys, reached their ears. The -doctor shook out his reins and plied his whip. - -“What if we are too late!” he said. - -For answer McClintock swore. He was fearing that himself. - -Two minutes later and they were up with the rear of the mob, where it -straggled along on foot, sweating and dusty and hoarsely articulate. -A little farther on and it was lost to sight in a thicketed dip of the -road. Out of this black shadow buggy after buggy flashed to show in the -red dusk that lay on the treeless hill-side beyond. On the mob's either -flank, but keeping well out of the reach of their elders, slunk and -skulked the village urchins. - -“Looks as if all Antioch was here to-night,” commented McClintock, -grimly. - -“So much the better for us; surely they are not all gone mad,” answered -the doctor. - -“I wouldn't give a button for his chances.” - -The doctor drove recklessly into the crowd, which scattered to the right -and left. - -McClintock, bending low, scanned the faces which were raised towards -them. - -“The whole township's here. I don't know one in ten,” he said, -straightening up. - -“I wish I could manage to run over a few,” muttered the doctor, -savagely. - -As they neared the forks of the road Dr. Emory pulled in his horses. -A heavy farm-wagon blocked the way, and the driver was stolidly -indifferent alike to his entreaties and to McClintock's threat to break -his head for him if he didn't move on. They were still shouting at him, -when a savage cry swelled up from the throats of those in advance. The -murderer was being brought in from the east road. - -“The brutes!” muttered the doctor, and he turned helplessly to -McClintock. “What are we going to do? What can we do?” - -By way of answer McClintock stood up. - -“I wish I could see Jim.” - -But Jim had taken the west road three hours be-fore, and was driving -towards Barrow's Saw Mills as fast as McElroy's best team could take -him. When he reached there it was enough to make one's blood run cold to -hear the good man curse. - -“You wait here, doctor,” cried McClintock. “You can't get past, and they -seem to be coming this way now.” - -“Look out for yourself, Milt!” - -“Never fear for me.” - -He jumped down into the dusty, trampled road, and foot by foot fought -his way forward. - -As he had said, those in front were turning back. The result was a -horrible jam, for those behind were still struggling to get within -sight of the murderer. A drunken man at McClintock's elbow was shouting, -“Lynch him!” at the top of his lungs. - -The master-mechanic wrenched an arm free and struck at him with the flat -of his hand. The man appeared surprised, but not at all angry. He merely -wiped the blood from his lips and asked, in an injured tone, which -conveyed a mild reproof, “What did you want to do that for? I don't know -you,” and as he sought to maintain his place at McClintock's side he -kept repeating, “Say, neighbor, I don't know you. You certainly got the -advantage of me.” - -Soon McClintock was in the very thick of the mob, and then he saw the -captive. His hands were bound and he was tied with ropes to the front -seat of a buckboard drawn by two jaded horses. His captors were three -iron-jawed, hard-faced countrymen. They were armed with shot-guns, and -were enjoying their splendid triumph to the full. - -McClintock gave only one look at the prisoner. An agony of fear was on -him. The collar of his shirt was stiff with blood from a wounded face. -His hat was gone, and his coat was torn. Scared and wondering, his eyes -shifted uneasily over the crowd. - -But the one look sufficed McClintock, and he lost all interest in the -scene. - -There would be no lynching that night, for the man was not Roger Oakley. -Further than that, he was gray-haired and burly; he was as unlike the -old convict as one man could well be unlike another. - -Suddenly the cry was raised, “It ain't him. You fellows got the wrong -man!” - -The cry was taken up and bandied back down the road. The mob drew a -great, free breath of rejoicing. It became good-natured with a noisy -hilarity. The iron-jawed countrymen glanced around sheepishly. - -“You are sure about that?” one inquired. “He answers the description all -right.” - -It was hard to have to abandon the idea of the rewards. “What have you -been doing to him?” asked half a dozen voices in chorus They felt a -friendly interest in the poor bound wretch in the buckboard; perhaps, -too, they were grateful to him because he was the wrong man. - -“Oh, nothing much,” uneasily, “only he put up a hell of a fight.” - -“Of course he did. He didn't want to be hanged!” And there was a -good-natured roar from the crowd. Already those nearest the prisoner -were reaching up to throw off the ropes that bound him. His captors -looked on in stupid surprise, but did not seek to interfere. - -The prisoner himself, now that he saw he was surrounded by well-wishers, -and being in a somewhat surly temper, which was pardonable enough -under the circumstances, fell to complaining bitterly and loudly of the -treatment he had received. Presently the mob began to disperse, some -to slink back into town, rather ashamed of their fury, while the -ever-lengthening procession which had followed the four men in the -buckboard since early in the day faced about and drove off into the -night. - -An hour afterwards and the prisoner was airing his grievances in -sagacious Mr. Britt's saloon, whither he had been conveyed by the latter -gentleman, who had been quick to recognize that, temporarily, at least, -he possessed great drawing-powers. He was only a battered vagabond on -his way East from the harvests in the Dakota wheat-fields, and he knew -that he had looked into the very eyes of death. As he limped about -the place, not disdaining to drink with whoever offered to pay for -his refreshment, he nursed a bruised and blackened ear, where some -enthusiast had planted his fist. - -“Just suppose they hadn't seen I was the wrong man! Gosh damn 'em! -they'd a strung me up to the nearest sapling. I'd like to meet the -cuss that punched me in the ear!” The crowd smiled tolerantly and -benevolently upon him. - -“How did they come to get you?” asked one of his auditors. - -“I was doing a flit across the State on foot looking for work, and -camping in the woods nights. How the bloody blazes was I to know you'd -had a murder in your jay town? They jumped on me while I was asleep, -that's what they done. Three of 'em, and when I says, 'What the hell you -want of me?' one of 'em yells, 'We know you. Surrender!' and jabs the -butt of his gun into my jaw, and over I go. Then another one yells, -'He's feeling for his knife!' and he rushes in and lets drive with his -fist and fetches me a soaker in the neck.” - -About the same hour two small figures brushed past Chris Berry as he -came up Main Street, and he heard a familiar voice say: “My, wasn't it a -close call, Spide? He was just saved by the skin of his teeth!” - -A hand was extended, and the speaker felt himself seized by the ear, -and, glancing up, looked into his father's face. - -“You come along home with me, son,” said the undertaker. “Your ma 'll -have a word to say to you. She's been wanting to lay her hands on you -all day.” - -“See you later, Spide,” Clarence managed to gasp, and then he moved off -with a certain jaunty buoyancy, as though he trod on air. - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -WHEN Roger Oakley fled from Antioch on the night of the murder he was -resolved that, happen what might, he would not be taken. - -For half an hour he traversed back alleys and grass-grown “side -streets,” seeing no one and unseen, and presently found himself to the -north of the town. - -Then he sat down to rest and consider the situation. - -He was on the smooth, round top of a hill-side. At his back were woods -and fields, while down in the hollow below him, beyond a middle -space that was neither town nor country, he saw the lights of Antioch -twinkling among the trees. Dannie was there somewhere, wondering why he -did not return. Nearer at hand, across a narrow lane, where the rag-weed -and jimson and pokeberry flourished rankly, was the cemetery. - -In the first peaceful month of his stay in Antioch he had walked out -there almost every Sunday afternoon to smoke his pipe and meditate. He -had liked to hear the blackbirds calling overhead in the dark pines, and -he had a more than passing fondness for tombstone literature. Next to -the Bible it seemed about the soundest kind of reading. He would seat -himself beside a grave whose tenant had been singularly pre-eminent as -possessing all the virtues, and, in friendly fellowship with the dead, -watch the shadows marshalled by the distant woodlands grow from short to -long, or listen to the noisy cawing of the crows off in the cornfields. - -The night was profoundly still, until suddenly the town bell rang the -alarm. The old convict's face blanched at the sound, and he came slowly -to his feet. The bell rang on. The lights among the trees grew in -number, dogs barked, there was the murmur of voices. He clapped his -hands to his ears and plunged into the woods. - -He had no clear idea of where he was going, but all night long he -plodded steadily forward, his one thought to be as far from Antioch -as possible by morning. When at last morning came, with its song of -half-awakened birds and its level streaks of light piercing the gray -dawn, he remembered that he was hungry, and that he had eaten nothing -since noon the day before. He stopped at the first farmhouse he came to -for breakfast, and at his request the farmer's wife put up a lunch for -him to carry away. - -It was night again when he reached Barrow's Saw Mills. He ventured -boldly into the one general store and made a number of purchases. The -storekeeper was frankly curious to learn what he was doing and where he -was going, but the old convict met his questions with surly reserve. - -When he left the store he took the one road out of the place, and half a -mile farther on forsook the road for the woods. - -It was nearly midnight when he went into camp. He built a fire and -toasted some thin strips of bacon. He made his supper of these and a -few crackers. He realized that he must harbor his slender stock of -provisions. - -He had told himself over and over that he was not fit to live among -men. He would have to dwell alone like a dangerous animal, shunning his -fellows. The solitude and the loneliness suited him. He would make a -permanent camp somewhere close to the lakes, in the wildest spot he -could find, and end his days there. - -He carried in his pocket a small railroad map of the State, and in the -morning, after a careful study of it, marked out his course. That day, -and for several days following, he plodded on and on in a tireless, -patient fashion, and with but the briefest stops at noon for his meagre -lunch. Each morning he was up and on his way with the first glimmer of -light, and he kept his even pace until the glow faded from the sky in -the west. - -Beyond Barrow's Saw Mills the pine-woods stretched away to the north in -one unbroken wilderness. At long intervals he passed loggers' camps, and -more rarely a farm in the forest; but he avoided these. Instinct told -him that the news of Ryder's murder had travelled far and wide. In all -that range of country there was no inhabited spot where he dare show his -face. - -Now that he had evolved a definite purpose he was quite cheerful -and happy, save for occasional spells of depression and bitter -self-accusation, but the excitement of his flight buoyed him up -amazingly. - -He had distanced and outwitted pursuit, and his old pride in his -physical strength and superiority returned. The woods never ceased to -interest him. There was a mighty freedom about them, a freedom he shared -and joyed in. He felt he could tramp on forever, with the scent of the -pines filling his nostrils and the sweep of the wind in his ears. His -muscles seemed of iron. There was cunning and craft, too, in the life he -was living. - -The days were sultry August days. No rain had fallen in weeks, and the -earth was a dead, dry brown. A hot haze quivered under the great trees. -Off in the north, against which his face was set, a long, low, black -cloud lay on the horizon. Sometimes the wind lifted it higher, and it -sifted down dark threads of color against the softer blue of the summer -sky. Presently the wind brought the odor of smoke. At first it was -almost imperceptible--a suggestion merely, but by-and-by it was in every -breath he drew. The forest was on fire ahead of him. He judged that the -tide of devastation was rolling nearer, and he veered to the west. Then -one evening he saw what he had not seen before--a dull red light that -shone sullenly above the pines. The next day the smoke was thick in the -woods; the wind, blowing strongly from the north, floated little wisps -and wreaths of it down upon him. It rested like a heavy mist above the -cool surface of the lake, on the shores of which he had made his camp -the night previous, while some thickly grown depressions he crossed were -sour with the stale, rancid odor that clung to his clothes and -rendered breathing difficult. There was a powdering of fine white ashes -everywhere. At first it resembled a hoar-frost, and then a scanty fall -of snow. - -By five o'clock he gained the summit of a low ridge. From its top he was -able to secure an extended view of the fire. A red line--as red as the -reddest sunset--stretched away to the north as far as the eye could see. -He was profoundly impressed by the spectacle. The conflagration was on a -scale so gigantic that it fairly staggered him. He knew millions of feet -of timber must be blazing. - -He decided to remain on the ridge and study the course of the fire, -so he lay down to rest. Sleep came over him, for the day had been a -fatiguing one, but at midnight he awoke. A dull, roaring sound was -surging through the forest, and the air was stifling. The fire had -burned closer while he slept. It had reached the ridge opposite, which -was nearly parallel to the one he was on, and was burning along its -northern base. The ridge flattened perceptibly to the west, and already -at this point a single lone line of fire had surmounted the blunt -crest, and was creeping down into the valley which intervened. Presently -tongues, of fire shot upwards. The dark, nearer side of the ridge showed -clearly in the fierce light, and soon the fire rolled over its entire -length, a long, ruddy cataract of flame. As it gained the summit it -seemed to fall forward and catch fresh timber, then it raced down the -slope towards the valley, forming a great red avalanche that roared and -hissed and crackled and sent up vast clouds of smoke into the night. - -Clearly any attempt to go farther north would be but a waste of time -and strength. The fire shut him off completely in that quarter. He must -retrace his steps until he was well to the south again. Then he could -go either to the east or west, and perhaps work around into the burned -district. The risk he ran of capture did not worry him. Indeed, he -scarcely considered it. He felt certain the pursuit, if pursuit there -were, had been abandoned days before. He had a shrewd idea that the fire -would give people something else to think of. His only fear was that his -provisions would be exhausted. When they went he knew the chances were -that he would starve, but he put this fear resolutely aside whenever it -obtruded itself. With care his supplies could be made to last many days. - -He did not sleep any more that night, but watched the fire eat its way -across the valley. When it reached the slope at his feet he shouldered -his pack and started south. It was noon when he made his first halt. He -rested for two hours and then resumed his march. He was now well beyond -the immediate range of the conflagration. There was only an occasional -faint odor of smoke in the woods. He had crossed several small streams, -and he knew they would be an obstacle in the path of the fire unless the -wind, which was from the north, should freshen. - -Night fell. He lighted a camp-fire and scraped together his bed of -pine-needles, and lay down to sleep with the comforting thought that he -had put a sufficient distance between himself and the burning forest. -He would turn to the west when morning came. He trusted to a long day's -journey to carry him out of the menaced territory. It would be easier -travelling, too, for the ridges which cut the face of the country ran -east and west. The sun was in the boughs of the hemlocks when he awoke. -There had been a light rain during the night, and the forest world had -taken on new beauty. But it grew hot and oppressive as the hours passed. -The smoke thickened once more. At first he tried to believe it was only -his fancy. Then the wind shifted into the east, and the woods became -noticeably clearer. He pushed ahead with renewed hope. This change in -the wind was a good sign. If it ever got into the south it would drive -the fire back on itself. - -He tramped for half the night and threw himself down and slept -heavily--the sleep of utter exhaustion and weariness. It was broad day -when he opened his eyes. The first sound he heard was the dull roar of -the flames. He turned with a hunted, fugitive look towards the west. A -bright light shone through the trees. The fire was creeping around -and already encircled him on two sides. His feeling was one of bitter -disappointment, fear, too, mingled with it. In the south were Ryder's -friends--Dannie's enemies and his. Of the east he had a horror which -the study of his map did not tend to allay; there were towns there, and -settlements, thickly scattered. Finally he concluded he would go forward -and examine the line of fire. There might be some means by which he -could make his way through it. - -A journey of two miles brought him to a small watercourse. The fire -was burning along the opposite bank. It blazed among the scrub and -underbrush and leaped from tree to tree; first to shrivel their foliage -to a dead, dry brown, and then envelop them in sheets of flame. The -crackling was like the report of musketry. - -Roger Oakley was awed by the sight. In spite of the smoke and heat he -sat down on the trunk of a fallen pine to rest. Some birds fluttered out -of the rolling masses of smoke above his head and flew south with shrill -cries of alarm. A deer crossed the stream, not two hundred yards from -where he sat, at a single bound. Next, two large timber wolves entered -the water. They landed within a stone's throw of him, and trotted -leisurely off. The heat soon drove him from his position, and he, too, -sought refuge in the south. The wall of flame cut him off from the north -and west, and to the east he would not go. - -There was something tragic in this blocking of his way. He wondered if -it was not the Lord's wish, after all, that he should be taken. This -thought had been troubling him for some time. Then he remembered Dannie. -Dannie, to whom he had brought only shame and sorrow. He set his lips -with grim determination. Right or wrong, the Lord's vengeance would have -to wait. Perhaps He would understand the situation. He prayed that He -might. - -Twenty-four hours later and he had turned westward, with the desperate -hope that he could cross out of the path of the fire, but the hope -proved futile. There was no help for it. To the east he must go if he -would escape. - -It was the towns and settlements he feared most, and the people; perhaps -they still continued the search. When he left the wilderness the one -precaution he could take would be to travel only by night. This plan, -when it was firmly fixed in his mind, greatly encouraged him. But at -the end of ten hours of steady tramping he discovered that the fire -surrounded him on three sides. Still he did not despair. For two days he -dodged from east to west, and each day the wall of flame and smoke drew -closer about him, and the distances in which he moved became less and -less. And now a great fear of Antioch possessed him. The railroad ran -nearly due east and west from Buckhom Junction to Harrison, a distance -of ninety-five miles. Beyond the road the country was well settled. -There were thriving farms and villages. To pass through such a country -without being seen was next to impossible. He felt a measure of his -strength fail him, and with it went his courage. It was only the thought -of Dannie that kept him on the alert. Happen what might, he would not -be taken. It should go hard with the man or men who made the attempt. He -told himself this, not boastfully, but with quiet conviction. In so far -as he could, as the fire crowded him back, he avoided the vicinity of -Antioch and inclined towards Buckhorn Junction. - -There was need of constant vigilance now, as he was in a sparsely -settled section. One night some men passed quite near to the fringe of -tamarack swamp where he was camped. Luckily the undergrowth was dense, -and his fire had burned to a few red embers. On another occasion, just -at dusk, he stumbled into a small clearing, and within plain view of the -windows of a log-cabin. As he leaped back into the woods a man with a -cob-pipe in his mouth came to the door of the cabin. - -Roger Oakley, with the hickory staff which he had cut that day held -firmly in his hands, and a fierce, wild look on his face, watched him -from his cover. Presently the man turned back into the house, closing -the door after him. - -These experiences startled and alarmed him. He grew gaunt and haggard; -a terrible weariness oppressed him; his mind became confused, and a sort -of panic seized him. His provisions had failed him, but an occasional -cultivated field furnished corn and potatoes, in spite of the serious -misgivings he felt concerning the moral aspect of these nightly -depredations. When he raided a spring-house, and carried off eggs and -butter and milk, he was able to leave money behind. He conducted these -transactions with scrupulous honesty. - -He had been living in the wilderness three weeks, when at last the fire -drove him from cover at Buck-horn Junction. As a town the Junction was -largely a fiction. There was a railroad crossing, a freight-shed, and -the depot, and perhaps a score of houses scattered along a sandy stretch -of country road. - -The B. & A. had its connection with the M. & W. at this point. It was -also the beginning of a rich agricultural district, and the woods gave -place to cultivated fields and farm-lands. - -It was late afternoon as Roger Oakley approached Buckhorn. When it was -dark he would cross the railroad and take his chance there. He judged -from the light in the sky that the fire had already burned in between -Buckhom and Antioch. This gave him a certain sense of security. Indeed, -the fire surrounded Buckhorn in every quarter except the south. Where -there was no timber or brush it crept along the rail-fences, or ran -with tiny spurts of flame through the dry weeds and dead stubble which -covered much of the cleared land. - -He could see a number of people moving about, a quarter of a mile -west of the depot. They were tearing down a burning fence that was in -perilous proximity to some straw-stacks and a barn. - -He heard and saw the 6.50 on the M. & W. pull in. This was the Chicago -express; and the Huckleberry's local, which was due at Antioch at -midnight, connected with it. This connection involved a wait of three -hours at Buckhom. Only one passenger left the train. He disappeared into -the depot. - -Roger Oakley waited until it was quite dark, and then, leaving the -strip of woods just back of the depot, where he had been hiding, stole -cautiously down to the track. He had noticed that there was an engine -and some freight cars on one of the sidings. He moved among them, -keeping well in the shadow. Suddenly he paused. Two men emerged from the -depot. They came down the platform in the direction of the cars. They -were talking earnestly together. One swung himself up into the engine -and lighted a torch. - -He wondered what they were doing, and stole nearer. - -They were standing on the platform now, and the man who held the torch -had his back to him. His companion was saying something about the wires -being down. - -He listened intently. - -Antioch was in danger, and if Antioch was in danger--Dannie-- - -All at once the man with the torch turned and its light Suffused his -face. - -It was Dan Oakley. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -DAN OAKLEY went to Chicago, intending to see Holloway and resign, -but he found that the Huckleberry's vice-president was in New York on -business, and no one in his office seemed to know when he would return, -so he sat down and wrote a letter, telling him of the condition of -affairs at Antioch, and explaining the utter futility, in view of what -had happened, of his trying to cope with the situation. - -He waited five days for a reply, and, none coming, wired to learn if -his letter had been received. This produced results. Holloway wired -back that he had the letter under consideration, and requested Oakley to -remain in Chicago until he returned, but he did not say whether or not -his resignation would be accepted. Since there was nothing to be done -but await Holloway's pleasure in the matter, Dan employed his enforced -leisure in looking about for another position. He desired a connection -which would take him out of the country, for the farther away from -Antioch and Constance Emory he could get the better he would be -satisfied. He fancied he would like to go to South America. He was -willing to accept almost any kind of a post--salary was no longer a -consideration with him. What he required was a radical change, with -plenty of hard work. - -It was not to be wondered at that his judgment of the case was an -extreme one, or that he told himself he must make a fresh start, as his -record was very much against him and his ability at a discount. While he -could not fairly be held responsible for the miscarriage of his plans at -Antioch, he felt their failure keenly, so keenly that could he have seen -the glimmer of a hope ahead he could have gone back and taken up the -struggle, but the killing of Ryder by his father made this impossible. -There was nothing he could do, and his mere presence outraged the -whole town. No understanding would ever be reached with the hands if he -continued in control, while a new man in his place would probably have -little or no difficulty in coming to an agreement with them. No doubt -they were quite as sick as he had been of the fight, and if he left they -would be content to count his going a victory, and waive the question of -wages. It was part of the irony of the condition that the new man would -find enough work contracted for to keep the shop open and running full -time for the next eight or ten months. But his successor was welcome to -the glory of it when he had hidden himself in some God-forsaken corner -of the globe along with the other waifs and strays--the men who have -left home because of their health or their accounts, and who hang around -dingy seaport towns and read month-old newspapers and try to believe -that the game has been worth the candle. - -By far his greatest anxiety was his father. He watched the papers -closely, expecting each day to read that he had been captured and sent -back to Antioch, but the days slipped past, and there was no mention of -him. Holt, with whom he was in constant correspondence, reported that -interest in his capture had considerably abated, while the organized -pursuit had entirely ceased. - -Dan had the feeling that he should never see him again, and the pathos -of his age and dependence tore his heart. In a manner, too, he blamed -himself for the tragedy. It might have been averted had he said less -about Ryder in his father's hearing. He should have known better than to -discuss the strike with him. - -One morning, as he left Holloway's office, he chanced to meet an -acquaintance by the name of Curtice. They had been together in Denver -years before, and he had known him as a rather talkative young fellow, -with large hopes and a thrifty eye to the main chance. But he was -the one man he would have preferred to meet, for he had been in South -America and knew the field there. Apparently Curtice was equally glad to -see him. He insisted upon carrying him off to his club to lunch, where -it developed he was in a state of happy enthusiasm over his connection -with a road that had just gone into the hands of a receiver, and a new -baby, which he assured Oakley on the spur of the moment he was going to -name after him. - -“You see, Oakley,” he explained, as they settled themselves, “I -was married after you left to a girl who had come to Denver with -a consumptive brother. They boarded at the same place I did.” His -companion was properly interested. “Look here, how long are you going to -be in the city? I want you to come and see us.” - -Dan avoided committing himself by saying his stay in Chicago was most -uncertain. He might have to leave very soon. - -“Well, then, you must drop in at my office. I wish you'd make it your -headquarters while you are here.” - -“What about the road you are with?” - -“Oh, the road! We are putting it in shape.” - -Oakley smiled a trifle skeptically. He recalled that even as a very -young man filling a very subordinate position, Curtice had clung to the -“we.” Curtice saw the smile and remembered too. - -“Now, see here, I'm giving it to you straight. I really am the whole -thing. I've got a greenhorn for a boss, whose ignorance of the business -is only equalled by his confidence in me. If you want to be nasty you -can say his ignorance is responsible for much of his confidence. I've -been told that before.” - -“Then I'll wait. I may be able to think of something better.” - -“There are times when I wonder if he really knows the difference between -an engine's head-light and a coupling-pin. He's giving me all the rope -I want, and we'll have a great passenger service when I get done. That's -what I am working on now.” - -“But where are you going to get the funds for it? A good service costs -money,” said Dan. - -“Oh, the road's always made money. That was the trouble.” Oakley looked -dense. He had heard of such things, but they had been outside of his own -experience. - -“The directors were a superstitious lot; they didn't believe in paying -dividends, and as they had to get rid of the money somehow, they put -it all out in salaries. The president's idea of the value of his own -services would have been exorbitant if the road had been operating five -thousand miles of track instead of five hundred. I am told a directors' -meeting looked like a family reunion, and they had a most ungodly lot of -nephews--nephews were everywhere. The purchasing agent was a nephew, so -were two of the division superintendents. Why, the president even had a -third cousin of his wife's braking on a way freight. We've kept him as a -sort of curiosity, and because he was the only one in the bunch who was -earning his pay.” - -“No wonder the stockholders went to law,” said Oakley, laughing. - -“Of course, when the road was taken into court its affairs were seen to -be in such rotten shape that a receiver was appointed.” - -Oakley's business instinct asserted itself. He had forgotten for the -time being that his services still belonged to Cornish. Now he said: -“See here, haven't you cars you intend to rebuild?” - -'“We've precious few that don't need carpenter-work or paint or -upholstering.” - -“Then send them to me at Antioch. I'll make you a price you can't get -inside of, I don't care where you go.” - -Curtice meditated, then he asked: “How are you fixed to handle a big -contract? It 'll be mostly for paint and upholstery or woodwork. We have -been considering equipping works of our own, but I am afraid they are -not going to materialize.” - -“We can handle anything,” and from sheer force of habit he was all -enthusiasm. He had pleasant visions of the shops running over-time, -and everybody satisfied and happy. It made no difference to him that he -would not be there to share in the general prosperity. With the start he -had given it, the future of the Huckleberry would be assured. He decided -he had better say nothing to Curtice about South America. - -The upshot of this meeting was that he stuck to Curtice with a genial -devotion that made him wax in his hands. They spent two days together, -inspecting paintless and tattered day coaches, and on the third day -Dan strolled from his friend's office buttoning his coat on a contract -that would mean many thousands of dollars for Antioch. It was altogether -his most brilliant achievement. He felt that there only remained for him -to turn the Huckleberry over to Holloway and leave the country. He had -done well by it. - -Dan had been in Chicago about three weeks, when at last Holloway -returned, and he proved as limp as Cornish had said he would be in a -crisis. He was inclined to be critical, too, and seemed astonished -that Oakley had been waiting in Chicago to see him. He experienced a -convenient lapse of memory when the latter mentioned his telegram. - -“I can't accept your resignation,” he said, fussing nervously among -the papers on his desk. “I didn't put you at Antioch; that was General -Cornish's own idea, and I don't know what he'll think.” - -“It has gotten past the point where I care what he thinks,” retorted -Dan, curtly. “You must send some one else there to take hold.” - -“Why didn't you cable him instead of writing me?” fretfully. “I don't -know what he will want, only it's pretty certain to be the very thing I -sha'n't think of.” - -“I would have cabled him if I had considered it necessary, but it never -occurred to me that my resignation would not be agreed to on the spot, -as my presence in Antioch only widens the breach and increases the -difficulty of a settlement with the men.” - -“Whom did you leave in charge?” inquired Holloway. - -“Holt.” - -“Who's he?” - -“He's Kerr's assistant,” Dan explained. - -“Why didn't you leave Kerr in charge?” demanded the vice-president. - -“I laid him off,” said Dan, in a tone of exasperation, and then he -added, to forestall more questions: “He was in sympathy with the men, -and he hadn't the sense to keep it to himself. I couldn't be bothered -with him, so I got rid of him.” - -“Well, I must say you have made a frightful mess of the whole business, -Oakley, but I told General Cornish from the first that you hadn't the -training for the position.” - -Dan turned very red in the face at this, but he let it pass. - -“It's too bad,” murmured Holloway, still fingering the letters on the -desk. - -“Since you are in doubt, why don't you cable General Cornish for -instructions, or, if there is a reason why you don't care to, it is not -too late for me to cable,” said Dan. - -This proposal did not please Holloway at all, but he was unwilling -to admit that he feared Cornish's displeasure, which, where he was -concerned, usually took the form of present silence and a subsequent -sarcasm that dealt with the faulty quality of his judgment. The sarcasm -might come six months after it had been inspired, but it was certain -to come sooner or later, and to be followed by a bad half-hour, which -Cornish devoted to past mistakes. Indeed, Cornish's attitude towards him -had become, through long association, one of chronic criticism, and he -was certain to be unpleasantly affected both by what he did and by what -he left undone. - -“Why don't you wait until the general returns from England? That's not -far off now. Under the circumstances he'll accept your resignation.” - -“He will have to,” said Oakley, briefly. - -“Don't worry; he'll probably demand it,” remarked the vice-president, -disagreeably. - -“If you are so sure of this, why don't you accept it?” retorted Dan. - -“I have no one to appoint in your place.” - -“What's wrong with Holt? He'll do temporarily.” - -“I couldn't feel positive of his being satisfactory to General Cornish. -He's a very young man, ain't he?” - -“Yes, I suppose you'd call him a young man, but he has been with the -road for a long time, and has a pretty level head. I have found him very -trustworthy.” - -“I would have much greater confidence in Kerr. He's quiet and -conservative, and he's had an excellent training with us.” - -“Well, then, you can get him. He is doing nothing, and will be glad to -come.” - -“But you have probably succeeded in antagonizing him.” - -“I hope so,” with sudden cheerfulness. “It was a hardship not to be able -to give him a sound thrashing. That's what he deserved.” - -Holloway looked shocked. The young man was displaying a recklessness of -temper which was most unseemly and entirely unexpected. - -“I guess it will be well for you to think it over, Oakley, before you -conclude to break with General Cornish. To go now will be rather shabby -of you, and you owe him fair treatment. Just remember it was those -reforms of yours that started the strike, in the first place. I know--I -know. What you did you did with his approval The men are peaceable -enough, ain't they?” and he glared at Oakley with mingled disfavor and -weariness. - -“Anybody can handle them but me.” - -“It won't be long until they are begging you to open the shops. They -will be mighty sick of the trouble they've shouldered when their money -is all gone.” - -“They will never come to me for that, Mr. Holloway,” said Dan. “I think -they would, one and all, rather starve than recognize my position.” - -“They'll have to. We'll make them. We mustn't let them think we are -weakening.” - -“You don't appreciate the feeling of intense hostility they have for -me.” - -“Of course the murder of that man--what was his name?” - -“Ryder, you mean.” - -“Was unfortunate. I don't wonder you have some feeling about going -back.” - -Dan smiled sadly. - -The vice-president was wonderfully moderate in his choice of words. He -added: “But it is really best for the interest of those concerned that -you should go and do what you can to bring about a settlement.” - -“It would be the sheerest idiocy for me to attempt it. The town may go -hungry from now till the end of its days, but it won't have me at any -price.” - -“I always told Cornish he should sell the road the first opportunity he -got. He had the chance once and you talked him out of it. Now you don't -want to stand by the situation.” - -“I do,” said Oakley, rising. “I want to see an understanding reached -with the men, and I am going to do what I can to help along. You will -please to consider that I have resigned. I don't for the life of me -see how you can expect me to show my face in Antioch,” and with that he -stalked from the place. He was thoroughly angry. He heard Holloway call -after him: - -“I won't accept your resignation. You'll have to wait until you see -Cornish!” - -Dan strode out into the street, not knowing what he would do. He was -disheartened and exasperated at the stand Holloway had taken. - -Presently his anger moderated and his pace slackened. He had been quite -oblivious to what was passing about him, and now for the first time, -above the rattle of carts and trucks, he heard the newsboys shrilly -calling an extra. He caught the words, “All about the big forest fire!” - repeated over and over again. - -He bought a paper and opened it idly, but a double-leaded head-line -arrested his attention. It was a brief special from Buckhom Junction. -He read it with feverish interest. Antioch was threatened with complete -destruction by the forest fires. - -“I'll take the first train for Antioch. Have you seen this?” and he held -out the crumpled page he had just torn from his newspaper. - -Holloway glanced up in astonishment at this unlooked-for change of -heart. - -“I thought you'd conclude it was no way to treat General Cornish,” he -said. - -“Hang Cornish! It's not on his account I'm going. The town is in a fair -way to be wiped off the map. Here, read.” - -And he thrust the paper into Holloway's hands. “The woods to the north -and west of Antioch have been blazing for two days. They have sent -out call after call for help, and apparently nobody has responded yet. -That's why I am going back, and for no other reason.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -AT Buckhorn Junction, Joe Durks, who combined the duties of telegraph -operator with those of baggage-master and ticket-agent, was at his table -receiving a message when Dan Oakley walked into the office. He had just -stepped from the Chicago express. - -“What's the latest word from Antioch, Joe?” he asked, hurriedly. - -“How are you, Mr. Oakley? I got Antioch now.” - -“What do they say?” - -“They are asking help.” - -The metallic clicking of the instrument before him ceased abruptly. - -“What's wrong, anyhow?” He pushed back his chair and came slowly to his -feet His finger was still on the key. He tried again to call up Antioch. -“They are cut off. I guess the wire is down.” - -The two men stared at each other in silence. - -Dan's face was white in the murky, smoky twilight that filled the room. -Durks looked anxious--the limit of his emotional capacity. He was a -lank, colorless youth, with pale yellow tobacco stains about the corners -of his mouth, and a large nose, which was superior to its surroundings. - -Oakley broke silence with: - -“What's gone through to-day, Joe?” - -“Nothing's gone through on the B. & A. There's nothing to send from this -end of the line,” the operator answered, nervously. - -“What went through yesterday?” - -“Nothing yesterday, either.” - -“Where is No. 7?” - -“It's down at Harrison, Mr. Oakley.” - -“And No. 9?” - -“It's at Harrison, too.” - -“Do you know what they are doing at Harrison?” demanded Oakley, angrily. - -It seemed criminal negligence that no apparent effort had as yet been -made to reach Antioch. - -“I don't,” said Durks, laconically, biting his nails. “I suppose they -are waiting for the fire to burn out.” - -“Why don't you know?” persisted Dan, tartly. His displeasure moved the -operator to a fuller explanation. - -“It was cut off yesterday morning. The last word I got was that No. -7 was on a siding there, and that No. 9, which started at 8.15 for -Antioch, had had to push back. The fire was in between Antioch and -Harrison, on both sides of the track, and blazing to beat hell.” - -Having reached this verbal height, he relapsed into comparative -indifference. - -“Where's the freight?” questioned Oakley. - -“The last I heard it was trying to make Parker's Run.” - -“When was that?” - -“That was yesterday morning, too. It had come up that far from Antioch -the day before to haul out four carloads of ties. Holt gave the order. -It is still there, for all I know--that is, if it ain't burned or -ditched. I sent down the extra men from the yards here to help finish -loading the cars. I had Holt's order for it, and supposed he knew -what was wanted. They ain't come back, but they got there ahead of the -freight all right.” - -Oakley felt this care for a few hundred dollars' worth of property -to have been unnecessary, in view of the graver peril that threatened -Antioch. Still, it was not Durks's fault. It was Holt who was to blame. -He had probably lost his head in the general alarm and excitement. - -While Harrison might be menaced by the fire, it was in a measure -protected by the very nature of its surroundings. But with Antioch, -where there was nothing to stay the progress of the flames, the case -was different. With a north wind blowing, they could sweep over the town -unhindered. - -“Yesterday the wind shifted a bit to the west, and for a while they -thought Antioch was out of danger,” said Durks, who saw what was in -Oakley's mind. - -“What have you heard from the other towns?” - -“They're deserted. Everybody's gone to Antioch or Harrison. There was -plenty of time for that, and when No. 7 made her last run, I wired ahead -that it was the only train we could send out.” - -“How did you get the extra men to Parker's Rim?” - -“Baker took 'em there on the switch engine. I sent him down again this -morning to see what was the matter with the freight, but he only went to -the ten-mile fill and come back. He said he couldn't go any farther. I -guess he wasn't so very keen to try. He said he hadn't the money put by -for his funeral expenses.” - -“They told me up above that the M. & W. had hauled a relief train for -Antioch. What has been done with it? Have you made an effort to get it -through?” - -Durks looked distressed. Within the last three days flights of -inspiration and judgment had been demanded of him such as he hoped -would never be required again. And for forty-eight hours he had been -comforting himself with the thought that about everything on wheels -owned by the Huckleberry was at the western terminus of the road. - -“It ain't much of a relief train, Mr. Oakley. Two cars, loaded with -fire-engines and a lot of old hose. They are on the siding now.” - -“Were any men sent here with the relief train?” questioned Oakley. - -“No; Antioch just wanted hose and engines. The water's played out, and -they got to depend on the river if the fire strikes the town. They're in -pretty bad shape, with nothing but one old hand-engine. You see, their -water-mains are about empty and their hose-carts ain't worth a damn.” - -Oakley turned on his heel and strode from the office. The operator -followed him. As they gained the platform Dan paused. The very air was -heavy with smoke. The sun was sinking behind a blue film. Its dull disk -was the color of copper. He wondered if the same sombre darkness was -settling down on Antioch. The element of danger seemed very real and -present. To Dan this danger centred about Constance Emory. He quite -overlooked the fact that there were several thousand other people in -Antioch. Durks, at his side, rubbed the sandy bristles on his chin with -the back of his hand, and tried to believe he had thought of everything -and had done everything there was to do. - -The woods were on fire all about the Junction, but the town itself was -in no especial danger, as cultivated fields intervened to shut away the -flames. In these fields Dan could see men and women busy at work tearing -down fences. On a hillside a mile off a barn was blazing. - -“There goes Warrick's barn,” remarked the operator. - -“What was the last word from Antioch? Do you remember exactly what was -said?” asked Dan. - -“The message was that a strong north wind was blowing, and that the town -was pretty certain to burn unless the engines and hose reached there -tonight; but they have been saying that for two days, and the wind's -always changed at the right moment and driven the fire back.” - -Dan glanced along the track, and saw the relief train, consisting of an -engine, tender, and two flatcars, loaded with hose and fire-engines, on -one of the sidings. He turned on Durks with an angry scowl. - -“Why haven't you tried to start that train through? It's ready.” - -“No one is here to go with it, Mr. Oakley. I was sort of counting on the -freight crew for the job.” - -“Where's Baker?” - -“He went home on the 6. 10. He lives up at Car-son, you know.” - -This was the first stop on the M. & W. east of Buckhom. - -“Why did you let him leave? Great God, man! Do you mean to say that he's -been loafing around here all day with his hands in his pockets? He'll -never pull another throttle for the Huckleberry!” - -Durks did not attempt to reply to this explosion of wrath. - -“Who made up the train?” demanded Dan. - -“Baker did. Him and his fireman. I didn't know but the freight might -come up from Parker's Run, and I wanted to be fixed for 'em. I couldn't -do a thing with Baker. I told him his orders were to try and reach -Antioch with the relief train, but he said he didn't care a damn who -gave the order, he wasn't going to risk his life.” - -But Dan had lost interest in Baker. - -“Look here,” he cried. “You must get a fireman for me, and I'll take out -the train myself.” - -He wondered why he had not thought of this before. - -“I guess I'll manage to reach Antioch,” he added, as he ran across to -the siding and swung himself into the cab. - -A faded blue blouse and a pair of greasy overalls were lying on the seat -in the cab. He removed his coat and vest and put them on. Durks, who had -followed him, climbed up on the steps. - -“You'll have to run slow, Mr. Oakley, because it's likely the heat has -spread the rails, if it ain't twisted them loose from the ties,” he -volunteered. For answer Oakley thrust a shovel into his hands. - -“Here, throw in some coal,” he ordered, opening the furnace door. - -Durks turned a sickly, mottled white. - -“I can't leave,” he gasped. - -“You idiot. You don't suppose I'd take you from your post. What I want -you to do is to help me get up steam.” - -The operator attacked the coal on the tender vigorously. He felt an -immense sense of comfort. - -Dan's railroad experience covered nearly every branch. So it chanced -that he had fired for a year prior to taking an office position. Indeed, -his first ambition had been to be an engineer. It was now quite dark, -and, the fires being raked down, he lit a torch and inspected his engine -with a comprehensive eye. Next he probed a two-foot oiler into the rods -and bearings and filled the cups. He found a certain pleasure in the -fact that the lore of the craft to which he had once aspired was still -fresh in his mind. - -“Baker keeps her in apple-pie order, Joe,” he observed, approvingly. The -operator nodded. - -“He's always tinkering.” - -“Well, he's done tinkering for us, unless I land in a ditch to-night, -with the tender on top of me.” - -A purring sound issued from the squat throat of the engine. It was -sending aloft wreaths of light gray smoke and softly spitting red-hot -cinders. - -Dan climbed upon the tender and inspected the tank. Last of all he went -forward and lit the headlight, and his preparations were complete. He -jumped down from the cab, and stood beside Joe on the platform. - -“Now,” he said, cheerfully, “where's that fireman, Joe?” - -“He's gone home, Mr. Oakley. He lives at Car-son, too, same as Baker,” - faltered the operator. - -“Then there's another man whose services we won't require in future. -We'll have to find some one else.” - -“I don't think you can,” ventured Durks, reluctantly. Instinct told him -that this opinion would not tend to increase his popularity with Oakley. - -“Why not?” - -“They just won't want to go.” - -“Do you mean to tell me that they will allow Antioch to burn and not lift -a hand to save the town?” he demanded, sternly. - -He couldn't believe it. - -“Well, you see, there won't any one here want to get killed; and they -will think they got enough trouble of their own to keep them home.” - -“We can go up-town and see if we can't find a man who thinks of more -than his own skin,” said Dan. - -“Oh, yes, we can try,” agreed Durks, apathetically, but his tone implied -an unshaken conviction that the search would prove a fruitless one. - -“Can't you think of any one who would like to make the trip?” Durks was -thoughtful. He thanked his lucky stars that the M. & W. paid half his -salary. At last he said: - -“No, I can't, Mr. Oakley.” - -There was a sound like the crunching of cinders underfoot on the other -side of the freight car near where they were standing, but neither Durks -nor Oakley heard it. The operator's jaws worked steadily in quiet animal -enjoyment of their task. He was still canvassing the Junction's adult -male population for the individual to whom life had become sufficiently -burdensome for Oakley's purpose. Dan was gazing down the track at the -red blur in the sky. Back of that ruddy glow, in the path of the flames, -lay Antioch. The wind was in the north. He was thinking, as he had many -times in the last hour, of Constance and the Emorys. In the face of the -danger that threatened he even had a friendly feeling for the rest of -Antioch. It had been decent and kindly in its fashion until Ryder set to -work to ruin him. - -He knew he might ride into Antioch on his engine none the worse for the -trip, except for a few bums, but there was the possibility of a more -tragic ending. Still, whatever the result, he would have done his full -part. - -He faced Durks again. - -“Any man who knows enough to shovel coal will do,” he said. - -“But no one will want to take such long chances, Mr. Oakley. Baker said -it was just plain suicide.” - -“Hell!” and Dan swore like a brakeman out of temper, in the bad, -thoughtless manner of his youth. - -At the same moment a heavy, slouching figure emerged from the shadow at -the opposite end of the freight car, and came hesitatingly towards the -two men. Then a voice said, in gentle admonition: - -“Don't swear so, Dannie. It ain't right. I'll go with you.” - -It was his father. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -ANTIOCH had grown indifferent to forest fires, They were of almost -annual recurrence, and the town had come to expect them each fall. As -the Hon. Jeb Barrows remarked, with cheerful optimism, voicing a popular -belief, if it was intended Antioch should go that way it would have gone -long ago. - -But this summer the drought had been of longer duration than usual. The -woods were like tinder, and the inevitable wadding from some careless -hunter's gun, or the scattered embers from some camp-fire far up in the -northern part of the State, had started a conflagration that was licking -up miles of timber and moving steadily south behind a vast curtain of -smoke that darkened half the State. It was only when the burned-out -settlers from the north began to straggle in that Antioch awoke to a -proper sense of its danger. - -Quick upon the heels of these fugitives came the news that the -half-dozen families at Barrow's Saw Mills had been forced to flee from -their homes. The fire had encircled the mills in a single night, and -one old man, a trapper and hunter, who lived alone in a cabin in a small -clearing on the outskirts of the settlement, had been burned to death in -his bunk before he could be warned of his danger or help reach him. - -It was then that Antioch sent out its first call for help. It needed -fire-engines and hose, and it needed them badly, especially the hose, -for the little reservoir from which the town drew its water supply was -almost empty. - -Antioch forgot the murder of Ryder. It forgot Roger Oakley, the strike, -and all lesser affairs. A common danger threatened its homes, perhaps -the lives of its citizens. - -A score of angry men were stamping up and down the long platform across -from the shops, or pushing in and out of the ugly little depot, which -had taken on years in apparent age and decay in the two days during -which no trains had been running. - -They were abusing Holt, the railroad, and every one connected with it. -For the thousandth time they demanded to know where the promised relief -train was--if it had started from Buckhorn Junction, and, if it _hadn't_ -started, the reason of the delay. - -The harried assistant-treasurer answered these questions as best he -could. - -“Are you going to let the town burn without making a move to save it?” - demanded an excited citizen. - -“You don't think I am any more anxious to see it go than you are?” - retorted Holt, angrily. - -“Then why don't your damn road do something to prevent it?” - -“The road's doing all it can, gentlemen.” - -“That's a whole lot, ain't it?” - -“We are cut off,” said Holt, helplessly. “Everything's tied up tight.” - -“You can wire, can't you?” - -“Yes, I can wire; I have wired.” - -“Well, where's the relief train, then?” - -“It's at the Junction.” - -“It's going to do us a lot of good there, ain't it?” - -“They'll send it as soon as they can get together a crew.” - -“Stir them up again, Holt Tell 'em we got to have that hose and those -engines, or the town's gone. It's a matter of life and death.” - -Holt turned back into the depot, and the crowd dispersed. - -In the ticket-office he found McClintock, who had just come in from -up-town. The master mechanic's face was unusually grave. - -“I have been investigating the water supply with the city engineer. -Things are in awful shape. The mains are about empty, and there isn't -pressure enough from the stand-pipe to throw a thirty-five foot stream.” - -“I wish Oakley was here,” muttered Holt. - -“So do I. Somehow he had a knack at keeping things moving. I don't mean -but what you've done your level best, Byron,” he added, kindly. - -“They've laid down on me at the Junction,” said the younger man, -bitterly. - -He stepped to the door, mopping his face with his handkerchief, and -stood looking down the track in the direction of Buckhorn. - -“They made it so Oakley couldn't stay, and now they wonder why the -relief train is hung up. All Durks says is that he can't get a crew. I -tell you if Oakley was here he'd _have_ to get one.” - -“It was a mistake to send the yard engine up to Parker's Run. If we had -it here now--” - -“How in hell was _I_ to know we'd need it? I had to try to save those -ties, and we thought the wind was shifting into the south,” in fierce -justification of his course. - -“That's so, all right,” said McClintock. “We did think the danger was -past; only we shouldn't have taken any chances.” - -At this point they were joined by Dr. Emory. - -“Anything new from Buckhorn?” he inquired, anxiously. - -“No, it's the same old story. Durks ain't got anybody to send.” - -“Damn his indifference!” muttered McClintock. - -The doctor, like Holt, fell to mopping his face with his handkerchief. - -“Don't he know our danger? Don't he know we can't fight the fire without -engines and hose?--that our water supply is about exhausted, and that -we'll have to depend on the river?” - -Holt nodded wearily. - -“It looks as though we were to be left to face this situation as best we -can, without help from the outside,” said the doctor, uneasily. - -Holt turned to McClintock. - -“Isn't there some method of back-firing?” - -“It's too late to try that, and, with this wind blowing, it would have -been too big a risk.” - -He glanced moodily across the town to the north, where the black cloud -hung low in the sky. He added: - -“I have told my wife to keep the young ones in, no matter what happens. -But Lord! they will be about as well off one place as another, when it -comes to the pinch.” - -“I suppose so,” agreed the doctor. “I am at a loss to know what -precautions to take to insure the safety of Mrs. Emory and my daughter.” - -It was only four o'clock, but it was already quite dark in the town--a -strange half-light that twisted the accustomed shape of things. The air -was close, stifling; and the wind, which blew in heavy gusts, was -like the breath from a furnace. The sombre twilight carried with it a -horrible sense of depression. Every sound in nature was stilled; silence -reigned supreme. It was the expectant hush of each living thing. - -The three men stepped out on the platform. Holt and the doctor were -still mopping their faces with their limp handkerchiefs. McClintock was -fanning himself with his straw hat. When they spoke they unconsciously -dropped their voices to a whisper. - -“Those families in the North End should move out of their homes,” said -the doctor. “If they wait until the fire gets here, they will save -nothing but what they have on their backs.” - -“Yes, and the houses ought to come down,” added McClintock. “There's -where the fire will get its first grip on the town, and then Heaven help -us!” - -Night came, and so imminent seemed the danger that Antioch was roused to -something like activity. - -A crowd, composed almost exclusively of men, gathered early on the -square before the court-house. - -They had by common consent given up all hope that the relief train would -be sent from Buckhom Junction. The light in the sky told them that they -were completely cut off from the outside world. The town and the woods -immediately adjacent formed an island in the centre of an unbroken sea -of fire. The ragged red line had crept around to the east, west, and -south, but the principal danger would be from the north, where the wind -drove the flames forward with resistless fury. To the south and east -Billup's Fork interposed as a barrier to the progress of the fire, and -on the west was a wide area of cultivated fields. - -At regular intervals waves of light flooded the square, as the -freshening gusts fanned the conflagration or whirled across the town -great patches of black smoke. In the intervals of light a number of dark -figures could be seen moving about on the roof of the court-house. Like -the square below, it was crowded with anxious watchers. - -The crowd jostled to and fro on the square, restless and excited, and -incapable of physical quiet. Then suddenly a voice was raised and made -itself heard above the tramp of feet. “Those houses in the North End must -come down!” this voice said. - -There was silence, and then a many-tongued murmur. Each man present -knew that the residents of the North End had sworn that they would not -sacrifice their homes to the public good. If their homes must go, they -much preferred to have them burn, for then the insurance companies would -have to bear the loss. - -“'Those houses must come down!” the voice repeated. - -It was McClintock who had spoken. - -“Who's going to pull them down?” another voice asked. “They are ready to -fight for them.” - -“And we ought to be just as ready to fight, if it comes to that,” - answered the master mechanic. “It's for the common good.” - -The crowd was seized with a noisy agitation. Its pent-up feelings found -vent in bitter denunciation of the North End. A man--it was the Hon. Jeb -Barrows--had mounted the court-house steps, and was vainly endeavoring -to make himself heard. He was counselling delay, but no one listened to -him. The houses must be torn down whether their owners wanted it or not. -McClintock turned up the street. - -“Fall in!” he shouted, and at least a hundred men fell in behind him, -marching two abreast. Here and there, as they moved along, a man would -forsake the line to disappear into his own gate. When he rejoined his -neighbors he invariably carried an axe, pick, or crowbar. - -From the square they turned into Main Street, and from Main Street into -the north road, and presently the head of the procession halted before a -cluster of small frame houses resting in a hollow to their right. - -“These must come down first,” said McClintock. “Now we want no noise, -men. We'll pass out their stuff as quietly as we can, and take it back -to the square.” - -He swung open a gate as he spoke. “Williams keeps a team. A couple of -you fellows run around to the barn and hook up.” - -Just then the front door opened, and Williams himself appeared on the -threshold. A dog barked, other doors opened, lights gleamed in a -score of windows, and the North End threw off its cloak of silence and -darkness. - -“Keep quiet, and let me do the talking,” said McClintock over his -shoulder. Then to the figure in the doorway: - -“We have come to help you move, John. I take it you will be wanting to -leave here shortly.” - -“The hell you have!” responded Williams, roughly. - -“We'll give you a hand!” and the master mechanic pushed through the gate -and took a step down the path. - -“Hold on!” cried Williams, swinging out an arm. “I got something to say -about that!” - -There was a sound as of the clicking, of a lock, and he presented the -muzzle of a shot-gun. - -“Oh, say,” said McClintock, gently; “you had better not try to use that. -It will only make matters worse. Your house has got to come down.” - -“The hell it has!” - -“Yes,” said McClintock, still gently. “We got to save what we can of the -town.” - -Williams made no answer to this, but McClintock saw him draw the butt of -the gun up towards his shoulder. - -The men at his back were perfectly still. They filled the street, and, -breathing hard, pressed heavily against the picket fence, which bent -beneath the weight of their bodies. - -“You'd better be reasonable. We are losing precious time,” urged -McClintock. - -“The hell you are!” - -It occurred to McClintock afterwards that there had been no great -variety to Williams's remarks. - -“In an hour or two this place will be on fire.” - -“I've got no kick coming if it burns, but it sha'n't be pulled down.” - -“Put up your gun, and we'll give you a lift at getting your stuff out.” - -“No, you won't.” - -McClintock kept his eyes on the muzzle of the shotgun. - -“It ain't the property loss we are thinking of--it's the possible loss -of life,” he said, mildly. - -“I'll chance it,” retorted Williams, briefly. - -“Well, we won't.” - -Williams made no reply; he merely fingered the lock of his gun. - -“Put down that gun, John!” commanded McClintock, sternly. - -At the same moment he reached around and took an axe from the hands of -the nearest man. - -“Put it down,” he repeated, as he stepped quickly towards Williams. - -The listening men pressed heavily against the fence in their feverish -anxiety to miss nothing that was said or done. The posts snapped, and -they poured precipitously into the yard. At the same moment the gun -exploded, and a charge of buckshot rattled harmlessly along the pavement -at McClintock's feet. - -Then succeeded a sudden pause, deep, breathless, and intense, and then -the crowd gave a cry--a cry that was in answer to a hoarse cheer that -had reached them from the square. - -An instant later the trampled front yard was deserted by all save -Williams in the doorway. He still held the smoking gun to his shoulder. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -WHEN Roger Oakley appeared on the platform at Buckhom Junction, Durks -started violently, while Dan took a quick step forward and placed a -warning hand on the old convict's arm. He feared what he might say. Then -he said to the operator: “He'll do. Go see if you can get Antioch. Try -just once more. If you succeed, tell them the engines and hose will -be there within an hour, or they need not look for them. Do you -understand?” - -“All right, Mr. Oakley.” And Durks moved up the platform with alacrity. -He was relieved of one irksome responsibility. He had his own theories -as to who the stranger was, but he told himself it was none of his -business. - -As soon as he was out of hearing, Dan turned to his father, and said, -earnestly: “Look here, daddy, I can't allow you to do it. We are neither -of us popular. It's bad enough for me to have to go.” - -“Why can't you allow it, Dannie?” And his son recognized the same -cheerful tone with which he had always met and overruled his objections. - -“It will end in your arrest, and we don't want that.” - -“It's more than likely I'll be arrested sooner or later, anyhow,” he -said, with a suggestion of weariness, as if this were a matter it was a -waste of time to consider. “The Lord has set His face against me. It's -His wish I should return. I've been stubborn and headstrong and wouldn't -see it, but look there,” and he nodded towards the red western sky. -“It's a summons. I got to obey, whether I want to or not.” - -“It won't be safe. No telling what they will do with you.” - -“That ain't the question, Dannie; that ain't at all the question. It's -not what they'll do to me,” and he softly patted the hand that rested on -his arm. - -Dan saw that his clothes hung loosely to his mighty frame. They were -torn and stained. He had the appearance of a man who had endured -hardship, privation, and toil. His glance was fugitive and anxious. -“Where have you been all this while?” he asked. “Not here?” - -“No, I have been living in the woods, trying to escape from the country, -and the fires wouldn't let me. Wherever I went, they were there ahead of -me, driving me back.” - -“Why did you kill him? How did it happen?” Dan added. “Or is it all a -mistake? Did you do it?” - -The smile faded from the old convict's lips. - -“It was a sort of accident, and it was sort of carelessness, Dannie,” he -explained, with a touch of sullenness. “I hit him--not hard, mind you. I -know I shouldn't have done it, but he was in the wrong, and he wouldn't -listen to reason. I don't know when I ever seen a man so set in his -wickedness.” - -“And now you want to go back. Do you know what it means if you are -arrested? Have you thought of that?” - -Roger Oakley waved the query aside as though it concerned him not at -all. - -“I want to be with you,” he said, wistfully. “You may not get through -alive, and I want to be with you. You'll need me. There's no one you can -trust as you can me, for I won't fail you, no matter what the danger is. -And there's the girl, Dannie. Have you thought of her?” - -Dan set his lips. “My God, I can't think of anything else.” - -There was a moment's silence. - -“Here,” said Dan, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “I am going to -give you what money I have. It isn't much.” - -“What for, Dannie?” - -“You are sure to be seen and recognized if you stay about here. Your -description has been telegraphed all over the State. For that reason -I'll take you with me part way. Then I'll slow up, and you can hide -again. It's your only chance. I am sorry I can't do more for you. I wish -I could; but perhaps we can arrange to meet afterwards.” - -His father smiled with the unconscious superiority of the man who firmly -believes he is controlled by an intelligence infinitely wise and beyond -all human conception. No amount of argument could have convinced him -that Providence was not burning millions of feet of standing timber and -an occasional town solely for his guidance. In his simple seriousness he -saw nothing absurd nor preposterous in the idea. He said: - -“I've wanted to escape, Dannie, for your sake, not for mine. But when I -seen you to-night I knew the Lord intended we should keep together. He -didn't bring us here for nothing. That ain't His way. There's no one to -go with you but me, and you can't go alone.” - -“I can--I will!” And Dan swore under his breath. He realized that no -word of his could move his father. He would carry his point, just as he -always had. - -Durks came running along the platform from the dépôt. - -“It's no use,” shaking his head. “The wire's down. Say, you want to keep -your eyes open for the freight. It may be on the siding at Parker's Run, -and it may be on the main track.” - -Dan made a last appeal to his father. - -“Won't you listen to what I say?” sinking his voice to a hoarse whisper. -“They'll hang you--do you hear? If ever they lay hands on you they -will show no mercy!” It did not occur to him that his father would be -returning under circumstances so exceptional that public sentiment might -well undergo a radical change in his favor. - -Roger Oakley merely smiled as he answered, with gentle composure: “I -don't think we need to worry about that. We are in His hands, Dannie,” - and he raised his face to the heavens. - -Dan groaned. - -“Come, then,” he said aloud. - -“I'll throw the switch for you!” and the operator ran down the track. -He was quite positive he should never see Oakley again, and he felt -something akin to enthusiasm at the willing sacrifice of his life which -he conceived him to be making. - -Father and son stepped to the engine. The old convict mounted heavily -to his post, and Dan sprang after him, his hand groping for the throttle -lever. There was the hiss of steam, and Joe cried from the darkness: - -“All right, come ahead!” And the engine, with its tender and two cars, -began its hazardous journey. - -As they slipped past him, the operator yelled his good-bye, and Dan -pushed open the cab window and waved his hand. - -Roger Oakley, on the narrow iron shelf between the engine and the -tender, was already throwing coal into the furnace. His face wore -a satisfied expression. Apparently he was utterly unmoved by the -excitement of the moment, for he bent to his work as if it were the most -usual of tasks, and the occasion the most commonplace. He had taken off -his coat and vest and had tossed them up on the tender out of his way. -Dan, looking over the boiler's end, could see his broad shoulders and -the top of his head. He leaned back with his hand on the throttle. - -“Father!” he called. - -The old convict straightened up instantly. - -“Yes, Dannie?” - -“You are going with me? You are determined?” - -“I thought we settled that, Dannie, before we started,” he said, -pleasantly, but there was a shrewd, kindly droop to the corners of his -mouth, for he appreciated his victory. - -“I want to know, because if I am to slow up for you I'll have to do it -soon, or I'll be leaving you in worse shape than I found you.” - -To this his father made no direct reply. Instead he asked, “Do you think -we'll reach Antioch in time to do them any good?” Dan faced about. - -They slid into a straight stretch of road beyond the Junction, and the -track shone yellow far ahead, where the engine looked down upon it with -its single eye. Each minute their speed increased. A steady jarring -and pounding had begun that grew into a dull and ponderous roar as the -engine rushed forward. Dan kept a sharp watch for the freight. - -As Durks had said, it might be on the siding at Parker's Rim, and it -might not. In the latter event, his and his father's troubles would soon -be at an end. - -He rose from his seat and went to the door of the cab. - -“We'll take it easy for the first ten miles or so, then we'll be in the -fire, and that will be our time to hit her up.” - -Roger Oakley nodded his acquiescence. In what he conceived to be worldly -matters he was quite willing to abide by Dan's judgment, for which he -had profound respect. - -“How fast are we going?” he asked. Dan steadied himself and listened, -with a finger on his pulse, until he caught the rhythmic swing of -the engine, as it jarred from one rail to another. Then he said: -“Twenty-five miles an hour.” - -“It ain't very fast, is it, Dannie?” - -He was evidently disappointed. - -“We'll do twice that presently.” - -The old convict looked relieved. They were running now with a strip of -forest on one side of the track and cultivated fields on the other, but -with each rod they covered they were edging in nearer the flames. At -Parker's Rim the road crossed a little stream which doubled back in the -direction of Buckhorn Junction. There was nothing after that to stay the -progress of the fire, and the rest of their way lay through the blazing -pine-woods. - -Just before they reached the ten-mile fill they came to the strip of -burned timber that had sent Baker back to Buckhorn earlier in the day. -Here and there a tree was still blazing, but for the most part the fire -had spent its strength. - -As they swung past Parker's Run a little farther on, Dan saw the -freight, or, rather, what was left of it, on the siding. It had been -cutting out four flat-cars loaded with ties, and he understood the -difficulty at a glance. On the main track a brick-and-stone culvert -spanned the Run, but the siding crossed it on a flimsy wooden bridge. -This bridge had probably been burning as the freight backed in for the -flatcars, and when it attempted to pull out the weakened structure had -collapsed and the engine had gone through into the cut. It rested on its -forward end, jammed between the steep banks, with its big drivers in the -air. Of the cars there remained only the trucks and iron work. Near by -a tool-shed had formerly stood, but that was gone, too. The wheels and -gearing of a hand-car in the midst of a heap of ashes marked the spot. - -Dan turned to his father. “Are you all right, daddy?” he asked. - -“Yes, Dannie.” - -“Mind your footing. It will be pretty shaky back there.” - -They were still in the burned district, where a change in the wind that -afternoon had driven the fire back on itself. It had made a clean sweep -of everything inflammable. Luckily the road had been freshly ballasted, -and the track was in fair condition to resist the flames. But an -occasional tie smouldered, and from these the rushing train thrashed -showers of sparks. - -Dan kept his eyes fastened on the rails, which showed plainly in the -jerky glare of the headlight It was well to be careful while care was -possible. By-and-by he would have to throw aside all caution and trust -to chance. Now he increased his speed, and the insistent thud of the -wheels drowned every other sound, even the far-off roar of the flames. -At his back, at intervals, a ruddy glow shot upward into the night, when -Roger Oakley threw open the furnace door to pass in coal. Save for this -it was still quite dark in the cab, where Dan sat with his hand on the -throttle lever and watched the yellow streak that ran along the rails -in advance of the engine. Suddenly the wall of light ahead brightened -visibly, and its glare filled the cab. They were nearing the fire. - -Dan jammed the little window at his elbow open and put out his head. A -hot blast roared past him, and the heat of the fire was in his face. He -drew the window shut. It was light as day in the cab now. - -He leaned across the boiler's end, and, with a hand to his lips, called -to his father, “Are you all right?” - -The old man drew himself erect and crept nearer. - -“What's that you say, Dannie?” he asked. His face was black with -coal-dust and grime. - -“Are you all right? Can you bear the heat?” - -“I am doing very nicely, but this ain't a patch on what it's going to -be.” - -“Yes, it will be much worse, though this is had enough.” - -“But we can stand it. We must think of those poor people at Antioch.” - -“We'll stick to the engine as long as the engine sticks to the rails,” - said Dan, grimly. “Hadn't you better come into the cab with me? You'll -be frightfully exposed when we get into the thick of it.” - -“Not yet, Dannie? I'll give you steam, and you drive her as hard as you -can.” - -He turned away, shovel in hand. - -Then, all in a second, and they were in the burning woods, rushing -beneath trees that were blazing to their very summits. The track seemed -to shake and tremble in the fierce light and fiercer heat. Burning -leaves and branches were caught up to be whirled in fiery eddies back -down the rails as the train tore along, for Dan was hitting her up. - -Tongues of fire struck across at the two men. Smoke and fine white ashes -filled their mouths and nostrils. Their bodies seemed to bake. They had -been streaming wet with perspiration a moment before. - -Off in the forest it was possible to see for miles. Every tree and bush -stood forth distinct and separate. - -Roger Oakley put down his shovel for an instant to fill a bucket with -water from the tank on the tender. He plunged his head and arms in it -and splashed the rest over his clothes. Dan turned to him for the last -time. - -“It isn't far now,” he panted. “Just around the next curve and we'll see -the town, if it's still there, off in the valley.” - -The old convict did not catch more than the half of what he said, but he -smiled and nodded his head. - -As they swung around the curve a dead sycamore, which the fire had -girdled at the base, crashed across the track. The engine plunged into -its top, rolled it over once and tossed it aside. There was the smashing -of glass and the ripping of leather as the sycamore's limbs raked the -cab, and Roger Oakley uttered a hoarse cry, a cry Dan did not hear, -but he turned, spitting dust and cinders from his lips, and saw the -old convict still standing, shovel in hand, in the narrow gangway that -separated the engine and tender. - -He had set the whistle shrieking, and it cut high above the roar of the -flames, for, off in the distance, under a canopy of smoke, he saw the -lights of Antioch shining among the trees. - -Two minutes later and they were running smoothly through the yards, with -the brakes on and the hiss of escaping steam. As they slowed up beside -the depot, Dan sank down on the seat in the cab, limp and exhausted. -He was vaguely conscious that the platform was crowded with people, and -that they were yelling at him excitedly and waving their hats, but -he heard their cries only indifferently well. His ears were dead to -everything except the noise of his engine, which still echoed in his -tired brain. - -He staggered to his feet, and was about to descend from the cab, when -he saw that his father was lying face down on the iron shelf between the -engine and tender. He stooped and raised him gently in his arms. - -The old convict opened his eyes and looked up into his face, his lips -parted as if he were about to speak, but no sound came from them. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -CONSTANCE EMORY and her mother, waiting quietly in their own home, -heard the cheers when the noise from Dan's shrieking engine reached -the crowd of desperate men on the square. Then presently they heard the -rattle and clash of the fire-engines as they were dragged through the -street, and were aware that the relief train had arrived, but it was not -until the doctor came in some time long after midnight that they knew -who had been the savior of the town. - -“It's all over, dear. The fire is under control,” he said, cheerfully, -addressing his wife. “I guess we can go to bed now and feel pretty sure -we won't be burned out before morning.” - -Constance put down the book she had been trying to read, and rose -tiredly and stiffly from her chair beside the table. - -“Then the train did come, after all?” she said. “Yes, but not a moment -too soon. I tell you we can't be grateful enough. I've been with Oakley -and his father; that's what kept me,” he explained. - -“Oakley!” Constance cried, in amazement. “You don't mean--” - -“Yes. Didn't you know that it was Oakley and his father who brought -the relief train? The old man is dead. He was killed on the way. It's a -miracle that either of them got through alive. Hadn't you heard?” - -Constance put out her hands blindly, for a sudden mist had come before -her eyes. - -“Father, you don't mean that Mr. Oakley has returned to Antioch--that he -is here now?” - -“Yes, it seems no one else would come. Oakley was in Chicago when he -first heard of the fire, and started immediately for Buckhorn, where he -found the relief train. Oddly enough, he found his father there, too.” - -“Then there was something to the old man, after all,” said Mrs. Emory, -whose sympathies were as generous as they were easily aroused. - -“A good deal, I should say. He must have known that he was coming back -to arrest and almost certain conviction.” - -Constance's glance searched her father's face. She wanted to hear more -of Oakley. Her heart was hungering for news of this man who had risked -his life to save them. All her lingering tenderness--the unwilling -growth of many days--was sweeping away the barriers of her pride. “Mr. -Oakley was not hurt?” she questioned, breathlessly, pale to the lips. - -“He is pretty badly shaken up, and no wonder, but he will be all right -in the morning.” - -“Where is he now?” she asked. - -Her father turned to her. - -“Oakley--You look tired out, Constance. Do go to bed. I'll tell you all -about it in the morning.” - -“Where is he now, papa?” she questioned, going to his side and clasping -her hands about his arm. - -“Down at the shop. They carried his father there from the train.” - -“Why didn't you have them bring him here?” said Mrs. Emory, quickly. -“After this I won't listen to a word against either of them. I would -like to show the town just how we feel in the matter.” - -“I suggested it, but Oakley wouldn't hear to it. But don't worry about -the town. It's gone wild. You should have seen the crowd on the platform -when it saw Oakley in the engine-cab. It went stark mad.” - -Again Constance's eyes swam with tears. The strike, the murder of Ryder, -the fire, had each seemed in turn a part of the tragedy of her life at -Antioch, but Oakley's return was wholly glorious. - -Her father added, “I shall see Oakley in the morning, and learn if we -can be of any service to him.” - -A little later, when Constance went to her own room, she drew forward a -chair and seated herself by the window. Across the town, on the edge of -the “flats,” she saw dimly the long, dark outline of the railroad shop, -with its single tall chimney. She thought of Oakley as alone there -keeping watch at the side of the grim old murderer, who had so -splendidly redeemed himself by this last sacrifice. - -Great clouds of black smoke were still rolling over the town, and the -woods were still blazing fiercely in the distance. Beyond her window she -heard the call of frightened birds, as they fluttered to and fro in the -dull red light, and farther off, in the North End, the muffled throbbing -of the fire-engines. - -If she had had any doubts as to her feeling for Oakley, these doubts -were now a thing of the past. She knew that she loved him. She had been -petty and vain; she had put the small things of life against the great, -and this was her punishment. She tried to comfort herself with the -thought that she should see him in the morning; then she could tell him -all. But what could she tell him? The time had gone by when she could -tell him anything. - -It was almost morning when she undressed and threw herself down on her -bed. She was disconsolate and miserable, and the future seemed quite -barren of hope or happiness. Love had come to her, and she had not known -its presence. Yes, she would tell Oakley that she had been little and -narrow and utterly unworthy. He had cared for her, and perhaps he would -understand. She fell asleep thinking this, and did not waken until her -mother called her for breakfast. - -“I am waiting for your father. He has gone down to see Mr. Oakley,” Mrs. -Emory said when she entered the dining-room. Constance glanced at the -table. - -“Is he going to bring Mr. Oakley back with him?” she asked, nervously. - -“He expected to. I declare, Constance, you look worn out. Didn't you -sleep well?” - -“No, not very. I wonder if they are coming?” - -“You might go look,” said her mother, and Constance hurried into the -parlor. She was just in time to see her father enter the gate. He was -alone. Constance flew to the front door and threw it open. - -“He wouldn't come?” she cried, breathlessly. - -“He's gone.” - -“Gone?” - -“Yes, a train was made up early this morning, and he has returned to -Buckhorn--Why, what's the matter, Constance?” - -For Constance, with a little gasp of dismay, had slipped down into a -chair, with her hands before her face. - -“What is it, dear?” he questioned, anxiously. But she gave him no -answer. She was crying softly, unrestrainedly. It was all over. Oakley -was gone, and with him went her only hope of happiness. Yet more keen -than her sense of pain and personal loss was her regret that he would -never understand that she respected and admired him as he deserved. - -“I am sorry, Constance, but I didn't know that you especially wanted to -see him,” said the doctor, awkwardly, but with a dawning comprehension -of what it all meant. She made no answer. - -“What is it, dear?” he repeated. - -“Oh, nothing. I wanted to tell him about something; that is all. It -doesn't matter now.” She glanced up into his face with a sudden doubt. -“You didn't see him--you are quite sure he went away without your seeing -him--you are not deceiving me?” - -“Why, of course, Constance, but he'll come back.” - -“No, he won't, papa,” shaking her head sadly. “He's gone, and he will -never come back. I know him better than you do.” - -And then she fled promptly up-stairs to her own room. - -This was the nearest Constance came to betraying her love for Oakley. -She was not much given to confidences, and the ideals that had sustained -her in her pride now seemed so childish and unworthy that she had no -wish to dwell upon them, but whenever Dan's name was mentioned in -her presence she looked frightened and guilty and avoided meeting her -father's glance. - -It seemed, indeed, that. Oakley had taken final leave of Antioch. A new -manager appeared and took formal charge of the destinies of the road. -Under his direction work was resumed in the shops, for the strike had -died a natural death. None of the hands were disposed to question the -ten-per-cent cut, and before the winter was over the scale of wages -that had been in force before the strike was inaugurated was voluntarily -restored. The town had no criticisms to make of Johnson, the new -manager, a quiet, competent official; the most any one said was that he -was not Oakley. That was enough. For Dan had come into his own. - -Early in October there was a flutter of excitement when Turner Joyce and -his wife left for the East to be Oakley's guests. When they returned, -some weeks later, they had a good deal to say about him that Antioch was -frankly curious to hear. - -He had taken his father to Burton, where his mother was buried. -Afterwards he had joined General Cornish in New York. - -While abroad, the financier had effected a combination of interests -which grouped a number of roads under one management, and Dan had -been made general superintendent of the consolidated lines, with his -headquarters in New York City. The Joyces were but vaguely informed as -to where these lines were, but they did full justice to their magnitude, -as well as to the importance of Oakley's new connection. - -The dull monotony of those fall days in Antioch was never forgotten by -Constance Emory. She was listless and restless by turns. She had hoped -that she might hear from Oakley. She even thought the Joyces might bring -her some message, but none had come. Dan had taken her at her word. - -She had made no friends, and, with Ryder dead and Oakley gone, she saw. -no one, and finally settled down into an apathy that alarmed the doctor. -He, after some deliberation, suddenly announced his intention of going -East to attend a medical convention. - -“Shall you see Mr. Oakley?” Constance asked, with quick interest. - -“Probably, if he's in New York when I get there.” - -Constance gave him a scared look and dropped her eyes. But when the time -drew near for his departure, she followed him about as if there were -something on her mind which she wished to tell him. - -The day he started, she found courage to ask, “Won't you take me with -you, papa?” - -“Not this time, dear,” he answered. - -She was quiet for a moment, and then said: - -“Papa, you are not going to tell him?” - -“Tell who, Constance? What?” - -“Mr. Oakley.” - -“What about Oakley, dear?” - -She looked at him from under her long lashes while the color slowly -mounted to her cheeks. - -“You are not going to tell him what you think you know?” - -The doctor smiled. - -“I wish you would grant me the possession of ordinary sense, Constance. -I am not quite a fool.” - -“You are a precious,” she said, kissing him. - -“Thank you. What message shall I give Oakley for you?” - -“None.” - -“None?” - -“He won't want to hear from me,” shyly. - -“Why not?” - -“Because he just won't, papa. Besides, I expect he has forgotten that -such a person ever lived.” - -“I wouldn't be too sure of that. What was the trouble, Constance? You'd -better tell me, or I may say something I shouldn't.” - -“Oh, you must not say anything,” in alarm. “You must promise.” - -“Constance, what did Oakley say to you that last day he was here at the -house?” - -Constance's glance wandered meditatively from her father's face to -the window and back again, while her color came and went. There was a -faraway, wistful look in her eyes, and a sad little smile on her lips. -At last she said, softly, “Oh, he said a number of things. I can't -remember now all he did say. - -“Did Oakley tell you he cared for you?” - -Constance hesitated a moment, then, reluctantly: - -“Well, yes, he did. And I let him go, thinking I didn't care for him,” - miserably, and with a pathetic droop of her lips, from which the smile -had fled. “I didn't know, and I have been so unhappy!” - -“Oh!” - -Constance left the room abruptly. - -When he reached New York, the first thing the doctor did was to look up -Oakley. He was quick to notice a certain constraint in the young man's -manner as they shook hands, but this soon passed off. - -“I am awfully glad to see you,” he had said. “I have thought of you -again and again, and I have been on the point of writing you a score of -times. I haven't forgotten your kindness to me.” - -“Nonsense, Oakley. I liked you, and it was a pleasure to me to be able -to show my regard,” responded the doctor, with hearty good-will. - -“How is Mrs. Emory--and Miss Emory?” - -“They are both very well. They were just a little hurt that you ran off -without so much as a goodbye.” - -Oakley gave him a quick glance. - -“She is--Miss Emory is still in Antioch?” - -The doctor nodded. - -“I didn't know but what she might be in the city with you,” Dan -explained, with evident disappointment. - -“Aren't we ever going to see you in Antioch again?” inquired the doctor. -He put the question with studied indifference. Dan eagerly scanned his -face. The doctor fidgeted awkwardly. - -“Do _you_ think I'd better go back?” he asked, with a perceptible -dwelling on the “you.” - -The doctor's face became a trifle red. He seemed to weigh the matter -carefully; then he said: - -“Yes, I think you'd better. Antioch would like mightily to lay hands on -you.” - -Dan laughed happily. “You don't suppose a fellow could dodge all that, -do you? You see, I was going west to Chicago in a day or so, and I had -thought to take a run on to Antioch. As a matter of fact, Cornish wants -me to keep an eye on the shops. They are doing well, you know, and we -don't want any falling off. But, you understand, I don't want to get let -in for any fool hysterics,” he added, impatiently. - -Notwithstanding the supposed confidence in which telegrams are -transmitted, Brown, the day man at Antioch, generally used his own -discretion in giving publicity to any facts of local interest that came -under his notice. But when he wrote off Dr. Emory's message, announcing -that he and Oakley were in Chicago, and would arrive in Antioch the last -of the week, he held it for several hours, not quite knowing what to do. -Finally he delivered it in person, a sacrifice of official dignity that -only the exigencies of the occasion condoned in his eyes. As he handed -it to Mrs. Emory, he said: - -“It's from the doctor. You needn't be afraid to open it; he's all right. -He'll be back Saturday night, and he's bringing Mr. Oakley with him. I -came up to see if you had any objection to my letting the town know?” - -Mrs. Emory saw no reason why the knowledge of Oakley's return should be -withheld, and in less than half an hour Antioch, with bated breath, was -discussing the news on street corners and over back fences. - -That night the town council met in secret session to consider the -weighty matter of his reception, for by common consent it was agreed -that the town must take official action. It was suggested that he be -given the freedom of the city. This sounded large, and met with instant -favor, but when the question arose as to how the freedom of the city was -conferred, the president turned, with a slightly embarrassed air, to the -member who had made the motion. The member explained, with some reserve, -that he believed the most striking feature had to do with the handing -over of the city keys to the guest of honor. But, unfortunately, Antioch -had no city keys to deliver. The only keys that, by any stretch of the -imagination, could be so called, were those of the court-house, and -they were lost. Here an appeal was made to the Hon. Jeb Barrows, who was -usually called in to straighten out any parliamentary tangles in which -the council became involved. That eminent statesman was leaning dreamily -against a pillar at the end of the council-chamber. On one of his cards -he had already pencilled the brief suggestion: “Feed him, and have out -the band.” He handed the card to the president, and the council heaved -a sigh of relief. The momentous question of Oakley's official reception -was settled. - -When Dan and Dr. Emory stepped from No. 7 Saturday night the station -platform was crowded with men and boys. The brass-band, which Antioch -loved with a love that stifled criticism, perspiring and in dire haste, -was turning the street corner half a block distant. Across the tracks at -the railroad shops a steam-whistle shrieked an ecstatic welcome. - -Dan glanced at the doctor with a slightly puzzled air. “What do you -suppose is the matter?” he asked, unsuspiciously. - -“Why, man, don't you understand? It's _you!_” - -There was no need for him to say more, for the crowd had caught sight of -Dan, and a hundred voices cried: - -“There he is! There's Oakley!” - -And in an instant Antioch, giving way to wild enthusiasm, was cheering -itself black in the face, while above the sound of cheers and the crash -of music, the steam-whistle at the shops shrieked and pealed. - -The blood left Oakley's face. He looked down at the crowd and saw Turner -Joyce. He saw McClintock and Holt and the men from the shops, who were, -if possible, the noisiest of all. He turned helplessly to the doctor. - -“Let's get out of this,” he said between his teeth. The crowd and the -noise and the excitement recalled that other night when he had ridden -into Antioch. As he spoke he swung himself down from the steps of the -coach, and the crowd closed about him with a glad shout of welcome. - -The doctor followed more slowly. As he gained the platform, the Hon. Jeb -Barrows hurried to his side. - -“Where is he to go, Doc?” he panted. “To your house, or to the hotel?” - -“To my house.” - -“All right, then. The crowd's spoiling the whole business. I've got -an address of welcome in my pocket that I was to have delivered, and -there's to be a supper at the Rink to-night. Don't let him get away from -you.” - -Meanwhile, Dan had succeeded in extricating himself from the clutches of -his friends, and was struggling towards a closed carriage at the end of -the platform that he recognized as the Emorys'. - -In his haste and the dusk of the dull October twilight, he supposed the -figure he saw in the carriage to be the doctor, who had preceded him, -and called to the man on the box to drive home. - -As he settled himself, he said, reproachfully: - -“I hope you hadn't anything to do with this?” - -A slim, gloved hand was placed in his own, and a laughing voice said: - -“How do you do, Mr. Oakley?” - -He glanced up quickly, and found himself face to face with Constance -Emory. - -There was a moment's silence, and then Dan said, the courage that had -brought him all the way to Antioch suddenly deserting him: “It's too -bad, isn't it? I had hoped I could slip in and out of town without any -one being the wiser.” - -“But you can't,” with a little air of triumph. “Antioch is going to -entertain you. It's been in a perfect furor of excitement ever since it -knew you were coming back.” - -“Well, I suppose there is no help for it,” resignedly. - -“Where is my father, Mr. Oakley?” - -“I guess we left him behind,” with sudden cheerfulness. He leaned -forward so that he could look into her face. - -“Constance, I have returned because I couldn't stay away any longer. I -tried to forget, but it was no use.” - -She had withdrawn her hand, but he had found it again, and now his -fingers closed over it and held it fast He was feeling a sense of -ownership. - -“Did you come to meet me?” he asked. - -“I came to meet papa.” - -“But you knew I was coming, too?” - -“Oh no.” - -It was too dark for him to see the color that was slowly mounting to her -face. - -“Constance, I don't believe you,” he cried. - -“I was not sure you were coming,” Constance said, weakly. - -“You might have known that I'd come back--that I couldn't stay away.” - -“Don't you think you have been a long time in making that discovery?” - -“Well, yes, but when I saw your father--” - -“What did papa say to you?” with keen suspicion in her tones. - -“You mustn't blame him, Constance. It was not so much what he said as -what he didn't say. I never knew any one to be quite so ostentatious -about what was left unsaid.” - -Constance freed her hand, and, shrinking into a corner, covered her face. -She had a painful realization of the direction those confidences must -have taken, between her father, who only desired her happiness, and the -candid Oakley, who only desired her love. - -“Was there any use in my coming? You must be fair with me now. It's too -serious a matter for you not to be.” - -“You think I was not fair once?” - -“I didn't mean that, but you have changed.” - -“For the better, Mr. Oakley?” - -“Infinitely,” with blunt simplicity. - -“You haven't changed a scrap. You are just as rude as you ever were.” - -Dan cast a hurried glance from the window. “Constance, we won't have -much more time to ourselves; we are almost home. Won't you tell me what -I have come to hear--that you do care for me, and will be my wife? You -know that I love you. But you mustn't send me from you a second time -without hope.” - -“I shouldn't think you would care about me now. I wouldn't care about -you if you had been as unworthy as I have been,” her voice faltered. -“I might have shown you that I, too, could be brave, but I let the -opportunity pass, and now, when everyone is proud--” - -“But I _do_ care. I care a great deal, for I love you just as I have -loved you from the very first.” - -She put out both her hands. - -“If you had only looked back when you left the house that day you told -me you cared--” - -“What, Constance?” - -“I was at the window. I thought you'd surely look back, and then you -would have known--” - -“My darling!” - -The carriage had drawn up to the Emorys' gate. Dan jumped out and gave -Constance his hand. Off in the distance they heard the band. Constance -paused and rested her hand gently on Oakley's arm. - -“Hark! Do you hear?” - -“I wish they'd stop their confounded nonsense,” said Dan. - -“No, you can't stop them,” delightedly. “Antioch feels a sense of -proprietorship. But do you hear the music, Dan?” - -“Yes, dear. It's the band.” - -“Of course it's the band. But do you know what it is _playing?_” - -Oakley shook his head dubiously. She gave his arm a little pat and -laughed softly. - -“It might be difficult to recognize it, but it's the bridal-march from -'Lohengrin.'” - -“If they stick to that, I don't care, Constance.” - -And side by side they went slowly and silently up the path to the house. - - -THE END - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Manager of The B. & A., by Vaughan Kester - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANAGER OF THE B. & A. *** - -***** This file should be named 51953-0.txt or 51953-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/5/51953/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Manager of The B. & A. - A Novel - -Author: Vaughan Kester - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51953] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANAGER OF THE B. & A. *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - - - - - - - - -THE MANAGER OF THE B. & A. - -A Novel - -By Vaughan Kester - -Grosset & Dunlap, New York - -Published by Arrangement with Harper & Brothers - -1901 - -[Illustration: 0008] - - - -TO - -THE MEMORY OF MY UNCLE - -HARRY WATKINS - - - - - -THE MANAGER OF THE B. & A. - - - - -CHAPTER I - -OAKLEY was alone in the bare general offices of the Huckleberry line-as -the Buckhom and Antioch Railroad was commonly called by the public, -which it betrayed in the matter of meals and connections. He was lolling -lazily over his desk with a copy of the local paper before him, and the -stem of a disreputable cob pipe between his teeth. - -The business of the day was done, and the noise and hurry attending its -doing had given way to a sudden hush. Other sounds than those that had -filled the ear since morning grew out of the stillness. Big drops of -rain driven by the wind splashed softly against the unpainted pine door -which led into the yards, or fell with a gay patter on the corrugated -tin roof overhead. No. 7, due at 5.40, had just pulled out with twenty -minutes to make up between Antioch and Harrison, the western terminus -of the line. The six-o'clock whistle had blown, and the men from the car -shops, a dingy, one-story building that joined the general offices on -the east, were straggling off home. Across the tracks at the ugly little -depot the ticket-agent and telegraph-operator had locked up and hurried -away under one umbrella the moment No. 7 was clear of the platform. From -the yards every one was gone but Milton McClintock, the master mechanic, -and Dutch Pete, the yard buss. Protected by dripping yellow oil-skins, -they were busy repairing a wheezy switch engine that had been -incontinently backed into a siding and the caboose of a freight. - -Oakley was waiting the return of Clarence, the office-boy, whom he had -sent up-town to the post-office. Having read the two columns of local -and personal gossip arranged under the heading "People You Know," he -swept his newspaper into the wastebasket and pushed back his chair. The -window nearest his desk overlooked the yards and a long line of shabby -day coaches and battered freight cars on one of the sidings. They were -there to be rebuilt or repaired. This meant a new lease of life to the -shops, which had never proved profitable. - -Oakley had been with the Huckleberry two months. The first intimation -the office force received that the new man whom they had been expecting -for over a week had arrived in Antioch, and was prepared to take hold, -was when he walked into the office and quietly introduced himself to -Kerr and Holt. Former general managers had arrived by special after much -preliminary wiring. The manner of their going had been less spectacular. -They one and all failed, and General Cornish cut short the days of their -pride and display. - -Naturally the office had been the least bit skeptical concerning Oakley -and his capabilities, but within a week a change was patent to every one -connected with the road: the trains began to regard their schedules, -and the slackness and unthrift in the yards gave place to an ordered -prosperity. Without any apparent effort he found work for the shops, -a few extra men even were taken on, and there was no hint as yet of -half-time for the summer months. - -He was a broad-shouldered, long-limbed, energetic young fellow, with -frank blue eyes that looked one squarely in the face. Men liked him -because he was straightforward, alert, and able, with an indefinite -personal charm that lifted him out of the ordinary. These were the -qualities Cornish had recognized when he put him in control of his -interests at Antioch, and Oakley, who enjoyed hard work, had earned his -salary several times over and was really doing wonders. - -He put down his pipe, which was smoked out, and glanced at the clock. -"What's the matter with that boy?" he muttered. - -The matter was that Clarence had concluded to take a brief vacation. -After leaving the post-office he skirted a vacant lot and retired -behind his father's red barn, where he applied himself diligently to the -fragment of a cigarette that earlier in the day McClintock, to his great -scandal, had discovered him smoking in the solitude of an empty box-car -in the yards. The master mechanic, who had boys of his own, had called -him a runty little cuss, and had sent him flying up the tracks with a -volley of bad words ringing in his ears. - -When the cigarette was finished, the urchin bethought him of the purpose -of his errand. This so worked upon his fears that he bolted for the -office with all the speed of his short legs. As he ran he promised -himself, emotionally, that "the boss" was likely to "skin" him. But -whatever his fears, he dashed into Oakley's presence, panting and in hot -haste. "Just two letters for you, Mr. Oakley!" he gasped. "That was all -there was!" - -He went over to the superintendent and handed him the letters. Oakley -observed him critically and with a dry smile. For an instant the boy -hung his head sheepishly, then his face brightened. - -"It's an awfully wet day; it's just sopping!" - -Oakley waived this bit of gratuitous information. - -"Did you run all the way?" - -"Yep, every step," with the impudent mendacity that comes of long -practice. - -"It's rather curious you didn't get back sooner." - -Clarence looked at the clock. - -"Was I gone long? It didn't seem long to me," he added, with a candor he -intended should disarm criticism. - -"Only a little over half an hour, Clarence." - -The superintendent sniffed suspiciously. - -"McClintock says he caught you smoking a cigarette to-day--how about -it?" - -"Cubebs," in a faint voice. - -The superintendent sniffed again and scrutinized the boy's hands, which -rested on the corner of his desk. - -"What's that on your fingers?" - -Clarence considered. - -"That? Why, that must be walnut-stains from last year. Didn't you ever -get walnut-stains on your hands when you was a boy, Mr. Oakley?" - -"I suppose so, but I don't remember that they lasted all winter." - -Clarence was discreetly silent. He felt that the chief executive of the -Huckleberry took too great an interest in his personal habits. Besides, -it was positively painful to have to tell lies that went so wide of the -mark as his had gone. - -"I guess you may as well go home now. But I wouldn't smoke any more -cigarettes, if I were you," gathering up his letters. - -"Good-night, Mr. Oakley," with happy alacrity. - -"Good-night, Clarence." - -The door into the yards closed with a bang, and Clarence, gleefully -skipping the mud-puddles which lay in his path, hurried his small person -off through the rain and mist. - -Oakley glanced at his letters. One he saw was from General Cornish. It -proved to be a brief note, scribbled in pencil on the back of a telegram -blank. The general would arrive in Antioch that night on the late train. -He wished Oakley to meet him. - -The other letter was in an unfamiliar hand. Oakley opened it. Like the -first, it was brief and to the point, but he did not at once grasp its -meaning. This is what he read: - -_"DEAR Sir,--I enclose two newspaper clippings which fully explain -themselves. Your father is much interested in knowing your whereabouts. -I have not furnished him with any definite information on this point, as -I have not felt at liberty to do so. However, I was able to tell him -I believed you were doing well. Should you desire to write him, I will -gladly undertake to see that any communication you may send care of this -office will reach him._ - -"_Very sincerely yours,_ - -_"Ezra Hart."_ - -It was like a bolt from a clear sky. He drew a deep, quick breath. Then -he took up the newspaper clippings. One was a florid column-and-a-half -account of a fire in the hospital ward of the Massachusetts State -prison, and dealt particularly with the heroism of Roger Oakley, a life -prisoner, in leading a rescue. The other clipping, merely a paragraph, -was of more recent date. It announced that Roger Oakley had been -pardoned. - -Oakley had scarcely thought of his father in years. The man and his -concerns--his crime and his tragic atonement--had passed completely out -of his life, but now he was free, if he chose, to enter it again. There -was such suddenness in the thought that he turned sick on the moment; a -great wave of self-pity enveloped him, the recollection of his struggles -and his shame--the bitter, helpless shame of a child--returned. He felt -only resentment towards this man whose crime had blasted his youth, -robbing him of every ordinary advantage, and clearly the end was not -yet. - -True, by degrees, he had grown away from the memory of it all. He -had long since freed himself of the fear that his secret might be -discovered. With success, he had even acquired a certain complacency. -Without knowing his history, the good or the bad of it, his world had -accepted him for what he was really worth. He was neither cowardly -nor selfish. It was not alone the memory of his own hardships that -embittered him and turned his heart against his father. His mother's -face, with its hunted, fugitive look, rose up before him in protest. He -recalled their wanderings in search of some place where their story was -not known and where they could begin life anew, their return to Burton, -and then her death. - -For years it had been like a dream, and now he saw only the slouching -figure of the old convict, which seemed to menace him, and remembered -only the evil consequent upon his crime. - -Next he fell to wondering what sort of a man this Roger Oakley was who -had seemed so curiously remote, who had been as a shadow in his way -preceding the presence, and suddenly he found his heart softening -towards him. It was infinitely pathetic to the young man, with his -abundant strength and splendid energy; this imprisonment that had -endured for almost a quarter of a century. He fancied his father as -broken and friendless, as dazed and confused by his unexpected freedom, -with his place in the world forever lost. After all, he could not sit in -judgment, or avenge. - -So far as he knew he had never seen his father but once. First there had -been a hot, dusty journey by stage, then he had gone through a massive -iron gate and down a narrow passage, where he had trotted by his -mother's side, holding fast to her hand. - -All this came back in a jerky, disconnected fashion, with wide gaps and -lapses he could not fill, but the impression made upon his mind by his -father had been lasting and vivid. He still saw him as he was then, with -the chalky prison pallor on his haggard face. A clumsily made man of -tremendous bone and muscle, who had spoken with them through the bars of -his cell-door, while his mother cried softly behind her shawl. The boy -had thought of him as a man in a cage. - -He wondered who Ezra Hart was, for the name seemed familiar. At length -he placed him. He was the lawyer who had defended his father. He was -puzzled that Hart knew where he was; he had hoped the little New England -village had lost all track of him, but the fact that Hart did know -convinced him it would be quite useless to try to keep his whereabouts -a secret from his father, even if he wished to. Since Hart knew, there -must be others, also, who knew. - -He took up the newspaper clippings again. By an odd coincidence they had -reached him on the very day the Governor of Massachusetts had set apart -for his father's release. - -Outside, in the yards, on the drenched town, and in the sweating fields -beyond, the warm spring rain fell and splashed. - -It was a fit time for Roger Oakley to leave the gray walls, and the gray -garb he had worn so long, and to re-enter the world of living things and -the life of the one person in all that world who had reason to remember -him. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -OAKLEY drew down the top of his desk and left the office. Before -locking the door, on which some predecessor had caused the words, -"Department of Transportation and Maintenance. No admittance, except on -business," to be stencilled in black letters, he called to McClintock, -who, with Dutch Pete, was still fussing over the wheezy switch-engine. - -"Will you want in the office for anything, Milt?" The master-mechanic, -who had been swearing at a rusted nut, got up from his knees and, -dangling a big wrench in one hand, bawled back: "No, I guess not." - -"How's the job coming on?" - -"About finished. Damn that fool Bennett, anyhow! Next time he runs this -old bird-cage into a freight, he'll catch hell from me!" - -After turning the key on the Department of Transportation and -Maintenance, Oakley crossed the tracks to the station and made briskly -off up-town, with the wind and rain blowing in his face. - -He lived at the American House, the best hotel the place could boast. It -overlooked the public square, a barren waste an acre or more in extent, -built about with stores and offices; where, on hot summer Saturdays, -farmers who had come to town to trade, hitched their teams in the -deep shade of the great maples that grew close to the curb. Here, on -Decoration Day and the Fourth of July, the eloquence of the county -assembled and commuted its proverbial peck of dirt in favor of very -fine dust. Here, too, the noisiest of brass-bands made hideous hash of -patriotic airs, and the forty odd youths constituting the local militia -trampled the shine from each other's shoes, while their captain, who -had been a sutler's clerk in the Civil War, cursed them for a lot of -lunkheads. And at least once in the course of each summer's droning -flight the spot was abandoned to the purely carnal delights of some -wandering road circus. - -In short, Antioch had its own life and interests, after the manner of -every other human ant-hill; and the Honorable Jeb Barrow's latest public -utterance, Dippy Ellsworth's skill on the snare-drum, or "Cap" Roberts's -military genius, and whether or not the Civil War would really have -ended at Don-elson if Grant had only been smart enough to take his -advice, were all matters of prime importance and occupied just as much -time to weigh properly and consider as men's interests do anywhere. - -In Antioch, Oakley was something of a figure. He was the first manager -of the road to make the town his permanent headquarters, and the town -was grateful. It would have swamped him with kindly attention, but he -had studiously ignored all advances, preferring not to make friends. In -this he had not entirely succeeded. The richest man in the county, Dr. -Emory, who was a good deal of a patrician, had taken a fancy to him, and -had insisted upon entertaining him at a formal dinner, at which there -were present the Methodist minister, the editor of the local paper, the -principal merchant, a judge, and an ex-Congressman, who went to sleep -with the soup and only wakened in season for the ice-cream. It was the -most impressive function Oakley had ever attended, and even to think of -it still sent the cold chills coursing down his spine. - -That morning he had chanced to meet Dr. Emory on the street, and the -doctor, who could always be trusted to say exactly what he thought, had -taken him to task for not calling. There was a reason why Oakley had -not done so. The doctor's daughter had just returned from the East, and -vague rumors were current concerning her beauty and elegance. Now, women -were altogether beyond Oakley's ken. However, since some responsive -courtesy was evidently expected of him, he determined to have it over -with at once. Imbued with this idea, he went to his room after supper to -dress. As he arrayed himself for the ordeal, he sought to recall a past -experience in line with the present. Barring the recent dinner, his most -ambitious social experiment had been a brakesmen's ball in Denver, years -before, when he was conductor on a freight. He laughed softly as he -fastened his tie. - -"I wonder what Dr. Emory would think if I told him I'd punched a fellow -at a dance once because he wanted to take my girl away from me." He -recalled, as pointing his innate conservatism, that he had decided not -to repeat the experiment until he achieved a position where a glittering -social success was not contingent upon his ability to punch heads. - -It was still raining, a discouragingly persistent drizzle, when Oakley -left his hotel and turned from the public square into Main Street. This -Main Street was never an imposing thoroughfare, and a week of steady -downpour made it from curb to curb a river of quaking mud. It was lit -at long intervals by flickering gas-lamps that glowed like corpulent -fireflies in the misty darkness beneath the dripping maple-boughs. As in -the case of most Western towns, Antioch had known dreams of greatness, -dreams which had not been realized. It stood stockstill, in all its raw, -ugly youth, with the rigid angularity its founders had imposed upon -it when they hacked and hewed a spot for it in the pine-woods, whose -stunted second growth encircled it on every side. - -The Emory home had once been a farm-house of the better class; various -additions and improvements gave it an air of solid and substantial -comfort unusual in a community where the prevailing style of -architecture was a square wooden box, built close to the street end of a -narrow lot. - -The doctor himself answered Oakley's ring, and led the way into the -parlor, after relieving him of his hat and umbrella. - -"My wife you know, Mr. Oakley. This is my daughter." - -Constance Emory rose from her seat before the wood fire that smoldered -on the wide, old-fashioned hearth, and gave Oakley her hand. He saw a -stately, fair-haired girl, trimly gowned in an evening dress that to his -unsophisticated gaze seemed astonishingly elaborate. But he could not -have imagined anything more becoming. He decided that she was very -pretty. Later he changed his mind. She was more than pretty. - -For her part, Miss Emory saw merely a tall young fellow, rather -good-looking than otherwise, who was feeling nervously for his cuffs. -Beyond this there was not much to be said in his favor, but she was -willing to be amused. - -She had been absent from Antioch four years. These years had been spent -in the East, and in travel abroad with a widowed and childless sister of -her father's. She was, on the whole, glad to be home again. As yet she -was not disturbed by any thoughts of the future. She looked on the world -with serene eyes. They were a limpid blue, and veiled by long, dark -lashes. She possessed the poise and unshaken self-confidence that comes -of position and experience. Her father and mother were not so well -satisfied with the situation; they already recognized that it held the -elements of a tragedy. In their desire to give her every opportunity -they had overreached themselves. She had outgrown Antioch as surely as -she had outgrown her childhood, and it was as impossible to take her -back to the one as to the other. - -The doctor patted Oakley on the shoulder. - -"I am glad you've dropped in. I hope, now you have made a beginning, we -shall see more of you." - -He was a portly man of fifty, with kindly eyes and an easy, gracious -manner. Mrs. Emory was sedate and placid, a handsome, well-kept woman, -who administered her husband's affairs with a steadiness and economy -that had made it possible for him to amass a comfortable fortune from -his straggling country practice. - -Constance soon decided that Oakley was not at all like the young men -of Antioch as she recalled them, nor was he like the men she had known -while under her aunt's tutelage--the leisurely idlers who drifted with -the social tide, apparently without responsibility or care. - -He proved hopelessly dense on those matters with which they had been -perfectly familiar. It seemed to her that pleasure and accomplishment, -as she understood them, had found no place in his life. The practical -quality in his mind showed at every turn of the conversation. He -appeared to hunger after hard facts, and the harder these facts were the -better he liked them. But he offended in more glaring ways. He was too -intense, and his speech too careful and precise, as if he were uncertain -as to his grammar, as, indeed, he was. - -Poor Oakley was vaguely aware that he was not getting on, and the strain -told. It slowly dawned upon him that he was not her sort, that where -he was concerned, she was quite alien, quite foreign, with interests -he could not comprehend, but which gave him a rankling sense of -inferiority. - -He had been moderately well satisfied with himself, as indeed he had -good reason to be, but her manner was calculated to rob him of undue -pride; he was not accustomed to being treated with mixed indifference -and patronage. He asked himself resentfully how it happened that he -had never before met such a girl. She fascinated him. The charm of her -presence seemed to suddenly create and satisfy a love for the beautiful. -With generous enthusiasm he set to work to be entertaining. Then a -realization of the awful mental poverty in which he dwelt burst upon him -for the first time. He longed for some light and graceful talent with -which to bridge the wide gaps between the stubborn heights of his -professional erudition. - -He was profoundly versed on rates, grades, ballast, motive power, and -rolling stock, but this solid information was of no avail He could on -occasion talk to a swearing section-boss with a grievance and a brogue -in a way to make that man his friend for life; he also possessed the -happy gift of inspiring his subordinates with a zealous sense of duty, -but his social responsibilities numbed his faculties and left him a -bankrupt for words. - -The others gave him no assistance. Mrs. Emory, smiling and good-humored, -but silent, bent above her sewing. She was not an acute person, and the -situation was lost upon her, while the doctor took only the most casual -part in the conversation. - -Oakley was wondering how he could make his escape, when the door-bell -rang. The doctor slipped from the parlor. When he returned he was not -alone. He was preceded by a dark young man of one or two and thirty. -This was Griffith Ryder, the owner of the Antioch _Herald_. - -"My dear," said he, "Mr. Ryder." Ryder shook hands with the two -ladies, and nodded carelessly to Oakley; then, with an easy, graceful -compliment, he lounged down in a chair at Miss Emory's side. - -Constance had turned from the strenuous Oakley to the new-comer with a -sense of unmistakable relief. Her mother, too, brightened visibly. She -did not entirely approve of Ryder, but he was always entertaining in a -lazy, indifferent fashion of his own. - -"I see, Griff," the doctor said, "that you are going to support Kenyon. -I declare it shakes my confidence in you," And he drew forward his -chair. Like most Americans, the physician was something of a politician, -and, as is also true of most Americans, not professionally concerned in -the hunt for office, this interest fluctuated between the two extremes -of party enthusiasm before and non-partisan disgust after elections. - -Ryder smiled faintly. "Yes, we know just how much of a rascal Kenyon is, -and we know nothing at all about the other fellow, except that he -wants the nomination, which is a bad sign. Suppose he should turn out -a greater scamp! Really it's too much of a risk." he drawled, with an -affectation of contempt. - -"Your politics always were a shock to your friends, but this serves to -explain them," remarked the doctor, with latent combativeness. But Ryder -was not to be beguiled into argument. He turned again to Miss Emory. - -"Your father is not a practical politician, or he would realize that it -is only common thrift to send Kenyon back, for I take it he has served -his country not without profit to himself; besides, he is clamorous and -persistent, and there seems no other way to dispose of him. It's either -that or the penitentiary." - -Constance laughed softly. "And so you think he can afford to be honest -now? What shocking ethics!" - -"That is my theory. Anyhow, I don't see why your father should wish me -to forego the mild excitement of assisting to re-elect my more or less -disreputable friend. Antioch has had very little to offer one until -you came," he added, with gentle deference. Miss Emory accepted the -compliment with the utmost composure. Once she had been rather flattered -by his attentions, but four years make a great difference. Either he had -lost in cleverness, or she had gained in knowledge. - -He was a very tired young man. At one time he had possessed some -expectations and numerous pretensions. The expectation had faded out -of his life, but the pretence remained in the absence of any vital -achievement. He was college-bred, and had gone in for literature. From -literature he had drifted into journalism, and had ended in Antioch as -proprietor of the local paper, which he contrived to edit with a lively -irresponsibility that won him few friends, though it did gain him some -small reputation as a humorist. - -His original idea had been that the management of a country weekly would -afford him opportunity for the serious work which he believed he could -do, but he had not done this serious work, and was not likely to do it. -He derived a fair income from the _Herald_, and he allowed his ambitions -to sink into abeyance, in spite of his cherished conviction that he -was cut out for bigger things. Perhaps he had wisely decided that his -pretensions were much safer than accomplishment, since the importance of -what a man actually does can generally be measured, while what he might -do admits of exaggerated claims. - -Oakley had known Ryder only since the occasion of the doctor's dinner, -and felt that he could never be more than an acquired taste, if at all. - -The editor took the floor, figuratively speaking, for Miss Emory's -presence made the effort seem worth his while. He promptly relieved -Oakley of the necessity to do more than listen, an act of charity for -which the latter was hardly as grateful as he should have been. He was -no fool, but there were wide realms of enlightenment where he was an -absolute stranger, so, when Constance and Ryder came to talk of books -and music, as they did finally, his only refuge was in silence, and -he went into a sort of intellectual quarantine. His reading had been -strictly limited to scientific works, and to the half-dozen trade and -technical journals to which he subscribed, and from which he drew the -larger part of his mental sustenance. As for music, he was familiar -with the airs from the latest popular operas, but the masterpieces were -utterly unknown, except such as had been brought to his notice by -having sleeping-cars named in their honor, a practice he considered very -complimentary, and possessing value as a strong commercial endorsement. - -He amused himself trying to recall whether it was the "Tannhauser" -or the "Lohengrin" he had ridden on the last time he was East. He was -distinctly shocked, however, by "Gtterdammerung," which was -wholly unexpected. It suggested such hard swearing, or Dutch Pete's -untrammelled observations in the yards when he had caught an urchin -stealing scrap-iron--a recognized source of revenue to the youth of -Antioch. But he felt more and more aloof as the evening wore on. It was -something of the same feeling he had known as a boy, after his mother's -death, when, homeless and friendless at night, he had paused to glance -in through uncurtained windows, with a dumb, wordless longing for the -warmth and comfort he saw there. - -It was a relief when the doctor took him into the library to examine -specimens of iron-ore he had picked up west of Antioch, where there were -undeveloped mineral lands for which he was trying to secure capital. -This was a matter Oakley was interested in, since it might mean business -for the road. He promptly forgot about Miss Emory and the objectionable -Ryder, and in ten minutes gave the doctor a better comprehension of the -mode of procedure necessary to success than that gentleman had been able -to learn in ten years of unfruitful attempting. He also supplied him -with a few definite facts and figures in lieu of the multitude of -glittering generalities on which he had been pinning his faith as a -means of getting money into the scheme. - -When, at last, they returned to the parlor, they found another caller -had arrived during their absence, a small, shabbily dressed man, with a -high, bald head and weak, near-sighted eyes. It was Turner Joyce. Oakley -knew him just as he was beginning to know every other man, woman, and -child in the town. - -Joyce rose hastily, or rather stumbled to his feet, as the doctor and -Oakley entered the room. - -"I told you I was coming up, doctor," he said, apologetically. "Miss -Constance has been very kind. She has been telling me of the galleries -and studios. What a glorious experience!" - -A cynical smile parted Ryder's thin lips. - -"Mr. Joyce feels the isolation of his art here." The little man blinked -doubtfully at the speaker, and then said, with a gentle, deprecatory -gesture, "I don't call it art." - -"You are far too modest. I have heard my foreman speak in the most -complimentary terms of the portrait you did of his wife. He was -especially pleased with the frame. You must know. Miss Constance, that -Mr. Joyce usually furnishes the frames, and his pictures go home ready -to the wire to hang on the wall." - -Mr. Joyce continued to blink doubtfully at Ryder. He scarcely knew how -to take the allusion to the frames. It was a sore point with him. - -Constance turned with a displeased air from Ryder to the little artist. -There was a faint, wistful smile on her lips. He was a rather pathetic -figure to her, and she could not understand how Ryder dared or had the -heart to make fun. - -"I shall enjoy seeing all that you have done, Mr. Joyce; and of course I -wish to see Ruth. Why didn't she come with you to-night?" - -"Her cousin, Lou Bentick's wife, is dead, and she has been over at his -house all day. She was quite worn out, but she sent you her love." - -Ryder glanced again at Miss Emory, and said, with hard cynicism: "The -notice will appear in Saturday's _Herald_, with a tribute from her -pastor. I never refuse his verse. It invariably contains some -scathing comment on the uncertainty of the Baptist faith as a means of -salvation." - -But this was wasted on Joyce. Ryder rose with a sigh. - -"Well, we toilers must think of the morrow." - -Oakley accepted this as a sign that it was time to go. Joyce, too, -stumbled across the room to the door, and the three men took their leave -together. As they stood on the steps, the doctor said, cordially, -"I hope you will both come again soon; and you, too, Turner," he added, -kindly. - -Ryder moved off quickly with Oakley. Joyce would have dropped behind, -but the latter made room for him at his side. No one spoke until Ryder, -halting on a street corner, said, "Sorry, but it's out of my way to go -any farther unless you'll play a game of billiards with me at the hotel, -Oakley." - -"Thanks," curtly. "I don't play billiards." - -"No? Well, they are a waste of time, I suppose. Good-night." And he -turned down the side street, whistling softly. - -"A very extraordinary young man," murmured Joyce, rubbing the tip of -his nose meditatively with a painty forefinger. "And with quite an -extraordinary opinion of himself." - -A sudden feeling of friendliness prompted Oakley to tuck his hand -through the little artist's arm. "How is Bentick bearing the loss of his -wife?" he asked. "You said she was your cousin." - -"No, not mine. My wife's. Poor fellow! he feels it keenly. They had not -been married long, you know." - -The rain was falling in a steady downpour. They had reached Turner -Joyce's gate, and paused. - -"Won't you come in and wait until it moderates, Mr. Oakley?" - -Oakley yielded an assent, and followed him through the gate and around -the house. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THERE were three people in the kitchen, the principal living room of -the Joyce home--Christopher Berry, the undertaker; Jeffy, the local -outcast, a wretched ruin of a man; and Turner Joyce's wife, Ruth. - -Jeffy was seated at a table, eating. He was a cousin of the Benticks, -and Mrs. Joyce had furnished him with a complete outfit from her -husband's slender wardrobe for the funeral on the morrow. - -Oakley had never known him to be so well or so wonderfully dressed, and -he had seen him in a number of surprising costumes. His black trousers -barely reached the tops of his shoes, while the sleeves of his shiny -Prince Albert stopped an inch or more above his wrists; he furthermore -appeared to be in imminent danger of strangulation, such was the height -and tightness of his collar. The thumb and forefinger of his right hand -were gone, the result of an accident at a Fourth of July celebration, -where, at the instigation of Mr. Gid Runyon--a gentleman possessing -a lively turn of mind and gifted with a keen sense of humor--he -had undertaken to hold a giant fire-cracker while it exploded, the -inducement being a quart of whiskey, generously donated for the occasion -by Mr. Runyon himself. - -Mrs. Joyce had charged herself with Jeffy's care. She was fearful that -he might escape and sell his clothes before the funeral. She knew they -would go immediately after, but then he would no longer be in demand as -a mourner. - -As for Jeffy, he was feeling the importance of his position. With a fine -sense of what was expected from him as a near relative he had spent -the day in the stricken home: its most picturesque figure, seated bolt -upright in the parlor, a spotless cotton handkerchief in his hand, and -breathing an air of chastened sorrow. - -He had exchanged mournful greetings with the friends of the family, and -was conscious that he had acquitted himself to the admiration of all. -The Swede "help," who was new to Antioch, had thought him a person of -the first distinction, so great was the curiosity merely to see him. - -Christopher Berry was a little, dried-up man of fifty, whose name -was chance, but whose profession was choice. He was his own best -indorsement, for he was sere and yellow, and gave out a faint, dry -perfume as of drugs, or tuberoses. "Well, Mrs. Joyce," he was saying, -as Oakley and the little artist entered the room, "I guess there ain't -nothing else to settle. Don't take it so to heart; there are grand -possibilities in death, even if we can't always realize them, and we got -a perfect body. I can't remember when I seen death so majestic, and I -may say--ca'm." - -Mrs. Joyce, who was crying, dried her eyes on the corner of her apron. - -"Wasn't it sad about Smith Roberts's wife! And with all those children! -Dear, dear! It's been such a sickly spring!" - -The undertaker's face assumed an expression of even deeper gloom than -was habitual to it. He coughed dryly and decorously behind his hand. - -"They called in the other undertaker. I won't say I didn't feel it, Mrs. -Joyce, for I did. I'd had the family trade, one might say, always. There -was her father, his mother, two of her brothers, and the twins. You -recollect the two twins, Mrs. Joyce, typhoid--in one day," with as near -an approach to enthusiasm as he ever allowed himself. - -"Mrs. Poppleton told me over at Lou's that it was about the pleasantest -funeral she'd ever been to, and it's durn few she's missed, I'm telling -you!" remarked the outcast, hoarsely. He usually slept at the gas-house -in the winter on a convenient pile of hot cinders, and was troubled with -a bronchial affection. "She said she'd never seen so many flowers. Some -of Roberts's folks sent 'em here all the ways from Chicago. Say! that -didn't cost--oh no! I just wisht I'd the money. It'd do me for a spell." - -"Well, they may have had finer flowers than we got, but the floral -offerings weren't much when the twins passed away. I remember thinking -then that was a time for display, if one wanted display. Twins, you -know--typhoid, too, and in one day!" He coughed dryly again behind his -hand. "I wouldn't worry, Mrs. Joyce. Their body didn't compare with our -body, and the body's the main thing, after all." With which professional -view of the case he took himself out into the night. - -The outcast gave way to a burst of hoarse, throaty mirth. "It just makes -Chris Berry sick to think there's any other undertakers, but he knows -his business; I'll say that for him any time." - -He turned aggressively on Joyce. "Did you get me them black gloves? Now, -don't give me no fairy tales, for I know durn well from your looks you -didn't." - -"I'll get them for you the first thing in the morning, Jeffy." - -Jeffy brandished his fork angrily in the air. - -"I never seen such a slip-shod way of doing things. I'd like to know -what sort of a funeral it's going to be if I don't get them black -gloves. It'll be a failure. Yes, sir, the durndest sort of a failure! -All the Chris Berrys in the world can't save it. I declare I don't see -why I got to have all this ornery worry. It ain't my funeral!" - -"Hush, Jeffy!" said Mrs. Joyce. "You mustn't take on so." - -"Why don't he get me them gloves?" And he glared fiercely at the meek -figure of the little artist. Then suddenly he subsided. "Reach me the -pie, Ruthy." - -Mrs. Joyce turned nervously to her husband. - -"Aren't you going to show Mr. Oakley your pictures, Turner?" - -"Would you care to see them?" with some trepidation. - -"If you will let me," with a grave courtesy that was instinctive. - -Joyce took a lamp from the mantel. "You will come, too, Ruth?" he -said. His wife was divided between her sense of responsibility and her -desires. She nodded helplessly towards the outcast, where he grovelled -noisily over his food. - -"Jeffy will stay here until we come back, won't you, Jeffy?" ventured -Joyce, insinuatingly. - -"Sure I will. There isn't anything to take me out, unless it's them -black gloves." - -Mrs. Joyce led the way into the hall. "I am so afraid when he's out of -my sight," she explained to Oakley. "We've had such trouble in getting -him put to rights. I couldn't go through it again. He's so trying." - -The parlor had been fitted up as a studio. There were cheap draperies on -the walls, and numerous pictures and sketches. In one corner was a -shelf of books, with Somebody's _Lives of the Painters_ ostentatiously -displayed. Standing on the floor, their faces turned in, were three or -four unfinished canvases. There was also a miscellaneous litter about -the room, composed of Indian relics and petrified wood. - -It was popularly supposed that an artist naturally took an interest in -curios of this sort, his life being devoted to an impractical search -after the beautiful, and the farmer who ploughed up a petrified rail, or -discovered an Indian hand-mill, carted it in to poor Joyce, who was -too tender-hearted to rebel; consequently he had been the recipient -of several tons of broken rock, and would have been swamped by the -accumulation, had not Mrs. Joyce from time to time conveyed these -offerings to the back yard. - -Joyce held the lamp, so Oakley might have a better view of the pictures -on the wall. "Perhaps you will like to see my earlier paintings first. -There! Is the light good? That was Mrs. Joyce just after our marriage." - -Oakley saw a plump young lady, with her hair elaborately banged and a -large bouquet in her hand. The background was a landscape, with a ruined -Greek temple in the distance. "Here she is a year later; and here she is -again, and over there in the corner above my easel." - -He swept the lamp back to the first picture. "She hasn't changed much, -has she?" - -Oakley was no critic, yet he realized that the little artist's work was -painfully literal and exact, but then he had a sneaking idea that a good -photograph was more satisfactory than an oil painting, anyhow. - -What he could comprehend and appreciate, however, was Mrs. Joyce's -attitude towards her husband's masterpieces. She was wholly and -pathetically reverent. It was the sublime, unshaken faith and approval -that marriage sometimes wins for a man. - -"I am so sorry the light isn't any better. Mr. Oakley must come in in -the afternoon," she said, anxiously. - -"I suppose you have seen some of the best examples of the modern -painters," said Joyce, with a tinge of wistful envy in his tones. "You -know I never have. I haven't been fifty miles from Antioch in my life." - -Oakley was ashamed to admit that the modern painters were the least of -his cares, so he said nothing. - -"That's just like Mr. Joyce. He is always doubting his ability, and -every one says he gets wonderful likenesses." - -"I guess," said Oakley, awkwardly, inspired by a feeling of large -humanity, "I guess you'll have to be my guest when I go East this fall. -You know I can always manage transportation," he added, hastily. - -"Oh, that would be lovely!" cried Mrs. Joyce, in an ecstasy of happiness -at the mere thought. "Could you?" - -Joyce, with a rather unsteady hand, placed the lamp on the centre-table -and gazed at his new friend with a gratitude that went beyond words. - -Oakley recognized that in a small way he was committed as a patron of -the arts, but he determined to improve upon his original offer, and -send Mrs. Joyce with her husband. She would enter into the spirit of his -pleasure as no one else could. - -"Can't I see more of your work?" he asked, anxious to avoid any -expression of gratitude. - -"I wish you'd show Mr. Oakley what you are doing now, Turner. He may -give you some valuable criticisms." - -For, by that unique, intuitive process of reasoning peculiar to women, -she had decided that Oakley's judgment must be as remarkable as his -generosity. - -His words roused Joyce, who had stood all this while with misty eyes -blinking at Oakley. He turned and took a fresh canvas from among those -leaning against the wall and rested it on the easel. "This is a portrait -I'm doing of Jared Thome's daughter. I haven't painted in the eyes yet. -That's a point they can't agree upon. You see, there's a slight cast--" - -"She's cross-eyed, Turner," interjected Mrs. Joyce, positively. - -"Jared wants them the way they'll be after she's been to Chicago to be -operated on, and his wife wants them as they are now. They are to settle -it between them before she comes for the final sitting on Saturday." - -"That is a complication," observed Oakley, but he did not laugh. It was -not that he lacked a sense of humor. It was that he was more impressed -by something else. - -The little artist blinked affectionately at his work. - -"Yes, it's going to be a good likeness, quite as good as any I ever got. -I was lucky in my flesh tints there on the cheek," he added, tilting his -head critically on one side. - -"What do you think of Mr. Joyce's work?" asked Mrs. Joyce, bent on -committing their visitor to an opinion. - -"It is very good, indeed, and perhaps he is doing a greater service -in educating us here at Antioch than if he had made a name for himself -abroad. Perhaps, too, he'll be remembered just as long." - -"Do you really think so, Mr. Oakley?" said the little artist, -delighted. "It may sound egotistical, but I have sometimes thought that -myself--that these portraits of mine, bad as I know they must be, give -a great deal of pleasure and happiness to their owners, and it's a great -pleasure for me to do them, and we don't get much beyond that in this -world, do we?" - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -OAKLEY took the satchel from General Cornish's hand as the latter -stepped from his private car. - -"You got my note, I see," he said. "I think I'll go to the hotel for the -rest of the night." - -He glanced back over his shoulder, as he turned with Dan towards the bus -which was waiting for them at the end of the platform. - -"I guess no one else got off here. It's not much of a railroad centre." - -"No," agreed Oakley, impartially; "there are towns where the traffic is -heavier." - -Arrived at the hotel, Oakley led the way up-stairs to the general's -room. It adjoined his own. Cornish paused on the threshold until he had -lighted the gas. - -"Light the other burner, will you?" he requested. "There, thanks, that's -better." - -He was a portly man of sixty, with a large head and heavy face. His -father had been a Vermont farmer, a man of position and means, according -to the easy standard of his times. When the Civil War broke out, young -Cornish, who was just commencing the practice of the law, had enlisted -as a private in one of the first regiments raised by his State. Prior to -this he had overflowed with fervid oratory, and had tried hard to look -like Daniel Webster, but a skirmish or two opened his eyes to the fact -that the waging of war was a sober business, and the polishing off of -his sentences not nearly as important as the polishing off of the enemy. -He was still willing to die for the Union, if there was need of it, -but while his life was spared it was well to get on. The numerical -importance of number one was a belief too firmly implanted in his nature -to be overthrown by any patriotic aberration. - -His own merits, which he was among the first to recognize, and the solid -backing his father was able to give, won him promotion. He had risen -to the command of a regiment, and when the war ended was brevetted a -brigadier-general of volunteers, along with a score of other anxious -warriors who wished to carry the title of general back into civil life, -for he was an amiable sort of a Shylock, who seldom overlooked his pound -of flesh, and he usually got all, and a little more, than was coming to -him. - -After the war he married and went West, where he resumed the practice of -his profession, but he soon abandoned it for a commercial career. It was -not long until he was ranked as one of the rich men of his State. Then -he turned his attention to politics, He was twice elected to Congress, -and served one term as governor. One of his daughters had married an -Italian prince, a meek, prosaic little creature, exactly five feet three -inches tall: another was engaged to an English earl, whose debts were a -remarkable achievement for so young a man. His wife now divided her time -between Paris and London. She didn't think much of New York, which had -thought even less of her. He managed to see her once or twice a year. -Any oftener would have been superfluous. But it interested him to read -of her in the papers, and to feel a sense of proprietorship for this -woman, who was spending his money and carrying his name into the centres -of elegance and fashion. Personally he disliked fashion, and was rather -shy of elegance. - -There were moments, however, when he felt his life to be wholly -unsatisfactory. He derived very little pleasure from all the luxury that -had accumulated about him, and which he accepted with a curious placid -indifference. He would have liked the affection of his children, to have -had them at home, and there was a remote period in his past when his -wife had inspired him with a sentiment at which he could only wonder. He -held it against her that she had not understood. - -He lurched down solidly into the chair Oakley placed for him. "I hope -you are comfortable here," he said, kindly. - -"Oh yes." He still stood. - -"Sit down," said Cornish. "I don't, as a rule, believe in staying up -after midnight to talk business, but I must start East to-morrow." - -He slipped out of his chair and began to pace the floor, with his hands -thrust deep in his trousers-pockets. "I want to talk over the situation -here. I don't see that the road is ever going to make a dollar. I've -an opportunity to sell it to the M. & W. Of course this is extremely -confidential. It must not go any further. I am told they will -discontinue it beyond this point, and of course they will either move -the shops away or close them." He paused in his rapid walk. "It's too -bad it never paid. It was the first thing I did when I came West. I -thought it a pretty big thing then. I have always hoped it would justify -my judgment, and it promised to for a while until the lumber interests -played out. Now, what do you advise, Oakley? I want to get your ideas. -You understand, if I sell I won't lose much. The price offered will just -about meet the mortgage I hold, but I guess the stockholders will come -out at the little end of the horn." - -Oakley understood exactly what was ahead of the stockholders if the road -changed hands. Perhaps his face showed that he was thinking of this, for -the general observed, charitably: - -"It's unfortunate, but you can't mix sentiment in a transaction of this -sort. I'd like to see them all get their money back, and more, too." - -His mental attitude towards the world was one of generous liberality, -but he had such excellent control over his impulses that, while he -always seemed about to embark in some large philanthropy, he had never -been known to take even the first step in that direction. In short, he -was hard and unemotional, but with a deceptive, unswerving kindliness -of manner, which, while it had probably never involved a dollar of his -riches, had at divers times cost the unwary and the indiscreet much -money. - -No man presided at the board meetings of a charity with an air of larger -benevolence, and no man drove closer or more conscienceless bargains. -His friends knew better than to trust him--a precaution they observed in -common with his enemies. - -"I am sure the road could be put on a paying basis," said Oakley. -"Certain quite possible economies would do that. Of course we can't -create business, there is just so much of it, and we get it all as it -is. But the shops might be made very profitable. I have secured a -good deal of work for them, and I shall secure more. I had intended to -propose a number of reforms, but if you are going to sell, why, there's -no use of going into the matter--" he paused. - -The general meditated in silence for a moment. "I'd hate to sacrifice my -interests if I thought you could even make the road pay expenses. Now, -just what do you intend to do?" - -"I'll get my order-book and show you what's been done for the shops," -said Oakley, rising with alacrity. "I have figured out the changes, too, -and you can see at a glance just what I propose doing." - -The road and the shops employed some five hundred men, most of whom had -their homes in Antioch. Oakley knew that if the property was sold it -would practically wipe the town out of existence. The situation was full -of interest for him. If Cornish approved, and told him to go ahead with -his reforms, it would be an opportunity such as he had never known. - -He went into his own room, which opened off Cornish's, and got his -order-book and table of figures, which he had carried up from the office -that afternoon. - -They lay on the stand with a pile of trade journals. For the first time -in his life he viewed these latter with an unfriendly eye. He thought of -Constance Emory, and realized that he should never again read and digest -the annual report of the Joint Traffic Managers' Association with -the same sense of intellectual fulness it had hitherto given him. No, -clearly, that was a pleasure he had outgrown. - -He had taken a great deal of pains with his figures, and they seemed -to satisfy Cornish that the road, if properly managed, was not such a -hopeless proposition, after all. Something might be done with it. - -Oakley rose in his good esteem; he had liked him, and he was justifying -his good opinion. He beamed benevolently on the young man, and thawed -out of his habitual reserve into a genial, ponderous frankness. - -"You have done well," he said, glancing through the order-book with -evident satisfaction. - -"Of course," explained Oakley, "I am going to make a cut in wages this -spring, if you agree to it, but I haven't the figures for this yet." The -general nodded. He approved of cuts on principle. - -"That's always a wise move," he said. "Will they stand it?" - -"They'll have to." And Oakley laughed rather nervously. He appreciated -that his reforms were likely to make him very unpopular in Antioch. -"They shouldn't object. If the road changes hands it will kill their -town." - -"I suppose so," agreed Cornish, indifferently. - -"And half a loaf is lots better than no loaf," added Oakley. Again the -general nodded his approval. That was the very pith and Gospel of his -financial code, and he held it as greatly to his own credit that he had -always been perfectly willing to offer halfloaves. - -"What sort of shape is the shop in?" he asked, after a moment's silence. - -"Very good on the whole." - -"I am glad to hear you say so. I spent over a hundred thousand dollars -on the plant originally." - -"Of course, the equipment can hardly be called modern, but it will do -for the sort of work for which I am bidding," Oakley explained. - -"Well, it will be an interesting problem for a young man, Oakley. If you -pull the property up it will be greatly to your credit. I was going -to offer you another position, but we will let that go over for the -present. I am very much pleased, though, with all you have done, very -much pleased, indeed. I go abroad in about two weeks. My youngest -daughter is to be married in London to the Earl of Minchester." - -The title rolled glibly from the great man's lips. "So you'll have the -fight, if it is a fight, all to yourself. I'll see that Holloway does -what you say. He's the only one you'll have to look to in my absence, -but you won't be able to count on him for anything; he gets limp in a -crisis. Just don't make the mistake of asking his advice." - -"I'd rather have no advice," interrupted Dan, hastily, "unless it's -yours," he added. - -"I'll see that you are not bothered. You are the sort of fellow who will -do better with a free hand, and that is what I intend you shall have." - -"Thank you," said Oakley, his heart warming with the other's praise. - -"I shall be back in three months, and then, if your schemes have worked -out at all as we expect, why, we can consider putting the property in -better shape."--A part of Oakley's plan.--"As you say, it's gone down -so there won't be much but the right of way presently." - -"I hope that eventually there'll be profits," said Oakley, whose mind -was beginning to reach out into the future. - -"I guess the stockholders will drop dead if we ever earn a dividend. -That's the last thing they are looking forward to," remarked Cornish, -dryly. "Will you leave a six-thirty call at the office for me? I forgot, -and I must take the first train." - -Oakley had gathered up his order-book and papers. The general was -already fumbling with his cravat and collar. - -"I am very well satisfied with your plan, and I believe you have the -ability to carry it out." - -He threw aside his coat and vest and sat down to take off his shoes. -"Don't saddle yourself with too much work. Keep enough of an office -force to save yourself wherever you can. I think, if orders continue to -come in as they have been doing, the shops promise well. It just shows -what a little energy will accomplish." - -"With judicious nursing in the start, there should be plenty of work for -us, and we are well equipped to handle it." - -"Yes," agreed Cornish. "A lot of money was spent on the plant. I wanted -it just right." - -"I can't understand why more hasn't been done with the opportunity -here." - -"I've never been able to find the proper man to take hold, until I found -you, Oakley. You have given me a better insight into conditions than -I have had at any time since I built the road, and it ain't such a bad -proposition, after all, especially the shops." The general turned out -the gas as he spoke, and Oakley, as he stood in the doorway of his own -room, saw dimly a white figure moving in the direction of the bed. - -"I'd figure close on all repair work. The thing is to get them into the -habit of coming to us. Don't forget the call, please. Six-thirty sharp." - -The slats creaked and groaned beneath his weight. "Good-night." - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE next morning Oakley saw General Cornish off on the 7.15 train, and -then went back to his hotel for breakfast Afterwards, on his way to -the office he mailed a check to Ezra Hart for his father. The money was -intended to meet his expenses in coming West. - -He was very busy all that day making out his new schedules, and in -figuring the cuts and just what they would amount to. He approached -his task with a certain reluctance, for it was as unpleasant to him -personally as it was necessary to the future of the road, and he knew -that no half-way measures would suffice. He must cut, as a surgeon cuts, -to save. By lopping away a man here and there, giving his work to some -other man, or dividing it up among two or three men, he managed to peel -off two thousand dollars on the year. He counted that a very fair day's -work. - -He would start his reform with no particular aggressiveness. He would -retire the men he intended to dismiss from the road one at a time. He -hoped they would take the hint and hunt other positions. At any rate, -they could not get back until he was ready to take them back, as Cornish -had assured him he would not be interfered with. He concluded not to -hand the notices and orders to Miss Walton, the typewriter, to copy. She -might let drop some word that would give his victims an inkling of what -was in store for them. He knew there were unpleasant scenes ahead of -him, but there was no need to anticipate. When at last his figures for -the cuts were complete he would have been grateful for some one with -whom to discuss the situation. All at once his responsibilities seemed -rather heavier than he had bargained for. - -There were only two men in the office besides himself--Philip Kerr, the -treasurer, and Byron Holt, his assistant. They were both busy with the -payroll, as it was the sixth of the month, and they commenced to pay off -in the shops on the tenth. - -He had little or no use for Kerr, who still showed, where he dared, in -small things his displeasure that an outsider had been appointed manager -of the road. He had counted on the place for himself for a number of -years, but a succession of managers had come and gone apparently without -its ever having occurred to General Cornish that an excellent executive -was literally spoiling in the big, bare, general offices of the line. - -This singular indifference on the part of Cornish to his real interests -had soured a disposition that at its best had more of acid in it than -anything else. As there was no way in which he could make his resentment -known to the general, even if he had deemed such a course expedient, he -took it out of Oakley, and kept his feeling for him on ice. Meanwhile -he hided his time, hoping for Oakley's downfall and his own eventual -recognition. - -With the assistant treasurer, Dan's relations were entirely cordial. -Holt was a much younger man than Kerr, as frank and open as the other -was secret and reserved. When the six-o'clock whistle blew he glanced up -from his work and said: - -"I wish you'd wait a moment, Holt. I want to see you." - -Kerr had already gone home, and Miss Walton was adjusting her hat before -a bit of a mirror that hung on the wall back of her desk. "All right," -responded Holt, cheerfully. - -"Just draw up your chair," said Oakley, handing his papers to him. At -first Holt did not understand; then he began to whistle softly, and fell -to checking off the various cuts with his forefinger. - -"What do you think of the job, Byron?" inquired Oakley. - -"Well, I'm glad I don't get laid off, that's sure. Say, just bear in -mind that I'm going to be married this summer." - -"You needn't worry; only I didn't know that." - -"Well, please don't forget it, Mr. Oakley." - -Holt ran over the cuts again. Then he asked: - -"Who's going to stand for this? You or the old man? I hear he was in -town last night." - -"I stand for it, but of course he approves." - -"I'll bet he approves," and the assistant treasurer grinned. "This is -the sort of thing that suits him right down to the ground." - -"How about the hands? Do you know if they are members of any union?" - -"No, but there'll be lively times ahead for you. They are a great lot of -kickers here." - -"Wait until I get through. I haven't touched the shops yet; that's to -come later. I'll skin closer before I'm done." Oakley got up and lit -his pipe. "The plant must make some sort of a showing. We can't continue -at the rate we have been going. I suppose you know what sort of shape it -would leave the town in if the shops were closed." - -"Damn poor shape, I should say. Why, it's the money that goes in and -out of this office twice a month that keeps the town alive. It couldn't -exist a day without that." - -"Then it behooves us to see to it that nothing happens to the shops or -road. I am sorry for the men I am laying off, but it can't be helped." - -"I see you are going to chuck Hoadley out of his good thing at the -Junction. If he was half white he'd a gone long ago. He must lay awake -nights figuring how he can keep decently busy." - -"Is the list all right?" - -"Yes. No, it's not, either. You've marked off Joe Percell at Harrison. -He used to brake for the Huckleberry until he lost an arm. His is a -pension job." - -"Put his name back, then. How do you think it's going to work?" - -"Oh, it will work all right, because it has to, but they'll all be -cussing you," with great good humor. "What's the matter, anyhow? Did the -old man throw a fit at the size of the pay-roll?" - -"Not exactly, but he came down here with his mind made up to sell the -road to the M. & W." - -"You don't say so!" - -"I talked him out of that, but we must make a showing, for he's good and -tired, and may dump the whole business any day." - -"Well, if he does that there'll be no marrying or giving in marriage -for me this summer. It will be just like a Shaker settlement where I am -concerned." - -Dan laughed. "Oh, you'd be all right, Holt. You'd get something else, or -the M. & W. would keep you on." - -"I don't know about that. A new management generally means a clean sweep -all round, and my berth's a pretty good one." - -In some manner a rumor of the changes Oakley proposed making did get -abroad, and he was promptly made aware that his popularity in Antioch -was a thing of the past. He was regarded as an oppressor from whom some -elaborate and wanton tyranny might be expected. While General Cornish -suffered their inefficiency, his easy-going predecessors had been -content to draw their salaries and let it go at that, a line of conduct -which Antioch held to be entirely proper. This new man, however, was -clearly an upstart, cursed with an insane and destructive ambition to -earn money from the road. - -Suppose it did not pay. Cornish could go down into his pocket for the -difference, just as he had always done. - -What the town did not know, and what it would not have believed even -if it had been told, was that the general had been on the point of -selling--a change that would have brought hardship to every one. The -majority of the men in the shops owned their own homes, and these homes -represented the savings of years. The sudden exodus of two or three -hundred families meant of necessity widespread ruin. Those who were -forced to go away would have to sacrifice everything they possessed to -get away, while those who remained would be scarcely better off. But -Antioch never considered such a radical move as even remotely possible. -It counted the shops a fixture; they had always been there, and for this -sufficient reason they would always remain. - -The days wore on, one very like another, with their spring heat and -lethargy. Occasionally, Oakley saw Miss Emory on the street to bow to, -but not to speak with; while he was grateful for these escapes, he -found himself thinking of her very often. He fancied--and he was not far -wrong--that she was finding Antioch very dull. He wondered, too, if she -was seeing much of Ryder. He imagined that she was; and here again he -was not far wrong. Now and then he was seized with what he felt to be a -weak desire to call, but he always thought better of it in time, and -was always grateful he had not succumbed to the impulse. But her mere -presence in Antioch seemed to make him dissatisfied and resentful of its -limitations. Ordinarily he was not critical of his surroundings. Until -she came, that he was without companionship and that the town was -given over to a deadly inertia which expressed itself in the collapsed -ambition of nearly every man and woman he knew, had scarcely affected -him beyond giving him a sense of mild wonder. - -He had heard nothing of his father, and in the pressure of his work and -freshened interest in the fortunes of the Huckleberry, had hardly given -him a second thought. He felt that, since he had sent money to him, he -was in a measure relieved of all further responsibility. If his father -did not wish to come to him, that was his own affair. He had placed no -obstacle in his way. - -He had gone through life without any demand having been made on his -affections. On those rare occasions that he devoted to self-analysis -he seriously questioned if he possessed any large capacity in that -direction. The one touch of sentiment to which he was alive was the -feeling he centred about the few square feet of turf where his mother -lay under the sweet-briar and the old elms in the burying-plot of the -little Eastern village. The sexton was instructed to see that the spot -was not neglected, and that there were always flowers on the grave. She -had loved flowers. It was somehow a satisfaction to Dan to overpay him -for this care. But he had his moments of remorse, because he was unable -to go back there. Once or twice he had started East, fully intending to -do so, but had weakened at the last moment. Perhaps he recognized that -while it was possible to return to a place, it was not possible to -return to an emotion. - -Oakley fell into the habit of working at the office after the others -left in the evening. He liked the quiet of the great bare room and the -solitude of the silent, empty shops. Sometimes Holt remained, too, and -discussed his matrimonial intentions, or entertained his superior with -an account of his previous love affairs, for the experiences were far -beyond his years. He had exhausted the possibilities of Antioch quite -early in life. At one time or another he had either been engaged, or -almost engaged, to every pretty girl in the place. He explained his -seeming inconsistency, however, by saying he was naturally of a very -affectionate disposition. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -LATE one afternoon, as Oakley sat at his desk in the broad streak of -yellow light that the sun sent in through the west windows, he heard -a step on the narrow board-walk that ran between the building and the -tracks. The last shrill shriek of No. 7, as usual, half an hour late, -had just died out in the distance, and the informal committee of -town loafers which met each train was plodding up Main Street to the -post-office in solemn silence. - -He glanced around as the door into the yards opened, expecting to see -either Holt or Kerr. Instead he saw a tall, gaunt man of sixty-five, a -little stoop-shouldered, and carrying his weight heavily and solidly. -His large head was sunk between broad shoulders. It was covered by a -wonderful growth of iron-gray hair. The face was clean-shaven and had -the look of a placid mask. There was a curious repose in the man's -attitude as he stood with a big hand--the hand of an artisan--resting -loosely on the knob of the door. - -"Is it you. Dannie?" - -The smile that accompanied the words was at once anxious, hesitating, -and inquiring. He closed the door with awkward care and coming a step -nearer, put out his hand. Oakley, breathing hard, rose hastily from his -chair, and stood leaning against the corner of his desk as if he needed -its support. He was white to the lips. - -There was a long pause while the two men looked into each other's eyes. - -"Don't you know me, Dannie?" wistfully. Dan said nothing, but he -extended his hand, and his father's fingers closed about it with a -mighty pressure. Then, quite abruptly, Roger Oakley turned and walked -over to the window. Once more there was absolute silence in the room, -save for the ticking of the clock and the buzzing of a solitary fly high -up on the ceiling. - -The old convict was the first to break the tense stillness. - -"I had about made up my mind I should never see you again, Dannie. When -your mother died and you came West it sort of wiped out the little there -was between me and the living. In fact, I really didn't know you would -care to see me, and when Hart told me you wished me to come to you and -had sent the money, I could hardly believe it." - -Here the words failed him utterly. He turned slowly and looked into his -son's face long and lovingly. "I've thought of you as a little boy for -all these years, Dannie--as no higher than that," dropping his hand -to his hip. "And here you are a man grown. But you got your mother's -look--I'd have known you by it among a thousand." - -If Dan had felt any fear of his father it had left him the instant he -entered the room. Whatever he might have done, whatever he might have -been, there was no question as to the manner of man he had become. He -stepped to his son's side and took his hand in one of his own. - -"You've made a man of yourself. I can see that. What do you do here for -a living?" - -Dan laughed, queerly. "I am the general manager of the railroad, father," -nodding towards the station and the yards. "But it's not much to brag -about. It's only a one-horse line," he added. - -"No, you don't mean it, Dannie!" And he could see that his father was -profoundly impressed. He put up his free hand and gently patted Dan's -head as though he were indeed the little boy he remembered. - -"Did you have an easy trip West, father?" Oakley asked. "You must be -tired." - -"Not a bit, Dannie. It was wonderful. I'd been shut off from it all for -more than twenty years, and each mile was taking me nearer you." - -The warm yellow light was beginning to fade from the room. It was -growing late. - -"I guess we'd better go up-town to the hotel and have our supper. Where -is your trunk? At the station?" - -"I've got nothing but a bundle. It's at the door." - -Dan locked his desk, and they left the office. - -"Is it all yours?" Roger Oakley asked, pausing as they crossed the -yards, to glance up and down the curving tracks. - -"It's part of the property I manage. It belongs to General Cornish, who -holds most of the stock." - -"And the train I came on, Dannie, who owned that?" - -"At Buckhorn Junction, where you changed cars for the last time, -you caught our local express. It runs through to a place called -Harrison--the terminus of the line. This is only a branch road, you -know." - -But the explanation was lost on his father. His son's relation to the -road was a magnificent fact which he pondered with simple pleasure. - -After their supper at the hotel they went up-stairs. Roger Oakley had -been given a room next his son's. It was the same room General Cornish -had occupied when he was in Antioch. - -"Would you like to put away your things now?" asked Dan, as he placed -his father's bundle, which he had carried up-town from the office, on -the bed. - -"I'll do that by and by. There ain't much there--just a few little -things I've managed to keep, or that have been given me." - -Dan pushed two chairs before an open window that overlooked the square. -His father had taken a huge blackened meerschaum from its case and was -carefully filling it from a leather pouch. - -"You don't mind if I light my pipe?" he inquired. - -"Not a bit. I've one in my pocket, but it's not nearly as fine as -yours." - -"Our warden gave it to me one Christmas, and I've smoked it ever since. -He was a very good man, Dannie. It's the old warden I'm speaking of, not -Kenyon, the new one, though he's a good man, too." - -Dan wondered where he had heard the name of Kenyon before; then he -remembered--it was at the Emorys'. - -"Try some of my tobacco, Dannie," passing the pouch. - -For a time the two men sat in silence, blowing clouds of white smoke -out into the night. Under the trees, just bursting into leaf, the -street-lamps flickered in a long, dim perspective, and now and then -a stray word floated up to them, coming from a group of idlers on the -corner below the window. - -Roger Oakley hitched his chair nearer his son's, and rested a heavy hand -on his knee. "I like it here," he said. - -"Do you? I am glad." - -"What will be the chances of my finding work? You know I'm a -cabinet-maker by trade." - -"There's no need of your working; so don't worry about that." - -"But I must work, Dannie. I ain't used to sitting still and doing -nothing." - -"Well," said Oakley, willing to humor him, "there are the car shops." - -"Can you get me in?" - -"Oh yes, when you are ready to start. I'll have McClintock, the master -mechanic, find something in your line for you to do." - -"I'll need to get a kit of tools." - -"I guess McClintock can arrange that, too. I'll see him about it when -you are ready." - -"Then that's settled. I'll begin in the morning," with quiet -determination. - -"But don't you want to look around first?" - -"I'll have my Sundays for that." And Dan saw that there was no use in -arguing the point with him. He was bent on having his own way. - -The old convict filled his lungs with a deep, free breath. "Yes, I'm -going to like it. I always did like a small town, anyhow. Tell me about -yourself, Dannie. How do you happen to be here?" - -Dan roused himself. "I don't know. It's chance, I suppose. After -mother's death--" - -"Twenty years ago last March," breaking in upon him, softly; then, -nodding at the starlit heavens, "She's up yonder now, watching us. -Nothing's hidden or secret. It's all plain to her." - -"Do you really think that, father?" - -"I know it, Dannie." And his tone was one of settled conviction. - -Dan had already discovered that his father was deeply religious. It -was a faith the like of which had not descended to his own day and -generation. - -"Well, I had it rather hard for a while," going back to his story. - -"Yes," with keen sympathy. "You were nothing but a little boy." - -"Finally, I was lucky enough to get a place as a newsboy on a train. I -sold papers until I was sixteen, and then began braking. I wanted to -be an engineer, but I guess my ability lay in another direction. At any -rate, they took me off the road and gave me an office position instead. -I got to be a division superintendent, and then I met General Cornish. -He is one of the directors of the line I was with at the time. Three -months ago he made me an offer to take hold here, and so here I am." - -"And you've never been back home, Dannie?" - -"Never once. I've wanted to go, but I couldn't." He hoped his father -would understand. - -"Well, there ain't much to take you there but her grave. I wish she -might have lived, you'd have been a great happiness to her, and she got -very little happiness for her portion any ways you look at it. We were -only just married when the war came, and I was gone four years. Then -there was about eleven years When we were getting on nicely. We had -money put by, and owned our own home. Can you remember it, Dannie? -The old brick place on the corner across from the post-office. A new -Methodist church stands there now. It was sold to get money for my -lawyer when the big trouble came. Afterwards, when everything was spent, -she must have found it very hard to make a living for herself and you." - -"She did," said Dan, gently. "But she managed somehow to keep a roof -over our heads." - -"When the law sets out to punish it don't stop with the guilty only. -When I went to her grave and saw there were flowers growing on it, and -that it was being cared for, it told me what you were. She was a very -brave woman, Dannie." - -"Yes," pityingly, "she was." - -"Few women have had the sorrow she had, and few women could have borne -up under it as she did. You know that was an awful thing about Sharp." - -He put up his hand and wiped the great drops of perspiration from his -forehead. - -Dan turned towards him quickly. - -"Why do you speak of it? It's all past now." - -"I'd sort of like to tell you about it." - -There was a long pause, and he continued: - -"Sharp and I had been enemies for a long time. It started back before -the war, when he wanted to marry your mother. We both enlisted in the -same regiment, and somehow the trouble kept alive. He was a bit of a -bully, and I was counted a handy man with my fists, too. The regiment -was always trying to get us into the ring together, but we knew it was -dangerous. We had sense enough for that. I won't say he would have done -it, but I never felt safe when there was a fight on in all those four -years. It's easy enough to shoot the man in front of you and no one be -the wiser. Many a score's been settled that way. When we got home -again we didn't get along any better. He was a drinking man, and had no -control over himself when liquor got the best of him. I did my share -in keeping the feud alive. What he said of me and what I said of him -generally reached both of us in time, as you can fancy. - -"At last, when I joined the church, I concluded it wasn't right to -hate a man the way I hated Sharp, for, you see, he'd never really done -anything to me. - -"One day I stopped in at the smithy--he was a blacksmith--to have a talk -with him and see if we couldn't patch it up somehow and be friends. It -was a Saturday afternoon, and he'd been drinking more than was good for -him. - -"I hadn't hardly got the first words out when he came at me with a big -sledge in his hand, all in a rage, and swearing he'd have my life. I -pushed him off and started for the door. I saw it was no use to try to -reason with him, but he came at me again, and this time he struck me -with his sledge. It did no harm, though it hurt, and I pushed him out of -my way and backed off towards the door. The lock was caught, and before -I could open it, he was within striking distance again, and I had to -turn to defend myself. I snatched up a bar of iron perhaps a foot long. -I had kept my temper down until then, but the moment I had a weapon -in my hand it got clean away from me, and in an instant I was -fighting--just as he was fighting--to kill." - -Roger Oakley had told the story of the murder in a hard, emotionless -voice, but Dan saw in the half-light that his face was pale and drawn. -Dan found it difficult to associate the thought of violence with the -man at his side, whose whole manner spoke of an unusual restraint -and control. That he had killed a man, even in self-defence, seemed -preposterous and inconceivable. - -There was a part of the story Roger Oakley could not tell, and which his -son had no desire to hear. - -"People said afterwards that I'd gone there purposely to pick a quarrel -with Sharp, and his helper, who, it seems, was in the yard back of -the smithy setting a wagon tire, swore he saw me through a window as I -entered, and that I struck the first blow. He may have seen only the end -of it, and really believed I did begin it, but that's a sample of how -things got twisted. Nobody believed my motive was what I said it -was. The jury found me guilty of murder, and the judge gave me a life -sentence. A good deal of a fuss was made over what I did at the fire -last winter. Hart told me he'd sent you the papers." - -Dan nodded, and his father continued: - -"Some ladies who were interested in mission work at the prison took the -matter up and got me my pardon. It's a fearful and a wicked thing for a -man to lose his temper, Dannie. At first I was bitter against every one -who had a hand in sending me to prison, but I've put that all from my -heart. It was right I should be punished." - -He rose from his chair, striking the ashes from his pipe. - -"Ain't it very late, Dannie? I'll just put away my things, and then we -can go to bed. I didn't mean to keep you up." - -Oakley watched his precise and orderly arrangement of his few -belongings. He could see that it was a part of the prison discipline -under which he had lived for almost a quarter of a century. When the -contents of his bundle were disposed of to his satisfaction, he put on a -pair of steel-rimmed spectacles, with large, round glasses, and took up -a well-thumbed Bible, which he had placed at one side. - -"I hope you haven't forgotten this book, Dannie," tapping it softly with -a heavy forefinger. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -KERR and Holt were at Buckhom Junction with the pay-car, a decrepit -caboose that complained in every wheel as the engine jerked it over -the rails. Holt said that its motion was good for Kerr's dyspepsia. -He called it the pay-car cure, and professed to believe it a subtle -manifestation of the general's benevolence. - -Miss Walton was having a holiday. This left Oakley the sole tenant of -the office. - -He had returned from Chicago the day before, where he had gone to drum -up work. - -It was a hot, breathless morning in May. The machinery in the shops -droned on and on, with the lazy, softened hum of revolving wheels, or -the swish of swiftly passing belts. A freight was cutting out cars in -the yards. It was rather noisy and bumped discordantly in and out of the -sidings. - -Beyond the tracks and a narrow field, where the young corn stood in -fresh green rows, was a line of stately sycamores and vivid willows that -bordered Billup's Fork. Tradition had it that an early settler by the -name of Billup had been drowned there--a feat that must have required -considerable ingenuity on his part, as the stream was nothing but a -series of shallow riffles, with an occasional deep hole. Once Jeffy, -generously drunk, had attempted to end his life in the fork. He had -waded in above his shoe-tops, only to decide that the water was too -cold, and had waded out again, to the keen disappointment of six -small boys on the bank, who would have been grateful for any little -excitement. He said he wanted to live to invent a drink that tasted as -good coming up as it did going down; there was all kinds of money in -such a drink. But the boys felt they had been swindled, and threw stones -at him. It is sometimes difficult to satisfy an audience. Nearer at -hand, but invisible, Clarence was practising an elusive dance-step in an -empty coal-car. He was inspired by a lofty ambition to equal--he dared -not hope to excel--a gentleman he had seen at a recent minstrel -performance. - -McClintock, passing, had inquired sarcastically if it was his busy day, -but Clarence had ignored the question. He felt that he had nothing in -common with one who possessed such a slavish respect for mere industry. - -Presently McClintock wandered in from the hot out-of-doors to talk over -certain repairs he wished undertaken in the shops. He was a typical -American mechanic, and Oakley liked him, as he always liked the man who -knew his business and earned his pay. - -They discussed the repairs, and then Oakley asked, "How's my father -getting along, Milt?" - -"Oh, all right. He's a little slow, that's all." - -"What's he on now?" - -"Those blue-line cars that came in last month." - -"There isn't much in that batch. I had to figure close to get the work. -Keep the men moving." - -"They are about done. I'll put the painters on the job to-morrow." - -"That's good." - -McClintock went over to the water-cooler in the corner and filled a -stemless tumbler with ice-water. - -"We'll be ready to send them up to Buckhorn the last of next week. Is -there anything else in sight?" - -He gulped down the water at a single swallow. "No, not at present, but -there are one or two pretty fair orders coming in next month that I was -lucky enough to pick up in Chicago. Isn't there any work of our own we -can go at while things are slack?" - -"Lots of it," wiping his hands on the legs of his greasy overalls. "All -our day coaches need paint, and some want new upholstery." - -"We'd better go at that, then." - -"All right. I'll take a look at the cars in the yards, and see what I -can put out in place of those we call in. There's no use talking, Mr. -Oakley, you've done big things for the shops," he added. - -"Well, I am getting some work for them, and while there isn't much -profit in it, perhaps, it's a great deal better than being idle." - -"Just a whole lot," agreed McClintock. - -"I think I can pick up contracts enough to keep us busy through the -summer. I understand you've always had to shut down." - -"Yes, or half-time," disgustedly. - -"I guess we can worry through without that; at any rate, I want to," -observed Oakley. - -"I'll go see how I can manage about our own repairs," said McClintock. - -He went out, and from the window Oakley saw him with a bunch of keys in -his hand going in the direction of a line of battered day coaches on one -of the sidings. The door opened again almost immediately to admit Griff -Ryder. This was almost the last person in Antioch from whom Dan was -expecting a call. The editor's cordiality as he greeted him made him -instantly suspect that some favor was wanted. Most people who came to -the office wanted favors. Usually it was either a pass or a concession -on freight. - -As a rule, Kerr met all such applicants. His manner fitted him for just -such interviews, and he had no gift for popularity, which suffered in -consequence. - -Ryder pushed a chair over beside Oakley's and seated himself. By sliding -well down on his spine he managed to reach the low sill of the window -with his feet. He seemed to admire the effect, for he studied them in -silence for a moment. - -"There's a little matter I want to speak to you about, Oakley. I've -been intending to run in for the past week, but I have been so busy I -couldn't." - -Oakley nodded for him to go on. - -"In the first place, I'd like to feel that you were for Kenyon. You can -be of a great deal of use to us this election. It's going to be close, -and Kenyon's a pretty decent sort of a chap to have come out of these -parts. You ought to take an interest in seeing him re-elected." - -Oakley surmised that this was the merest flattery intended to tickle his -vanity. He answered promptly that he didn't feel the slightest interest -in politics one way or the other. - -"Well, but one good fellow ought to wish to see another good fellow get -what he's after, and you can help us if you've a mind to; but this isn't -what I've come for. It's about Hoadley." - -"What about Hoadley?" quickly. - -"He's got the idea that his days with the Huckleberry are about -numbered." - -"I haven't said so." - -"I know you haven't." - -"Then what is he kicking about? When he's to go, he'll hear of it from -me." - -"But, just the same, it's in the air that there's to be a shake-up, and -that a number of men, and Hoad-ly among them, are going to be laid off. -Now, he's another good fellow, and he's a friend of mine, and I told him -I'd come in and fix it up with you." - -"I don't think you can fix it up with me, Mr. Ryder. Just the same, I'd -like to know how this got out." - -"Then there is to be a shake-up?" - -Oakley bit his lips. "You seem to take it for granted there is to be." - -"I guess there's something back of the rumor." - -"I may as well tell you why Hoadley's got to go." - -"Oh, he is to go, then? I thought my information was correct." - -"In the first place, he's not needed, and in the second place, he's a -lazy loafer. The road must earn its keep. General Cornish is sick -of putting his hand in his pocket every six months to keep it out of -bankruptcy. You are enough of a business man to know he won't stand that -sort of thing forever. Of course I am sorry for Hoadley if he needs the -money, but some one's got to suffer, and he happens to be the one. -I'll take on his work myself. I can do it, and that's a salary saved. I -haven't any personal feeling in the matter. The fact that I don't like -him, as it happens, has nothing to do with it. If he were my own brother -he'd have to get out." - -"I can't see that one man, more or less, is going to make such a hell of -a difference, Oakley," Ryder urged, with what he intended should be an -air of frank good-fellowship. - -"Can't you?" with chilly dignity. Oakley was slow to anger, but he had -always fought stubbornly for what he felt was due him, and he wished the -editor to understand that the management of the B. & A. was distinctly -not his province. - -Ryder's eyes were half closed, and only a narrow slit of color showed -between the lids. - -"I am very much afraid we won't hit it off. I begin to see we aren't -going to get on. I want you to keep Hoadley as a personal favor to me. -Just wait until I finish. If you are going in for reform, I may have -it in my power to be of some service to you. You will need some backing -here, and even a country newspaper can manufacture public sentiment. -Now if we aren't to be friends you will find me on the other side, and -working just as hard against you as I am willing to work for you if you -let Hoadley stay." - -Oakley jumped up. - -"I don't allow anybody to talk like that to me. I am running this for -Cornish. They are his interests, not mine, and you can start in and -manufacture all the public sentiment you damn please." Then he cooled -down a bit and felt ashamed of himself for the outburst. - -"I am not going to be unfair to any one if I can help it. But if the -road's earnings don't meet the operating expenses the general will -sell it to the M. & W. Do you understand what that means? It will knock -Antioch higher than a kite, for the shops will be closed. I guess when -all hands get that through their heads they will take it easier." - -"That's just the point I made. Who is going to enlighten them if it -isn't me? I don't suppose you will care to go around telling everybody -what a fine fellow you are, and how thankful they should be that you -have stopped their wages. We can work double, Oakley. I want Hoadley -kept because he's promised me his influence for Kenyon if I'd exert -myself in his behalf. He's of importance up at the Junction. Of course -we know he's a drunken beast, but that's got nothing to do with it." - -"I am sorry, but he's got to go," said Oakley, doggedly. "A one-horse -railroad can't carry dead timber." - -"Very well." And Ryder pulled in his legs and rose slowly from his -chair. "If you can't and won't see it as I do it's your lookout." - -Oakley laughed, shortly. - -"I guess I'll be able to meet the situation, Mr. Ryder." - -"Perhaps you will, and perhaps you won't. We'll see about that when the -time comes." - -"You heard what I said about the M. & W.?" - -"Well, what about that?" - -"You understand what it means--the closing of the shops?" - -"Oh, I guess that's a long ways off." - -He stalked over to the door with his head in the air. He was mad clear -through. At the door he turned. Hoadley's retention meant more to him -than he would have admitted. It was not that he cared a rap for Hoadley. -On the contrary, he detested him, but the fellow was a power in country -politics. - -"If you should think better of it--" and he was conscious his manner was -weak with the weakness of the man who has asked and failed. - -"I sha'n't," retorted Oakley, laconically. - -He scouted the idea that Ryder, with his little country newspaper could -either help or harm him. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -ROGER OAKLEY had gone to work in the car-shops the day following -his arrival in Antioch. Dan had sought to dissuade him, but he was -stubbornness itself, and the latter realized that the only thing to do -was to let him alone, and not seek to control him. - -After all, if he would be happier at work, it was no one's affair but -his own. - -It never occurred to the old convict that pride might have to do with -the stand Dan took in the matter. - -He was wonderfully gentle and affectionate, with a quaint, unworldly -simplicity that was rather pathetic. His one anxiety was to please Dan, -but, in spite of this anxiety, once a conviction took possession of him -he clung to it with unshaken tenacity in the face of every argument his -son could bring to bear. - -Under the inspiration of his newly acquired freedom, he developed in -unexpected ways. As soon as he felt that his place in the shops -was secure and that he was not to be interfered with, he joined the -Methodist Church. Its services occupied most of his spare time. Every -Thursday night found him at prayer-meeting. Twice each Sunday he went -to church, and by missing his dinner he managed to take part in the -Sunday-school exercises. A social threw him into a flutter of pleased -expectancy. Not content with what his church offered, irrespective of -creed, he joined every society in the place of a religious or temperance -nature, and was a zealous and active worker among such of the heathen -as flourished in Antioch. There was a stern Old Testament flavor to -his faith. He would have dragged the erring from their peril by main -strength, and have regulated their morals by legal enactments. Those of -the men with whom he came in contact in the shops treated him with the -utmost respect, partly on his own account, and partly because of Dan. - -McClintock always addressed him as "The Deacon," and soon ceased to -overflow with cheerful profanity in his presence. The old man had early -taken occasion to point out to him the error of his ways and to hint at -what was probably in store for him unless he curbed the utterances of -his tongue. He was not the only professing Christian in the car-shops, -but he was the only one who had ventured to "call down" the -master-mechanic. - -Half of all he earned he gave to the church. The remainder of his -slender income he divided again into two equal parts. One of these he -used for his personal needs, the other disappeared mysteriously. He was -putting it by for "Dannie." - -It was a disappointment to him that his son took only the most casual -interest in religious matters. He comforted himself, however, with -the remembrance that at his age his own interest had been merely -traditional. It was only after his great trouble that the awakening -came. He was quite certain "Dannie" would experience this awakening, -too, some day. - -Finally he undertook the regeneration of Jeffy. Every new-comer in -Antioch of a philanthropic turn of mind was sure sooner or later to fall -foul of the outcast, who was usually willing to drop whatever he was -doing to be reformed. It pleased him and interested him. - -He was firmly grounded in the belief, however, that in his case -the reformation that would really reform would have to be applied -externally, and without inconvenience to himself, but until the -spiritual genius turned up who could work this miracle, he was perfectly -willing to be experimented upon by any one who had a taste for what he -called good works. - -After Mrs. Bentick's funeral he had found the means, derived in part -from the sale of Turner Joyce's wardrobe, to go on a highly sensational -drunk, which comprehended what was known in Antioch as "The Snakes." - -Roger Oakley had unearthed him at the gas-house, a melancholy, tattered -ruin. He had rented a room for his occupancy, and had conveyed him -thither under cover of the night. During the week that followed, while -Jeffy was convalescent, he spent his evenings there reading to him from -the Bible. - -Jeffy would have been glad to escape these attentions. This new moral -force in the community inspired an emotion akin to awe. Day by day, -as he recognized the full weight of authority in Roger Oakley's manner -towards him, this awe increased, until at last it developed into an -acute fear. So he kept his bed and meditated flight. He even considered -going as far away as Buckhom or Harrison to be rid of the old man. Then, -by degrees, he felt himself weaken and succumb to the other's control. -His cherished freedom--the freedom of the woods and fields, and the -drunken spree variously attained, seemed only a happy memory. But -the last straw was put upon him, and he rebelled when his benefactor -announced that he was going to find work for him. - -At first Jeffy had preferred not to take this seriously. He assumed to -regard it as a delicate sarcasm on the part of his new friend. He closed -first one watery eye and then the other. It was such a good joke. -But Roger Oakley only reiterated his intention with unmistakable -seriousness. It was no joke, and the outcast promptly sat up in bed, -while a look of slow horror overspread his face. - -"But I ain't never worked, Mr. Oakley," he whined, hoarsely. "I don't -feel no call to work. The fact is, I am too busy to work. I would be -wasting my time if I done that. I'd be durn thankful if you could reform -me, but I'll tell you right now this ain't no way to begin. No, sir, you -couldn't make a worse start." - -"It's high time you went at something," said his self-appointed guide -and monitor, with stony conviction, and he backed his opinion with a -quotation from the Scriptures. - -Now to Jeffy, who had been prayerfully brought up by a pious mother, -the Scriptures were the fountain-head of all earthly wisdom. To invoke -a citation from the Bible was on a par with calling in the town marshal. -It closed the incident so far as argument was concerned. He was vaguely -aware that there was one text which he had heard which seemed to give -him authority to loaf, but he couldn't remember it. - -Roger Oakley looked at him rather sternly over the tops of his -steel-rimmed spectacles, and said, with quiet determination, "I am going -to make a man of you. You've got it in you. There's hope in every human -life. You must let drink alone, and you must work. Work's what you -need." - -"No, it ain't. I never done a day's work in my life. It'd kill me if I -had to get out and hustle and sweat and bile in the sun. Durnation! of -all fool ideas! I never seen the beat!" He threw himself back on the -bed, stiff and rigid, and covered his face with the sheet. - -For perhaps a minute he lay perfectly still. Then the covers were -seen to heave tumultuously, while short gasps and sobs were distinctly -audible. Presently two skinny but expressive legs habited in red flannel -were thrust from under the covers and kicked violently back and forth. - -A firm hand plucked the sheet from before the outcast's face, and the -gaunt form of the old convict bent grimly above him. - -"Come, come, Jeffy, I didn't expect this of you. I am willing to help -you in every way I can. I'll get my son to make a place for you at the -shops. How will you like that?" - -"How'll I like it? You ought to know me well enough to know I won't like -it a little bit!" in tearful and indignant protest. "You just reach me -them pants of mine off the back of that chair. You mean well, I'll say -that much for you, but you got the sweatiest sort of a religion; durned -if it ain't all work! Just reach me them pants, do now," and he half -rose up in his bed, only to encounter a strong arm that pushed him back -on the pillows. - -"You can't have your pants, Jeffy, not now. You must stay here until you -get well and strong." - -"How am I going to get well and strong with you hounding me to death? -I never seen such a man to take up with an idea and stick to it against -all reason. It just seems as if you'd set to work to break my spirit," -plaintively. - -Roger Oakley frowned at him in silence for a moment, then he said: - -"I thought we'd talked all this over, Jeffy." - -"I just wanted to encourage you. I was mighty thankful to have you take -hold. I hadn't been reformed for over a year. It about seemed to me that -everybody had forgotten I needed to be reformed, and I was willing to -give you a chance. No one can't ever say I ain't stood ready to do that -much." - -"But, my poor Jeffy, you will have to do more than that." - -"Blamed if it don't seem to me as if you was expecting me to do it all!" - -The old convict drew up a chair to the bedside and sat down. - -"I thought you told me you wanted to be a man and to be respected?" said -this philanthropist, with evident displeasure. - -Jeffy choked down a sob and sat up again. He gestured freely with his -arms in expostulation. - -"I was drunk when I said that. Yes, sir, I was as full as I could stick. -Now I'm sober, I know rotten well what I want." - -"What do you want, Jeffy?" - -"Well, I want a lot of things." - -"Well, what, for instance?" - -"Well, sir, it ain't no prayers, and it ain't no Bible talks, and it -ain't no lousy work. It's coming warm weather. I want to lay up along -the crick-bank in the sun and do nothing--what I always done. I've had a -durned hard winter, and I been a-living for the spring." - -A look of the keenest disappointment clouded Roger Oakley's face as -Jeffy voiced his ignoble ambitions. His resentment gave way to sorrow. -He murmured a prayer that he might be granted strength and patience for -his task, and as he prayed with half-closed eyes, the outcast plugged -his ears with his fingers. He was a firm believer in the efficacy of -prayer, and he felt he couldn't afford to take any chances. - -Roger Oakley turned to him with greater gentleness of manner than he had -yet shown. - -"Don't you want the love and confidence of your neighbors, Jeffy?" he -asked, pityingly. - -"I ain't got no neighbors, except the bums who sleep along of me at the -gas-house winter nights. I always feel this way when I come off a spree; -first it seems as if I'd be willing never to touch another drop of -licker as long as I lived. I just lose interest in everything, and I -don't care a durn what happens to me. Why, I've joined the Church lots -of times when I felt that way, but as soon as I begin to get well it's -different. I am getting well now, and what I told you don't count any -more. I got my own way of living." - -"But what a way!" sadly. - -"Maybe it ain't your way, and maybe it ain't the best way, but it suits -me bully. I can always get enough to eat by going and asking some one -for it, and you can't beat that. No, sir. You know durn well you can't!" -becoming argumentative. "It just makes me sick to think of paying for -things like vittles and clothes. A feller's got to have clothes, -anyhow, ain't he? You know mighty well he has, or he'll get pinched, and -supposing I was to earn a lot of money, even as much as a dollar a day, -I'd have to spend every blamed cent to live. One day I'd work, and then -the next I'd swaller what I'd worked for. Where's the sense in that? And -I'd have all sorts of ornery worries for fear I'd lose my job." A look -of wistful yearning overspread his face. "Just you give me the hot days -that's coming, when a feller's warm clean through and sweats in the -shade, and I won't ask for no money. You can have it all!" - -That night, when he left him, Roger Oakley carefully locked the door -and pocketed the key, and the helpless wretch on the bed, despairing -and miserable, and cut off from all earthly hope, turned his face to the -white wall and sobbed aloud. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -THEY were standing on the street corner before the hotel. Oakley had -just come up-town from the office. He was full of awkward excuses and -apologies, but Mr. Emory cut them short. - -"I suppose I've a right to be angry at the way you've avoided us, but -I'm not. On the contrary, I'm going to take you home to dinner with me." - -If Dan find consulted his preferences in the matter, he would have -begged off, but he felt he couldn't, without giving offence; so he -allowed the doctor to lead him away, but he didn't appear as pleased or -as grateful as he should have been at this temporary release from the -low diet of the American House. - -Miss Emory was waiting for her father on the porch. An errand of hers -had taken him downtown. - -She seemed surprised to see Oakley, but graciously disposed towards him. -While he fell short of her standards, he was decidedly superior to the -local youth with whom she had at first been inclined to class him. Truth -to tell, the local youth fought rather shy of the doctor's beautiful -daughter. Mr. Burt Smith, the gentlemanly druggist and acknowledged -social leader, who was much sought after by the most exclusive circles -in such centres of fashion as Buckhorn and Harrison, had been so chilled -by her manner when, meeting her on the street, he had attempted to -revive an acquaintance which dated back to their childhood, that he was -a mental wreck for days afterwards, and had hardly dared trust himself -to fill even the simplest prescription. - -When the Monday Club and the Social Science Club and the History Club -hinted that she might garner great sheaves of culture and enlightenment -at their meetings, Constance merely smiled condescendingly, but held -aloof, and the ladies of Antioch were intellectual without her abetment. -They silently agreed with the Emorys' free-born help, who had seen -better days, that she was "haughty proud" and "stuck up." - -Many was the informal indignation meeting they held, and many the -vituperate discussion handed down concerning Miss Emory, but Miss Emory -went her way with her head held high, apparently serenely unconscious of -her offence against the peace and quiet of the community. - -It must not be supposed that she was intentionally unkind or arrogant. -It was unfortunate, perhaps, but she didn't like the townspeople. She -would have been perfectly willing to admit they were quite as good as -she. The whole trouble was that they were different, and the merits of -this difference had nothing to do with the case. Her stand in the matter -shocked her mother and amused her father. - -Dr. Emory excused himself and went into the house. Dan made himself -comfortable on the steps at Miss Emory's side. In the very nearness -there was something luxurious and satisfying. He was silent because he -feared the antagonism of speech. - -The rest of Antioch had eaten its supper, principally in its -shirt-sleeves, and was gossiping over front gates, or lounging on front -steps. When Antioch loafed it did so with great singleness of purpose. - -Here and there through the town, back yards had been freshly ploughed -for gardens. In some of these men and boys were burning last year's -brush and litter. The smoke hung heavy and undispersed in the twilight. -Already the younger hands from the car-shops had "cleaned up," and, -dressed in their best clothes, were hurrying back down-town to hang -about the square and street corners until it was time to return home and -go to bed. - -Off in the distance an occasional shrill whistle told where the -ubiquitous small boy was calling a comrade out to play, and every now -and then, with a stealthy patter of bare feet, some coatless urchin -would scurry past the Emorys' gate. - -It was calm and restful, but it gave one a feeling of loneliness, too; -Antioch seemed very remote from the great world where things happened, -or were done. In spite of his satisfaction, Dan vaguely realized this. -To the girl at his side, however, the situation was absolutely tragic. -The life she had known had been so different, but it had been purchased -at the expense of a good deal of inconvenience and denial on the part -of her father and mother. It was impossible to ask a continuance of the -sacrifice, and it was equally impossible to remain in Antioch. She -did not want to be selfish, but the day was not far off when it would -resolve itself into a question of simple self-preservation. She had not -yet reached the point where she could consider marriage as a possible -means of escape, and, even if she had, it would not have solved the -problem, for whom was she to marry? - -There was a tired, fretful look in her eyes. She had lost something of -her brilliancy and freshness. In her despair she told herself she was -losing everything. - -"I was with friends of yours this afternoon, Mr. Oakley," she said, by -way of starting the conversation. - -"Friends of mine, here?" - -"Yes. The Joyces." - -"I must go around and see them. They have been very kind to my father," -said Dan, with hearty good-will. - -"How long is your father to remain in Antioch, Mr. Oakley?" inquired -Constance. - -"As long as I remain, I suppose. There are only the two of us, you -know." - -"What does he find to do here?" - -"Oh," laughed Dan, "he finds plenty to do. His energy is something -dreadful. Then, too, he's employed at the shops; that keeps him pretty -busy, you see." - -But Miss Emory hadn't known this before. She elevated her eyebrows in -mild surprise. She was not sure she understood. - -"I didn't know that he was one of the officers of the road," with -deceptive indifference. - -"He's not. He's a cabinet-maker," explained the literal Oakley, to whom -a cabinet-maker was quite as respectable as any one else. There was a -brief pause, while Constance turned this over in her mind. It struck -her as very singular that Oakley's father should be one of the hands. -Perhaps she credited him with a sensitiveness of which he was entirely -innocent. - -She rested her chin in her hands and gazed out into the dusty street. - -"Isn't it infinitely pathetic to think of that poor little man and his -work?" going back to Joyce. "Do you know, I could have cried? And his -wife's faith, it is sublime, even if it is mistaken." She laughed in a -dreary fashion. "What is to be done for people like that, whose lives -are quite uncompensated?" - -To Oakley this opened up a field for future speculation, but he -approved of her interest in Joyce. It was kindly and sincere, and it was -unexpected. He had been inclined to view her as a proud young person, -unduly impressed with the idea of her own beauty and superiority. It -pleased him to think he had been mistaken. - -They were joined by the doctor, who had caught a part of what Constance -said, and divined the rest. - -"You see only the pathos. Joyce is just as well off here as he would -be anywhere else, and perhaps a little better. He makes a decent living -with his pictures." As he spoke he crossed the porch and stood at her -side, with his hand resting affectionately on her shoulder. - -"I guess there's a larger justice in the world than we conceive," said -Oakley. - -"But not to know, to go on blindly doing something that is really very -dreadful, and never to know!" - -She turned to Oakley. "I am afraid I rather agree with your father. He -seems happy enough, and he is doing work for which there is a demand." - -"Would you be content to live here with no greater opportunity than he -has?" - -Oakley laughed and shook his head. - -"No. But that's not the same. I'll pull the Huckleberry up and make it -pay, and then go in for something bigger." - -"And if you can't make it pay?" - -"I won't bother with it, then." - -"But if you had to remain?" - -Oakley gave her an incredulous smile. - -"That couldn't be possible. I have done all sorts of things but stick in -what I found to be undesirable berths; but, of course, business is not -at all the same." - -"But isn't it? Look at Mr. Ryder. He says that he is buried here in the -pine-woods, with no hope of ever getting back into the world, and I am -sure he is able, and journalism is certainly a business, like anything -else." - -Oakley made no response to this. He didn't propose to criticise Ryder, -but, all the same, he doubted his ability. - -"Griff's frightfully lazy," remarked the doctor. "He prefers to settle -down to an effortless sort of an existence rather than make a struggle." - -"Don't you think Mr. Ryder extremely clever, Mr. Oakley?" - -"I know him so slightly, Miss Emory; but no doubt he is." - -Mrs. Emory appeared in the doorway, placid and smiling. - -"Constance, you and Mr. Oakley come on in; dinner's ready." - -When Dan went home that night he told himself savagely that he -would never go to the Emorys' again. The experience had been most -unsatisfactory. In spite of Constance's evident disposition towards -tolerance where he was concerned, she exasperated him. Her unconscious -condescension was a bitter memory of which he could not rid himself. -Certainly women must be petty, small-souled creatures if she was at all -representative of her sex. Yet, in spite of his determination to avoid -Constance, even at the risk of seeming rude, he found it required -greater strength of will than he possessed to keep away from the Emorys. - -He realized, in the course of the next few weeks, that a new stage in -his development had been reached. Inspired by what he felt was a false -but beautiful confidence in himself, he called often, and, as time wore -on, the frequency of these calls steadily increased. All this while he -thought about Miss Emory a great deal, and was sorry for her or admired -her, according to his mood. - -In Constance's attitude towards him there was a certain fickleness that -he resented. Sometimes she was friendly and companionable, and then -again she seemed to revive all her lingering prejudices and was utterly -indifferent to him, and her indifference was the most complete thing of -its kind he had ever encountered. - -Naturally Dan and Ryder met very frequently, and when they met they -clashed. It was not especially pleasant, of course, but Ryder was -persistent and Oakley was dogged. Once he started in pursuit of an -object, he never gave up or owned that he was beaten. In some form he -had accomplished everything he set out to do; and if the results had -not always been just what he had anticipated, he had at least had the -satisfaction of bringing circumstances under his control. He endured the -editor's sarcasms, and occasionally retaliated with a vengeance so heavy -as to leave Griff quivering with the smart of it. - -Miss Emory found it difficult to maintain the peace between them, but -she admired Dan's mode of warfare. It was so conclusive, and he showed -such grim strength in his ability to look out for himself. - -But Dan felt that he must suffer by any comparison with the editor. -He had no genius for trifles, but rather a ponderous capacity. He had -worked hard, with the single determination to win success. He had -the practical man's contempt, born of his satisfied ignorance for all -useless things, and to his mind the useless things were those whose -value it was impossible to reckon in dollars and cents. - -He had been well content with himself, and now he felt that somehow he -had lost his bearings. Why was it he had not known before that the mere -strenuous climb, the mere earning of a salary, was not all of life? He -even felt a sneaking envy of Ryder of which he was heartily ashamed. - -Men fall in love differently. Some resist and hang back from the -inevitable, not being sure of themselves, and some go headlong, never -having any doubts. With characteristic singleness of purpose, Dan went -headlong; but of course he did not know what the trouble was until long -after the facts in the case were patent to every one, and Antioch had -lost interest in its speculations as to whether the doctor's daughter -would take the editor or the general manager, for, as Mrs. Poppleton, -the Emorys' nearest neighbor, sagely observed, she was "having her -pick." - -To Oakley Miss Emory seemed to accumulate dignity and reserve in the -exact proportion that he lost them, but he was determined she should -like him if she never did more than that. - -She was just the least bit afraid of him. She knew he was not deficient -in a proper pride, and that he possessed plenty of self-respect, but for -all that he was not very dexterous. It amused her to lead him on, -and then to draw back and leave him to flounder out of some untenable -position she had beguiled him into assuming. - -She displayed undeniable skill in these manoeuvres, and Dan was by turns -savage and penitent. But she never gave him a chance to say what he -wanted to say. - -Ryder made his appeal to her vanity. It was a strong appeal. He was -essentially presentable and companionable. She understood him, and they -had much in common, but for all that her heart approved of Oakley. -She felt his dominance; she realized that he was direct and simple and -strong. Yet in her judgment of him she was not very generous. She could -not understand, for instance, how it was that he had been willing to -allow his father to go to work in the shops like one of the common -hands. It seemed to her to argue such an awful poverty in the way of -ideals. - -The old convict was another stumbling-block. She had met him at the -Joyces', and had been quick to recognize that he and Dan were very much -alike--the difference was merely that of age and youth. Indeed, the -similarity was little short of painful. There was the same simplicity, -the same dogged stubbornness, and the same devotion to what she -conceived to be an almost brutal sense of duty. In the case of the -father this idea of duty had crystallized in a strangely literal belief -in the Deity and expressed itself with rampant boastfulness at the very -discomforts of a faith which, like the worship of Juggernaut, demanded -untold sacrifices and apparently gave nothing in return. - -She tried to stifle her growing liking for Oakley and her unwilling -admiration for his strength and honesty and a certain native refinement. -Unconsciously, perhaps, she had always associated qualities of this sort -with position and wealth. She divined his lack of early opportunity, and -was alive to his many crudities of speech and manner, and he suffered, -as he knew he must suffer, by comparison with the editor; but, in spite -of this, Constance Emory knew deep down in her heart that he possessed -solid and substantial merits of his own. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -KENYON came to town to remind his Antioch friends and supporters that -presently he would be needing their votes. - -He was Ryder's guest for a week, and the _Herald_ recorded his movements -with painstaking accuracy and with what its editor secretly considered -metropolitan enterprise. The great man had his official headquarters at -the _Herald_ office, a ramshackle two-story building on the west side of -the square. Here he was at home to the local politicians, and to such of -the general public as wished to meet him. The former smoked his cigars -and talked incessantly of primaries, nominations, and majorities--topics -on which they appeared to be profoundly versed. Their distinguishing -mark was their capacity for strong drink, which was far in excess -of that of the ordinary citizen who took only a casual interest in -politics. The _Herald's_ back door opened into an alley, and was -directly opposite that of the Red Star saloon. At stated intervals Mr. -Kenyon and Mr. Ryder, followed by the faithful, trailed through this -back door and across the alley, where they cheerfully exposed themselves -to such of the gilded allurements of vice as the Red Star had to offer. - -The men of Antioch eschewed front doors as giving undue publicity to -the state of their thirst, a point on which they must have been very -sensitive, for though a number of saloons flourished in the town, only a -few of the most reckless and emancipated spirits were ever seen to enter -them. - -Kenyon was a sloppily dressed man of forty-five or thereabouts, -who preserved an air of rustic shrewdness. He was angular-faced and -smooth-shaven, and wore his hair rather long in a tangled mop. He was -generally described in the party papers as "The Picturesque Statesman -from Old Hanover." He had served one term in Congress; prior to that, by -way of apprenticeship, he had done a great deal of hard work and dirty -work for his party. His fortunes had been built on the fortunes of a -bigger and an abler man, who, after a fight which was already famous in -the history of the State for its bitterness, had been elected Governor, -and Kenyon, having picked the winner, had gone to his reward. Just now -he had a shrewd idea that the Governor was anxious to unload him, and -that the party leaders were sharpening their knives for him. Their -change of heart grew out of the fact that he had "dared to assert his -independence," as he said, and had "played the sneak and broken his -promises," as they said, in a little transaction which had been left to -him to put through. - -Personally Ryder counted him an unmitigated scamp, but the man's breezy -vulgarity, his nerve, and his infinite capacity to jolly tickled his -fancy. - -He had so far freed himself of his habitual indifference that he was -displaying an unheard-of energy in promoting Kenyon's interest. Of -course he expected to derive certain very substantial benefits from the -alliance. The Congressman had made him endless promises, and Ryder saw, -or thought he saw, his way clear to leave Antioch in the near -future. For two days he had been saying, "Mr. Brown, shake hands with -Congressman Kenyon," or, "Mr. Jones, I want you to know Congressman -Kenyon, the man we must keep at Washington." - -He had marvelled at the speed with which the statesman got down to first -names. He had also shown a positive instinct as to whom he should invite -to make the trip across the alley to the Red Star, and whom not. Mr. -Kenyon said, modestly, when Griff commented on this, that his methods -were modern--they were certainly vulgar. - -"I guess I'm going to give 'em a run for their money, Ryder. I can -see I'm doing good work here. There's nothing like being on the ground -yourself." - -It was characteristic of him that he should ignore the work Ryder had -done in his behalf. - -"You are an inspiration, Sam. The people know their leader," said the -editor, genially, but with a touch of sarcasm that was lost on Kenyon, -who took himself quite seriously. - -"Yes, sir, they'd 'a' done me dirt," feelingly, "but I am on my own -range now, and ready to pull off my coat and fight for what's due me." - -They were seated before the open door which looked out upon the square. -Kenyon was chewing nervously at the end of an unlit cigar, which he -held between his fingers. "When the nomination is made I guess the other -fellow will discover I 'ain't been letting the grass grow in my path." -He spat out over the door-sill into the street. "What's that you were -just telling me about the Huckleberry?" - -"This new manager of Cornish's is going to make the road pay, and he's -going to do it from the pockets of the employs," said Ryder, with a -disgruntled air, for the memory of his interview with Dan still rankled. - -"That ain't bad, either. You know the Governor's pretty close to -Cornish. The general was a big contributor to his campaign fund." - -Ryder hitched his chair nearer his companion's. - -"If there's a cut in wages at the shops--and I suppose that will be the -next move--there's bound to be a lot of bad feeling." - -"Well, don't forget we are for the people." remarked the Congressman, -and he winked slyly. - -Ryder smiled cynically. - -"I sha'n't. I have it in for the manager, anyhow." - -"What's wrong with him?" - -"Oh, nothing, but a whole lot," answered Griff, with apparent -indifference. - -At this juncture Dr. Emory crossed the square from the post-office and -paused in front of the _Herald_ building. - -"How's Dr. Emory?" said Kenyon, by way of greeting. - -Ryder had risen. - -"Won't you come in and sit down, doctor?" he inquired. - -"No, no. Keep your seat, Griff. I merely strolled over to say how d'ye -do?" - -Kenyon shot past the doctor a discolored stream. That gentleman moved -uneasily to one side. - -"Don't move," said the statesman, affably. "Plenty of room between you -and the casing." - -He left his chair and stood facing the doctor, and unpleasantly close. -"Say, our young friend here's turned what I intended to be a vacation -into a very busy time. He's got me down for speeches and all sorts of -things, and it will be a wonder if I go home to Hanover sober. I -won't if he can help it, that's dead sure. Won't you come in and have -something?--just a little appetizer before supper?" - -"No, I thank you." - -"A cigar, then?" fumbling in his vest-pocket with fingers that were just -the least bit unsteady. - -"No, I must hurry along." - -"We hope to get up again before Mr. Kenyon leaves town," said Ryder, -wishing to head the statesman off. He was all right with such men as Cap -Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Burrows, but he had failed signally to take the -doctor's measure. The latter turned away. - -"I hope you will, Griff," he said, kindly, his voice dwelling with the -least perceptible insistence on the last pronoun. - -"Remember me to the wife and daughter," called out Kenyon, as the -physician moved up the street with an unusual alacrity. - -It was late in the afternoon, and the men from the car-shops were -beginning to straggle past, going in the direction of their various -homes. Presently Roger Oakley strode heavily by, with his tin -dinner-pail on his arm. Otherwise there was nothing, either in his dress -or appearance, to indicate that he was one of the hands. As he still -lived at the hotel with Dan, he felt it necessary to exercise a certain -care in the matter of dress. As he came into view the Congressman swept -him with a casual scrutiny; then, as the old man plodded on up the -street with deliberate step, Kenyon rose from his chair and stood in the -doorway gazing after him. - -"What's the matter, Sam?" asked Ryder, struck by his friend's manner. - -"Who was that old man who just went past?" - -"That? Oh, that's the manager's father. Why?" - -"Well, he looks most awfully like some one else, that's all," and he -appeared to lose interest. - -"No, he's old man Oakley. He works in the shops." - -"Oakley?" - -"Yes, that's his name. Why?" curiously. - -"How long has he been here, anyhow?" - -"A month perhaps, maybe longer. Do you know him?" - -"I've seen him before. A cousin of mine, John Kenyon, is warden of a -prison back in Massachusetts. It runs in the blood to hold office. I -visited him last winter, and while I was there a fire broke out in the -hospital ward, and that old man had a hand in saving the lives of two or -three of the patients. The beggars came within an ace of losing their -lives. I saw afterwards by the papers that the Governor had pardoned -him." - -Ryder jumped up with sudden alacrity. - -"Do you remember the convict's full name?" Kenyon meditated a moment; -then he said: - -"Roger Oakley." - -The editor turned to the files of the _Herald_. - -"I'll just look back and see if it's the same name. I've probably got it -here among the personals, if I can only find it. What was he imprisoned -for?" he added. - -"He was serving a life sentence for murder, I think, John told me, but I -won't be sure." - -"The devil, you say!" ejaculated Ryder. "Yes, Roger Oakley, the name's -the same." - -"I knew I couldn't be mistaken. I got a pretty good memory for names and -faces. Curious, ain't it, that he should turn up here?" - -Ryder smiled queerly as he dropped the _Herald_ files back into the -rack. - -"His son is manager for Cornish here. He's the fellow I was telling you -about." - -Kenyon smiled, too. - -"I guess you won't have any more trouble with him. You've got him where -you can hit him, and hit him hard whenever you like." - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -ROGER OAKLEY carried out his threat to find work for Jeffy. As soon -as the outcast was able to leave his bed, he took him down to the -car-shops, which were destined to be the scene of this brief but -interesting industrial experiment. - -It was early morning, and they found only Clarence there. He was -sweeping out the office--a labor he should have performed the night -before, but, unless he was forcibly detained, he much preferred to let -it go over, on the principle that everything that is put off till the -morrow is just so much of a gain, and, in the end, tends to reduce the -total of human effort, as some task must necessarily be left undone. - -As Roger Oakley pushed open the door and entered the office in search -of his son, his charge, who slunk and shuffled after him with legs which -bore him but uncertainly, cast a long and lingering look back upon the -freedom he was leaving. The dignity of labor, on which his patron had -been expatiating as they walked in the shortening shadows under the -maples, seemed a scanty recompense for all he was losing. A deep, -wistful sigh escaped his lips. He turned his back on the out-of-doors -and peered over the old man's shoulder at Clarence with bleary eyes. Of -course, he knew Clarence. This was a privilege not denied the humblest. -Occasionally the urchin called him names, more often he pelted him with -stones. The opportunities for excitement were limited in Antioch, and -the juvenile population heedfully made the most of those which existed. - -Jeffy was a recognized source of excitement. It was not as if one stole -fruit or ran away from school. Then there was some one to object, and -consequences; but if one had fun with Jeffy there was none to object but -Jeffy, and, of course, he didn't count. - -"Is my son here, Clarence?" asked Roger Oakley. - -"Nope. The whistle ain't blowed yet. I am trying to get the place -cleaned up before he comes down," making slaps at the desks and chairs -with a large wet cloth. "What you going to do with him, Mr. Oakley?" - -He nodded towards Jeffy, who seemed awed by the unaccustomedness of -his surroundings, for he kept himself hidden back of the old man, his -battered and brimless straw hat held nervously in his trembling fingers. - -"I am going to get work for him." - -"Him work! Him! Why, he don't want no work, Mr. Oakley. He's too strong -to work." And Clarence went off into gales of merriment at the mere -idea. - -For an instant Jeffy gazed in silence at the boy with quickly mounting -wrath, then he said, in a hoarse _tremolo_: - -"You durned little loafer! Don't you give me none of your lip!" - -Clarence had sufficiently subsided to remark, casually: "The old man'd -like to know what you got for that horse-blanket and whip you stole from -our barn. You're a bird, you are! When he was willing to let you sleep -in the barn because he was sorry for you!" - -"You lie, durn you!" fiercely. "I didn't steal no whip or -horse-blanket!" - -"Yes, you did, too! The old man found out who you sold 'em to," smiling -with exasperating coolness. - -The outcast turned to Roger Oakley. "Nobody's willing to let by-gones be -by-gones," and two large tears slid from his moist eyes. Then his manner -changed abruptly. He became defiant, and, step-ing from behind his -protector, shook a long and very dirty forefinger in Clarence's face. - -"You just tell Chris Berry this from me--I'm done with him. I don't like -no sneaks, and you just tell him this--he sha'n't never bury me." - -"I reckon he ain't sweatin' to bury any paupers," hastily interjected -the grinning Clarence. "The old man ain't in the business for his -health." - -"And if he don't stop slandering me"--his voice shot up out of its -huskiness--"if he don't stop slandering me, I'll fix him!" He turned -again to Roger Oakley. "Them Berrys is a low-lived lot! I hope you won't -never have doings with 'em. They'll smile in your face and then do you -dirt behind your back; I've done a lot for Chris Berry, but I'm durned -if I ever lift my hand for him again." - -Perhaps he was too excited to specify the exact nature of the benefits -which he had conferred upon the undertaker. Clarence ignored the attack -upon his family. He contented himself with remarking, judiciously: -"Anybody who can slander you's got a future ahead of him. He's got -unusual gifts." - -Here Roger Oakley saw fit to interfere in behalf of his protg. He -shook his head in grave admonition at the grinning youngster. "Jeffy is -going to make a man of himself. It's not right to remember these things -against him." - -"They know rotten well that's what I'm always telling 'em. Let by-gones -be by-gones--that's my motto--but they are so ornery they won't never -give me a chance." - -"It's going to be a great shock to the community when Jeffy starts -to work, Mr. Oakley," observed Clarence, politely. "He's never done -anything harder than wheel smoke from the gas-house. Where you going to -put up, Jeffy, when you get your wages?" - -"None of your durn lip!" screamed Jeffy, white with rage. - -"I suppose you'll want to return the horse-blanket and whip. You can -leave 'em here with me. I'll take 'em home to the old man," remarked the -boy, affably. "I wouldn't trust you with ten cents; you know mighty well -I wouldn't," retorted Jeffy. - -"Good reason why--you ain't never had that much." - -Dan Oakley's step was heard approaching the door, and the wordy warfare -ceased abruptly. Clarence got out of the way as quickly as possible, for -he feared he might be asked to do something, and he had other plans for -the morning. - -Jeffy was handed over to McClintock's tender mercies, who put him to -work in the yards. - -It was pay-day in the car-shops, and Oakley posted a number of notices -in conspicuous places about the works. They announced a ten-per-cent, -reduction in the wages of the men, the cut to go into effect -immediately. - -By-and-by McClintock came in from the yards. He was hot and perspiring, -and his check shirt clung moistly to his powerful shoulders. As he -crossed to the water-cooler, he said to Dan: - -"Well, we've lost him already. I guess he wasn't keen for work." - -Oakley looked up inquiringly from the letter he was writing. - -"I mean Jeffy. He stuck to it for a couple of hours, and then Pete saw -him making a sneak through the cornfield towards the crick. I haven't -told your father yet." - -Dan laughed. - -"I thought it would be that way. Have you seen the notices?" - -"Yes," nodding. - -"Heard anything from the men yet?" - -"Not a word." - -McClintock returned to the yards. It was the noon hour, and in the shade -of one of the sheds he found a number of the hands at lunch, who lived -too far from the shops to go home to dinner. - -"Say, Milt," said one of these, "have you tumbled to the notices?--ten -per cent, all round. You'll be having to go down in your sock for coin." - -"It's there all right," cheerfully. - -"I knew when Cornish came down here there would be something drop -shortly. I ain't never known it to fail. The old skinflint! I'll bet he -ain't losing any money." - -"You bet he ain't, not he," said a second, with a short laugh. - -The first man, Branyon by name, bit carefully into the wedge-shaped -piece of pie he was holding in his hand. "If I was as rich as Cornish -I'm damned if I'd be such an infernal stiff! What the hell good is his -money doing him, anyhow?" - -"What does the boss say, Milt?" - -"That wages will go back as soon as he can put them back." - -"Yes, they will! Like fun!" said Branyon, sarcastically. - -"You're a lot of kickers, you are," commented McClintock, -good-naturedly. "You don't believe for one minute, do you, that the -Huckleberry or the shops ever earned a dollar?" - -"You can gamble on it that they ain't ever cost Cornish a red cent," -said Branyon, as positively as a mouthful of pie would allow. - -"I wouldn't be too sure about that," said the master-mechanic, walking -on. - -"I bet he ain't out none on this," remarked Branyon, cynically. "If he -was he wouldn't take it so blamed easy." - -The men began to straggle back from their various homes and to form in -little groups about the yards and in the shops. They talked over the cut -and argued the merits of the case, as men will, made their comments on -Cornish, who was generally conceded to be as mean in money matters as -he was fortunate, and then went back to their work when the one-o'clock -whistle blew, in a state of high good-humor with themselves and their -critical ability. - -The next day the _Herald_ dealt with the situation at some length. The -whole tone of the editorial was rancorous and bitter. It spoke of the -parsimony of the new management, which had been instanced by a number of -recent dismissals among men who had served the road long and faithfully, -and who deserved other and more considerate treatment. It declared that -the cut was but the beginning of the troubles in store for the hands, -and characterized it as an attempt on the part of the new management -to curry favor with Cornish, who was notoriously hostile to the best -interests of labor. It wound up by regretting that the men were not -organized, as proper organization would have enabled them to meet this -move on the part of the management. - -When Oakley read the obnoxious editorial his blood grew hot and his mood -belligerent. It showed evident and unusual care in the preparation, -and he guessed correctly that it had been written and put in type in -readiness for the cut. It was a direct personal attack, too, for the -expression "the new management," which was used over and over, could -mean but the one thing. - -Dan's first impulse was to hunt Ryder up and give him a sound thrashing, -but his better sense told him that while this rational mode of -expressing his indignation would have been excusable enough a few years -back, when he was only a brakeman, as the manager of the Buckhom and -Antioch Railroad it was necessary to pursue a more pacific policy. - -He knew he could be made very unpopular if these attacks were persisted -in. This he did not mind especially, except as it would interfere with -the carrying out of his plans and increase his difficulties. After -thinking it over he concluded that he would better see Ryder and have -a talk with him. It would do no harm, he argued, and it might do some -good, provided, of course, that he could keep his temper. - -He went directly to the _Herald_ office, and found Griff in and alone. -When Dan strode into the office, looking rather warm, the latter turned -a trifle pale, for he had his doubts about the manager's temper, and no -doubts at all about his muscular development, which was imposing. - -"I came in to see what you meant by this, Ryder," his caller said, and -he held out the paper folded to the insulting article. Ryder assumed to -examine it carefully, but he knew every word there. - -"Oh, this? Oh yes! The story of the reduction in wages down at the -car-shops. There! You can take it from under my nose; I can see quite -clearly." - -"Well?" - -"Well," repeated Ryder after him, with exasperating composure. The -editor was no stranger to intrusions of this sort, for his sarcasms were -frequently personal. His manner varied to suit each individual -case. When the wronged party stormed into the office, wrathful and -loud-lunged, he was generally willing to make prompt reparation, -especially if his visitor had the advantage of physical preponderance on -his side. When, however, the caller was uncertain and palpably in awe of -him, as sometimes happened, he got no sort of satisfaction. With Oakley -he pursued a middle course. - -"Well?" he repeated. - -"What do you mean by this?" - -"I think it speaks for itself, don't you?" - -"I went into this matter with you, and you know as well as I do why -the men are cut. This," striking the paper contemptuously with his open -hand, "is the worst sort of rubbish, but it may serve to make the men -feel that they are being wronged, and it is an attack on me." - -"Did you notice that? I didn't know but it was too subtle for you." - -He couldn't resist the gibe at Oakley's expense. - -"Disguised, of course, but intended to give the men less confidence in -me. Now, I'm not going to stand any more of this sort of thing!" - -He was conscious he had brought his remarks to a decidedly lame -conclusion. - -"And I'll tell you one thing, Mr. Oakley, I'm editor of the _Herald_, -and I don't allow any man to dictate to me what I shall print. That's a -point I'll pass on for myself." - -"You know the situation. You know that the general will dispose of his -interests here unless they can be made self-sustaining; and, whether you -like him or not, he stands as a special providence to the town." - -"I only know what you have told me," sneeringly. - -Oakley bit his lips. He saw it would have been better to have left Ryder -alone. He felt his own weakness, and his inability to force him against -his will to be fair. He gulped down his anger and chagrin. - -"I don't see what you can gain by stirring up this matter." - -"Perhaps you don't." - -"Am I to understand you are hostile to the road?" - -"If that means you--yes. You haven't helped yourself by coming here as -though you could bully me into your way of thinking. I didn't get much -satisfaction from my call on you. You let me know you could attend to -your own affairs, and I can attend to mine just as easily. I hope you -appreciate that." - -Dan turned on his heel and left the office, cursing himself for his -stupidity in having given the editor an opportunity to get even. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -IN the course of the next few days Dan decided that there was no danger -of trouble from the hands. Things settled back into their accustomed -rut. He was only a little less popular, perhaps. - -He was indebted to Clarence for the first warning he received as to what -was in store for him. - -It came about in this way. Clarence had retired to the yards, where, -secure from observation, he was indulging in a quiet smoke, furtively -keeping an eye open for McClintock, whose movements were uncertain, as -he knew from sad experience. - -A high board fence was in front of him, shutting off the yards from the -lower end of the town. At his back was a freight car, back of that again -were the interlacing tracks, and beyond them a cornfield and Billup's -Fork, with its inviting shade of sycamores and willows and its tempting -swimming-holes. - -Suddenly he heard a scrambling on the opposite side of the fence, and -ten brown fingers clutched the tops of the boards, then a battered straw -hat came on a level with the fingers, at the same instant a bare foot -and leg were thrown over the fence, and the owner of the battered straw -hat swung himself into view. All this while a dog whined and yelped; -then followed a vigorous scratching sound, and presently a small, -dilapidated-looking yellow cur squeezed itself beneath the fence. -Clarence recognized the intruders. It was Branyon's boy, Augustus, -commonly called "Spide," because of his exceeding slimness and the -length of his legs, and his dog Pink. - -As soon as Branyon's boy saw Clarence he balanced himself deftly on the -top of the fence with one hand and shaded his eyes elaborately with the -other. An amiable, if toothless, smile curled his lips. When he spoke it -was with deep facetiousness. - -"Hi! come out from behind that roll of paper!" - -But Clarence said not a word. He puffed away at his cigarette, -apparently oblivious of everything save the contentment it gave him, -and as he puffed Spide's mouth worked and watered sympathetically. -His secret admiration was tremendous. Here was Clarence in actual and -undisturbed possession of a whole cigarette. He had to purchase his -cigarettes in partnership with some other boy, and go halves on the -smoking of them. It made him feel cheap and common. - -"Say I got one of them coffin-tacks that ain't working?" he inquired. -Clarence gazed off up the tracks, ignoring the question and the -questioner. Spide's presence was balm to his soul. But as one of the -office force of the Buckhom and Antioch he felt a certain lofty reserve -to be incumbent upon him. Besides, he and Spide had been engaged in -a recent rivalry for Susie Poppleton's affections. It is true he had -achieved a brilliant success over his rival, but that a mere school-boy -should have ventured to oppose him, a salaried man, had struck him as an -unpardonable piece of impertinence for which there could be no excuse. - -Spide, however, had taken the matter most philosophically. He had -recognized that he could not hope to compete with a youth who possessed -unlimited wealth, which he was willing to lay out on chewing-gum and -candy, his experience being that the sex was strictly mercenary and -incapable of a disinterested love. Of course he had much admired Miss -Poppleton; from the crown of her small dark head, with its tightly -braided "pig-tails," down to her trim little foot he had esteemed her -as wholly adorable; but, after all, his affair of the heart had been an -affair of the winter only. With the coming of summer he had found more -serious things to think of. He was learning to swim and to chew tobacco. -The mastering of these accomplishments pretty well occupied his time. - -"Say!" he repeated, "got another?" - -Still Clarence blinked at the fierce sunlight which danced on the rails, -and said nothing. Spide slid skilfully down from his perch, but his -manner had undergone a change. - -"Who throwed that snipe away, anyhow?" he asked, disdainfully. Clarence -turned his eyes slowly in his direction. - -"Lookee here. You fellows got to keep out of these yards, or I'll tell -McClintock. First we know some of you kids will be getting run over, and -then your folks will set up a lively howl. Get on out! It ain't no place -for little boys!" - -He put the cigarette between his lips and took a deep and tantalizing -pull at it. Spide kept to his own side of the ditch that ran between the -fence and the tracks. - -"Huh!" with infinite scorn. "Who's a kid? You won't be happy till I come -over there and lick you!" - -"First thing I know you'll be stealing scrap iron!" - -"My gosh! The Huckleberry'd have to stop running if I swiped a -coupling-pin!" - -Clarence had recourse to the cigarette, and again Spide was consumed -with torturing jealousies. "Where did you shoot that snipe, anyhow?" he -inquired, insultingly. - -Once more Clarence allowed his glance to stray off up the tracks. - -"For half a cent I'd come across and do what I say!" added Spide, -stooping down to roll up his trousers leg, and then easing an unelastic -"gallus" that cut his shoulders. This elicited a short and contemptuous -grunt from Clarence. He was well pleased with himself. He felt Spide's -envy. It was sweet and satisfying. - -"Say!" with sudden animation. "You fellers will be going around on your -uppers in a day or so. I'll bet you'd give a heap to know what I know!" - -"I wouldn't give a darned cent to know all you know or ever will know!" -retorted Clarence, promptly. - -"Some people's easily upset here in the cupola," tapping his brimless -covering. "I wouldn't want to give you brain-fever; I don't hate you bad -enough." - -"Well, move on. You ain't wanted around here. It may get me into trouble -if I'm seen fooling away my time on you." - -"I hope to hell it will," remarked Branyon's boy, Augustus, with cordial -ill-will and fluent profanity. He was not a good little boy. He himself -would have been the first to spurn the idea of personal sanctity. But -he was literally bursting with the importance of the facts which he -possessed, and Clarence's indifference gave him no opening. - -"What will you bet there ain't a strike?" - -"I ain't betting this morning," said Clarence, blandly. "But if there -is one we are ready for it. You bet the hands won't catch us napping. -We are ready for 'em any time and all the time." This, delivered with a -large air, impressed Spide exceedingly. - -"Have you sent for the militia a'ready?" he asked, anxiously. - -"That's saying," noting the effect of his words. "I can't go blabbing -about, telling what the road's up to, but we are awake, and the hands -will get it in the neck if they tackle the boss. He's got dam little use -for laboring men, anyhow." - -To Clarence, Oakley was the most august person he had ever known. -He religiously believed his position to be only second in point of -importance and power to that of the President of the United States. - -He was wont to invest him with purely imaginary attributes, and to lie -about him at a great rate among his comrades, who were ready to credit -any report touching a man who was reputed to be able to ride on the cars -without a ticket. Human grandeur had no limits beyond this. - -"There was a meeting last night. I bet you didn't know that," said -Spide. - -"I heard something of it. Was your father at the meeting, Spide?" he -asked, dropping his tone of hostility for one of gracious familiarity. -The urchin promptly crossed the ditch and stood at his side. - -"Of course the old man was. You don't suppose he wouldn't be in it?" - -"Oh, well, let 'em kick. You see the boss is ready for 'em," remarked -Clarence, indifferently. He wanted to know what Spide knew, but he -didn't feel that he could afford to show any special interest. "Where -you going--swimming?" he added. - -"Yep." But Spide was not ready to drop the fascinating subject of the -strike. He wished to astonish Clarence, who was altogether too knowing. - -"The meeting was in the room over Jack Britt's saloon," he volunteered. - -"I suppose you think we didn't know that up at the office. We got our -spies out. There ain't nothing the hands can do we ain't on to." - -Spide wrote his initials in the soft bank of the ditch with his big toe, -while he meditated on what he could tell next. - -"Well, sir, you'd 'a' been surprised if you'd 'a' been there." - -"Was you there, Spide?" - -"Yep." - -"Oh, come off; you can't stuff me." - -"I was, too, there. The old lady sent me down to fetch pap home. She was -afraid he'd get full. Joe Stokes was there, and Lou Bentick, and a whole -slew of others, and Griff Ryder." - -Clarence gasped with astonishment. "Why, he ain't one of the hands." - -"Well, he's on their side." - -"What you giving us?" - -"Say, they are going to make a stiff kick on old man Oakley working in -the shops. They got it in for him good and strong." He paused to weigh -the effect of this, and then went on rapidly: "He's done something. -Ryder knows about it. He told my old man and Joe Stokes. They say he's -got to get out. What's a convicted criminal, anyhow?" - -"What do you want to know that for, Spide?" questioned the artful -Clarence, with great presence of mind. - -"Well, that's what old man Oakley is. I heard Ryder say so myself, and -pap and Joe Stokes just kicked themselves because they hadn't noticed it -before, I suppose. My! but they were hot! Say, you'll see fun to-morrow. -I shouldn't be surprised if they sent you all a-kiting." - -Clarence was swelling with the desire to tell Oakley what he had heard. -He took the part of a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. - -"Have one?" he said. - -Spide promptly availed himself of his companion's liberality. - -"Well, so long," the latter added. "I got to get back," and a moment -later he might have been seen making his way cautiously in the direction -of the office, while Spide, his battered hat under his arm, and the -cigarette clutched in one hand, was skipping gayly across the cornfield -towards the creek followed by Pink. He was bound for the "Slidy," a -swimming-hole his mother had charged him on no account to visit. Under -these peculiar circumstances it was quite impossible for him to consider -any other spot. Nowhere else was the shade so cool and dense, nowhere -else did the wild mint scent the summer air with such seductive odors, -and nowhere else were such social advantages to be found. - -There were always big boys hanging about the "Slidy" who played cards -and fished and loafed, but mostly loafed, because it was the easiest, -and here Mr. Tink Brown, Jeffy's logical successor and unofficial heir -apparent, held court from the first of June to the last of August. The -charm of his society no respectable small boy was able to withstand. His -glittering indecencies made him a sort of hero, and his splendid lawless -state was counted worthy of emulation. - -But Spide discovered that the way of the transgressor is sometimes as -hard as the moralists would have us believe. - -It was the beginning of the season, and a group of boys, in easy -undress, were clustered on the bank above the swimming-hole. They were -"going in" as soon as an important question should be decided. - -The farmer whose fields skirted Billup's Fork at this point usually -filled in the "Slidy" every spring with bits of rusty barb-wire -and osage-orange cuttings. The youth of Antioch who were prejudiced -maintained that he did it to be mean, but the real reason was that he -wished to discourage the swimmers, who tramped his crops and stole his -great yellow pumpkins to play with in the water. - -The time-honored method of determining the condition of the hole was -beautifully simple. It was to catch a small boy and throw him in, and -until this rite was performed the big boys used the place but gingerly. -Mr. Brown and his friends were waiting for this small boy to happen -along, when the unsuspecting Spide ran down the bank. He was promptly -seized by the mighty Tink. - -"Been in yet, Spide?" asked his captor, genially. - -"Nope." - -"Then this is your chance." Whereat Spide began to cry. He didn't -want to go in. All at once he remembered he had promised his mother he -wouldn't and that his father had promised him a licking if he did--two -excellent reasons why he should stay out--but Tink only pushed him -towards the water's edge. - -"You're hurting me! Lemme alone, you big loafer! Lemme go, or I'll -tell the old man on you!" and he scratched and clawed, but Tink merely -laughed, and the other boys advised him to "chuck the little shaver in." - -"Lemme take off my shirt and pants! Lemme take off my pants--just my -pants, Tink!" he entreated. - -But he was raised on high and hurled out into the stream where the -sunlight flashed among the shadows cast by the willows. His hat went one -way and his cigarette another. Pink was considerately tossed after him, -and all his earthly possessions were afloat. - -There was a splash, and he disappeared from sight to reappear a second -later, with streaming hair and dripping face. - -"How is it?" chorussed the big boys, who were already pulling off their -clothes, as they saw that neither barb-wire nor osage-orange brush -festooned the swimmer. - -"Bully!" ecstatically, and he dived dexterously into the crown of his -upturned hat, which a puff of wind had sent dancing gayly down-stream. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -SAY!" Clarence blurted out, "there's going to be a strike!" - -Oakley glanced up from his writing. - -"What's that you are telling me, Clarence?" - -"There's going to be a strike, Mr. Oakley." - -Dan smiled good-naturedly at the boy. - -"I guess that has blown over, Clarence," he said, kindly. - -"No, it ain't. The men had a meeting last night. It was in the room over -Jack Britt's saloon. I've just been talking with a fellow who was there; -he told me." - -"Sit down," said Oakley, pushing a chair towards him. - -"Now, what is it?" as soon as he was seated. And Clarence, editing his -reminiscences as he saw fit, gave a tolerably truthful account of his -conversation with Spide. The source of his information, its general -incompleteness, and the frequent divergences, occasioned by the boy's -attempt to incorporate into the narrative a satisfactory reason for his -own presence in the yards, did not detract from its value in Oakley's -estimation. The mere fact that the men had held a meeting was in itself -significant. Such a thing was new to Antioch, as yet unvisited by labor -troubles. - -"What is that you say about my father?" For he had rather lost track of -the story and caught at the sudden mention of his father's name. - -"Spide says they got it in for him. I can't just remember what he did -say. It was something or other Griff Ryder knows about him. It's funny, -but it's clean gone out of my head, Mr. Oakley." - -Oakley started. What could Ryder know about his father? What could any -one know? - -He was not left long in doubt. The next morning, shortly after he -arrived at the office, he heard the heavy shuffling of many feet on -the narrow platform outside his door, and a deputation from the -carpenter-shop, led by Joe Stokes and Branyon, entered the room. For a -moment or so the men stood in abashed silence about the door, and then -moved over to his desk. - -Oakley pushed back his chair, and, as they approached, came slowly to -his feet. There was a hint of anger in his eyes. The whole proceeding -smacked of insolence. The men were in their shirt-sleeves and overalls, -and had on their hats. Stokes put up his hand and took off his hat. The -others accepted this as a signal, and one after another removed theirs. -Then followed a momentary shuffling as they bunched closer. Several, who -looked as if they would just as soon be somewhere else, breathed deep -and hard. The office force--Kerr, Holt, and Miss Walton--suspended their -various tasks and stood up so as not to miss anything that was said of -done. - -"Well, men, what is it?" asked Oakley, sharply--so sharply that -Clarence, who was at the water-cooler, started. He had never heard the -manager use that tone before. - -Stokes took a step forward and cleared his throat, as if to speak. Then -he looked at his comrades, who looked back their encouragement at him. - -"We want a word with you, Mr. Oakley," said he. - -"What have you to say?" - -"Well, sir, we got a grievance," began Stokes, weakly, but Branyon -pushed him to one side hastily and took his place. He was a stockily -built Irish-American, with plenty of nerve and a loose tongue. The men -nudged each other. They knew Mike would have his say. - -"It's just this, Mr. Oakley: There's a man in the carpenter-shop who's -got to get out. We won't work with him no longer!" - -"That's right," muttered one or two of the men under their breath. - -"Whom do you mean?" asked Oakley, and his tone was tense and strenuous, -for he knew. There was an awkward silence. Branyon fingered his hat a -trifle nervously. At last he said, doggedly: - -"The man who's got to go is your father." - -"Why?" asked Oakley, sinking his voice. He guessed what was coming next, -but the question seemed dragged from him. He had to ask it. - -"We got nothing against you, Mr. Oakley, but we won't work in the same -shop with a convicted criminal." - -"That's right," muttered the chorus of men again. - -Oakley's face flushed scarlet. Then every scrap of color left it. - -"Get out of here!" he ordered, hotly. - -"Don't we get our answer?" demanded Branyon. - -While the interview was in progress, McClintock had entered, and now -stood at the opposite end of the room, an attentive listener. - -"No," cried Oakley, hoarsely. "I'll put whom I please to work in the -shops. Leave the room all of you!" - -The men retreated before his fury, their self-confidence rather dashed -by it. One by one they backed sheepishly out of the door, Branyon being -the last to leave. As he quitted the room he called to Dan: - -"We'll give you until to-morrow to think it over, but the old man's got -to go." - -McClintock promptly followed Branyon, and Clarence darted after him. He -was in time to witness the uncorking of the master-mechanic's vials of -wrath, and to hear the hot exchange of words which followed. - -"You can count your days with the Huckleberry numbered, Branyon," he -said. "I'm damned if I'll have you under me after this." - -"We'll see about that," retorted Branyon, roughly. "Talk's cheap." - -"What's the old man ever done to you, you infernal loafer?" - -"Shut up, Milt, and keep your shirt on!" said Stokes, in what he -intended should be conciliatory tones. "We only want our rights." - -"We'll have 'em, too," said Branyon, shaking his head ominously. "We -ain't Dagoes or Pollacks. We're American mechanics, and we know our -rights." - -"You're a sneak, Branyon. What's he ever done to you?" - -"Oh, you go to hell!" ruffling up his shirt-sleeves. - -"Well, sir," said McClintock, his gray eyes flashing, "you needn't be so -particular about the old man's record. You know as much about the inside -of a prison as he does." - -"You're a damn liar!" Nevertheless McClintock spoke only the truth. -At Branyon's last word he smashed his fist into the middle of the -carpenter's sour visage with a heavy, sickening thud. No man called him -a liar and got away with it. - -"Gee!" gasped the closely attentive but critical Clarence. "What a -soaker!" Branyon fell up against the side of the building near which -they were standing. Otherwise he would have gone his length upon the -ground, and the hands rushed in between the two men. - -Stokes and Bentick dragged their friend away by main strength. The -affair had gone far enough. They didn't want a fight. - -McClintock marched into the office, crossed to the water-cooler, and -filled himself a tumbler; then he turned an unruffled front on Oakley. - -"I guess we'd better chuck those fellows--fire 'em out bodily, the -impudent cusses! What do you say, Mr. Oakley?" - -But Dan was too demoralized to consider or even reply to this. He was -feeling a burning sense of shame and disgrace. The whole town must -know his father's history, or some garbled version of it. Worse still, -Constance Emory must know. The pride of his respectability was gone from -him. He felt that he had cheated the world of a place to which he had no -right, and now he was found out. He could not face Kerr, nor Holt, nor -McClintock. But this was only temporary. He couldn't stand among his -ruins. Men survive disgrace and outlive shame just as they outlive -sorrow and suffering. Nothing ever stops. Then he recognized that, since -his secret had been wrested from him, there was no longer discovery -to fear. A sense of freedom and relief came when he realized this. The -worst had happened, and he could still go on. How the men had learned -about his father he could not understand, but instinct told him he -had Ryder to thank. Following up the clew Kenyon had given him, he -had carefully looked into Roger Oakley's record, a matter that simply -involved a little correspondence. - -He had told Branyon and Stokes only what he saw fit, and had pledged -himself to support the men in whatever action they took. He would drive -Oakley out of Antioch. That was one of his motives; he was also bent on -cultivating as great a measure of personal popularity as he could. -It would be useful to Kenyon, and so advantageous to himself. The -Congressman had large ambitions. If he brought his campaign to a -successful issue it would make him a power in the State. Counting in -this victory, Ryder had mapped out his own career. Kenyon had force and -courage, but his judgment and tact were only of a sort. Ryder aspired to -supply the necessary brains for his complete success. Needless to say, -Kenyon knew nothing of these benevolent intentions on the part of his -friend. He could not possibly have believed that he required anything -but votes. - -Oakley turned to Clarence. - -"Run into the carpenter-shop, and see if you can find my father. If he -is there, ask him to come here to me at once." - -The boy was absent only a few moments. Roger Oakley had taken off his -work clothes and had gone up-town before the men left the shop. He had -not returned. - -Dan closed his desk and put on his hat, "I am going to the hotel," he -said to Kerr. "If anybody wants to see me you can tell them I'll be back -this afternoon." - -"Very well, Mr. Oakley." The treasurer was wondering what would be his -superior's action. Would he resign and leave Antioch, or would he try -and stick it out? - -Before he left the room, Dan said to McClintock: - -"I hope you won't have any further trouble, Milt Better keep an eye on -that fellow Branyon." - -McClintock laughed shortly, but made no answer, and for the rest of the -morning Clarence dogged his steps in the hope that the quarrel would -be continued under more favorable circumstances. In this he was -disappointed. Branyon had been induced to go home for repairs, and -had left the yards immediately after the trouble occurred, with a wet -handkerchief held gingerly to a mashed and bloody nose. His fellows -had not shown the sympathy he felt they should have shown under the -circumstances. They told him he had had enough, and that it was well to -stop with that. - -Dan hurried up-town to the hotel. He found his father in his room, -seated before an open window in his shirt-sleeves, and with his Bible in -his lap. He glanced up from the book as his son pushed open the door. - -"Well, Dannie?" he said, and his tones were mild, meditative, and -inquiring. - -"I was looking for you, father. They told me you'd come up-town." - -"So I did; as soon as I heard there was going to be trouble over my -working in the shops I left." - -"Did they say anything to you?" - -"Not a word, Dannie, but I knew what was coming, and quit work." - -"You shouldn't have done it, daddy," said Dan, seating himself on the -edge of the bed near the old man. "I can't let them say who shall -work in the shops and who not. The whole business was trumped up out of -revenge for the cut. They want to get even with me for _that_, you see. -If I back down and yield this point, there is no telling what they'll -ask next--probably that the wages be restored to the old figure." - -He spoke quite cheerfully, for he saw his father was cruelly hurt. - -"It was all a mistake, Dannie--my coming to you, I mean," Roger Oakley -said, shutting the book reverently and laying it to one side. "The -world's a small place, after all, and we should have known we couldn't -keep our secret. It's right I should bear my own cross, but it's not -your sin, and now it presses hardest on you. I'm sorry, Dannie--" and -his voice shook with the emotion he was striving to hide. - -"No, no, father. To have you here has been a great happiness to me." - -"Has it, Dannie? has it really?" with a quick smile. "I am glad you can -say so, for it's been a great happiness to me--greater than I deserved," -and he laid a big hand caressingly on his son's. - -"We must go ahead, daddy, as if nothing had happened. If we let this -hurt us, we'll end by losing all our courage." - -"It's been a knock-out blow for me, Dannie," with a wistful sadness, -"and I've got to go away. It's best for you I should. I've gone in one -direction and you've gone another. You can't reconcile opposites. I've -been thinking of this a good deal. You're young, and got your life ahead -of you, and you'll do big things before you're done, and people will -forget I can't drag you down just because I happen to be your father -and love you. Why, I'm of a different class even, but I can't go on. I'm -just as I am, and I can't change myself." - -"Why, bless your heart, daddy," cried Dan, "I wouldn't have you changed. -You're talking nonsense. I won't let you go away." - -"But the girl, Dannie, the girl--the doctor's daughter! You see I hear a -lot of gossip in the shop, and even if you haven't told me, I know." - -"We may as well count that at an end," said Dan, quietly. - -"Do you think of leaving here?" - -"No. If I began by running, I'd be running all the rest of my life. I -shall remain until I've accomplished everything I've set out to do, if -it takes ten years." - -"And what about Miss Emory, Dannie? If you are going to stay, why is -that at an end?" - -"I dare say she'll marry Mr. Ryder. Anyhow, she won't marry me." - -"But I thought you cared for her?" - -"I do, daddy." - -"Then why do you give up? You're as good as he is any day." - -"I'm not her kind, that's all. It has nothing to do with this. It would -have been the same, anyhow. I'm not her kind." - -Roger Oakley turned this over slowly in his mind. It was most -astonishing. He couldn't grasp it. - -"Do you mean she thinks she is better than you are?" he asked, -curiously. - -"Something of that sort, I suppose," dryly. "I want you to come back -into the shops, father." - -"I can't do it, Dannie. I'm sorry if you wish it, but it's impossible. -I want to keep out of sight. Back East, when they pardoned me, every -one knew, and I didn't seem to mind, but here it's not the same. I can't -face it. It may be cowardly, but I can't." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -OAKLEY had told his father he was going to call at the Emorys'. He -wanted to see Constance once more. Then it didn't much matter what -happened. - -As he passed up the street he was conscious of an impudent curiosity in -the covert glances the idlers on the corners shot at him. With hardly -an exception they turned to gaze after him as he strode by. He realized -that an unsavory distinction had been thrust upon him. He had become a -marked man. He set his lips in a grim smile. This was what he would have -to meet until the silly wonder of it wore off, or a fresh sensation took -its place, and there would be the men at the shops; their intercourse -had hitherto been rather pleasant and personal, as he had recognized -certain responsibilities in the relation which had made him desire to be -more than a mere task-master. The thought of his theories caused him -to smile again. His humanitarian-ism had received a jolt from which it -would not recover in many a long day. - -The hands already hated him as a tyrant, and probably argued that his -authority was impaired by the events of the morning, though how they -arrived at any such conclusion was beyond him, but he had felt something -of the kind in Branyon's manner. When the opportunity came it would be -a satisfaction to undeceive them, and he was not above wishing this -opportunity might come soon, for his mood was bitter and revengeful, -when he recalled their ignorant and needlessly brutal insolence. - -Early as he was, he found, as he had anticipated when he started out, -that Ryder was ahead of him. The editor was lounging on the Emorys' -porch with the family. He had dined with them. - -As Dan approached he caught the sound of Constance's voice. There was -no other voice in Antioch which sounded the same, or possessed the -same quality of refinement and culture. His heart beat with quickened -pulsations and his pace slackened. He paused for an instant in the -shadow of the lilac-bushes that shut off the well-kept lawn from the -street. Then he forced himself to go on. There was no gain in deferring -his sentence; better have it over with. Yet when he reached the gate -he would gladly have passed it without entering had it not been that he -never abandoned any project simply because it was disagreeable. He had -done too many disagreeable things not to have outlived this species of -cowardice. - -The instant he saw him, the doctor rose from his seat on the steps and -came quickly down the walk. There was no mistaking the cordiality he -gave his greeting, for he intended there should be none. Mrs. Emory, -too, took pains that he should feel the friendliness of her sentiment -towards him. Constance, however, appeared embarrassed and ill at ease, -and Dan's face grew very white. He felt that he had no real appreciation -of the changed conditions since his father's story had become public -property. He saw it made a difference in the way his friends viewed him. -He had become hardened, and it had been impossible for him to foresee -just how it would affect others, but to these people it was plainly a -shock. The very kindliness he had experienced at the hands of the doctor -and Mrs. Emory only served to show how great the shock was. In their -gracious, generous fashion they had sought to make it easy for him. - -Oakley and the editor did not speak. Civility seemed the rankest -hypocrisy under the circumstances. A barely perceptible inclination -of the head sufficed, and then Ryder turned abruptly to Miss Emory and -resumed his conversation with her. - -Dan seated himself beside the doctor on the steps. He was completely -crushed. He hadn't the wit to leave, and he knew that he was a fool for -staying. What was the good in carrying on the up-hill fight any longer? -Courage is a fine quality, no doubt, but it is also well for a man to -have sense enough to know when he is fairly beaten, and he was fairly -beaten. - -He took stock of the situation. Quite independent of his hatred of the -fellow, he resented Ryder's presence there beside Constance. But what -was the use of struggling? The sooner he banished all thought of her -the better it would be for him. His chances had never been worth -considering. - -He stole a glance at the pair, who had drawn a little to one side, and -were talking in low tones and with the intimacy of long acquaintance. He -owned they were wonderfully well suited to each other. Ryder was no mean -rival, had it come to that. The world had given him its rub. He knew -perfectly the life with which Miss Emory was familiar, his people had -been the right sort. He was well-born and well-bred, and he showed it. - -It dawned upon the unwilling Oakley slowly and by degrees that to -Constance Emory he must be nothing more nor less than the son of a -murderer. He had never quite looked at it in that light before. He had -been occupied with the effect rather than the cause, but he was sure -that if Ryder had told her his father's history he had made the most of -his opportunity. He wondered how people felt about a thing of this kind. -He knew now what his portion would be. Disgrace is always vicarious in -its consequences. The innocent generally suffer indiscriminately along -with the guilty. - -The doctor talked a steady stream at Oakley, but he managed to say -little that made any demand on Dan's attention. He was sorry for the -young man. He had liked him from the start, and he believed but a small -part of what he had heard. It is true he had had the particulars -from Ryder, but Ryder said what he had to say with his usual lazy -indifference, as if his interest was the slightest, and had vouched for -no part of it. - -He would hardly have dared admit that he himself was the head and front -of the offending. Dr. Emory would not have understood how it could have -been any business of his. It would have finished him with the latter. As -it was he had been quick to resent his glib, sneering tone. - -But Dan's manner convinced the doctor that there were some grounds -for the charges made by the hands when they demanded Roger Oakley's -dismissal, or else he was terribly hurt by the occurrence. While Dr. -Emory was reaching this conclusion Dan was cursing himself for his -stupidity. It would have been much wiser for him to have remained away -until Antioch quieted down. Perhaps it would have been fairer, too, to -his friends, but since he had blundered he would try and see Miss Emory -again; she should know the truth. It was characteristic of him that he -should wish the matter put straight, even when there was no especial -advantage to be gained. - -Soon afterwards he took his leave. The doctor followed him down to the -gate. There was a certain constraint in the manner of the two men, now -that they were alone together. As they paused by the gate, Dr. Emory -broke silence with: - -"For God's sake, Oakley, what is this I hear about your father? I'd like -your assurance that it is all a pack of lies." - -A lump came into Dan's throat, and he answered, huskily: "I am sure it -is not at all as you have heard; I am sure the facts are quite different -from the account you have had--" - -"But--" - -"No, I can't deny it outright, much as I'd like to." - -"You don't mean--Pardon me, for, of course, I have no right to ask." - -Dan turned away his face. "I don't know any one who has a better right -to ask," he said. - -"Well, I shouldn't have asked if I'd thought there was a word of truth -in the story. I had hoped I could deny it for you. That was all." - -"I guess I didn't appreciate how you would view it. I have lived in the -shadow of it so long--" - -The doctor looked aghast at the admission. He had not understood before -that Dan was acknowledging the murder. Even yet he could not bring -himself to believe it. Dan moved off a step, as if to go. - -"Do you mean it is true, Oakley?" he asked, detaining him. - -"Substantially, yes. Good-night," he added, hopelessly. - -"Wait," hastily. "I don't want you to go just yet." He put out his -hand frankly. "It's nothing you have done, anyhow," he said, as an -afterthought. - -"No, but I begin to think it might just as well have been." - -Dr. Emory regarded him earnestly. "My boy, I'm awfully sorry for you, -and I'm afraid you have gotten in for more than you can manage. It looks -as though your troubles were all coming in a bunch." - -Dan smiled. "My antecedents won't affect the situation down at the -shops, if that is what you mean. The men may not like me any the better, -or respect me any the more for knowing of them, but they will discover -that that will make no difference where our relations are concerned." - -"To be sure. I only meant that public opinion will be pretty strong -against you. It somehow has an influence," ruefully. - -"I suppose it has," rather sadly. - -"Do you have to stay and face it? It might be easier, you know--I don't -mean exactly to run away--" - -"I am pledged to put the shops and road on a paying basis for General -Cornish. He'd about made up his mind to sell to the M. & W. If he does, -it will mean the closing of the shops, and they will never be opened up -again. That will wipe Antioch off the map. Not so very long ago I had -a good deal of sympathy for the people who would be ruined, and I can't -change simply because they have, can I?" with a look on his face which -belonged to his father. - -The doctor stroked his beard meditatively and considered the question. - -"I suppose there is such a thing as duty, but don't you think, under the -circumstances, your responsibility is really very light?" - -Dan laughed softly. - -"I didn't imagine you would be the first to advise me to shirk it." - -"I wouldn't ordinarily, but you don't know Antioch. They can make it -very unpleasant for you. The town is in a fever of excitement over what -has happened to-day. It seems the men are not through with you yet." - -"Yes, I know. My father should have gone back. It looks as if I'd -yielded, but I couldn't ask him to when I saw how he felt about it." - -"You see the town lives off the shops and road. It is a personal matter -to every man, woman, and child in the place." - -"That's what makes me so mad at the stupid fools!" said Oakley, with -some bitterness. "They haven't the brains to see that they have a lot -more at stake than any one else. If they could gain anything from a -fight I'd have plenty of patience with them, but they are sure losers. -Even if they strike, and the shops are closed for the next six months, -it won't cost Cornish a dollar; indeed, it will be money in his pocket." - -"I don't think they'll strike," said the doctor. "I didn't mean that -exactly, but they'll try to keep you on a strain." - -"They have done about all they can in that direction. The worst has -happened. I won't say it didn't bruise me up a bit. Why, I am actually -sore in every bone and muscle. I was never so battered, but I'm -beginning to get back, and I'm going to live the whole thing down right -here. I can't have skeletons that are liable to be unearthed at any -moment." - -He took a letter from his pocket, opened it and handed it to the doctor. - -"I guess you can see to read this if you will step nearer the -street-lamp." - -The letter was an offer from one of the big Eastern lines. While the -doctor knew very little of railroads, he understood that the offer was a -fine one, and was impressed accordingly. - -"I'd take it." he said. "I wouldn't fritter away my time here. Precious -little thanks you'll ever get." - -"I can't honorably break with General Cornish. In fact, I have already -declined, but I wanted you to see the letter." - -"I am sorry for your sake that you did. You are sure to have more -trouble." - -"So much the more reason why I should stay." - -"I am quite frank with you, Oakley. Some strong influence is at work. -No, it hasn't to do with your father. You can't well be held accountable -for his acts." - -Ryder's laughter reached them as he spoke. Oakley could see him faintly -outlined in the moonlight, where he sat between Constance Emory and her -mother. The influence was there. It was probably at work at that very -moment. - -"I wouldn't be made a martyr through any chivalrous sense of duty," -continued the doctor. "I'd look out for myself." - -Dan laughed again. "You are preaching cowardice at a great rate." - -"Well, what's the use of sacrificing one's self? You possess a most -horrible sense of rectitude." - -"I would like to ask a favor of you," hesitating. - -"I was going to say if there was anything I could do--" - -"If you don't mind," with increasing hesitancy, "will you say to Miss -Emory for me that I'd like to see her to-morrow afternoon? I'll call -about three--that is--" - -"Yes, I'll tell her for you." - -"Thank you," gratefully. "Thank you very much. You think she will be at -home?" awkwardly, for he was afraid the doctor had misunderstood. - -"I fancy so. I can see now, if you wish." - -"No, don't. I'll call on the chance of finding her in." - -"Just as you prefer." - -Oakley extended his hand. "I won't keep you standing any longer. Somehow -our talk has helped me. Good-night." - -"Good-night." - -The doctor gazed abstractedly after the young man as he moved down the -street, and he continued to gaze after him until he had passed from -sight in the shadows that lay beneath the whispering maples. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -PERHAPS it showed lack of proper feeling, but Oakley managed to sleep -off a good deal of his emotional stress, and when he left his hotel the -next morning he was quite himself again. - -His attitude towards the world was the decently cheerful one of the -man who is earning a good salary, and whose personal cares are fax from -being numerous or pressing. He was still capable of looking out for -Cornish's interests, and his own, too, if the need arose. - -He went down to the office alert and vigorous. As he strode along he -nodded and smiled at the people he met on the street. If the odium of -his father's crime was to attach itself to him it should be without his -help. Antioch might count him callous if it liked, but it must not think -him weak. - -His first official act was to go for Kerr, who was unusually -cantankerous, and he gave that frigid gentleman a scare which lasted -him for the better part of a week. For Kerr, who had convinced himself -overnight that Oakley must resign, saw himself having full swing with -the Huckleberry, and was disposed to treat his superior with airy -indifference. He had objected to hunting up an old order-book Dan wished -to see, on the score that he was too busy, whereat, as Holt expressed -it, the latter "jumped on him with both feet." His second official act -was to serve formal notice on Branyon that he was dismissed from the -shops, the master-mechanic's dismissal not having been accepted as -final, for Branyon had turned up that morning with a black eye as if to -go to work. He was even harsh with Miss Walton, and took exception -to her spelling of a typewritten letter, which he was sending off to -Cornish in London. - -He also inspected every department in the shops, and was glad of an -excuse he discovered to reprimand Joe Stokes, who was stock-keeper in -the carpenter's room, for the slovenly manner in which the stock was -handled. Then he returned to the office, and as a matter of discipline -kept Kerr busy all the rest of the morning hauling dusty order-books -from a dark closet. He felt that if excitement was what was wanted he -was the one to furnish it. He had been too easy. - -He even read Clarence, whom he had long since given up as hopeless, a -moving lecture on the sin of idleness, and that astonished youth, who -had fancied himself proof against criticism, actually searched for -things to do, so impressed and startled was he by the manager's -earnestness, and so fearful was he lest he should lose his place. If -that happened, he knew his father would send him to school, and he -almost preferred work, so he flew around, was under everybody's feet and -in everybody's way, and when Oakley left the office at half-past two, -Holt forcibly ejected him, after telling him he was a first-class -nuisance, and that if he Stuck his nose inside the door again he'd skin -him. - -Feeling deeply his unpopularity, Clarence withdrew to the yards, where -he sought out Dutch Pete With tears in his eyes he begged the yard boss -to find some task for him, it made no difference what, just so it was -work; but Dutch Pete didn't want to be bothered, and sent him away with -what Clarence felt to be a superfluity of bad words. - -Naturally the office force gave a deep sigh of satisfaction when Oakley -closed his desk and announced that he was going up-town and would not -return. Miss Walton confided to Kerr that she just hoped he would never -come back. - -It was a little before three o'clock when Dan presented himself at the -Emorys'. The maid who answered his ring ushered him into the parlor -with marked trepidation. She was a timid soul. Then she swished from the -room, but returned almost immediately to say that Miss Emory would be -down in a moment. - -"I wonder what's troubling her," muttered Oakley, with some -exasperation. "You'd think she expected me to take her head off." -He guessed that, like her betters, she was enjoying to the limit the -sensation of which he was the innocent victim. - -When Constance entered the room, he advanced a little uncertainly. -She extended her hand quite cordially, however. There was no trace of -embarrassment or constraint in her manner. - -As he took her hand, Dan said, simply, going straight to the purpose of -his call: "I have thought a good deal over what I want to tell you, Miss -Emory." Miss Emory instantly took the alarm, and was on the defensive. -She enveloped herself in that species of inscrutable feminine reserve -men find so difficult to penetrate. She could not imagine what he had -to tell her that was so pressing. He was certainly very curious and -unconventional. There was one thing she feared he might want to tell her -which she was firmly determined not to hear. - -Oakley drew forward a chair. - -"Won't you sit down?" he asked, gravely. - -"Thank you, yes." It was all so formal they both smiled. - -Dan stood with his back to the fire-place, now filled with ferns, and -rested an elbow on the mantel. There was an awkward pause. At last he -said, slowly: - -"It seems I've been the subject of a lot of talk during the last two -days, and I have been saddled with a matter for which I am in no way -responsible, though it appears to reflect on me quite as much as if I -were." - -"Really, Mr. Oakley"--began Constance, scenting danger ahead. But her -visitor was in no mood to temporize. - -"One moment, please," he said, hastily. "You have heard the story from -Mr. Ryder." - -"I have heard it from others as well." - -"It has influenced you--" - -"No, I won't say that," defiantly. She was not accustomed to being -catechised. - -"At least it has caused you to seriously doubt the wisdom of an -acquaintance," blurted Oakley. "You are very unfair," rising with latent -anger. - -"You will greatly oblige me by sitting down again." - -And Constance, astonished beyond measure at his tone of command, sank -back into her chair with a little smothered gasp of surprise. No one had -ever ventured to speak to her like that before. It was a new experience. - -"We've got to finish this, you know," explained Dan, with one of his -frankest smiles, and there was a genial simplicity about his smile which -was very attractive. Constance, however, was not to be propitiated, but -she kept her seat. She was apprehensive lest Oakley would do something -more startling and novel if she attempted to cut short the interview. - -She stole a glance at him from under her long lashes. He was studying -the carpet, apparently quite lost to the enormity of his conduct. "You -have heard their side of the story, Miss Emory. I want you to hear -mine. It's only fair, isn't it? You have heard that my father is an -ex-convict?" - -"Yes," with a tinge of regret. - -"That he is a murderer?" plunging ahead mercilessly. - -"Yes." - -"And this is influencing you?" - -"I suppose it is," helplessly. "It would naturally. It was a great shock -to us all." - -"Yes," agreed Dan, "I can understand, I think, just how you must look at -it." - -"We are very, very sorry for you, Mr. Oakley. I want to explain my -manner last night. The whole situation was so excessively awkward. I am -sure you must have felt it." - -"I did," shortly. - -"Oh, dear, I hope you didn't think me unkind!" - -"No." Then he added, a trifle wearily, "It's taken me all this time to -realize my position. I suppose I owe you some sort of an apology. You -must have thought me fearfully thick-skinned." He hoped she would say -no, but he was disappointed. Her conscience had been troubling her, and -she was perfectly willing to share her remorse with him, since he was -so ready to assume a part of it. She was as conventional as extreme -respectability could make her, but she had never liked Oakley half so -well. She admired his courage. He didn't whine. His very stupidity was -in its way admirable, but it was certainly too bad he could not see just -how impossible he was under the circumstances. - -Dan raised his eyes to hers. "Miss Emory, the only time I remember to -have seen my father until he came here a few weeks ago was through the -grating of his cell door. My mother took me there as a little boy. When -she died I came West, where no one knew me. I had already learned that, -because of him, I was somehow judged and condemned, too. It has always -been hanging over me. I have always feared exposure. I suppose I can -hush it up after a while, but there will always be some one to tell it -to whoever will listen. It is no longer a secret." - -"Was it fair to your friends, Mr. Oakley, that it was a secret?" - -"I can't see what business it was of theirs. It's nothing I have done, -and, anyhow, I have never had any friends until now I cared especially -about." - -"Oh!" and Miss Emory lowered her eyes. So long as he was merely -determined and stupid he was safe, but should he become sentimental it -might be embarrassing for them both. - -"You have seen my father. Do you think from what you can judge from -appearances that he would kill a man in cold blood? It was only after -years of insult that it came to that, and then the other man was the -aggressor. What my father did he did in self-defence, but I am pretty -sure you were not told this." - -He was swayed by a sense of duty towards his father, and a desire to -vindicate him--he was so passive and enduring. The intimacy of their -relation had begotten warmth and sympathy. They had been drawn nearer -and nearer each other. The clannishness of his blood and race asserted -itself. It was a point of honor with him to stand up for his friends, -and to stand up for his father most of all. Could he, he would have -ground his heel into Ryder's face for his part in circulating the -garbled version of the old convict's history. Some one should suffer as -he had been made to suffer. - -"Of course, Mr. Ryder did not know what you have told me," Constance -said, hastily. She could not have told why, but she had the uneasy -feeling that Griff required a champion, that he was responsible. "Then -you did hear it from Mr. Ryder?" - -She did not answer, and Oakley, taking her silence for assent, -continued: "I don't suppose it was told you either that he was pardoned -because of an act of conspicuous heroism, that, at the risk of his own -life, he saved the lives of several nurses and patients in the hospital -ward of the prison where he was confined." He looked inquiringly at -Constance, but she was still silent. "Miss Emory, my father came to -me to all intents an absolute stranger. Why, I even feared him, for -I didn't know the kind of man he was, but I have come to have a great -affection and regard for him. I respect him, too, most thoroughly. There -is not an hour of the day when the remembrance of his crime is not with -him. Don't you think it cowardly that it should have been ventilated -simply to hurt me, when it must inevitably hurt him so much more? He -has quit work in the shops, and he is determined to leave Antioch. I may -find him gone when I return to the hotel." - -"And you blame Mr. Ryder for this?" - -"I do. It's part of the debt we'll settle some day." - -"Then you are unjust. It was Mr. Kenyon. His cousin is warden of the -prison. He saw your father there and remembered him." - -"And told Mr. Ryder," with a contemptuous twist of the lips. - -"There were others present at the time. They were not alone." - -"But Mr. Ryder furnished the men with the facts." - -"How do you know?" And once more her tone was one of defiance and -defence. - -"I have been told so, and I have every reason to believe I was correctly -informed. Why, don't you admit that it was a cowardly piece of business -to strike at me over my father's shoulder?" demanded Oakley, with -palpable exasperation. The narrowness of her nature and her evasions -galled him. Why didn't she show a little generous feeling. He expected -she would be angry at his words and manner. On the contrary, she -replied: - -"I am not defending Mr. Ryder, as you seem to think, but I do not -believe in condemning any one as you would condemn him--unheard." - -She was unduly conscious, perhaps, that sound morality was on her side -in this. - -"Let us leave him out of it. After all, it is no odds who told. The harm -is done." - -"No, I shall ask Griff." - -Dan smiled, doubtfully. "That will settle it, if you believe what he -tells you." - -"His denial will be quite sufficient for me, Mr. Oakley," with chilly -politeness. - -There was a long pause, during which Dan looked at the carpet, and -Miss Emory at nothing in particular. He realized how completely he -had separated himself from the rest of the world in her eyes. The -hopelessness of his love goaded him on. He turned to her with sudden -gentleness and said, penitently: "Won't you forgive me?" - -"I have nothing to forgive, Mr. Oakley," with lofty self-denial, and -again Dan smiled doubtfully. Her saying so did not mean all it should -have meant to him. - -He swept his hand across his face with a troubled gesture. "I don't know -what to do," he observed, ruefully. "The turf seems knocked from under -my feet." - -"It must have been a dreadful ordeal to pass through alone," she -said. "We are so distressed for your sake." And she seemed so keenly -sympathetic that Dan's heart gave a great bound in his breast. He put -aside his mounting bitterness against her. - -"I don't know why I came to see you to-day. I just wanted to, and so I -came. I don't want to force a friendship." - -Miss Emory murmured that no excuse was necessary. - -"I am not too sure of that. I must appear bent on exhibiting myself and -my woes, but I can't go into retirement, and I can't let people see I'm -hurt." - -His face took on a strong resolve. He couldn't go without telling her he -loved her. His courage was suddenly riotous. - -"Once, not long ago, I dared to believe I might level the differences -between us. I recognized what they were, but now it is hopeless. There -are some things a man can't overcome, no matter how hard he tries, and -I suppose being the son of a murderer is one of these." He paused, -and, raising his eyes from the carpet, glanced at her, but her face was -averted. He went on, desperately: "It's quite hopeless, but I have dared -to hope, and I wanted you to know. I hate to leave things unfinished." - -There was a long silence, then Miss Emory said, softly: - -"I am so sorry." - -"Which means you've never cared for me," dryly. - -But she did not answer him. She was wondering how she would have felt -had the confession come forty-eight hours earlier. - -"I suppose I've been quite weak and foolish," said Dan. - -She looked into his face with a slow smile. - -"Why do you say that? Is it weak and foolish to care for some one?" - -"Wasn't it?" with suddenly kindled hope, for he found it hard to give -her up. - -Miss Emory drew herself together with a sigh. - -"I never thought of this," she said, which was hardly true; she had -thought of it many times. - -"No," admitted Dan, innocently enough, for her lightest word had become -gospel to him, such was his love and reverence. "You couldn't know." -Poor Oakley, his telling of it was the smallest part of the knowledge. -"I think I see now, perfectly, how great a difference this affair of my -father's must make. It sort of cuts me off from everything." - -"It is very tragic. I wish you hadn't told me just now." Her lips -trembled pathetically, and there were tears in her eyes. - -"I've wanted to tell you for a long time." - -"I didn't know." - -"Of course you couldn't know," he repeated; then he plunged ahead -recklessly, for he found there was a curious satisfaction in telling her -of his love, hopeless as it was. - -"It has been most serious and sacred to me. I shall never forget -you--never. It has helped me in so many ways just to know you. It has -changed so many of my ideals. I can't be grateful enough." - -Miss Emory approved his attitude. It was as it should be. She was sorry -for him. She admired his dignity and repression. It made him seem so -strong and purposeful. - -"You will find your happiness some day, Mr. Oakley. You will find -some one more worthy than I." She knew he would be insensible to the -triteness of her remark. - -"No," generously, "that couldn't be. I'll not find any one. I'll not -look." - -"Oh, but you will." - -Already, with the selfishness of her sex, and a selfishness which was -greater than that of her sex, she was regretting that she had allowed -him to step so easily into the position of a rejected lover. - -"I don't want you to think it is going to ruin my life," he said, -quietly, "or anything of that sort." - -An appeal to her pity seemed weak and contemptible. - -"I have striven to win what I can't have, what is not for me, and I am -satisfied to have made the effort." - -Miss Emory bit her lip. He was going to put her out of his life -entirely. It was ended, and he would do his best to forget her with what -speed he might, for he loved her, and was too generous to wish her -to suffer. This generosity, needless to say, was too altruistic for -Constance to fully appreciate its beauties. Indeed, she did not regard -it as generosity at all. She resented it. She realized that probably she -would not see him again; at least the meeting would not be of his making -or choosing. There was to be no sentimental aftermath. He was preparing -to go, like the sensible fellow he was, for good and all, and she -rebelled against the decree. It seemed brutal and harsh. She was angry, -hurt, and offended. Perhaps her conscience was troubling her, too. She -knew she was mean and petty. - -"I don't think it could have been very serious to you, Mr. Oakley," she -murmured, gazing abstractedly from the window. - -"I don't know why you think that. I can't say any more than I have said. -It includes all." She wanted to tell him he gave up too easily. - -"At any rate, we are friends," he added. - -"Are you going?" she cried, with a ring of real longing and regret in -her voice, lifted out of herself for the moment at the thought of losing -him. - -Dan nodded, and a look of pain came into his face. - -"Yes, I am going." - -"But you are not going to leave Antioch?" - -"Oh, no!" - -And Miss Emory felt a sense of relief. She rose from her chair. "Then I -shall see you again?" - -"Probably," smiling. "We couldn't well avoid seeing each other in a -place the size of this." - -He held out his hand frankly. - -"And I sha'n't see you here any more?" she asked, softly. - -"I guess not," a little roughly. The bitterness of his loss stung him. -He felt something was wrong somewhere. He wondered, too, if she had -been quite fair to him, if her ability to guard herself was entirely -commendable, after all. He knew, in the end, his only memory of her -would be that she was beautiful. He would carry this memory and a -haunting sense of incompleteness with him wherever he went. - -She placed her hand in his and looked up into his face with troubled, -serious eyes. - -"Good-bye." It was almost a whisper. - -Dan crossed the room to the door and flung it open. For an instant he -wavered on the threshold, but a moment later he was striding down the -street, with his hat jammed needlessly low over his ears, and his hands -thrust deep in his trousers pockets. - -At the window, Constance, with a white, scared face, was watching him -from between the parted curtains. She hoped he would look back, but he -never once turned his head. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -ON Thursday the _Herald_ published its report of the trouble at -the shops. Oakley had looked forward to the paper's appearance with -considerable eagerness. He hoped to glean from it some idea of the -tactics the men would adopt, and in this he was not disappointed. Ryder -served up his sensation, which was still a sensation, in spite of the -fact that it was common property and two days old before it was accorded -the dignity of type and ink, in his most impressive style: - -"The situation at the car-shops has assumed a serious phase, and a -strike is imminent. Matters came to a focus day before yesterday, and -may now be said to have reached an acute stage. It is expected that the -carpenters--of whom quite a number are employed on repair work--will be -the first to go out unless certain demands which they are to make to-day -are promptly acceded to by General Cornish's local representative. - -"Both sides maintain the strictest secrecy, but from reliable sources -the Herald gathers that the men will insist upon Mr. Branyon being taken -back by the company. - -"Another grievance of the men, and one in which they should have the -sympathy of the entire community, is their objection to working with -the manager's father, who came here recently from the East and has since -been employed in the shops. It has been learned that he is an ex-convict -who was sentenced for a long term of imprisonment in June, 1875, for the -murder of Thomas Sharp, at Burton, Massachusetts. - -"He was only recently set at liberty, and the men are natural-ly -incensed and indignant at having to work with him. Still another -grievance is the new schedule of wages. - -"A committee representing every department in the shops and possessing -the fullest authority, met last night at the Odd Fellows' Hall on South -Main Street, but their deliberations were secret. A well-authenticated -rumor has it, however, that the most complete harmony prevailed, and -that the employs are pledged to drastic measures unless they get fair -treatment from the company." - -Ryder tacked a moral to this, and the moral was that labor required a -champion to protect it from the soulless greed and grinding tyranny -of the great corporations which had sprung into existence under the -fostering wing of corrupt legislation. Of course "the Picturesque -Statesman from Old Hanover" was the Hercules who was prepared to right -these wrongs of honest industry, and to curb the power of Cornish, whose -vampire lusts fattened on the sweat of the toiler, and especially the -toiler at Antioch. - -A copy of the paper was evidently sent the "Picturesque Statesman," who -had just commenced his canvass, for in its very next issue the _Herald_ -was able to print a telegram in which he "heartily endorsed the -sentiments embodied in the _Herald's_ ringing editorial on the situation -at Antioch," and declared himself a unit with his fellow-citizens of -whatever party in their heroic struggle for a fair day's wage for a fair -day's work. He also expressed himself as honored by their confidence, -as, indeed, he might well have been. - -Dan digested the _Herald's_ report along with his breakfast. Half an -hour later, when he reached the office, he found McClintock waiting for -him. - -"The men want to see you, Mr. Oakley. They were going to send their -committee in here, but I told 'em you'd come out to them." - -"All right. It's just as well you did." And Oakley followed him from the -office. - -"Did you read the _Herald's_ yap this morning?" Inquired the -master-mechanic. - -"Yes," said Dan, "I did. It was rather funny, Wasn't it?" - -"The town will be owing Ryder a coat of tar and feathers presently. -He'll make these fools think they've got a reason to be sore on the -company." - -The men were clustered about the great open door of the works in their -shirt-sleeves. From behind them, in the silence and the shadow, came -the pleasant, droning sound of machinery, like the humming of a million -bees. There was something dogged and reckless in the very way they stood -around, with folded arms, or slouched nervously to and fro. - -Dan singled out Bentick and Joe Stokes, and three or four others, as the -committee, and made straight towards them. - -"Well, men, what do you want?" he asked, briskly. - -"We represent every department in the shops, sir," said Bentick, -civilly, "and we consider Branyon's discharge as unjust. We want him -taken back." - -"And suppose I won't take him back, what are you going to do about -it--eh?" asked Dan, good-naturedly, and, not waiting for a reply, with -oldtime deftness he swung himself up into an empty flat-car which stood -close at hand and faced his assembled workmen. - -"You know why Branyon was dismissed. It was a business none of you have -much reason to be proud of, but I am willing to let him come back on -condition he first offers an apology to McClintock and to me. Unless he -does he can never set his foot inside these doors again while I remain -here. I agree to this, because I don't wish to make him a scapegoat for -the rest of you, and I don't wish those dependent on him to suffer." - -He avoided looking in McClintock's direction. He felt, rather than -saw, that the latter was shaking his head in strong disapproval of -his course. The committee and the men exchanged grins. The boss was -weakening. They had scored twice. First against Roger Oakley, and now -for Branyon. - -"I guess Branyon would as lief be excused from making an apology, if -it's all the same to Milt," said Bentick, less civilly than before, and -there was a ripple of smothered laughter from the crowd. - -Dan set his lips, and said, sternly but quietly, '"That's for him to -decide." - -"Well, we'll tell him what you say, and if he's ready to eat humble-pie -there won't be no kick coming from us," remarked Bentick, impartially. - -"Is this all?" asked Oakley. - -"No, we can't see the cut." And a murmur of approval came from the men. - -Dan looked out over the crowd. Why couldn't they see that the final -victory was in his hands? "Be guided by me," he said, earnestly, "and -take my word for it; the cut is necessary. I'll meet you half-way in the -Branyon matter; let it go at that." - -"We want our old wages," insisted Bentick, doggedly. - -"It is out of the question; the shops are running behind; they are not -earning any money, they never have, and it's as much to your interests -as mine, or General Cornish's, to do your full part in making them -profitable." - -He pleaded with unmistakable sincerity in his tones, and now he looked -at McClintock, who nodded his head. This was the stiff talk he liked to -hear, and had expected from Oakley. - -The committee turned to the men, and the men sullenly shook their heads. -Some one whispered, "He'll knuckle. He's got to. We'll make him." Dan -caught the sense of what was said, if not the words. - -"Wages can't go back until the business in the shops warrants it. If you -will continue to work under the present arrangement, good and well. If -not, I see no way to meet your demands. You will have to strike. That, -however, is an alternative I trust you will carefully weigh before you -commit yourselves. Once the shops are closed it will not be policy to -open them until fall, perhaps not until the first of the year. But if -you can afford to lie idle all summer, it's your own affair. That's -exactly what it means if you strike." - -He jumped down from the car, and would have left them then and there, -but Bentick stepped in front of him. "Can't we talk it over, Mr. Oakley?" - -"There is nothing to talk over, Bentick. Settle it among yourselves." -And he marched off up the tracks, with McClintock following in his wake -and commending the stand he had taken. - -The first emotion of the men was one of profound and depressing surprise -at the abruptness with, which Oakley had terminated the interview, and -his evident willingness to close the shops, a move they had not counted -on. It dashed their courage. - -"We'll call his bluff," cried Bentick, and the men gave a faint cheer. -They were not so sure it was a bluff, after all. It looked real enough. - -There were those who thought, with a guilty pang, of wives and children -at home, and no payday--the fortnightly haven of rest towards which, -they lived. And there were the customarily reckless, souls, who thirsted -for excitement at any price, and who were willing to see the trouble to -a finish. These ruled, as they usually do. Not a man returned to work. -Instead, they hung about the yards and canvassed the situation. Finally -the theory was advanced that, if the shops were closed, it would serve -to bring down Cornish's wrath on Oakley, and probably result in his -immediate dismissal. This theory found instant favor, and straightway -became a conviction with the majority. - -At length all agreed to strike, and the whistle in the shops was set -shrieking its dismal protest. The men swarmed into the building, where -each got together his kit of tools. They were quite jolly now, and -laughed and jested a good deal. Presently they were streaming off -up-town, with their coats over their arms, and the strike was on. - -An unusual stillness fell on the yards and in the shops. The belts, as -they swept on and on in endless revolutions, cut this stillness with -a sharp, incisive hiss. The machinery seemed to hammer at it, as if -to beat out some lasting echo. Then, gradually, the volume of sound -lessened. It mumbled to a dotage of decreasing force, and then -everything stopped with a sudden jar. The shops had shut down. - -McClintock came from the office and entered the works, pulling the big -doors to after him. He wanted to see that all was made snug. He cursed -loudly as he strode through the deserted building. It was the first time -since he had been with the road that the shops had been closed, and it -affected him strangely. - -The place held a dreadful, ghostly inertness. The belts and shafting, -with its innumerable cogs and connections, reached out like the -heavy-knuckled tentacles of some great, lifeless monster. The sunlight -stole through the broken, cobwebbed windows, to fall on heaps of rusty -iron and heaps of dirty shavings. - -In the engine-room he discovered Smith Roberts and his assistant, Joe -Webber, banking the fires, preparatory to leaving. They were the only -men about the place. Roberts closed a furnace-door with a bang, threw -down his shovel, and drew a grimy arm across his forehead. - -"Did you ever see such a lot of lunkheads, Milt? I'll bet they'll be -kicking themselves good and hard before they get to the wind-up of -this." - -McClintock looked with singular affection at the swelling girths of -iron which held the panting lungs of the monster the men had doomed to -silence, and swore his most elaborate oath. - -"No, I never did, Smith. You'd think they had money to burn the way they -chucked their job." - -"When do you suppose I'll get a chance to build steam again?" - -"Oakley says we won't start up before the first of September." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -THE first weeks of the strike slipped by without excitement. Harvest -time came and went. A rainless August browned the earth and seared the -woods with its heat, but nothing happened to vary the dull monotony. The -shops, a sepulchre of sound, stood silent and empty. General Cornish, -in the rle of the avenger, did not appear on the scene, to Oakley's -discomfiture and to the joy of the men. A sullen sadness rested on -the town. The women began to develop shrewish tempers and a trying -conversational habit, while their husbands squandered their rapidly -dwindling means in the saloons. There was large talk and a variety of -threats, but no lawlessness. - -Simultaneously with the inauguration of the strike, Jeffy reappeared -mysteriously. He hinted darkly at foreign travel under singularly -favorable auspices, and intimated that he had been sojourning in a -community where there was always some one to "throw a few whiskeys" into -him when his "coppers got hot," and where he had "fed his face" three -times a day, so bounteous was the charity. - -At intervals a rumor was given currency that Oakley was on the verge of -starting up with imported labor, and the men, dividing the watches, -met each train; but only familiar types, such as the casual commercial -traveller with his grips, the farmer from up or down the line, with his -inevitable paper parcels, and the stray wayfarer were seen to step from -the Huckleberry's battered coaches. Finally it dawned upon the men that -Dan was bent on starving them into submission. - -Ryder had displayed what, for him, was a most _unusual_ activity. Almost -every day he held conferences with the leaders of the strike, and his -personal influence went far towards keeping the men in line. Indeed, -his part in the whole affair was much more important than was generally -recognized. - -The political campaign had started, and Kenyon was booked to speak in -Antioch. It was understood in advance that he would declare for the -strikers, and his coming caused a welcome flutter of excitement. - -The statesman arrived on No. 7, and the reception committee met him -at the station in two carriages. It included Cap Roberts, the Hon. -Jeb Barrows, Ryder, Joe Stokes, and Bentick. The two last were an -inspiration of the editor's, and proved a popular success. - -The brass-band hired for the occasion discoursed patriotic airs, as -Kenyon, in a long linen duster and a limp, wilted collar, presented -himself at the door of the smoker. The great man was all blandness and -suavity--an oily suavity that oozed and trickled from every pore. - -The crowd on the platform gave a faint, unenthusiastic cheer as it -caught sight of him. It had been more interested in staring at Bentick -and Stokes. They looked so excessively uncomfortable. - -Mr. Kenyon climbed down the steps and shook hands with Mr. Ryder. Then, -bowing and smiling to the right and left, he crossed the platform, -leaning on the editor's arm. At the carriages there were more greetings. -Stokes and Bentick were formally presented, and the Congressman mounted -to a place beside them, whereat the crowd cheered again, and Stokes -and Bentick looked, if possible, more miserable than before. They had a -sneaking idea that a show was being made of them. Ryder took his place -in the second carriage, with Cap Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Barrows, and -the procession moved off up-town to the hotel, preceded by the band -playing a lively two-step out of tune, and followed by a troop of -bare-legged urchins. - -After supper the statesman was serenaded by the band, and a little later -the members of the Young Men's Kenyon Club, attired in cotton-flannel -uniforms, marched across from the _Herald_ office to escort him to the -Rink, where he was to speak. He appeared radiant in a Prince Albert and -a shiny tile, and a _boutonnire_, this time leaning on the arm of Mr. -Stokes, to the huge disgust of that worthy mechanic, who did not know -that a statesman had to lean on somebody's arm. It is hoary tradition, -and yet it had a certain significance, too, if it were meant to indicate -that Kenyon couldn't keep straight unless he was propped. - -A wave of fitful enthusiasm swept the assembled crowd, and Mr. Stokes's -youngest son, Samuel, aged six, burst into tears, no one knew why, and -was led out of the press by an elder brother, who alternately slapped -him and wiped his nose on his cap. - -Mr. Kenyon, smiling his unwearied, mirthless smile, seated himself in -his carriage. Mr. Ryder, slightly bored and wholly cynical, followed his -example. Mr. Stokes and Mr. Bentick, perspiring and abject, and looking -for all the world like two criminals, dropped dejectedly into the -places assigned them. Only Cap Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Barrows seemed -entirely at ease. They were campaign fixtures. The band emitted a -harmony-destroying crash, while Mr. Jimmy Smith, the drum-major, -performed sundry bewildering passes with his gilt staff. The Young Men's -Kenyon Club fell over its own feet into line, and the procession started -for the Rink. It was a truly inspiring moment. - -As soon as the tail of the procession was clear of the curb, -it developed that Clarence and Spide were marshalling a rival -demonstration. Six small and exceedingly dirty youngsters, with reeking -torches, headed by Clarence and his trusty lieutenant, fell gravely in -at the rear of the Kenyon Club. Clarence was leaning on Spide's arm. -Pussy Roberts preceded them, giving a highly successful imitation of -Mr. Jimmy Smith. He owned the six torches, and it was unsafe to -suppress him, but the others spoke disparagingly of his performance as a -side-show. - -Since an early hour of the evening the people had been gathering at the -Rink. It was also the Opera-House, where, during the winter months, -an occasional repertory company appeared in "East Lynn," the "New -Magdalen," or Tom Robertson's "Caste." The place was two-thirds full -at a quarter to eight, when a fleet courier arrived with the gratifying -news that the procession was just leaving the square, and that Kenyon -was riding with his hat off, and in familiar discourse with Stokes and -Bentick. - -Presently out of the distance drifted the first strains of the band. -A little later Cap. Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Barrows appeared on the -make-shift stage from the wings. There was an applausive murmur, for -the Hon. Jeb was a popular character. It was said of him that he always -carried a map of the United States in tobacco juice on his shirt front. -He was bottle-nosed and red faced. No man could truthfully say he had -ever seen him drunk, nor had any one ever seen him sober. He shunned -extremes. Next, the band filed into the balcony, and was laboriously -sweating its way through the national anthem, when Kenyon and Ryder -appeared, followed by the wretched Stokes and Bentick. A burst of -applause shook the house. When it subsided, the editor stepped to the -front of the stage. With words that halted, for the experience was a new -one, he introduced the guest of the evening. - -It was generally agreed afterwards that it had been a great privilege to -hear Kenyon. No one knew exactly what it was all about, but that was a -minor consideration. The Congressman was well on towards the end of his -speech, and had reached the local situation, which he was handling in -what the _Herald_ subsequently described as "a masterly fashion, cool, -logical, and convincing," when Oakley wandered in, and, unobserved, took -a seat near the door. He glanced about him glumly. There had been a time -when these people had been, in their way, his friends. Now those nearest -him even avoided looking in his direction. At last he became conscious -that some one far down near the stage, and at the other side of the -building, was nodding and smiling at him. It was Dr. Emory. Mrs. Emory -and Constance were with him. Dan caught the fine outline of the latter's -profile. She was smiling an amused smile. It was her first political -meeting, and she was finding it quite as funny as Ryder had said it -would be. - -Dan listened idly, hearing only a word now and then. At length a -sentence roused him. The speaker was advising the men to stand for their -rights. He rose hastily, and turned to leave; he had heard enough; but -some one cried out, "Here's Oakley," and instantly every one in the -place was staring at him. - -Kenyon took a step nearer the foot-lights. Either he misunderstood -or else he wished to provoke an argument, for he said, with slippery -civility: "I shall be very pleased to listen to Mr. Oakley's side of the -question. This is a free country, and I don't deny him or any man the -right to express his views. The fact that I am unalterably opposed -to the power he represents is no bar to the expression here of his -opinion." - -Oakley's face was crimson. He paused irresolutely; he saw the jeer on -Ryder's lips, and the desire possessed him to tell these people -what fools they were to listen to the cheap, lungy patriotism of the -demagogue on the stage. - -He rested a hand on the back of the chair in front of him, and leaned -forward with an arm extended at the speaker, but his eyes were fixed -on Miss Emory's face. She was smiling at him encouragingly, he thought, -bidding him to speak. - -"This is doubtless your opportunity," he said, "but I would like to ask -what earthly interest you have in Antioch beyond the votes it may give -you?" - -Kenyon smiled blandly and turned for one fleeting instant to wink at -Ryder. "And my reply is this: What about the twenty-million-dollar -specimen of American manhood who is dodging around London on the money -he's made here in this State--yes, and in this town? He's gone to -England to break his way into London society, and, incidentally, to -marry his daughter to a title." - -A roar of laughter greeted this sally. - -"That may be," retorted Oakley, hotly, "but Antioch has been getting its -share of his money, too. Don't forget that. There's not a store-keeper -in this audience whose bank account will not show, in hard American -dollars, what General Cornish does for Antioch when Antioch is willing -to let him do for it. But, granted that what you have said is true, who -can best afford to meet the present situation? General Cornish or these -men? On whom does the hardship fall heavier, on them or on him?" - -"That was not the spirit which prevailed at Bunker Hill and Lexington! -No, thank God! our fathers did not stop to count the cost, and we have -our battles to-day just as vital to the cause of humanity; and I, for -one, would rather see the strong arm of labor wither in its socket than -submit to wrong or injustice!" - -Oakley choked down his disgust and moved towards the door. There was -applause and one or two cat-calls. Not heeding them, he made his way -from the building. He had reached the street when a detaining hand was -placed upon his arm. He turned savagely, but it proved to be only Turner -Joyce, who stepped to his side, with a cheerful: - -"Good-evening, Mr. Oakley. They seem to be having a very gay time in -there, don't they?" - -"Have you been in?" demanded Oakley, grimly. - -"I? Oh, no! I have just been taking a picture home." - -"Well," said Oakley, "I have just been making a damned fool of myself. -I hope that is something you are never guilty of, Mr. Joyce?" Joyce -laughed, and tucked his hand through his companion's arm. - -"Doesn't every one do that occasionally?" he asked. - -Dan shook off his bitterness. Recently he had been seeing a great deal -of the little artist and his wife, who were about the only friends he or -his father had left in Antioch. They walked on in silence Joyce was -too tactful to ask any questions concerning his friend's affairs, so he -ventured an impersonal criticism on Kenyon, with the modest diffidence -of a man who knows he is going counter to public sentiment. - -"Neither Ruth nor I had any curiosity to hear him speak to-night. I -heard him when he was here last. It may be my bringing up, but I do like -things that are not altogether rotten, and I'm afraid I count him as -sort of decayed." Then he added: "I suppose everybody was at the Rink -to-night?" - -"The place was packed." - -"It promises to be a lively campaign, I believe, but I take very little -interest in politics. My own concerns occupy most of my time. Won't you -come in, Mr. Oakley?" for they had reached his gate. - -On the little side porch which opened off the kitchen they found Ruth. -She rose with a pleased air of animation when she saw who was with her -husband. Oakley had lived up to his reputation as a patron of the arts. -He had not forgotten, in spite of his anxieties, the promise made Joyce -months before, and at that very moment, safely bestowed in Mrs. Joyce's -possession, were two formidable-looking strips of heavy pink paper, -which guaranteed the passage of the holder to New York and return. - -"I hope this confounded strike is not going to interfere with you, Mr. -Joyce," said Oakley, as he seated himself. He had discovered that they -liked to talk about their own plans and hopes, and the trip East was the -chief of these. Already he had considered it with them from every -conceivable point of view. - -"It is aggravating, for, of course, if people haven't money they -can't very well afford to have pictures painted. But Ruth is managing -splendidly. I really don't think it will make any special difference." - -"I am determined Turner shall not miss this opportunity. I think, if it -wasn't for me, Mr. Oakley, he'd give up most everything he wants to do, -or has set his heart on." - -"He's lucky to have you, then. Most men need looking after." - -"I'm sure I do," observed the little artist, with commendable meekness. -He was keenly alive to his own shortcomings. "I'd never get any sort of -prices for my work if she didn't take a hand in the bargaining." - -"Some one has to be mercenary," said Ruth, apologetically. "It's all -very well to go around with your head in the clouds, but it don't pay." - -"No, it don't pay," agreed Dan. - -There was a long pause, which a cricket improved to make itself heard -above the sweep of the night wind through the tree-tops. Then Ruth said: -"I saw Miss Emory to-day. She asked about you." - -Mrs. Joyce and her husband had taken a passionate interest in Oakley's -love affair, and divined the utter wreck of his hopes. - -"Did she? I saw her at the Rink, too, but of course not to speak with." - -Turner Joyce trod gently but encouragingly on his wife's foot. He felt -that Oakley would be none the worse for a little cheer, and he had -unbounded faith in his wife's delicacy and tact. She was just the person -for such a message. - -"She seemed--that is, I gathered from what she said, and it wasn't so -much what she said as what she didn't say--" - -Dan laughed outright, and Joyce joined in with a panic-stricken chuckle. -Ruth was making as bad a botch of the business as he could have made. - -"I am not at all sensitive," said Dan, with sudden candor. "I have -admired her immensely; I do still, for the matter of that." - -"Then why don't you go there?" - -"I can't, Mrs. Joyce. You know why." - -"But I think she looks at it differently now." - -Oakley shook his head. "No, she doesn't. There's just one way she can -look at it." - -"Women are always changing their minds," persisted Ruth. It occurred to -her that Constance had been at her worst in her relation with Oakley. If -she cared a scrap for him, why hadn't she stood by him when he needed -it most? The little artist blinked tenderly at his wife. He was lost in -admiration at her courage. He would not have dared to give their friend -this comfort. - -The conversation languished. They heard the strains of the band when -the meeting at the Rink broke up, and the voices of the people on the -street, and then there was silence again. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE hot days dragged on. Dan and his father moved down to the shops. -Two cots were placed in the pattern-room, where they slept, and where -Roger Oakley spent most of his time reading his Bible or in brooding -over the situation. Their meals were brought to them from the hotel. It -was not that Dan suspected the men of any sinister intentions, but he -felt it was just as well that they should understand the utter futility -of any lawlessness, and, besides, his father was much happier in -the solitude of the empty shops than he could have been elsewhere in -Antioch. All day long he followed McClintock about, helping with such -odd jobs as were necessary to keep the machinery in perfect order. He -was completely crushed and broken in spirit He had aged, too. - -At the office Dan saw only Holt and McClintock. Sick of Kerr's presence, -and exasperated at his evident sympathy for the strikers--a sympathy -he was at no pains to conceal--he had laid him off, a step that was -tantamount to dismissal. Miss Walton was absent on her vacation, which -he extended from week to week. It was maddening to him to have her -around with nothing to do, for he and Holt found it difficult to keep -decently busy themselves, now the shops had closed. - -Holloway, the vice-president of the road, visited Antioch just once -during the early days of the strike. He approved--being of an approving -disposition--of all Oakley had done, and then went back home to Chicago, -after telling him not to yield a single point in the fight. - -"We've got to starve 'em into submission," said this genial soul. -"There's nothing like an empty stomach to sap a man's courage, -especially when he's got a houseful of hungry, squalling brats. I don't -know but what you'd better arrange to get in foreigners. Americans are -too independent." - -But Oakley was opposed to this. "The men will be glad enough to accept -the new scale of wages a little later, and the lesson won't be wasted on -them." - -"Yes, I know, but the question is, do we want 'em? I wish Cornish was -here. I think he'd advise some radical move. He's all fight." - -Oakley, however, was devoutly thankful that the general was in England, -where he hoped he would stay. He had no wish to see the men ruined. -A wholesome lesson would suffice. He was much relieved when the time -arrived to escort Holloway to his train. - -All this while the _Herald_ continued its attacks, but Dan no longer -minded them. Nothing Ryder could say could augment his unpopularity. It -had reached its finality. He never guessed that, indirectly at least, -Constance Emory was responsible for by far the greater part of Ryder's -present bitterness. She objected to his partisanship of the men, and -this only served to increase his verbal intemperance. But, in spite -of the antagonism of their views, they remained friends. Constance was -willing to endure much from Ryder that she would have resented from any -one else. She liked him, and she was sorry for him; he seemed unhappy, -and she imagined he suffered as she herself suffered, and from the -same cause. There was still another motive for her forbearance, which, -perhaps, she did not fully realize. The strike and Oakley had become a -mania with the editor, and from him she was able to learn what Dan was -doing. - -The unpopularity of his son was a source of infinite grief to Roger -Oakley. The more so as he took the burden of it on his own shoulders. -He brooded over it until presently he decided that he would have a talk -with Ryder and explain matters to him, and ask him to discontinue his -abuse of Dan. There was a streak in the old convict's mind which was -hardly sane, for no man spends the best years of his life in prison and -comes out as clear-headed as he goes in. - -As he pottered about the shops with McClintock, he meditated on his -project. He was sure, if he could show Ryder where he was wrong and -unfair, he would hasten to make amends. It never occurred to him that -Ryder had merely followed in the wake of public opinion, giving it -definite expression. - -One evening--and he chose the hour when he knew Antioch would be at -supper and the streets deserted--he stole from the shops, without -telling Dan where he was going, as he had a shrewd idea that he would -put a veto on his scheme did he know of it. - -With all his courage his pace slackened as he approached the _Herald_ -office. He possessed unbounded respect for print, and still greater -respect for the man who spoke in print. - -The door stood open, and he looked in over the top of his steel-bowed -spectacles. The office was dark and shadowy, but from an inner room, -where the presses stood, a light shone. While he hesitated, the -half-grown boy who was Griff's chief assistant came from the office. -Roger Oakley placed a hand on his shoulder. - -"Is Mr. Ryder in, sonny?" he asked. - -"Yes, he's in the back room, where you see the light." - -"Thank you." - -He found Ryder busy making up, by the light of a single dingy lamp, -for the _Herald_ went to press in the morning. Griff gave a start of -surprise when he saw who his visitor was; then he said, sharply, "Well, -sir, what can I do for you?" - -It was the first time the old convict and the editor had met, and Roger -Oakley, peering over his spectacles, studied Ryder's face in his usual -slow fashion. At last he said: "I hope I am not intruding, Mr. Ryder, -for I'd like to speak with you." - -"Then be quick about it," snapped Griff. "Don't you see I'm busy?" - -With the utmost deliberation the old convict took from his pocket a -large red-and-yellow bandanna handkerchief. Then he removed his hat and -wiped his face and neck with elaborate thoroughness. When he finally -spoke he dropped his voice to an impressive whisper. "I don't think you -understand Dannie, Mr. Ryder, or the reasons for the trouble down at the -shops." - -"Don't I? Well, I'll be charmed to hear your explanation." And he -put down the rule with which he had been measuring one of the printed -columns on the table before him. - -Without being asked Roger Oakley seated himself in a chair by the door. -He placed his hat and handkerchief on a corner of the table, and took -off his spectacles, which he put into their case. Ryder watched him with -curious interest. - -"I knew we could settle this, Mr. Ryder," said he, with friendly -simplicity. "You've been unfair to my son. That was because you did not -understand. When you do, I am certain you will do what you can to make -right the wrong you have done him." - -A vicious, sinister smile wreathed Ryder's lips. He nodded. "Go on." - -"Dannie's done nothing to you to make you wish to hurt him--for you are -hurting him. He don't admit it, but I know." - -"I hope so," said Ryder, tersely. "I should hate to think my energy had -been entirely wasted." - -A look of pained surprise crossed Roger Oakley's face. He was quite -shocked at the unchristian feeling Griff was displaying. "No, you don't -mean that!" he made haste to say. "You can't mean it." - -"Can't I?" cynically. - -Roger Oakley stole a glance from under his thick, bushy eyebrows at the -editor. He wondered if an apt quotation from the Scriptures would be of -any assistance. The moral logic with which he had intended to overwhelm -him had somehow gone astray-He presented the singular spectacle of a -man who was in the wrong, and who knew he was in the wrong and was yet -determined to persist in it. - -"There's something I'll tell you that I haven't told any one else." He -glanced again at Ryder to see the effect of the proposed confidence, and -again the latter nodded for him to go on. - -"I am going away. I haven't told my son yet, but I've got it all -planned, and when I am gone you won't have any reason to hate Dannie, -will you?" - -"That's an admirable idea, Mr. Oakley, and if Dannie, as you call him, -has half your good-sense he'll follow your example." - -"No; he can't leave. He must stay. He's the manager of the road," with -evident pride. "He's got to stay, but I'll go. Won't that do just as -well?" a little anxiously, for he could not fathom the look on Ryder's -dark face. Ryder only gave him a smile in answer, and he continued, -hurriedly: - -"You see, the trouble's been about me and my working in the shops. If I -hadn't come here there'd have been no strike. As for Dannie, he's made -a man of himself. You don't know, and I don't know, how hard he's worked -and how faithful he's been. What I've done mustn't reflect on him. It -all happened when he was a little boy--so high," extending his hand. - -"Mr. Oakley," said Ryder, coldly and insultingly, "I propose, if I can, -to make this town too hot to hold your son, and I am grateful to you for -the unconscious compliment you have paid me by this visit." - -"Dannie don't know I came," quickly. - -"No, I don't suppose he does. I take it it was an inspiration of your -own." - -Roger Oakley had risen from his seat. - -"What's Dannie ever done to you?" he asked, with just the least -perceptible tremor in his tones. - -Ryder shrugged his shoulders. "We don't need him in Antioch." - -The old man mastered his wrath, and said, gently: - -"You can't afford to be unfair, Mr. Ryder. No one can afford to be -unfair. You are too young a man to persevere in what you know to be -wrong." - -To maintain his composure required a great effort. In the riotous days -of his youth he had concluded most arguments in which he had become -involved with his fists. Aged and broken, his religion overlay his -still vigorous physical strength but thinly, as a veneer. He squared his -massive shoulders and stood erect, like a man in his prime, and glowered -heavily on the editor. - -"I trust you have always been able to make right your guiding star," -retorted Ryder, jeeringly. The anger instantly faded from the old -convict's face. He was recalled to himself. - -Ordinarily, that is, in the presence of others, Ryder would have felt -bound to treat Roger Oakley with the deference due to his years. Alone, -as they were, he was restrained by no such obligation. He was in an ugly -mood, and he proceeded to give it rein. - -"I wish to hell you'd mind your own business," he said, suddenly. "What -do you mean by coming here to tell me what I ought to do? If you want -to know, I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I am going to hound you and -that precious son of yours out of this part of the country." - -The old man straightened up again as Ryder spoke. The restraint of years -dropped from him in a twinkling. He told him he was a scoundrel, and he -prefaced it with an oath--a slip he did not notice in his excitement. - -"Hey! What's that?" - -"You're a damned scoundrel!" repeated Roger Oakley, white with rage. He -took a step around the table and came nearer the editor. "I don't know -but what I ought to break every bone in your body! You are trying to -ruin my son!" He hit the table a mighty blow with his clinched fist, -and, thrusting his head forward, glared into Ryder's face. - -"You have turned his friends against him. Why, he ain't got none left -any more. They have all gone over to the other side; and you done it, -you done it, and it's got to stop!" - -Ryder had been taken aback for the moment by Roger Oakley's fierce -anger, which vibrated in his voice and flashed in his dark, sunken eyes. - -"Get out of here," he shouted, losing control of himself. "Get out or, -damn you, I'll kick you out!" - -"When I'm ready to go I'll leave," retorted the old man, calmly, "and -that will be when I've said my say." - -"You'll go now," and he shoved him in the direction of the door. The -shove was almost a blow, and as it fell on his broad chest Roger Oakley -gave a hoarse, inarticulate cry and struck out with his heavy hand. -Ryder staggered back, caught at the end of the table as he plunged past -it, and fell his length upon the floor. The breath whistled sharply from -the old man's lips. "There," he muttered, "you'll keep your hands off!" - -Ryder did not speak nor move. All was hushed and still in the room. -Suddenly a nervous chill seized the old convict. He shook from head to -heel. - -"I didn't mean to hit you," he said, speaking to the prostrate figure at -his feet. "Here, let me help you." - -He stooped and felt around on the floor until he found Ryder's hand. -He released it instantly to take the lamp from the table. Then he knelt -beside the editor. In the corner where the latter lay stood a rusty -wood-stove. In his fall Griff's head had struck against it. - -The lamp shook in Roger Oakley's hand like a leaf in a gale. Ryder's -eyes were open and seemed to look into his own with a mute reproach. For -the rest he lay quite limp, his head twisted to one side. The old man -felt of his heart. One or two minutes elapsed. His bearing was one of -feverish intensity. He heard three men loiter by on the street, and the -sound of their footfalls die off in the distance, but Ryder's heart had -ceased to beat. Fully convinced of this, he returned the lamp to the -table and, sitting down in the chair by the door, covered his face with -his hands and sobbed aloud. - -Over and over he murmured: "I've killed him, I've killed him! Poor boy! -poor boy! I didn't goto do it!" - -Presently he got up and made a second examination. The man was dead -past every doubt. His first impulse was to surrender himself to the town -marshal, as he had done once before under similar circumstances. - -Then he thought of Dan. - -No, he must escape, and perhaps it would never be known who had killed -Ryder. His death might even be attributed to an accident. In his -excitement he forgot the boy he had met at the door. That incident had -passed entirely from his mind, and he did not remember the meeting until -days afterwards. - -He had been utterly indifferent to his own danger, but now he -extinguished the lamp and made his way cautiously into the outer room -and peered into the street. As he crouched in the darkness by the door -he heard the town bell strike the hour. He counted the strokes. It was -eight o'clock. An instant later and he was hurrying down the street, -fleeing from the ghastly horror of the white, upturned face, and the -eyes, with their look of mute reproach. - -When he reached the railroad track at the foot of Main Street, he paused -irresolutely. - -"If I could see Dannie once more, just once more!" he muttered, under -his breath; but he crossed the tracks with a single, longing look turned -towards the shops, a black blur in the night a thousand yards distant. - -Main Street became a dusty country road south of the tracks. He left -it at this point and skirted a cornfield, going in the direction of the -creek. - -At the shops Dan had waited supper for his father until half-past seven, -when he decided he must have gone up-town, probably to the Joyces'. So -he had eaten his supper alone. Then he drew his chair in front of an -open window and lighted his pipe. It was very hot in the office, and -by-and-by he carried his lamp into the pattern-room, where he and his -father slept. He arranged their two cots, blew out the light, which -seemed to add to the heat, partly undressed, and lay down. He heard the -town bell strike eight, and then the half-hour. Shortly after this he -must have fallen asleep, for all at once he awoke with a start. From -off in the night a confusion of sounds reached him. The town bell was -ringing the alarm. At first he thought it was a fire, but there was no -light in the sky, and the bell rang on and on. - -He got up and put on his coat and hat and started out. - -It was six blocks to the _Herald_ office, and as he neared it he could -distinguish a group of excited, half-dressed men and women where they -clustered on the sidewalk before the building. A carriage was standing -in the street. - -He elbowed into the crowd unnoticed and unrecognized. A small boy, -who had climbed into the low boughs of a maple-tree, now shouted in -a perfect frenzy of excitement: "Hi! They are bringing him out! Jimmy -Smith's got him by the legs!" - -At the same moment Chris. Berry appeared in the doorway. The crowd stood -on tiptoe, breathless, tense, and waiting. - -"Drive up a little closter, Tom," Berry called to the man in the -carriage. Then he stepped to one side, and two men pushed past him -carrying the body of Ryder between them. The crowd gave a groan. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -RYDER'S murder furnished Antioch with a sensation the like of which -it had not known in many a day. It was one long, breathless shudder, -ramified with contingent horrors. - -Dippy Ellsworth remembered that when he drove up in his cart on the -night of the tragedy to light the street lamp which stood on the corner -by the _Herald_ office his horse had balked and refused to go near the -curb. It was generally conceded that the sagacious brute smelled blood. -Dippy himself said he would not sell that horse for a thousand dollars, -and it was admitted on all sides that such an animal possessed a value -hard to reckon in mere dollars and cents. - -Three men recalled that they had passed the _Herald_ office and noticed -that the door stood open. Within twenty-four hours they were hearing -groans, and within a week, cries for help, but they were not encouraged. - -Of course the real hero was Bob Bennett, Ryder's assistant, who had -discovered the body when he went back to the office at half-past eight -to close the forms. His account of the finding of Ryder dead on the -floor was an exceedingly grizzly narrative, delightfully conducive of -the shivers. He had been the quietest of youths, but two weeks after the -murder he left for Chicago. He said there might be those who could stand -it, but Antioch was too slow for him. - -Not less remarkable was Ryder's posthumous fame. Men who had never known -him in life now spoke of him with trembling voices and every outward -evidence of the sincerest sorrow. It was as if they had sustained a -personal loss, for his championship of the strike had given him a great -popularity, and his murder, growing out of this championship, as all -preferred to believe, made his death seem a species of martyrdom. - -Indeed, the mere fact that he had been murdered would have been -sufficient to make him popular at any time. He had supplied Antioch -with a glorious sensation. It was something to talk over and discuss and -shudder at, and the town was grateful and happy, with the deep, calm joy -of a perfect emotion. - -It determined to give him a funeral which should be creditable alike -to the cause for which he had died and to the manner of his death. So -widespread was the feeling that none should be denied a share in this -universal expression of respect and grief that Jeffy found it easy to -borrow five pairs of trousers, four coats, and a white vest to wear to -the funeral; but, in spite of these unusual preparations, he was unable -to be present. - -Meanwhile Dan had been arrested, examined, and set at liberty again, -in the face of the prevailing sentiment that he should be held. No one -doubted--he himself least of all--that Roger Oakley had killed Ryder. -Bob Bennett recalled their meeting as he left the office to go home -for supper on the night of the murder, and a red-and-yellow bandanna -handkerchief was found under the table which Dan identified as having -belonged to his father. - -Kenyon came to Antioch and made his re-election almost certain by the -offer of a reward of five hundred dollars for the arrest and conviction -of the murderer. This stimulated a wonderful measure of activity. -Parties of men and boys were soon scouring the woods and fields in quest -of the old convict. - -The day preceding that of the funeral a dusty countryman, on a -hard-ridden plough-horse, dashed into town with the news that a man who -answered perfectly to the description of Roger Oakley had been seen -the night before twenty-six miles north of Antioch, at a place called -Barrow's Saw Mills, where he had stopped at a store and made a number of -purchases. Then he had struck off through the woods. It was also learned -that he had eaten his breakfast the morning after the murder at a -farmhouse midway between Antioch and Barrow's Saw Mills. The farmer's -wife had, at his request, put up a lunch for him. Later in the day a man -at work in a field had seen and spoken with him. - -There was neither railroad, telegraph, nor telephone at Barrow's Saw -Mills, and the fugitive had evidently considered it safe to venture into -the place, trusting that he was ahead of the news of his crime. It was -on the edge of a sparsely settled district, and to the north of it was -the unbroken wilderness stretching away to the lakes and the Wisconsin -line. - -The morning of the funeral an extra edition of the _Herald_ was issued, -which contained a glowing account of Ryder's life and achievements. -It was an open secret that it was from the gifted pen of Kenyon. This -notable enterprise was one of the wonders of the day. Everybody wanted -a _Herald_ as a souvenir of the occasion, and nearly five hundred copies -were sold. - -All that morning the country people, in unheard-of numbers, flocked into -town. As Clarence remarked to Spide, it was just like a circus day. The -noon train from Buckhom Junction arrived crowded to the doors, as did -the one-o'clock train from Harrison. Antioch had never known anything -like it. - -The funeral was at two o'clock from the little white frame Methodist -church, but long before the appointed hour it was crowded to the verge -of suffocation, and the anxious, waiting throng overflowed into the yard -and street, with never a hope of wedging into the building, much less -securing seats. - -A delegation of the strikers, the Young Men's Kenyon Club, of which -Ryder was a member, and a representative body of citizens escorted the -remains to the church. These were the people he had jeered at, whose -simple joys he had ridiculed, and whose griefs he had made light of, but -they would gladly have forgiven him his sarcasms even had they known of -them. He had become a hero and a martyr. - -Chris Berry and Cap Roberts were in charge of the arrangements. On the -night of the murder the former had beaten his rival to the _Herald_ -office by exactly three minutes, and had never left Ryder until he lay -in the most costly casket in his shop. - -It was admitted afterwards by thoughtful men, who were accustomed to -weigh their opinions carefully, that Mr. Williamson, the minister, had -never delivered so moving an address, nor one that contained so obvious -a moral. The drift of his remarks was that the death of their brilliant -and distinguished fellow-townsman should serve as a warning to all that -there was no time like the present in which to prepare for the life -everlasting. He assured his audience that each hour of existence should -be devoted to consecration and silent testimony; otherwise, what did -it avail? It was not enough that Ryder had thrown the weight of his -personal influence and exceptional talents on the side of sound morality -and civic usefulness. And as he soared on from point to point, his -hearers soared with him, and when he rounded in on each well-tried -climax, they rounded in with him. He never failed them once. They always -knew what he was going to say before it was said, and were ready for the -thrill when the thrill was due. It might have seemed that Mr. Williamson -was paid a salary merely to make an uncertain hereafter yet more -uncomfortable and uncertain, but Antioch took its religion hot, with a -shiver and a threat of blue flame. - -When Mr. Williamson sat down Mr. Kenyon rose. As a layman he could be -entirely eulogistic. He was sure of the faith which through life had -been the guiding star of the departed. He had seen it instanced by -numerous acts of eminently Christian benevolence, and on those rare -occasions when he had spoken of his hopes and fears he had, in spite of -his shrinking modesty, shown that his standards of Christian duty were -both lofty and consistent. - -Here the Hon. Jeb Barrows, who had been dozing peacefully, awoke with a -start, and gazed with wide, bulging eyes at the speaker. He followed Mr. -Kenyon, and, though he tried hard, he couldn't recall any expression of -Ryder's, at the Red Star bar or elsewhere, which indicated that there -was any spiritual uplift to his nature which he fed at secret altars; -so he pictured the friend and citizen, and the dead fared well at his -hands, perhaps better than he was conscious of, for he said no more than -he believed. - -Then came the prayer and hymn, to be succeeded by a heavy, solemn pause, -and Mr. Williamson stepped to the front of the platform-. - -"All those who care to view the remains--and I presume there are many -here who will wish to look upon the face of our dead friend before it -is conveyed to its final resting-place--will please form in line at -the rear of the edifice and advance quietly up the right aisle, passing -across the church as quickly as possible and thence down the left aisle -and on out through the door. This will prevent confusion and make it -much pleasanter for all." - -There was a rustle of skirts and the awkward shuffling of many feet as -the congregation formed in line; then it filed slowly up the aisle to -where Chris Berry stood, weazened and dry, with a vulture look on his -face and a vulture touch to his hands that now and again picked at the -flowers which were banked about the coffin. - -The Emorys, partly out of regard for public sentiment, had attended the -funeral, for, as the doctor said, they were the only real friends Griff -had in the town. They had known and liked him when the rest of Antioch -was dubiously critical of the new-comer, whose ways were not its ways. - -When the congregation thronged up the aisle, Constance, who had endured -the long service, which to her was unspeakably grotesque and horrible, -in shocked if silent rebellion slipped her hand into her mother's. "Take -me away," she whispered, brokenly, "or I shall cry out! Take me away!" - -Mrs. Emory hesitated. It seemed a desertion of a trust to go and -leave Griff to these strangers, who had been brought there by morbid -curiosity. Constance guessed what was passing in her mind. - -"Papa will remain if it is necessary." - -Mrs. Emory touched the doctor on the shoulder. "We're going home, John; -Constance doesn't feel well; but you stay." - -When they reached the street the last vestige of Constance's -self-control vanished utterly. "Wasn't it awful!" she sobbed, "and his -life had only just begun! And to be snuffed out like this, when there -was everything to live for!" - -Mrs. Emory, surprised at the sudden show of feeling, looked into her -daughter's face. Constance understood the look. - -"No, no! He was only a friend! He could never have been more than that. -Poor, poor Griff!" - -"I am glad for your sake, dearie," said Mrs. Emory, gently. - -"I wasn't very kind to him at the last, but I couldn't know--I couldn't -know," she moaned. - -She was not much given to these confidences, even with her mother. -Usually she never questioned the wisdom or righteousness of her own -acts, and it was not her habit to put them to the test of a less -generous judgment. But she was remembering her last meeting with Ryder. -It had been the day before his death; he had told her that he loved her, -and she had flared up, furious and resentful, with the dull, accusing -ache of many days in her heart, and a cruel readiness to make him -suffer. She had tried to convince herself afterwards that it was only -his vanity that was hurt. - -Then she thought of Oakley. She had been thinking of him all day, -wondering where he was, if he had left Antioch, and not daring to ask. -They were going up the path now towards the house, and she turned to her -mother again. - -"What do they say of Mr. Oakley--I mean Mr. Dan Oakley? I don't know -why, but I'm more sorry for him than I am for Griff; he has so much to -bear!" - -"I heard your father say he was still here. I suppose he has to remain. -He can't choose." - -"What will be done with his father if he is captured? Will they--" She -could not bring herself to finish the sentence. - -"Goodness knows! I wouldn't worry about him," said Mrs. Emory, in a tone -of considerable asperity. "He's made all the trouble, and I haven't a -particle of patience with him!" - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -BY three o'clock the saloons and stores, which had closed at noon, -opened their doors, and Antioch emerged from the shadow of its funeral -gloom. - -By four o'clock a long procession of carriages and wagons was rumbling -out of town. Those who had come from a distance were going home, but -many lingered in the hope that the excitement was not all past. - -An hour later a rumor reached Antioch that Roger Oakley had been -captured. It spread about the streets like wildfire and penetrated to -the stores and saloons. At first it was not believed. - -Just who was responsible for the rumor no one knew, and no one cared, -but soon the additional facts were being vouched for by a score of -excited men that a search-party from Barrow's Saw Mills, which had been -trailing the fugitive for two days, had effected his capture after a -desperate fight in the northern woods, and were bringing him to Antioch -for identification. It was generally understood that if the prisoner -proved to be Roger Oakley he would be spared the uncertainty of a trial. -The threat was made openly that he would be strung up to the first -convenient lamp-post. As Mr. Britt remarked to a customer from Harrison, -for whom he was mixing a cocktail: - -"It'd be a pity to keep a man of his years waiting; and what's the -use of spending thousands of dollars for a conviction, anyhow, when -everybody knows he done it?" - -At this juncture Jim Brown, the sheriff, and Joe Weaver, the town -marshal, were seen to cross the square with an air of importance and -preoccupation. It was noted casually that the right-hand coat-pocket of -each sagged suggestively. They disappeared into McElroy's livery-stable. -Fifty men and boys rushed precipitately in pursuit, and were just in -time to see the two officers pass out at the back of the stable and jump -into a light road-cart that stood in the alley. A moment later and they -were whirling off up-town. - -All previous doubt vanished instantly. It was agreed on all sides that -they were probably acting on private information, and had gone to bring -in the prisoner. So strong was this conviction that a number of young -men, whose teams were hitched about the square, promptly followed, and -soon an anxious cavalcade emptied itself into the dusty country road. - -Just beyond the corporation line the North Street, as it was called, -forked. Mr. Brown and his companion had taken the road which bore to -the west and led straight to Barrow's Saw Mills. Those who were first -to reach the forks could still see the road-cart a black dot in the -distance. - -The afternoon passed, and the dusk of evening came. Those of the -townspeople who were still hanging about the square went home to supper. -Unless a man could hire or borrow a horse there was not much temptation -to start off on a wild-goose chase, which, after all, might end only at -Barrow's Saw Mills. - -Fortunately for him, Dan Oakley had gone to Chicago that morning, -intending to see Holloway and resign. In view of what had happened it -was impossible for him to remain in Antioch, nor could General Cornish -expect him to. - -Milton McClintock was at supper with his family, when Mrs. Stapleton, -who lived next door, broke in upon them without ceremony, crying, -excitedly: - -"They've got him, and they're going to lynch him!" - -Then she as suddenly disappeared. McClintock, from where he sat, holding -a piece of bread within an inch of his lips, and his mouth wide open to -receive it, could see her through the window, her gray hair dishevelled -and tossed about her face, running from house to house, a gaunt rumor in -flapping calico skirts. - -He sprang to his feet when he saw her vanish around the corner of Lou -Bentick's house across the way. "You keep the children in, Mary," he -said, sharply. "Don't let them into the street." And, snatching up his -hat and coat, he made for the door, but his wife was there ahead of him -and threw her arms about his neck. - -"For God's sake, Milt, stay with the boys and me!" she ejaculated. "You -don't know what may happen!" - -Outside they heard the trampling of many feet coming nearer and nearer. -They listened breathlessly. - -"You don't know what may happen!" she repeated. - -"Yes, I do, and they mustn't do it!" unclasping her hands. "Jim will -be needing help." The sheriff was his wife's brother. "He's promised me -he'd hang the old man himself, or no one else should." - -There was silence now in the street. The crowd had swept past the house. - -"But the town's full of strangers. You can't do anything, and Jim -can't!" - -"We can try. Look out for the children!" - -And he was gone. - -Mrs. McClintock turned to the boys, who were still at the table. "Go -up-stairs to your room and stay there until I tell you to come down," -she commanded, peremptorily. "There, don't bother me with questions!" -For Joe, the youngest boy, was already whimpering. The other two, with -white, scared faces, sat bolt upright in their chairs. Some danger -threatened; they didn't know what this danger was, and their very -ignorance added to their terror. - -"Do what I say!" she cried. At this they left the table and marched -towards the stairs. Joe found courage to say: "Ain't you coming, too? -George's afraid." But his mother did not hear him. She was at the window -closing the shutters. In the next yard she saw old Mrs. Smith, Mrs. -Stapleton's mother, carrying her potted plants into the house and -scolding in a shrill, querulous voice. - -McClintock, pulling on his coat as he ran, hurried up the street past -the little white frame Methodist church. The crowd had the start of him, -and the town seemed deserted, except for the women and children, who -were everywhere, at open doors and windows, some pallid and pitying, -some ugly with the brutal excitement they had caught from brothers or -husbands. - -As he passed the Emorys', he heard his name called. He glanced around, -and saw the doctor standing on the porch with Mrs. Emory and Constance. - -"Will you go with me, McClintock?" the physician cried. At the same -moment the boy drove his team to the door. McClintock took the fence at -a bound and ran up the drive. - -"There's no time to lose," he panted. "But," with a sudden, sickening -sense of helplessness, "I don't know that we can stop them." - -"At least he will not be alone." - -It was Constance who spoke. She was thinking of Oakley as struggling -single-handed to save his father from the howling, cursing rabble which -had rushed up the street ten minutes before. - -"No, he won't be alone," said McClintock, not understanding whom it was -she meant. He climbed in beside the doctor. - -"You haven't seen him?" the latter asked, as he took the reins from the -boy. - -"Seen who?" - -"Dan Oakley." - -"He's on his way to Chicago. Went this morning." - -"Thank God for that!" and he pulled in his horses to call back to -Constance that Oakley had left Antioch. A look of instant relief came -into her face. He turned again to McClintock. - -"This is a bad business." - -"Yes, we don't want no lynching, but it's lucky Oakley isn't here. I -hadn't thought of what he'd do if he was." - -"What a pity he ever sent for his father! but who could have foreseen -this?" said the doctor, sadly. McClintock shook his head. - -"I can't believe the old man killed Ryder in cold blood. Why, he's as -gentle as a lamb." - -As they left the town, off to the right in a field they saw a bareheaded -woman racing after her two runaway sons, and then the distant shouts -of men, mingled with the shrill cries of boys, reached their ears. The -doctor shook out his reins and plied his whip. - -"What if we are too late!" he said. - -For answer McClintock swore. He was fearing that himself. - -Two minutes later and they were up with the rear of the mob, where it -straggled along on foot, sweating and dusty and hoarsely articulate. -A little farther on and it was lost to sight in a thicketed dip of the -road. Out of this black shadow buggy after buggy flashed to show in the -red dusk that lay on the treeless hill-side beyond. On the mob's either -flank, but keeping well out of the reach of their elders, slunk and -skulked the village urchins. - -"Looks as if all Antioch was here to-night," commented McClintock, -grimly. - -"So much the better for us; surely they are not all gone mad," answered -the doctor. - -"I wouldn't give a button for his chances." - -The doctor drove recklessly into the crowd, which scattered to the right -and left. - -McClintock, bending low, scanned the faces which were raised towards -them. - -"The whole township's here. I don't know one in ten," he said, -straightening up. - -"I wish I could manage to run over a few," muttered the doctor, -savagely. - -As they neared the forks of the road Dr. Emory pulled in his horses. -A heavy farm-wagon blocked the way, and the driver was stolidly -indifferent alike to his entreaties and to McClintock's threat to break -his head for him if he didn't move on. They were still shouting at him, -when a savage cry swelled up from the throats of those in advance. The -murderer was being brought in from the east road. - -"The brutes!" muttered the doctor, and he turned helplessly to -McClintock. "What are we going to do? What can we do?" - -By way of answer McClintock stood up. - -"I wish I could see Jim." - -But Jim had taken the west road three hours be-fore, and was driving -towards Barrow's Saw Mills as fast as McElroy's best team could take -him. When he reached there it was enough to make one's blood run cold to -hear the good man curse. - -"You wait here, doctor," cried McClintock. "You can't get past, and they -seem to be coming this way now." - -"Look out for yourself, Milt!" - -"Never fear for me." - -He jumped down into the dusty, trampled road, and foot by foot fought -his way forward. - -As he had said, those in front were turning back. The result was a -horrible jam, for those behind were still struggling to get within -sight of the murderer. A drunken man at McClintock's elbow was shouting, -"Lynch him!" at the top of his lungs. - -The master-mechanic wrenched an arm free and struck at him with the flat -of his hand. The man appeared surprised, but not at all angry. He merely -wiped the blood from his lips and asked, in an injured tone, which -conveyed a mild reproof, "What did you want to do that for? I don't know -you," and as he sought to maintain his place at McClintock's side he -kept repeating, "Say, neighbor, I don't know you. You certainly got the -advantage of me." - -Soon McClintock was in the very thick of the mob, and then he saw the -captive. His hands were bound and he was tied with ropes to the front -seat of a buckboard drawn by two jaded horses. His captors were three -iron-jawed, hard-faced countrymen. They were armed with shot-guns, and -were enjoying their splendid triumph to the full. - -McClintock gave only one look at the prisoner. An agony of fear was on -him. The collar of his shirt was stiff with blood from a wounded face. -His hat was gone, and his coat was torn. Scared and wondering, his eyes -shifted uneasily over the crowd. - -But the one look sufficed McClintock, and he lost all interest in the -scene. - -There would be no lynching that night, for the man was not Roger Oakley. -Further than that, he was gray-haired and burly; he was as unlike the -old convict as one man could well be unlike another. - -Suddenly the cry was raised, "It ain't him. You fellows got the wrong -man!" - -The cry was taken up and bandied back down the road. The mob drew a -great, free breath of rejoicing. It became good-natured with a noisy -hilarity. The iron-jawed countrymen glanced around sheepishly. - -"You are sure about that?" one inquired. "He answers the description all -right." - -It was hard to have to abandon the idea of the rewards. "What have you -been doing to him?" asked half a dozen voices in chorus They felt a -friendly interest in the poor bound wretch in the buckboard; perhaps, -too, they were grateful to him because he was the wrong man. - -"Oh, nothing much," uneasily, "only he put up a hell of a fight." - -"Of course he did. He didn't want to be hanged!" And there was a -good-natured roar from the crowd. Already those nearest the prisoner -were reaching up to throw off the ropes that bound him. His captors -looked on in stupid surprise, but did not seek to interfere. - -The prisoner himself, now that he saw he was surrounded by well-wishers, -and being in a somewhat surly temper, which was pardonable enough -under the circumstances, fell to complaining bitterly and loudly of the -treatment he had received. Presently the mob began to disperse, some -to slink back into town, rather ashamed of their fury, while the -ever-lengthening procession which had followed the four men in the -buckboard since early in the day faced about and drove off into the -night. - -An hour afterwards and the prisoner was airing his grievances in -sagacious Mr. Britt's saloon, whither he had been conveyed by the latter -gentleman, who had been quick to recognize that, temporarily, at least, -he possessed great drawing-powers. He was only a battered vagabond on -his way East from the harvests in the Dakota wheat-fields, and he knew -that he had looked into the very eyes of death. As he limped about -the place, not disdaining to drink with whoever offered to pay for -his refreshment, he nursed a bruised and blackened ear, where some -enthusiast had planted his fist. - -"Just suppose they hadn't seen I was the wrong man! Gosh damn 'em! -they'd a strung me up to the nearest sapling. I'd like to meet the -cuss that punched me in the ear!" The crowd smiled tolerantly and -benevolently upon him. - -"How did they come to get you?" asked one of his auditors. - -"I was doing a flit across the State on foot looking for work, and -camping in the woods nights. How the bloody blazes was I to know you'd -had a murder in your jay town? They jumped on me while I was asleep, -that's what they done. Three of 'em, and when I says, 'What the hell you -want of me?' one of 'em yells, 'We know you. Surrender!' and jabs the -butt of his gun into my jaw, and over I go. Then another one yells, -'He's feeling for his knife!' and he rushes in and lets drive with his -fist and fetches me a soaker in the neck." - -About the same hour two small figures brushed past Chris Berry as he -came up Main Street, and he heard a familiar voice say: "My, wasn't it a -close call, Spide? He was just saved by the skin of his teeth!" - -A hand was extended, and the speaker felt himself seized by the ear, -and, glancing up, looked into his father's face. - -"You come along home with me, son," said the undertaker. "Your ma 'll -have a word to say to you. She's been wanting to lay her hands on you -all day." - -"See you later, Spide," Clarence managed to gasp, and then he moved off -with a certain jaunty buoyancy, as though he trod on air. - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -WHEN Roger Oakley fled from Antioch on the night of the murder he was -resolved that, happen what might, he would not be taken. - -For half an hour he traversed back alleys and grass-grown "side -streets," seeing no one and unseen, and presently found himself to the -north of the town. - -Then he sat down to rest and consider the situation. - -He was on the smooth, round top of a hill-side. At his back were woods -and fields, while down in the hollow below him, beyond a middle -space that was neither town nor country, he saw the lights of Antioch -twinkling among the trees. Dannie was there somewhere, wondering why he -did not return. Nearer at hand, across a narrow lane, where the rag-weed -and jimson and pokeberry flourished rankly, was the cemetery. - -In the first peaceful month of his stay in Antioch he had walked out -there almost every Sunday afternoon to smoke his pipe and meditate. He -had liked to hear the blackbirds calling overhead in the dark pines, and -he had a more than passing fondness for tombstone literature. Next to -the Bible it seemed about the soundest kind of reading. He would seat -himself beside a grave whose tenant had been singularly pre-eminent as -possessing all the virtues, and, in friendly fellowship with the dead, -watch the shadows marshalled by the distant woodlands grow from short to -long, or listen to the noisy cawing of the crows off in the cornfields. - -The night was profoundly still, until suddenly the town bell rang the -alarm. The old convict's face blanched at the sound, and he came slowly -to his feet. The bell rang on. The lights among the trees grew in -number, dogs barked, there was the murmur of voices. He clapped his -hands to his ears and plunged into the woods. - -He had no clear idea of where he was going, but all night long he -plodded steadily forward, his one thought to be as far from Antioch -as possible by morning. When at last morning came, with its song of -half-awakened birds and its level streaks of light piercing the gray -dawn, he remembered that he was hungry, and that he had eaten nothing -since noon the day before. He stopped at the first farmhouse he came to -for breakfast, and at his request the farmer's wife put up a lunch for -him to carry away. - -It was night again when he reached Barrow's Saw Mills. He ventured -boldly into the one general store and made a number of purchases. The -storekeeper was frankly curious to learn what he was doing and where he -was going, but the old convict met his questions with surly reserve. - -When he left the store he took the one road out of the place, and half a -mile farther on forsook the road for the woods. - -It was nearly midnight when he went into camp. He built a fire and -toasted some thin strips of bacon. He made his supper of these and a -few crackers. He realized that he must harbor his slender stock of -provisions. - -He had told himself over and over that he was not fit to live among -men. He would have to dwell alone like a dangerous animal, shunning his -fellows. The solitude and the loneliness suited him. He would make a -permanent camp somewhere close to the lakes, in the wildest spot he -could find, and end his days there. - -He carried in his pocket a small railroad map of the State, and in the -morning, after a careful study of it, marked out his course. That day, -and for several days following, he plodded on and on in a tireless, -patient fashion, and with but the briefest stops at noon for his meagre -lunch. Each morning he was up and on his way with the first glimmer of -light, and he kept his even pace until the glow faded from the sky in -the west. - -Beyond Barrow's Saw Mills the pine-woods stretched away to the north in -one unbroken wilderness. At long intervals he passed loggers' camps, and -more rarely a farm in the forest; but he avoided these. Instinct told -him that the news of Ryder's murder had travelled far and wide. In all -that range of country there was no inhabited spot where he dare show his -face. - -Now that he had evolved a definite purpose he was quite cheerful -and happy, save for occasional spells of depression and bitter -self-accusation, but the excitement of his flight buoyed him up -amazingly. - -He had distanced and outwitted pursuit, and his old pride in his -physical strength and superiority returned. The woods never ceased to -interest him. There was a mighty freedom about them, a freedom he shared -and joyed in. He felt he could tramp on forever, with the scent of the -pines filling his nostrils and the sweep of the wind in his ears. His -muscles seemed of iron. There was cunning and craft, too, in the life he -was living. - -The days were sultry August days. No rain had fallen in weeks, and the -earth was a dead, dry brown. A hot haze quivered under the great trees. -Off in the north, against which his face was set, a long, low, black -cloud lay on the horizon. Sometimes the wind lifted it higher, and it -sifted down dark threads of color against the softer blue of the summer -sky. Presently the wind brought the odor of smoke. At first it was -almost imperceptible--a suggestion merely, but by-and-by it was in every -breath he drew. The forest was on fire ahead of him. He judged that the -tide of devastation was rolling nearer, and he veered to the west. Then -one evening he saw what he had not seen before--a dull red light that -shone sullenly above the pines. The next day the smoke was thick in the -woods; the wind, blowing strongly from the north, floated little wisps -and wreaths of it down upon him. It rested like a heavy mist above the -cool surface of the lake, on the shores of which he had made his camp -the night previous, while some thickly grown depressions he crossed were -sour with the stale, rancid odor that clung to his clothes and -rendered breathing difficult. There was a powdering of fine white ashes -everywhere. At first it resembled a hoar-frost, and then a scanty fall -of snow. - -By five o'clock he gained the summit of a low ridge. From its top he was -able to secure an extended view of the fire. A red line--as red as the -reddest sunset--stretched away to the north as far as the eye could see. -He was profoundly impressed by the spectacle. The conflagration was on a -scale so gigantic that it fairly staggered him. He knew millions of feet -of timber must be blazing. - -He decided to remain on the ridge and study the course of the fire, -so he lay down to rest. Sleep came over him, for the day had been a -fatiguing one, but at midnight he awoke. A dull, roaring sound was -surging through the forest, and the air was stifling. The fire had -burned closer while he slept. It had reached the ridge opposite, which -was nearly parallel to the one he was on, and was burning along its -northern base. The ridge flattened perceptibly to the west, and already -at this point a single lone line of fire had surmounted the blunt -crest, and was creeping down into the valley which intervened. Presently -tongues, of fire shot upwards. The dark, nearer side of the ridge showed -clearly in the fierce light, and soon the fire rolled over its entire -length, a long, ruddy cataract of flame. As it gained the summit it -seemed to fall forward and catch fresh timber, then it raced down the -slope towards the valley, forming a great red avalanche that roared and -hissed and crackled and sent up vast clouds of smoke into the night. - -Clearly any attempt to go farther north would be but a waste of time -and strength. The fire shut him off completely in that quarter. He must -retrace his steps until he was well to the south again. Then he could -go either to the east or west, and perhaps work around into the burned -district. The risk he ran of capture did not worry him. Indeed, he -scarcely considered it. He felt certain the pursuit, if pursuit there -were, had been abandoned days before. He had a shrewd idea that the fire -would give people something else to think of. His only fear was that his -provisions would be exhausted. When they went he knew the chances were -that he would starve, but he put this fear resolutely aside whenever it -obtruded itself. With care his supplies could be made to last many days. - -He did not sleep any more that night, but watched the fire eat its way -across the valley. When it reached the slope at his feet he shouldered -his pack and started south. It was noon when he made his first halt. He -rested for two hours and then resumed his march. He was now well beyond -the immediate range of the conflagration. There was only an occasional -faint odor of smoke in the woods. He had crossed several small streams, -and he knew they would be an obstacle in the path of the fire unless the -wind, which was from the north, should freshen. - -Night fell. He lighted a camp-fire and scraped together his bed of -pine-needles, and lay down to sleep with the comforting thought that he -had put a sufficient distance between himself and the burning forest. -He would turn to the west when morning came. He trusted to a long day's -journey to carry him out of the menaced territory. It would be easier -travelling, too, for the ridges which cut the face of the country ran -east and west. The sun was in the boughs of the hemlocks when he awoke. -There had been a light rain during the night, and the forest world had -taken on new beauty. But it grew hot and oppressive as the hours passed. -The smoke thickened once more. At first he tried to believe it was only -his fancy. Then the wind shifted into the east, and the woods became -noticeably clearer. He pushed ahead with renewed hope. This change in -the wind was a good sign. If it ever got into the south it would drive -the fire back on itself. - -He tramped for half the night and threw himself down and slept -heavily--the sleep of utter exhaustion and weariness. It was broad day -when he opened his eyes. The first sound he heard was the dull roar of -the flames. He turned with a hunted, fugitive look towards the west. A -bright light shone through the trees. The fire was creeping around -and already encircled him on two sides. His feeling was one of bitter -disappointment, fear, too, mingled with it. In the south were Ryder's -friends--Dannie's enemies and his. Of the east he had a horror which -the study of his map did not tend to allay; there were towns there, and -settlements, thickly scattered. Finally he concluded he would go forward -and examine the line of fire. There might be some means by which he -could make his way through it. - -A journey of two miles brought him to a small watercourse. The fire -was burning along the opposite bank. It blazed among the scrub and -underbrush and leaped from tree to tree; first to shrivel their foliage -to a dead, dry brown, and then envelop them in sheets of flame. The -crackling was like the report of musketry. - -Roger Oakley was awed by the sight. In spite of the smoke and heat he -sat down on the trunk of a fallen pine to rest. Some birds fluttered out -of the rolling masses of smoke above his head and flew south with shrill -cries of alarm. A deer crossed the stream, not two hundred yards from -where he sat, at a single bound. Next, two large timber wolves entered -the water. They landed within a stone's throw of him, and trotted -leisurely off. The heat soon drove him from his position, and he, too, -sought refuge in the south. The wall of flame cut him off from the north -and west, and to the east he would not go. - -There was something tragic in this blocking of his way. He wondered if -it was not the Lord's wish, after all, that he should be taken. This -thought had been troubling him for some time. Then he remembered Dannie. -Dannie, to whom he had brought only shame and sorrow. He set his lips -with grim determination. Right or wrong, the Lord's vengeance would have -to wait. Perhaps He would understand the situation. He prayed that He -might. - -Twenty-four hours later and he had turned westward, with the desperate -hope that he could cross out of the path of the fire, but the hope -proved futile. There was no help for it. To the east he must go if he -would escape. - -It was the towns and settlements he feared most, and the people; perhaps -they still continued the search. When he left the wilderness the one -precaution he could take would be to travel only by night. This plan, -when it was firmly fixed in his mind, greatly encouraged him. But at -the end of ten hours of steady tramping he discovered that the fire -surrounded him on three sides. Still he did not despair. For two days he -dodged from east to west, and each day the wall of flame and smoke drew -closer about him, and the distances in which he moved became less and -less. And now a great fear of Antioch possessed him. The railroad ran -nearly due east and west from Buckhom Junction to Harrison, a distance -of ninety-five miles. Beyond the road the country was well settled. -There were thriving farms and villages. To pass through such a country -without being seen was next to impossible. He felt a measure of his -strength fail him, and with it went his courage. It was only the thought -of Dannie that kept him on the alert. Happen what might, he would not -be taken. It should go hard with the man or men who made the attempt. He -told himself this, not boastfully, but with quiet conviction. In so far -as he could, as the fire crowded him back, he avoided the vicinity of -Antioch and inclined towards Buckhorn Junction. - -There was need of constant vigilance now, as he was in a sparsely -settled section. One night some men passed quite near to the fringe of -tamarack swamp where he was camped. Luckily the undergrowth was dense, -and his fire had burned to a few red embers. On another occasion, just -at dusk, he stumbled into a small clearing, and within plain view of the -windows of a log-cabin. As he leaped back into the woods a man with a -cob-pipe in his mouth came to the door of the cabin. - -Roger Oakley, with the hickory staff which he had cut that day held -firmly in his hands, and a fierce, wild look on his face, watched him -from his cover. Presently the man turned back into the house, closing -the door after him. - -These experiences startled and alarmed him. He grew gaunt and haggard; -a terrible weariness oppressed him; his mind became confused, and a sort -of panic seized him. His provisions had failed him, but an occasional -cultivated field furnished corn and potatoes, in spite of the serious -misgivings he felt concerning the moral aspect of these nightly -depredations. When he raided a spring-house, and carried off eggs and -butter and milk, he was able to leave money behind. He conducted these -transactions with scrupulous honesty. - -He had been living in the wilderness three weeks, when at last the fire -drove him from cover at Buck-horn Junction. As a town the Junction was -largely a fiction. There was a railroad crossing, a freight-shed, and -the depot, and perhaps a score of houses scattered along a sandy stretch -of country road. - -The B. & A. had its connection with the M. & W. at this point. It was -also the beginning of a rich agricultural district, and the woods gave -place to cultivated fields and farm-lands. - -It was late afternoon as Roger Oakley approached Buckhorn. When it was -dark he would cross the railroad and take his chance there. He judged -from the light in the sky that the fire had already burned in between -Buckhom and Antioch. This gave him a certain sense of security. Indeed, -the fire surrounded Buckhorn in every quarter except the south. Where -there was no timber or brush it crept along the rail-fences, or ran -with tiny spurts of flame through the dry weeds and dead stubble which -covered much of the cleared land. - -He could see a number of people moving about, a quarter of a mile -west of the depot. They were tearing down a burning fence that was in -perilous proximity to some straw-stacks and a barn. - -He heard and saw the 6.50 on the M. & W. pull in. This was the Chicago -express; and the Huckleberry's local, which was due at Antioch at -midnight, connected with it. This connection involved a wait of three -hours at Buckhom. Only one passenger left the train. He disappeared into -the depot. - -Roger Oakley waited until it was quite dark, and then, leaving the -strip of woods just back of the depot, where he had been hiding, stole -cautiously down to the track. He had noticed that there was an engine -and some freight cars on one of the sidings. He moved among them, -keeping well in the shadow. Suddenly he paused. Two men emerged from the -depot. They came down the platform in the direction of the cars. They -were talking earnestly together. One swung himself up into the engine -and lighted a torch. - -He wondered what they were doing, and stole nearer. - -They were standing on the platform now, and the man who held the torch -had his back to him. His companion was saying something about the wires -being down. - -He listened intently. - -Antioch was in danger, and if Antioch was in danger--Dannie-- - -All at once the man with the torch turned and its light Suffused his -face. - -It was Dan Oakley. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -DAN OAKLEY went to Chicago, intending to see Holloway and resign, -but he found that the Huckleberry's vice-president was in New York on -business, and no one in his office seemed to know when he would return, -so he sat down and wrote a letter, telling him of the condition of -affairs at Antioch, and explaining the utter futility, in view of what -had happened, of his trying to cope with the situation. - -He waited five days for a reply, and, none coming, wired to learn if -his letter had been received. This produced results. Holloway wired -back that he had the letter under consideration, and requested Oakley to -remain in Chicago until he returned, but he did not say whether or not -his resignation would be accepted. Since there was nothing to be done -but await Holloway's pleasure in the matter, Dan employed his enforced -leisure in looking about for another position. He desired a connection -which would take him out of the country, for the farther away from -Antioch and Constance Emory he could get the better he would be -satisfied. He fancied he would like to go to South America. He was -willing to accept almost any kind of a post--salary was no longer a -consideration with him. What he required was a radical change, with -plenty of hard work. - -It was not to be wondered at that his judgment of the case was an -extreme one, or that he told himself he must make a fresh start, as his -record was very much against him and his ability at a discount. While he -could not fairly be held responsible for the miscarriage of his plans at -Antioch, he felt their failure keenly, so keenly that could he have seen -the glimmer of a hope ahead he could have gone back and taken up the -struggle, but the killing of Ryder by his father made this impossible. -There was nothing he could do, and his mere presence outraged the -whole town. No understanding would ever be reached with the hands if he -continued in control, while a new man in his place would probably have -little or no difficulty in coming to an agreement with them. No doubt -they were quite as sick as he had been of the fight, and if he left they -would be content to count his going a victory, and waive the question of -wages. It was part of the irony of the condition that the new man would -find enough work contracted for to keep the shop open and running full -time for the next eight or ten months. But his successor was welcome to -the glory of it when he had hidden himself in some God-forsaken corner -of the globe along with the other waifs and strays--the men who have -left home because of their health or their accounts, and who hang around -dingy seaport towns and read month-old newspapers and try to believe -that the game has been worth the candle. - -By far his greatest anxiety was his father. He watched the papers -closely, expecting each day to read that he had been captured and sent -back to Antioch, but the days slipped past, and there was no mention of -him. Holt, with whom he was in constant correspondence, reported that -interest in his capture had considerably abated, while the organized -pursuit had entirely ceased. - -Dan had the feeling that he should never see him again, and the pathos -of his age and dependence tore his heart. In a manner, too, he blamed -himself for the tragedy. It might have been averted had he said less -about Ryder in his father's hearing. He should have known better than to -discuss the strike with him. - -One morning, as he left Holloway's office, he chanced to meet an -acquaintance by the name of Curtice. They had been together in Denver -years before, and he had known him as a rather talkative young fellow, -with large hopes and a thrifty eye to the main chance. But he was -the one man he would have preferred to meet, for he had been in South -America and knew the field there. Apparently Curtice was equally glad to -see him. He insisted upon carrying him off to his club to lunch, where -it developed he was in a state of happy enthusiasm over his connection -with a road that had just gone into the hands of a receiver, and a new -baby, which he assured Oakley on the spur of the moment he was going to -name after him. - -"You see, Oakley," he explained, as they settled themselves, "I -was married after you left to a girl who had come to Denver with -a consumptive brother. They boarded at the same place I did." His -companion was properly interested. "Look here, how long are you going to -be in the city? I want you to come and see us." - -Dan avoided committing himself by saying his stay in Chicago was most -uncertain. He might have to leave very soon. - -"Well, then, you must drop in at my office. I wish you'd make it your -headquarters while you are here." - -"What about the road you are with?" - -"Oh, the road! We are putting it in shape." - -Oakley smiled a trifle skeptically. He recalled that even as a very -young man filling a very subordinate position, Curtice had clung to the -"we." Curtice saw the smile and remembered too. - -"Now, see here, I'm giving it to you straight. I really am the whole -thing. I've got a greenhorn for a boss, whose ignorance of the business -is only equalled by his confidence in me. If you want to be nasty you -can say his ignorance is responsible for much of his confidence. I've -been told that before." - -"Then I'll wait. I may be able to think of something better." - -"There are times when I wonder if he really knows the difference between -an engine's head-light and a coupling-pin. He's giving me all the rope -I want, and we'll have a great passenger service when I get done. That's -what I am working on now." - -"But where are you going to get the funds for it? A good service costs -money," said Dan. - -"Oh, the road's always made money. That was the trouble." Oakley looked -dense. He had heard of such things, but they had been outside of his own -experience. - -"The directors were a superstitious lot; they didn't believe in paying -dividends, and as they had to get rid of the money somehow, they put -it all out in salaries. The president's idea of the value of his own -services would have been exorbitant if the road had been operating five -thousand miles of track instead of five hundred. I am told a directors' -meeting looked like a family reunion, and they had a most ungodly lot of -nephews--nephews were everywhere. The purchasing agent was a nephew, so -were two of the division superintendents. Why, the president even had a -third cousin of his wife's braking on a way freight. We've kept him as a -sort of curiosity, and because he was the only one in the bunch who was -earning his pay." - -"No wonder the stockholders went to law," said Oakley, laughing. - -"Of course, when the road was taken into court its affairs were seen to -be in such rotten shape that a receiver was appointed." - -Oakley's business instinct asserted itself. He had forgotten for the -time being that his services still belonged to Cornish. Now he said: -"See here, haven't you cars you intend to rebuild?" - -'"We've precious few that don't need carpenter-work or paint or -upholstering." - -"Then send them to me at Antioch. I'll make you a price you can't get -inside of, I don't care where you go." - -Curtice meditated, then he asked: "How are you fixed to handle a big -contract? It 'll be mostly for paint and upholstery or woodwork. We have -been considering equipping works of our own, but I am afraid they are -not going to materialize." - -"We can handle anything," and from sheer force of habit he was all -enthusiasm. He had pleasant visions of the shops running over-time, -and everybody satisfied and happy. It made no difference to him that he -would not be there to share in the general prosperity. With the start he -had given it, the future of the Huckleberry would be assured. He decided -he had better say nothing to Curtice about South America. - -The upshot of this meeting was that he stuck to Curtice with a genial -devotion that made him wax in his hands. They spent two days together, -inspecting paintless and tattered day coaches, and on the third day -Dan strolled from his friend's office buttoning his coat on a contract -that would mean many thousands of dollars for Antioch. It was altogether -his most brilliant achievement. He felt that there only remained for him -to turn the Huckleberry over to Holloway and leave the country. He had -done well by it. - -Dan had been in Chicago about three weeks, when at last Holloway -returned, and he proved as limp as Cornish had said he would be in a -crisis. He was inclined to be critical, too, and seemed astonished -that Oakley had been waiting in Chicago to see him. He experienced a -convenient lapse of memory when the latter mentioned his telegram. - -"I can't accept your resignation," he said, fussing nervously among -the papers on his desk. "I didn't put you at Antioch; that was General -Cornish's own idea, and I don't know what he'll think." - -"It has gotten past the point where I care what he thinks," retorted -Dan, curtly. "You must send some one else there to take hold." - -"Why didn't you cable him instead of writing me?" fretfully. "I don't -know what he will want, only it's pretty certain to be the very thing I -sha'n't think of." - -"I would have cabled him if I had considered it necessary, but it never -occurred to me that my resignation would not be agreed to on the spot, -as my presence in Antioch only widens the breach and increases the -difficulty of a settlement with the men." - -"Whom did you leave in charge?" inquired Holloway. - -"Holt." - -"Who's he?" - -"He's Kerr's assistant," Dan explained. - -"Why didn't you leave Kerr in charge?" demanded the vice-president. - -"I laid him off," said Dan, in a tone of exasperation, and then he -added, to forestall more questions: "He was in sympathy with the men, -and he hadn't the sense to keep it to himself. I couldn't be bothered -with him, so I got rid of him." - -"Well, I must say you have made a frightful mess of the whole business, -Oakley, but I told General Cornish from the first that you hadn't the -training for the position." - -Dan turned very red in the face at this, but he let it pass. - -"It's too bad," murmured Holloway, still fingering the letters on the -desk. - -"Since you are in doubt, why don't you cable General Cornish for -instructions, or, if there is a reason why you don't care to, it is not -too late for me to cable," said Dan. - -This proposal did not please Holloway at all, but he was unwilling -to admit that he feared Cornish's displeasure, which, where he was -concerned, usually took the form of present silence and a subsequent -sarcasm that dealt with the faulty quality of his judgment. The sarcasm -might come six months after it had been inspired, but it was certain -to come sooner or later, and to be followed by a bad half-hour, which -Cornish devoted to past mistakes. Indeed, Cornish's attitude towards him -had become, through long association, one of chronic criticism, and he -was certain to be unpleasantly affected both by what he did and by what -he left undone. - -"Why don't you wait until the general returns from England? That's not -far off now. Under the circumstances he'll accept your resignation." - -"He will have to," said Oakley, briefly. - -"Don't worry; he'll probably demand it," remarked the vice-president, -disagreeably. - -"If you are so sure of this, why don't you accept it?" retorted Dan. - -"I have no one to appoint in your place." - -"What's wrong with Holt? He'll do temporarily." - -"I couldn't feel positive of his being satisfactory to General Cornish. -He's a very young man, ain't he?" - -"Yes, I suppose you'd call him a young man, but he has been with the -road for a long time, and has a pretty level head. I have found him very -trustworthy." - -"I would have much greater confidence in Kerr. He's quiet and -conservative, and he's had an excellent training with us." - -"Well, then, you can get him. He is doing nothing, and will be glad to -come." - -"But you have probably succeeded in antagonizing him." - -"I hope so," with sudden cheerfulness. "It was a hardship not to be able -to give him a sound thrashing. That's what he deserved." - -Holloway looked shocked. The young man was displaying a recklessness of -temper which was most unseemly and entirely unexpected. - -"I guess it will be well for you to think it over, Oakley, before you -conclude to break with General Cornish. To go now will be rather shabby -of you, and you owe him fair treatment. Just remember it was those -reforms of yours that started the strike, in the first place. I know--I -know. What you did you did with his approval The men are peaceable -enough, ain't they?" and he glared at Oakley with mingled disfavor and -weariness. - -"Anybody can handle them but me." - -"It won't be long until they are begging you to open the shops. They -will be mighty sick of the trouble they've shouldered when their money -is all gone." - -"They will never come to me for that, Mr. Holloway," said Dan. "I think -they would, one and all, rather starve than recognize my position." - -"They'll have to. We'll make them. We mustn't let them think we are -weakening." - -"You don't appreciate the feeling of intense hostility they have for -me." - -"Of course the murder of that man--what was his name?" - -"Ryder, you mean." - -"Was unfortunate. I don't wonder you have some feeling about going -back." - -Dan smiled sadly. - -The vice-president was wonderfully moderate in his choice of words. He -added: "But it is really best for the interest of those concerned that -you should go and do what you can to bring about a settlement." - -"It would be the sheerest idiocy for me to attempt it. The town may go -hungry from now till the end of its days, but it won't have me at any -price." - -"I always told Cornish he should sell the road the first opportunity he -got. He had the chance once and you talked him out of it. Now you don't -want to stand by the situation." - -"I do," said Oakley, rising. "I want to see an understanding reached -with the men, and I am going to do what I can to help along. You will -please to consider that I have resigned. I don't for the life of me -see how you can expect me to show my face in Antioch," and with that he -stalked from the place. He was thoroughly angry. He heard Holloway call -after him: - -"I won't accept your resignation. You'll have to wait until you see -Cornish!" - -Dan strode out into the street, not knowing what he would do. He was -disheartened and exasperated at the stand Holloway had taken. - -Presently his anger moderated and his pace slackened. He had been quite -oblivious to what was passing about him, and now for the first time, -above the rattle of carts and trucks, he heard the newsboys shrilly -calling an extra. He caught the words, "All about the big forest fire!" -repeated over and over again. - -He bought a paper and opened it idly, but a double-leaded head-line -arrested his attention. It was a brief special from Buckhom Junction. -He read it with feverish interest. Antioch was threatened with complete -destruction by the forest fires. - -"I'll take the first train for Antioch. Have you seen this?" and he held -out the crumpled page he had just torn from his newspaper. - -Holloway glanced up in astonishment at this unlooked-for change of -heart. - -"I thought you'd conclude it was no way to treat General Cornish," he -said. - -"Hang Cornish! It's not on his account I'm going. The town is in a fair -way to be wiped off the map. Here, read." - -And he thrust the paper into Holloway's hands. "The woods to the north -and west of Antioch have been blazing for two days. They have sent -out call after call for help, and apparently nobody has responded yet. -That's why I am going back, and for no other reason." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -AT Buckhorn Junction, Joe Durks, who combined the duties of telegraph -operator with those of baggage-master and ticket-agent, was at his table -receiving a message when Dan Oakley walked into the office. He had just -stepped from the Chicago express. - -"What's the latest word from Antioch, Joe?" he asked, hurriedly. - -"How are you, Mr. Oakley? I got Antioch now." - -"What do they say?" - -"They are asking help." - -The metallic clicking of the instrument before him ceased abruptly. - -"What's wrong, anyhow?" He pushed back his chair and came slowly to his -feet His finger was still on the key. He tried again to call up Antioch. -"They are cut off. I guess the wire is down." - -The two men stared at each other in silence. - -Dan's face was white in the murky, smoky twilight that filled the room. -Durks looked anxious--the limit of his emotional capacity. He was a -lank, colorless youth, with pale yellow tobacco stains about the corners -of his mouth, and a large nose, which was superior to its surroundings. - -Oakley broke silence with: - -"What's gone through to-day, Joe?" - -"Nothing's gone through on the B. & A. There's nothing to send from this -end of the line," the operator answered, nervously. - -"What went through yesterday?" - -"Nothing yesterday, either." - -"Where is No. 7?" - -"It's down at Harrison, Mr. Oakley." - -"And No. 9?" - -"It's at Harrison, too." - -"Do you know what they are doing at Harrison?" demanded Oakley, angrily. - -It seemed criminal negligence that no apparent effort had as yet been -made to reach Antioch. - -"I don't," said Durks, laconically, biting his nails. "I suppose they -are waiting for the fire to burn out." - -"Why don't you know?" persisted Dan, tartly. His displeasure moved the -operator to a fuller explanation. - -"It was cut off yesterday morning. The last word I got was that No. -7 was on a siding there, and that No. 9, which started at 8.15 for -Antioch, had had to push back. The fire was in between Antioch and -Harrison, on both sides of the track, and blazing to beat hell." - -Having reached this verbal height, he relapsed into comparative -indifference. - -"Where's the freight?" questioned Oakley. - -"The last I heard it was trying to make Parker's Run." - -"When was that?" - -"That was yesterday morning, too. It had come up that far from Antioch -the day before to haul out four carloads of ties. Holt gave the order. -It is still there, for all I know--that is, if it ain't burned or -ditched. I sent down the extra men from the yards here to help finish -loading the cars. I had Holt's order for it, and supposed he knew -what was wanted. They ain't come back, but they got there ahead of the -freight all right." - -Oakley felt this care for a few hundred dollars' worth of property -to have been unnecessary, in view of the graver peril that threatened -Antioch. Still, it was not Durks's fault. It was Holt who was to blame. -He had probably lost his head in the general alarm and excitement. - -While Harrison might be menaced by the fire, it was in a measure -protected by the very nature of its surroundings. But with Antioch, -where there was nothing to stay the progress of the flames, the case -was different. With a north wind blowing, they could sweep over the town -unhindered. - -"Yesterday the wind shifted a bit to the west, and for a while they -thought Antioch was out of danger," said Durks, who saw what was in -Oakley's mind. - -"What have you heard from the other towns?" - -"They're deserted. Everybody's gone to Antioch or Harrison. There was -plenty of time for that, and when No. 7 made her last run, I wired ahead -that it was the only train we could send out." - -"How did you get the extra men to Parker's Rim?" - -"Baker took 'em there on the switch engine. I sent him down again this -morning to see what was the matter with the freight, but he only went to -the ten-mile fill and come back. He said he couldn't go any farther. I -guess he wasn't so very keen to try. He said he hadn't the money put by -for his funeral expenses." - -"They told me up above that the M. & W. had hauled a relief train for -Antioch. What has been done with it? Have you made an effort to get it -through?" - -Durks looked distressed. Within the last three days flights of -inspiration and judgment had been demanded of him such as he hoped -would never be required again. And for forty-eight hours he had been -comforting himself with the thought that about everything on wheels -owned by the Huckleberry was at the western terminus of the road. - -"It ain't much of a relief train, Mr. Oakley. Two cars, loaded with -fire-engines and a lot of old hose. They are on the siding now." - -"Were any men sent here with the relief train?" questioned Oakley. - -"No; Antioch just wanted hose and engines. The water's played out, and -they got to depend on the river if the fire strikes the town. They're in -pretty bad shape, with nothing but one old hand-engine. You see, their -water-mains are about empty and their hose-carts ain't worth a damn." - -Oakley turned on his heel and strode from the office. The operator -followed him. As they gained the platform Dan paused. The very air was -heavy with smoke. The sun was sinking behind a blue film. Its dull disk -was the color of copper. He wondered if the same sombre darkness was -settling down on Antioch. The element of danger seemed very real and -present. To Dan this danger centred about Constance Emory. He quite -overlooked the fact that there were several thousand other people in -Antioch. Durks, at his side, rubbed the sandy bristles on his chin with -the back of his hand, and tried to believe he had thought of everything -and had done everything there was to do. - -The woods were on fire all about the Junction, but the town itself was -in no especial danger, as cultivated fields intervened to shut away the -flames. In these fields Dan could see men and women busy at work tearing -down fences. On a hillside a mile off a barn was blazing. - -"There goes Warrick's barn," remarked the operator. - -"What was the last word from Antioch? Do you remember exactly what was -said?" asked Dan. - -"The message was that a strong north wind was blowing, and that the town -was pretty certain to burn unless the engines and hose reached there -tonight; but they have been saying that for two days, and the wind's -always changed at the right moment and driven the fire back." - -Dan glanced along the track, and saw the relief train, consisting of an -engine, tender, and two flatcars, loaded with hose and fire-engines, on -one of the sidings. He turned on Durks with an angry scowl. - -"Why haven't you tried to start that train through? It's ready." - -"No one is here to go with it, Mr. Oakley. I was sort of counting on the -freight crew for the job." - -"Where's Baker?" - -"He went home on the 6. 10. He lives up at Car-son, you know." - -This was the first stop on the M. & W. east of Buckhom. - -"Why did you let him leave? Great God, man! Do you mean to say that he's -been loafing around here all day with his hands in his pockets? He'll -never pull another throttle for the Huckleberry!" - -Durks did not attempt to reply to this explosion of wrath. - -"Who made up the train?" demanded Dan. - -"Baker did. Him and his fireman. I didn't know but the freight might -come up from Parker's Run, and I wanted to be fixed for 'em. I couldn't -do a thing with Baker. I told him his orders were to try and reach -Antioch with the relief train, but he said he didn't care a damn who -gave the order, he wasn't going to risk his life." - -But Dan had lost interest in Baker. - -"Look here," he cried. "You must get a fireman for me, and I'll take out -the train myself." - -He wondered why he had not thought of this before. - -"I guess I'll manage to reach Antioch," he added, as he ran across to -the siding and swung himself into the cab. - -A faded blue blouse and a pair of greasy overalls were lying on the seat -in the cab. He removed his coat and vest and put them on. Durks, who had -followed him, climbed up on the steps. - -"You'll have to run slow, Mr. Oakley, because it's likely the heat has -spread the rails, if it ain't twisted them loose from the ties," he -volunteered. For answer Oakley thrust a shovel into his hands. - -"Here, throw in some coal," he ordered, opening the furnace door. - -Durks turned a sickly, mottled white. - -"I can't leave," he gasped. - -"You idiot. You don't suppose I'd take you from your post. What I want -you to do is to help me get up steam." - -The operator attacked the coal on the tender vigorously. He felt an -immense sense of comfort. - -Dan's railroad experience covered nearly every branch. So it chanced -that he had fired for a year prior to taking an office position. Indeed, -his first ambition had been to be an engineer. It was now quite dark, -and, the fires being raked down, he lit a torch and inspected his engine -with a comprehensive eye. Next he probed a two-foot oiler into the rods -and bearings and filled the cups. He found a certain pleasure in the -fact that the lore of the craft to which he had once aspired was still -fresh in his mind. - -"Baker keeps her in apple-pie order, Joe," he observed, approvingly. The -operator nodded. - -"He's always tinkering." - -"Well, he's done tinkering for us, unless I land in a ditch to-night, -with the tender on top of me." - -A purring sound issued from the squat throat of the engine. It was -sending aloft wreaths of light gray smoke and softly spitting red-hot -cinders. - -Dan climbed upon the tender and inspected the tank. Last of all he went -forward and lit the headlight, and his preparations were complete. He -jumped down from the cab, and stood beside Joe on the platform. - -"Now," he said, cheerfully, "where's that fireman, Joe?" - -"He's gone home, Mr. Oakley. He lives at Car-son, too, same as Baker," -faltered the operator. - -"Then there's another man whose services we won't require in future. -We'll have to find some one else." - -"I don't think you can," ventured Durks, reluctantly. Instinct told him -that this opinion would not tend to increase his popularity with Oakley. - -"Why not?" - -"They just won't want to go." - -"Do you mean to tell me that they will allow Antioch to burn and not lift -a hand to save the town?" he demanded, sternly. - -He couldn't believe it. - -"Well, you see, there won't any one here want to get killed; and they -will think they got enough trouble of their own to keep them home." - -"We can go up-town and see if we can't find a man who thinks of more -than his own skin," said Dan. - -"Oh, yes, we can try," agreed Durks, apathetically, but his tone implied -an unshaken conviction that the search would prove a fruitless one. - -"Can't you think of any one who would like to make the trip?" Durks was -thoughtful. He thanked his lucky stars that the M. & W. paid half his -salary. At last he said: - -"No, I can't, Mr. Oakley." - -There was a sound like the crunching of cinders underfoot on the other -side of the freight car near where they were standing, but neither Durks -nor Oakley heard it. The operator's jaws worked steadily in quiet animal -enjoyment of their task. He was still canvassing the Junction's adult -male population for the individual to whom life had become sufficiently -burdensome for Oakley's purpose. Dan was gazing down the track at the -red blur in the sky. Back of that ruddy glow, in the path of the flames, -lay Antioch. The wind was in the north. He was thinking, as he had many -times in the last hour, of Constance and the Emorys. In the face of the -danger that threatened he even had a friendly feeling for the rest of -Antioch. It had been decent and kindly in its fashion until Ryder set to -work to ruin him. - -He knew he might ride into Antioch on his engine none the worse for the -trip, except for a few bums, but there was the possibility of a more -tragic ending. Still, whatever the result, he would have done his full -part. - -He faced Durks again. - -"Any man who knows enough to shovel coal will do," he said. - -"But no one will want to take such long chances, Mr. Oakley. Baker said -it was just plain suicide." - -"Hell!" and Dan swore like a brakeman out of temper, in the bad, -thoughtless manner of his youth. - -At the same moment a heavy, slouching figure emerged from the shadow at -the opposite end of the freight car, and came hesitatingly towards the -two men. Then a voice said, in gentle admonition: - -"Don't swear so, Dannie. It ain't right. I'll go with you." - -It was his father. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -ANTIOCH had grown indifferent to forest fires, They were of almost -annual recurrence, and the town had come to expect them each fall. As -the Hon. Jeb Barrows remarked, with cheerful optimism, voicing a popular -belief, if it was intended Antioch should go that way it would have gone -long ago. - -But this summer the drought had been of longer duration than usual. The -woods were like tinder, and the inevitable wadding from some careless -hunter's gun, or the scattered embers from some camp-fire far up in the -northern part of the State, had started a conflagration that was licking -up miles of timber and moving steadily south behind a vast curtain of -smoke that darkened half the State. It was only when the burned-out -settlers from the north began to straggle in that Antioch awoke to a -proper sense of its danger. - -Quick upon the heels of these fugitives came the news that the -half-dozen families at Barrow's Saw Mills had been forced to flee from -their homes. The fire had encircled the mills in a single night, and -one old man, a trapper and hunter, who lived alone in a cabin in a small -clearing on the outskirts of the settlement, had been burned to death in -his bunk before he could be warned of his danger or help reach him. - -It was then that Antioch sent out its first call for help. It needed -fire-engines and hose, and it needed them badly, especially the hose, -for the little reservoir from which the town drew its water supply was -almost empty. - -Antioch forgot the murder of Ryder. It forgot Roger Oakley, the strike, -and all lesser affairs. A common danger threatened its homes, perhaps -the lives of its citizens. - -A score of angry men were stamping up and down the long platform across -from the shops, or pushing in and out of the ugly little depot, which -had taken on years in apparent age and decay in the two days during -which no trains had been running. - -They were abusing Holt, the railroad, and every one connected with it. -For the thousandth time they demanded to know where the promised relief -train was--if it had started from Buckhorn Junction, and, if it _hadn't_ -started, the reason of the delay. - -The harried assistant-treasurer answered these questions as best he -could. - -"Are you going to let the town burn without making a move to save it?" -demanded an excited citizen. - -"You don't think I am any more anxious to see it go than you are?" -retorted Holt, angrily. - -"Then why don't your damn road do something to prevent it?" - -"The road's doing all it can, gentlemen." - -"That's a whole lot, ain't it?" - -"We are cut off," said Holt, helplessly. "Everything's tied up tight." - -"You can wire, can't you?" - -"Yes, I can wire; I have wired." - -"Well, where's the relief train, then?" - -"It's at the Junction." - -"It's going to do us a lot of good there, ain't it?" - -"They'll send it as soon as they can get together a crew." - -"Stir them up again, Holt Tell 'em we got to have that hose and those -engines, or the town's gone. It's a matter of life and death." - -Holt turned back into the depot, and the crowd dispersed. - -In the ticket-office he found McClintock, who had just come in from -up-town. The master mechanic's face was unusually grave. - -"I have been investigating the water supply with the city engineer. -Things are in awful shape. The mains are about empty, and there isn't -pressure enough from the stand-pipe to throw a thirty-five foot stream." - -"I wish Oakley was here," muttered Holt. - -"So do I. Somehow he had a knack at keeping things moving. I don't mean -but what you've done your level best, Byron," he added, kindly. - -"They've laid down on me at the Junction," said the younger man, -bitterly. - -He stepped to the door, mopping his face with his handkerchief, and -stood looking down the track in the direction of Buckhorn. - -"They made it so Oakley couldn't stay, and now they wonder why the -relief train is hung up. All Durks says is that he can't get a crew. I -tell you if Oakley was here he'd _have_ to get one." - -"It was a mistake to send the yard engine up to Parker's Run. If we had -it here now--" - -"How in hell was _I_ to know we'd need it? I had to try to save those -ties, and we thought the wind was shifting into the south," in fierce -justification of his course. - -"That's so, all right," said McClintock. "We did think the danger was -past; only we shouldn't have taken any chances." - -At this point they were joined by Dr. Emory. - -"Anything new from Buckhorn?" he inquired, anxiously. - -"No, it's the same old story. Durks ain't got anybody to send." - -"Damn his indifference!" muttered McClintock. - -The doctor, like Holt, fell to mopping his face with his handkerchief. - -"Don't he know our danger? Don't he know we can't fight the fire without -engines and hose?--that our water supply is about exhausted, and that -we'll have to depend on the river?" - -Holt nodded wearily. - -"It looks as though we were to be left to face this situation as best we -can, without help from the outside," said the doctor, uneasily. - -Holt turned to McClintock. - -"Isn't there some method of back-firing?" - -"It's too late to try that, and, with this wind blowing, it would have -been too big a risk." - -He glanced moodily across the town to the north, where the black cloud -hung low in the sky. He added: - -"I have told my wife to keep the young ones in, no matter what happens. -But Lord! they will be about as well off one place as another, when it -comes to the pinch." - -"I suppose so," agreed the doctor. "I am at a loss to know what -precautions to take to insure the safety of Mrs. Emory and my daughter." - -It was only four o'clock, but it was already quite dark in the town--a -strange half-light that twisted the accustomed shape of things. The air -was close, stifling; and the wind, which blew in heavy gusts, was -like the breath from a furnace. The sombre twilight carried with it a -horrible sense of depression. Every sound in nature was stilled; silence -reigned supreme. It was the expectant hush of each living thing. - -The three men stepped out on the platform. Holt and the doctor were -still mopping their faces with their limp handkerchiefs. McClintock was -fanning himself with his straw hat. When they spoke they unconsciously -dropped their voices to a whisper. - -"Those families in the North End should move out of their homes," said -the doctor. "If they wait until the fire gets here, they will save -nothing but what they have on their backs." - -"Yes, and the houses ought to come down," added McClintock. "There's -where the fire will get its first grip on the town, and then Heaven help -us!" - -Night came, and so imminent seemed the danger that Antioch was roused to -something like activity. - -A crowd, composed almost exclusively of men, gathered early on the -square before the court-house. - -They had by common consent given up all hope that the relief train would -be sent from Buckhom Junction. The light in the sky told them that they -were completely cut off from the outside world. The town and the woods -immediately adjacent formed an island in the centre of an unbroken sea -of fire. The ragged red line had crept around to the east, west, and -south, but the principal danger would be from the north, where the wind -drove the flames forward with resistless fury. To the south and east -Billup's Fork interposed as a barrier to the progress of the fire, and -on the west was a wide area of cultivated fields. - -At regular intervals waves of light flooded the square, as the -freshening gusts fanned the conflagration or whirled across the town -great patches of black smoke. In the intervals of light a number of dark -figures could be seen moving about on the roof of the court-house. Like -the square below, it was crowded with anxious watchers. - -The crowd jostled to and fro on the square, restless and excited, and -incapable of physical quiet. Then suddenly a voice was raised and made -itself heard above the tramp of feet. "Those houses in the North End must -come down!" this voice said. - -There was silence, and then a many-tongued murmur. Each man present -knew that the residents of the North End had sworn that they would not -sacrifice their homes to the public good. If their homes must go, they -much preferred to have them burn, for then the insurance companies would -have to bear the loss. - -"'Those houses must come down!" the voice repeated. - -It was McClintock who had spoken. - -"Who's going to pull them down?" another voice asked. "They are ready to -fight for them." - -"And we ought to be just as ready to fight, if it comes to that," -answered the master mechanic. "It's for the common good." - -The crowd was seized with a noisy agitation. Its pent-up feelings found -vent in bitter denunciation of the North End. A man--it was the Hon. Jeb -Barrows--had mounted the court-house steps, and was vainly endeavoring -to make himself heard. He was counselling delay, but no one listened to -him. The houses must be torn down whether their owners wanted it or not. -McClintock turned up the street. - -"Fall in!" he shouted, and at least a hundred men fell in behind him, -marching two abreast. Here and there, as they moved along, a man would -forsake the line to disappear into his own gate. When he rejoined his -neighbors he invariably carried an axe, pick, or crowbar. - -From the square they turned into Main Street, and from Main Street into -the north road, and presently the head of the procession halted before a -cluster of small frame houses resting in a hollow to their right. - -"These must come down first," said McClintock. "Now we want no noise, -men. We'll pass out their stuff as quietly as we can, and take it back -to the square." - -He swung open a gate as he spoke. "Williams keeps a team. A couple of -you fellows run around to the barn and hook up." - -Just then the front door opened, and Williams himself appeared on the -threshold. A dog barked, other doors opened, lights gleamed in a -score of windows, and the North End threw off its cloak of silence and -darkness. - -"Keep quiet, and let me do the talking," said McClintock over his -shoulder. Then to the figure in the doorway: - -"We have come to help you move, John. I take it you will be wanting to -leave here shortly." - -"The hell you have!" responded Williams, roughly. - -"We'll give you a hand!" and the master mechanic pushed through the gate -and took a step down the path. - -"Hold on!" cried Williams, swinging out an arm. "I got something to say -about that!" - -There was a sound as of the clicking, of a lock, and he presented the -muzzle of a shot-gun. - -"Oh, say," said McClintock, gently; "you had better not try to use that. -It will only make matters worse. Your house has got to come down." - -"The hell it has!" - -"Yes," said McClintock, still gently. "We got to save what we can of the -town." - -Williams made no answer to this, but McClintock saw him draw the butt of -the gun up towards his shoulder. - -The men at his back were perfectly still. They filled the street, and, -breathing hard, pressed heavily against the picket fence, which bent -beneath the weight of their bodies. - -"You'd better be reasonable. We are losing precious time," urged -McClintock. - -"The hell you are!" - -It occurred to McClintock afterwards that there had been no great -variety to Williams's remarks. - -"In an hour or two this place will be on fire." - -"I've got no kick coming if it burns, but it sha'n't be pulled down." - -"Put up your gun, and we'll give you a lift at getting your stuff out." - -"No, you won't." - -McClintock kept his eyes on the muzzle of the shotgun. - -"It ain't the property loss we are thinking of--it's the possible loss -of life," he said, mildly. - -"I'll chance it," retorted Williams, briefly. - -"Well, we won't." - -Williams made no reply; he merely fingered the lock of his gun. - -"Put down that gun, John!" commanded McClintock, sternly. - -At the same moment he reached around and took an axe from the hands of -the nearest man. - -"Put it down," he repeated, as he stepped quickly towards Williams. - -The listening men pressed heavily against the fence in their feverish -anxiety to miss nothing that was said or done. The posts snapped, and -they poured precipitously into the yard. At the same moment the gun -exploded, and a charge of buckshot rattled harmlessly along the pavement -at McClintock's feet. - -Then succeeded a sudden pause, deep, breathless, and intense, and then -the crowd gave a cry--a cry that was in answer to a hoarse cheer that -had reached them from the square. - -An instant later the trampled front yard was deserted by all save -Williams in the doorway. He still held the smoking gun to his shoulder. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -WHEN Roger Oakley appeared on the platform at Buckhom Junction, Durks -started violently, while Dan took a quick step forward and placed a -warning hand on the old convict's arm. He feared what he might say. Then -he said to the operator: "He'll do. Go see if you can get Antioch. Try -just once more. If you succeed, tell them the engines and hose will -be there within an hour, or they need not look for them. Do you -understand?" - -"All right, Mr. Oakley." And Durks moved up the platform with alacrity. -He was relieved of one irksome responsibility. He had his own theories -as to who the stranger was, but he told himself it was none of his -business. - -As soon as he was out of hearing, Dan turned to his father, and said, -earnestly: "Look here, daddy, I can't allow you to do it. We are neither -of us popular. It's bad enough for me to have to go." - -"Why can't you allow it, Dannie?" And his son recognized the same -cheerful tone with which he had always met and overruled his objections. - -"It will end in your arrest, and we don't want that." - -"It's more than likely I'll be arrested sooner or later, anyhow," he -said, with a suggestion of weariness, as if this were a matter it was a -waste of time to consider. "The Lord has set His face against me. It's -His wish I should return. I've been stubborn and headstrong and wouldn't -see it, but look there," and he nodded towards the red western sky. -"It's a summons. I got to obey, whether I want to or not." - -"It won't be safe. No telling what they will do with you." - -"That ain't the question, Dannie; that ain't at all the question. It's -not what they'll do to me," and he softly patted the hand that rested on -his arm. - -Dan saw that his clothes hung loosely to his mighty frame. They were -torn and stained. He had the appearance of a man who had endured -hardship, privation, and toil. His glance was fugitive and anxious. -"Where have you been all this while?" he asked. "Not here?" - -"No, I have been living in the woods, trying to escape from the country, -and the fires wouldn't let me. Wherever I went, they were there ahead of -me, driving me back." - -"Why did you kill him? How did it happen?" Dan added. "Or is it all a -mistake? Did you do it?" - -The smile faded from the old convict's lips. - -"It was a sort of accident, and it was sort of carelessness, Dannie," he -explained, with a touch of sullenness. "I hit him--not hard, mind you. I -know I shouldn't have done it, but he was in the wrong, and he wouldn't -listen to reason. I don't know when I ever seen a man so set in his -wickedness." - -"And now you want to go back. Do you know what it means if you are -arrested? Have you thought of that?" - -Roger Oakley waved the query aside as though it concerned him not at -all. - -"I want to be with you," he said, wistfully. "You may not get through -alive, and I want to be with you. You'll need me. There's no one you can -trust as you can me, for I won't fail you, no matter what the danger is. -And there's the girl, Dannie. Have you thought of her?" - -Dan set his lips. "My God, I can't think of anything else." - -There was a moment's silence. - -"Here," said Dan, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "I am going to -give you what money I have. It isn't much." - -"What for, Dannie?" - -"You are sure to be seen and recognized if you stay about here. Your -description has been telegraphed all over the State. For that reason -I'll take you with me part way. Then I'll slow up, and you can hide -again. It's your only chance. I am sorry I can't do more for you. I wish -I could; but perhaps we can arrange to meet afterwards." - -His father smiled with the unconscious superiority of the man who firmly -believes he is controlled by an intelligence infinitely wise and beyond -all human conception. No amount of argument could have convinced him -that Providence was not burning millions of feet of standing timber and -an occasional town solely for his guidance. In his simple seriousness he -saw nothing absurd nor preposterous in the idea. He said: - -"I've wanted to escape, Dannie, for your sake, not for mine. But when I -seen you to-night I knew the Lord intended we should keep together. He -didn't bring us here for nothing. That ain't His way. There's no one to -go with you but me, and you can't go alone." - -"I can--I will!" And Dan swore under his breath. He realized that no -word of his could move his father. He would carry his point, just as he -always had. - -Durks came running along the platform from the dpt. - -"It's no use," shaking his head. "The wire's down. Say, you want to keep -your eyes open for the freight. It may be on the siding at Parker's Run, -and it may be on the main track." - -Dan made a last appeal to his father. - -"Won't you listen to what I say?" sinking his voice to a hoarse whisper. -"They'll hang you--do you hear? If ever they lay hands on you they -will show no mercy!" It did not occur to him that his father would be -returning under circumstances so exceptional that public sentiment might -well undergo a radical change in his favor. - -Roger Oakley merely smiled as he answered, with gentle composure: "I -don't think we need to worry about that. We are in His hands, Dannie," -and he raised his face to the heavens. - -Dan groaned. - -"Come, then," he said aloud. - -"I'll throw the switch for you!" and the operator ran down the track. -He was quite positive he should never see Oakley again, and he felt -something akin to enthusiasm at the willing sacrifice of his life which -he conceived him to be making. - -Father and son stepped to the engine. The old convict mounted heavily -to his post, and Dan sprang after him, his hand groping for the throttle -lever. There was the hiss of steam, and Joe cried from the darkness: - -"All right, come ahead!" And the engine, with its tender and two cars, -began its hazardous journey. - -As they slipped past him, the operator yelled his good-bye, and Dan -pushed open the cab window and waved his hand. - -Roger Oakley, on the narrow iron shelf between the engine and the -tender, was already throwing coal into the furnace. His face wore -a satisfied expression. Apparently he was utterly unmoved by the -excitement of the moment, for he bent to his work as if it were the most -usual of tasks, and the occasion the most commonplace. He had taken off -his coat and vest and had tossed them up on the tender out of his way. -Dan, looking over the boiler's end, could see his broad shoulders and -the top of his head. He leaned back with his hand on the throttle. - -"Father!" he called. - -The old convict straightened up instantly. - -"Yes, Dannie?" - -"You are going with me? You are determined?" - -"I thought we settled that, Dannie, before we started," he said, -pleasantly, but there was a shrewd, kindly droop to the corners of his -mouth, for he appreciated his victory. - -"I want to know, because if I am to slow up for you I'll have to do it -soon, or I'll be leaving you in worse shape than I found you." - -To this his father made no direct reply. Instead he asked, "Do you think -we'll reach Antioch in time to do them any good?" Dan faced about. - -They slid into a straight stretch of road beyond the Junction, and the -track shone yellow far ahead, where the engine looked down upon it with -its single eye. Each minute their speed increased. A steady jarring -and pounding had begun that grew into a dull and ponderous roar as the -engine rushed forward. Dan kept a sharp watch for the freight. - -As Durks had said, it might be on the siding at Parker's Rim, and it -might not. In the latter event, his and his father's troubles would soon -be at an end. - -He rose from his seat and went to the door of the cab. - -"We'll take it easy for the first ten miles or so, then we'll be in the -fire, and that will be our time to hit her up." - -Roger Oakley nodded his acquiescence. In what he conceived to be worldly -matters he was quite willing to abide by Dan's judgment, for which he -had profound respect. - -"How fast are we going?" he asked. Dan steadied himself and listened, -with a finger on his pulse, until he caught the rhythmic swing of -the engine, as it jarred from one rail to another. Then he said: -"Twenty-five miles an hour." - -"It ain't very fast, is it, Dannie?" - -He was evidently disappointed. - -"We'll do twice that presently." - -The old convict looked relieved. They were running now with a strip of -forest on one side of the track and cultivated fields on the other, but -with each rod they covered they were edging in nearer the flames. At -Parker's Rim the road crossed a little stream which doubled back in the -direction of Buckhorn Junction. There was nothing after that to stay the -progress of the fire, and the rest of their way lay through the blazing -pine-woods. - -Just before they reached the ten-mile fill they came to the strip of -burned timber that had sent Baker back to Buckhorn earlier in the day. -Here and there a tree was still blazing, but for the most part the fire -had spent its strength. - -As they swung past Parker's Run a little farther on, Dan saw the -freight, or, rather, what was left of it, on the siding. It had been -cutting out four flat-cars loaded with ties, and he understood the -difficulty at a glance. On the main track a brick-and-stone culvert -spanned the Run, but the siding crossed it on a flimsy wooden bridge. -This bridge had probably been burning as the freight backed in for the -flatcars, and when it attempted to pull out the weakened structure had -collapsed and the engine had gone through into the cut. It rested on its -forward end, jammed between the steep banks, with its big drivers in the -air. Of the cars there remained only the trucks and iron work. Near by -a tool-shed had formerly stood, but that was gone, too. The wheels and -gearing of a hand-car in the midst of a heap of ashes marked the spot. - -Dan turned to his father. "Are you all right, daddy?" he asked. - -"Yes, Dannie." - -"Mind your footing. It will be pretty shaky back there." - -They were still in the burned district, where a change in the wind that -afternoon had driven the fire back on itself. It had made a clean sweep -of everything inflammable. Luckily the road had been freshly ballasted, -and the track was in fair condition to resist the flames. But an -occasional tie smouldered, and from these the rushing train thrashed -showers of sparks. - -Dan kept his eyes fastened on the rails, which showed plainly in the -jerky glare of the headlight It was well to be careful while care was -possible. By-and-by he would have to throw aside all caution and trust -to chance. Now he increased his speed, and the insistent thud of the -wheels drowned every other sound, even the far-off roar of the flames. -At his back, at intervals, a ruddy glow shot upward into the night, when -Roger Oakley threw open the furnace door to pass in coal. Save for this -it was still quite dark in the cab, where Dan sat with his hand on the -throttle lever and watched the yellow streak that ran along the rails -in advance of the engine. Suddenly the wall of light ahead brightened -visibly, and its glare filled the cab. They were nearing the fire. - -Dan jammed the little window at his elbow open and put out his head. A -hot blast roared past him, and the heat of the fire was in his face. He -drew the window shut. It was light as day in the cab now. - -He leaned across the boiler's end, and, with a hand to his lips, called -to his father, "Are you all right?" - -The old man drew himself erect and crept nearer. - -"What's that you say, Dannie?" he asked. His face was black with -coal-dust and grime. - -"Are you all right? Can you bear the heat?" - -"I am doing very nicely, but this ain't a patch on what it's going to -be." - -"Yes, it will be much worse, though this is had enough." - -"But we can stand it. We must think of those poor people at Antioch." - -"We'll stick to the engine as long as the engine sticks to the rails," -said Dan, grimly. "Hadn't you better come into the cab with me? You'll -be frightfully exposed when we get into the thick of it." - -"Not yet, Dannie? I'll give you steam, and you drive her as hard as you -can." - -He turned away, shovel in hand. - -Then, all in a second, and they were in the burning woods, rushing -beneath trees that were blazing to their very summits. The track seemed -to shake and tremble in the fierce light and fiercer heat. Burning -leaves and branches were caught up to be whirled in fiery eddies back -down the rails as the train tore along, for Dan was hitting her up. - -Tongues of fire struck across at the two men. Smoke and fine white ashes -filled their mouths and nostrils. Their bodies seemed to bake. They had -been streaming wet with perspiration a moment before. - -Off in the forest it was possible to see for miles. Every tree and bush -stood forth distinct and separate. - -Roger Oakley put down his shovel for an instant to fill a bucket with -water from the tank on the tender. He plunged his head and arms in it -and splashed the rest over his clothes. Dan turned to him for the last -time. - -"It isn't far now," he panted. "Just around the next curve and we'll see -the town, if it's still there, off in the valley." - -The old convict did not catch more than the half of what he said, but he -smiled and nodded his head. - -As they swung around the curve a dead sycamore, which the fire had -girdled at the base, crashed across the track. The engine plunged into -its top, rolled it over once and tossed it aside. There was the smashing -of glass and the ripping of leather as the sycamore's limbs raked the -cab, and Roger Oakley uttered a hoarse cry, a cry Dan did not hear, -but he turned, spitting dust and cinders from his lips, and saw the -old convict still standing, shovel in hand, in the narrow gangway that -separated the engine and tender. - -He had set the whistle shrieking, and it cut high above the roar of the -flames, for, off in the distance, under a canopy of smoke, he saw the -lights of Antioch shining among the trees. - -Two minutes later and they were running smoothly through the yards, with -the brakes on and the hiss of escaping steam. As they slowed up beside -the depot, Dan sank down on the seat in the cab, limp and exhausted. -He was vaguely conscious that the platform was crowded with people, and -that they were yelling at him excitedly and waving their hats, but -he heard their cries only indifferently well. His ears were dead to -everything except the noise of his engine, which still echoed in his -tired brain. - -He staggered to his feet, and was about to descend from the cab, when -he saw that his father was lying face down on the iron shelf between the -engine and tender. He stooped and raised him gently in his arms. - -The old convict opened his eyes and looked up into his face, his lips -parted as if he were about to speak, but no sound came from them. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -CONSTANCE EMORY and her mother, waiting quietly in their own home, -heard the cheers when the noise from Dan's shrieking engine reached -the crowd of desperate men on the square. Then presently they heard the -rattle and clash of the fire-engines as they were dragged through the -street, and were aware that the relief train had arrived, but it was not -until the doctor came in some time long after midnight that they knew -who had been the savior of the town. - -"It's all over, dear. The fire is under control," he said, cheerfully, -addressing his wife. "I guess we can go to bed now and feel pretty sure -we won't be burned out before morning." - -Constance put down the book she had been trying to read, and rose -tiredly and stiffly from her chair beside the table. - -"Then the train did come, after all?" she said. "Yes, but not a moment -too soon. I tell you we can't be grateful enough. I've been with Oakley -and his father; that's what kept me," he explained. - -"Oakley!" Constance cried, in amazement. "You don't mean--" - -"Yes. Didn't you know that it was Oakley and his father who brought -the relief train? The old man is dead. He was killed on the way. It's a -miracle that either of them got through alive. Hadn't you heard?" - -Constance put out her hands blindly, for a sudden mist had come before -her eyes. - -"Father, you don't mean that Mr. Oakley has returned to Antioch--that he -is here now?" - -"Yes, it seems no one else would come. Oakley was in Chicago when he -first heard of the fire, and started immediately for Buckhorn, where he -found the relief train. Oddly enough, he found his father there, too." - -"Then there was something to the old man, after all," said Mrs. Emory, -whose sympathies were as generous as they were easily aroused. - -"A good deal, I should say. He must have known that he was coming back -to arrest and almost certain conviction." - -Constance's glance searched her father's face. She wanted to hear more -of Oakley. Her heart was hungering for news of this man who had risked -his life to save them. All her lingering tenderness--the unwilling -growth of many days--was sweeping away the barriers of her pride. "Mr. -Oakley was not hurt?" she questioned, breathlessly, pale to the lips. - -"He is pretty badly shaken up, and no wonder, but he will be all right -in the morning." - -"Where is he now?" she asked. - -Her father turned to her. - -"Oakley--You look tired out, Constance. Do go to bed. I'll tell you all -about it in the morning." - -"Where is he now, papa?" she questioned, going to his side and clasping -her hands about his arm. - -"Down at the shop. They carried his father there from the train." - -"Why didn't you have them bring him here?" said Mrs. Emory, quickly. -"After this I won't listen to a word against either of them. I would -like to show the town just how we feel in the matter." - -"I suggested it, but Oakley wouldn't hear to it. But don't worry about -the town. It's gone wild. You should have seen the crowd on the platform -when it saw Oakley in the engine-cab. It went stark mad." - -Again Constance's eyes swam with tears. The strike, the murder of Ryder, -the fire, had each seemed in turn a part of the tragedy of her life at -Antioch, but Oakley's return was wholly glorious. - -Her father added, "I shall see Oakley in the morning, and learn if we -can be of any service to him." - -A little later, when Constance went to her own room, she drew forward a -chair and seated herself by the window. Across the town, on the edge of -the "flats," she saw dimly the long, dark outline of the railroad shop, -with its single tall chimney. She thought of Oakley as alone there -keeping watch at the side of the grim old murderer, who had so -splendidly redeemed himself by this last sacrifice. - -Great clouds of black smoke were still rolling over the town, and the -woods were still blazing fiercely in the distance. Beyond her window she -heard the call of frightened birds, as they fluttered to and fro in the -dull red light, and farther off, in the North End, the muffled throbbing -of the fire-engines. - -If she had had any doubts as to her feeling for Oakley, these doubts -were now a thing of the past. She knew that she loved him. She had been -petty and vain; she had put the small things of life against the great, -and this was her punishment. She tried to comfort herself with the -thought that she should see him in the morning; then she could tell him -all. But what could she tell him? The time had gone by when she could -tell him anything. - -It was almost morning when she undressed and threw herself down on her -bed. She was disconsolate and miserable, and the future seemed quite -barren of hope or happiness. Love had come to her, and she had not known -its presence. Yes, she would tell Oakley that she had been little and -narrow and utterly unworthy. He had cared for her, and perhaps he would -understand. She fell asleep thinking this, and did not waken until her -mother called her for breakfast. - -"I am waiting for your father. He has gone down to see Mr. Oakley," Mrs. -Emory said when she entered the dining-room. Constance glanced at the -table. - -"Is he going to bring Mr. Oakley back with him?" she asked, nervously. - -"He expected to. I declare, Constance, you look worn out. Didn't you -sleep well?" - -"No, not very. I wonder if they are coming?" - -"You might go look," said her mother, and Constance hurried into the -parlor. She was just in time to see her father enter the gate. He was -alone. Constance flew to the front door and threw it open. - -"He wouldn't come?" she cried, breathlessly. - -"He's gone." - -"Gone?" - -"Yes, a train was made up early this morning, and he has returned to -Buckhorn--Why, what's the matter, Constance?" - -For Constance, with a little gasp of dismay, had slipped down into a -chair, with her hands before her face. - -"What is it, dear?" he questioned, anxiously. But she gave him no -answer. She was crying softly, unrestrainedly. It was all over. Oakley -was gone, and with him went her only hope of happiness. Yet more keen -than her sense of pain and personal loss was her regret that he would -never understand that she respected and admired him as he deserved. - -"I am sorry, Constance, but I didn't know that you especially wanted to -see him," said the doctor, awkwardly, but with a dawning comprehension -of what it all meant. She made no answer. - -"What is it, dear?" he repeated. - -"Oh, nothing. I wanted to tell him about something; that is all. It -doesn't matter now." She glanced up into his face with a sudden doubt. -"You didn't see him--you are quite sure he went away without your seeing -him--you are not deceiving me?" - -"Why, of course, Constance, but he'll come back." - -"No, he won't, papa," shaking her head sadly. "He's gone, and he will -never come back. I know him better than you do." - -And then she fled promptly up-stairs to her own room. - -This was the nearest Constance came to betraying her love for Oakley. -She was not much given to confidences, and the ideals that had sustained -her in her pride now seemed so childish and unworthy that she had no -wish to dwell upon them, but whenever Dan's name was mentioned in -her presence she looked frightened and guilty and avoided meeting her -father's glance. - -It seemed, indeed, that. Oakley had taken final leave of Antioch. A new -manager appeared and took formal charge of the destinies of the road. -Under his direction work was resumed in the shops, for the strike had -died a natural death. None of the hands were disposed to question the -ten-per-cent cut, and before the winter was over the scale of wages -that had been in force before the strike was inaugurated was voluntarily -restored. The town had no criticisms to make of Johnson, the new -manager, a quiet, competent official; the most any one said was that he -was not Oakley. That was enough. For Dan had come into his own. - -Early in October there was a flutter of excitement when Turner Joyce and -his wife left for the East to be Oakley's guests. When they returned, -some weeks later, they had a good deal to say about him that Antioch was -frankly curious to hear. - -He had taken his father to Burton, where his mother was buried. -Afterwards he had joined General Cornish in New York. - -While abroad, the financier had effected a combination of interests -which grouped a number of roads under one management, and Dan had -been made general superintendent of the consolidated lines, with his -headquarters in New York City. The Joyces were but vaguely informed as -to where these lines were, but they did full justice to their magnitude, -as well as to the importance of Oakley's new connection. - -The dull monotony of those fall days in Antioch was never forgotten by -Constance Emory. She was listless and restless by turns. She had hoped -that she might hear from Oakley. She even thought the Joyces might bring -her some message, but none had come. Dan had taken her at her word. - -She had made no friends, and, with Ryder dead and Oakley gone, she saw. -no one, and finally settled down into an apathy that alarmed the doctor. -He, after some deliberation, suddenly announced his intention of going -East to attend a medical convention. - -"Shall you see Mr. Oakley?" Constance asked, with quick interest. - -"Probably, if he's in New York when I get there." - -Constance gave him a scared look and dropped her eyes. But when the time -drew near for his departure, she followed him about as if there were -something on her mind which she wished to tell him. - -The day he started, she found courage to ask, "Won't you take me with -you, papa?" - -"Not this time, dear," he answered. - -She was quiet for a moment, and then said: - -"Papa, you are not going to tell him?" - -"Tell who, Constance? What?" - -"Mr. Oakley." - -"What about Oakley, dear?" - -She looked at him from under her long lashes while the color slowly -mounted to her cheeks. - -"You are not going to tell him what you think you know?" - -The doctor smiled. - -"I wish you would grant me the possession of ordinary sense, Constance. -I am not quite a fool." - -"You are a precious," she said, kissing him. - -"Thank you. What message shall I give Oakley for you?" - -"None." - -"None?" - -"He won't want to hear from me," shyly. - -"Why not?" - -"Because he just won't, papa. Besides, I expect he has forgotten that -such a person ever lived." - -"I wouldn't be too sure of that. What was the trouble, Constance? You'd -better tell me, or I may say something I shouldn't." - -"Oh, you must not say anything," in alarm. "You must promise." - -"Constance, what did Oakley say to you that last day he was here at the -house?" - -Constance's glance wandered meditatively from her father's face to -the window and back again, while her color came and went. There was a -faraway, wistful look in her eyes, and a sad little smile on her lips. -At last she said, softly, "Oh, he said a number of things. I can't -remember now all he did say. - -"Did Oakley tell you he cared for you?" - -Constance hesitated a moment, then, reluctantly: - -"Well, yes, he did. And I let him go, thinking I didn't care for him," -miserably, and with a pathetic droop of her lips, from which the smile -had fled. "I didn't know, and I have been so unhappy!" - -"Oh!" - -Constance left the room abruptly. - -When he reached New York, the first thing the doctor did was to look up -Oakley. He was quick to notice a certain constraint in the young man's -manner as they shook hands, but this soon passed off. - -"I am awfully glad to see you," he had said. "I have thought of you -again and again, and I have been on the point of writing you a score of -times. I haven't forgotten your kindness to me." - -"Nonsense, Oakley. I liked you, and it was a pleasure to me to be able -to show my regard," responded the doctor, with hearty good-will. - -"How is Mrs. Emory--and Miss Emory?" - -"They are both very well. They were just a little hurt that you ran off -without so much as a goodbye." - -Oakley gave him a quick glance. - -"She is--Miss Emory is still in Antioch?" - -The doctor nodded. - -"I didn't know but what she might be in the city with you," Dan -explained, with evident disappointment. - -"Aren't we ever going to see you in Antioch again?" inquired the doctor. -He put the question with studied indifference. Dan eagerly scanned his -face. The doctor fidgeted awkwardly. - -"Do _you_ think I'd better go back?" he asked, with a perceptible -dwelling on the "you." - -The doctor's face became a trifle red. He seemed to weigh the matter -carefully; then he said: - -"Yes, I think you'd better. Antioch would like mightily to lay hands on -you." - -Dan laughed happily. "You don't suppose a fellow could dodge all that, -do you? You see, I was going west to Chicago in a day or so, and I had -thought to take a run on to Antioch. As a matter of fact, Cornish wants -me to keep an eye on the shops. They are doing well, you know, and we -don't want any falling off. But, you understand, I don't want to get let -in for any fool hysterics," he added, impatiently. - -Notwithstanding the supposed confidence in which telegrams are -transmitted, Brown, the day man at Antioch, generally used his own -discretion in giving publicity to any facts of local interest that came -under his notice. But when he wrote off Dr. Emory's message, announcing -that he and Oakley were in Chicago, and would arrive in Antioch the last -of the week, he held it for several hours, not quite knowing what to do. -Finally he delivered it in person, a sacrifice of official dignity that -only the exigencies of the occasion condoned in his eyes. As he handed -it to Mrs. Emory, he said: - -"It's from the doctor. You needn't be afraid to open it; he's all right. -He'll be back Saturday night, and he's bringing Mr. Oakley with him. I -came up to see if you had any objection to my letting the town know?" - -Mrs. Emory saw no reason why the knowledge of Oakley's return should be -withheld, and in less than half an hour Antioch, with bated breath, was -discussing the news on street corners and over back fences. - -That night the town council met in secret session to consider the -weighty matter of his reception, for by common consent it was agreed -that the town must take official action. It was suggested that he be -given the freedom of the city. This sounded large, and met with instant -favor, but when the question arose as to how the freedom of the city was -conferred, the president turned, with a slightly embarrassed air, to the -member who had made the motion. The member explained, with some reserve, -that he believed the most striking feature had to do with the handing -over of the city keys to the guest of honor. But, unfortunately, Antioch -had no city keys to deliver. The only keys that, by any stretch of the -imagination, could be so called, were those of the court-house, and -they were lost. Here an appeal was made to the Hon. Jeb Barrows, who was -usually called in to straighten out any parliamentary tangles in which -the council became involved. That eminent statesman was leaning dreamily -against a pillar at the end of the council-chamber. On one of his cards -he had already pencilled the brief suggestion: "Feed him, and have out -the band." He handed the card to the president, and the council heaved -a sigh of relief. The momentous question of Oakley's official reception -was settled. - -When Dan and Dr. Emory stepped from No. 7 Saturday night the station -platform was crowded with men and boys. The brass-band, which Antioch -loved with a love that stifled criticism, perspiring and in dire haste, -was turning the street corner half a block distant. Across the tracks at -the railroad shops a steam-whistle shrieked an ecstatic welcome. - -Dan glanced at the doctor with a slightly puzzled air. "What do you -suppose is the matter?" he asked, unsuspiciously. - -"Why, man, don't you understand? It's _you!_" - -There was no need for him to say more, for the crowd had caught sight of -Dan, and a hundred voices cried: - -"There he is! There's Oakley!" - -And in an instant Antioch, giving way to wild enthusiasm, was cheering -itself black in the face, while above the sound of cheers and the crash -of music, the steam-whistle at the shops shrieked and pealed. - -The blood left Oakley's face. He looked down at the crowd and saw Turner -Joyce. He saw McClintock and Holt and the men from the shops, who were, -if possible, the noisiest of all. He turned helplessly to the doctor. - -"Let's get out of this," he said between his teeth. The crowd and the -noise and the excitement recalled that other night when he had ridden -into Antioch. As he spoke he swung himself down from the steps of the -coach, and the crowd closed about him with a glad shout of welcome. - -The doctor followed more slowly. As he gained the platform, the Hon. Jeb -Barrows hurried to his side. - -"Where is he to go, Doc?" he panted. "To your house, or to the hotel?" - -"To my house." - -"All right, then. The crowd's spoiling the whole business. I've got -an address of welcome in my pocket that I was to have delivered, and -there's to be a supper at the Rink to-night. Don't let him get away from -you." - -Meanwhile, Dan had succeeded in extricating himself from the clutches of -his friends, and was struggling towards a closed carriage at the end of -the platform that he recognized as the Emorys'. - -In his haste and the dusk of the dull October twilight, he supposed the -figure he saw in the carriage to be the doctor, who had preceded him, -and called to the man on the box to drive home. - -As he settled himself, he said, reproachfully: - -"I hope you hadn't anything to do with this?" - -A slim, gloved hand was placed in his own, and a laughing voice said: - -"How do you do, Mr. Oakley?" - -He glanced up quickly, and found himself face to face with Constance -Emory. - -There was a moment's silence, and then Dan said, the courage that had -brought him all the way to Antioch suddenly deserting him: "It's too -bad, isn't it? I had hoped I could slip in and out of town without any -one being the wiser." - -"But you can't," with a little air of triumph. "Antioch is going to -entertain you. It's been in a perfect furor of excitement ever since it -knew you were coming back." - -"Well, I suppose there is no help for it," resignedly. - -"Where is my father, Mr. Oakley?" - -"I guess we left him behind," with sudden cheerfulness. He leaned -forward so that he could look into her face. - -"Constance, I have returned because I couldn't stay away any longer. I -tried to forget, but it was no use." - -She had withdrawn her hand, but he had found it again, and now his -fingers closed over it and held it fast He was feeling a sense of -ownership. - -"Did you come to meet me?" he asked. - -"I came to meet papa." - -"But you knew I was coming, too?" - -"Oh no." - -It was too dark for him to see the color that was slowly mounting to her -face. - -"Constance, I don't believe you," he cried. - -"I was not sure you were coming," Constance said, weakly. - -"You might have known that I'd come back--that I couldn't stay away." - -"Don't you think you have been a long time in making that discovery?" - -"Well, yes, but when I saw your father--" - -"What did papa say to you?" with keen suspicion in her tones. - -"You mustn't blame him, Constance. It was not so much what he said as -what he didn't say. I never knew any one to be quite so ostentatious -about what was left unsaid." - -Constance freed her hand, and, shrinking into a corner, covered her face. -She had a painful realization of the direction those confidences must -have taken, between her father, who only desired her happiness, and the -candid Oakley, who only desired her love. - -"Was there any use in my coming? You must be fair with me now. It's too -serious a matter for you not to be." - -"You think I was not fair once?" - -"I didn't mean that, but you have changed." - -"For the better, Mr. Oakley?" - -"Infinitely," with blunt simplicity. - -"You haven't changed a scrap. You are just as rude as you ever were." - -Dan cast a hurried glance from the window. "Constance, we won't have -much more time to ourselves; we are almost home. Won't you tell me what -I have come to hear--that you do care for me, and will be my wife? You -know that I love you. But you mustn't send me from you a second time -without hope." - -"I shouldn't think you would care about me now. I wouldn't care about -you if you had been as unworthy as I have been," her voice faltered. -"I might have shown you that I, too, could be brave, but I let the -opportunity pass, and now, when everyone is proud--" - -"But I _do_ care. I care a great deal, for I love you just as I have -loved you from the very first." - -She put out both her hands. - -"If you had only looked back when you left the house that day you told -me you cared--" - -"What, Constance?" - -"I was at the window. I thought you'd surely look back, and then you -would have known--" - -"My darling!" - -The carriage had drawn up to the Emorys' gate. Dan jumped out and gave -Constance his hand. Off in the distance they heard the band. Constance -paused and rested her hand gently on Oakley's arm. - -"Hark! Do you hear?" - -"I wish they'd stop their confounded nonsense," said Dan. - -"No, you can't stop them," delightedly. "Antioch feels a sense of -proprietorship. But do you hear the music, Dan?" - -"Yes, dear. It's the band." - -"Of course it's the band. But do you know what it is _playing?_" - -Oakley shook his head dubiously. She gave his arm a little pat and -laughed softly. - -"It might be difficult to recognize it, but it's the bridal-march from -'Lohengrin.'" - -"If they stick to that, I don't care, Constance." - -And side by side they went slowly and silently up the path to the house. - - -THE END - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Manager of The B. & A., by Vaughan Kester - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANAGER OF THE B. & A. *** - -***** This file should be named 51953-8.txt or 51953-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/5/51953/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/51953-8.zip b/old/51953-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 6fdf124..0000000 --- a/old/51953-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51953-h.zip b/old/51953-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 74d402a..0000000 --- a/old/51953-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51953-h/51953-h.htm b/old/51953-h/51953-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 14ef675..0000000 --- a/old/51953-h/51953-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10446 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title> - The Manager of the B. & A., by Vaughan Kester - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Manager of The B. & A., by Vaughan Kester - -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 -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Manager of The B. & A. - A Novel - -Author: Vaughan Kester - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51953] -Last Updated: March 15, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANAGER OF THE B. & A. *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - THE MANAGER OF THE B. & A. - </h1> - <h3> - A Novel - </h3> - <h2> - By Vaughan Kester - </h2> - <h4> - Grosset & Dunlap, New York - </h4> - <h4> - Published by Arrangement with Harper & Brothers - </h4> - <h3> - 1901 - </h3> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0002.jpg" alt="0002 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0002.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0008 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <h3> - TO - </h3> - <h3> - THE MEMORY OF MY UNCLE - </h3> - <h3> - HARRY WATKINS - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE MANAGER OF THE B.</b> & <b>A.</b> - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE MANAGER OF THE B. & A. - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>AKLEY was alone in - the bare general offices of the Huckleberry line-as the Buckhom and - Antioch Railroad was commonly called by the public, which it betrayed in - the matter of meals and connections. He was lolling lazily over his desk - with a copy of the local paper before him, and the stem of a disreputable - cob pipe between his teeth. - </p> - <p> - The business of the day was done, and the noise and hurry attending its - doing had given way to a sudden hush. Other sounds than those that had - filled the ear since morning grew out of the stillness. Big drops of rain - driven by the wind splashed softly against the unpainted pine door which - led into the yards, or fell with a gay patter on the corrugated tin roof - overhead. No. 7, due at 5.40, had just pulled out with twenty minutes to - make up between Antioch and Harrison, the western terminus of the line. - The six-o'clock whistle had blown, and the men from the car shops, a - dingy, one-story building that joined the general offices on the east, - were straggling off home. Across the tracks at the ugly little depot the - ticket-agent and telegraph-operator had locked up and hurried away under - one umbrella the moment No. 7 was clear of the platform. From the yards - every one was gone but Milton McClintock, the master mechanic, and Dutch - Pete, the yard buss. Protected by dripping yellow oil-skins, they were - busy repairing a wheezy switch engine that had been incontinently backed - into a siding and the caboose of a freight. - </p> - <p> - Oakley was waiting the return of Clarence, the office-boy, whom he had - sent up-town to the post-office. Having read the two columns of local and - personal gossip arranged under the heading “People You Know,” he swept his - newspaper into the wastebasket and pushed back his chair. The window - nearest his desk overlooked the yards and a long line of shabby day - coaches and battered freight cars on one of the sidings. They were there - to be rebuilt or repaired. This meant a new lease of life to the shops, - which had never proved profitable. - </p> - <p> - Oakley had been with the Huckleberry two months. The first intimation the - office force received that the new man whom they had been expecting for - over a week had arrived in Antioch, and was prepared to take hold, was - when he walked into the office and quietly introduced himself to Kerr and - Holt. Former general managers had arrived by special after much - preliminary wiring. The manner of their going had been less spectacular. - They one and all failed, and General Cornish cut short the days of their - pride and display. - </p> - <p> - Naturally the office had been the least bit skeptical concerning Oakley - and his capabilities, but within a week a change was patent to every one - connected with the road: the trains began to regard their schedules, and - the slackness and unthrift in the yards gave place to an ordered - prosperity. Without any apparent effort he found work for the shops, a few - extra men even were taken on, and there was no hint as yet of half-time - for the summer months. - </p> - <p> - He was a broad-shouldered, long-limbed, energetic young fellow, with frank - blue eyes that looked one squarely in the face. Men liked him because he - was straightforward, alert, and able, with an indefinite personal charm - that lifted him out of the ordinary. These were the qualities Cornish had - recognized when he put him in control of his interests at Antioch, and - Oakley, who enjoyed hard work, had earned his salary several times over - and was really doing wonders. - </p> - <p> - He put down his pipe, which was smoked out, and glanced at the clock. - “What's the matter with that boy?” he muttered. - </p> - <p> - The matter was that Clarence had concluded to take a brief vacation. After - leaving the post-office he skirted a vacant lot and retired behind his - father's red barn, where he applied himself diligently to the fragment of - a cigarette that earlier in the day McClintock, to his great scandal, had - discovered him smoking in the solitude of an empty box-car in the yards. - The master mechanic, who had boys of his own, had called him a runty - little cuss, and had sent him flying up the tracks with a volley of bad - words ringing in his ears. - </p> - <p> - When the cigarette was finished, the urchin bethought him of the purpose - of his errand. This so worked upon his fears that he bolted for the office - with all the speed of his short legs. As he ran he promised himself, - emotionally, that “the boss” was likely to “skin” him. But whatever his - fears, he dashed into Oakley's presence, panting and in hot haste. “Just - two letters for you, Mr. Oakley!” he gasped. “That was all there was!” - </p> - <p> - He went over to the superintendent and handed him the letters. Oakley - observed him critically and with a dry smile. For an instant the boy hung - his head sheepishly, then his face brightened. - </p> - <p> - “It's an awfully wet day; it's just sopping!” - </p> - <p> - Oakley waived this bit of gratuitous information. - </p> - <p> - “Did you run all the way?” - </p> - <p> - “Yep, every step,” with the impudent mendacity that comes of long - practice. - </p> - <p> - “It's rather curious you didn't get back sooner.” - </p> - <p> - Clarence looked at the clock. - </p> - <p> - “Was I gone long? It didn't seem long to me,” he added, with a candor he - intended should disarm criticism. - </p> - <p> - “Only a little over half an hour, Clarence.” - </p> - <p> - The superintendent sniffed suspiciously. - </p> - <p> - “McClintock says he caught you smoking a cigarette to-day—how about - it?” - </p> - <p> - “Cubebs,” in a faint voice. - </p> - <p> - The superintendent sniffed again and scrutinized the boy's hands, which - rested on the corner of his desk. - </p> - <p> - “What's that on your fingers?” - </p> - <p> - Clarence considered. - </p> - <p> - “That? Why, that must be walnut-stains from last year. Didn't you ever get - walnut-stains on your hands when you was a boy, Mr. Oakley?” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose so, but I don't remember that they lasted all winter.” - </p> - <p> - Clarence was discreetly silent. He felt that the chief executive of the - Huckleberry took too great an interest in his personal habits. Besides, it - was positively painful to have to tell lies that went so wide of the mark - as his had gone. - </p> - <p> - “I guess you may as well go home now. But I wouldn't smoke any more - cigarettes, if I were you,” gathering up his letters. - </p> - <p> - “Good-night, Mr. Oakley,” with happy alacrity. - </p> - <p> - “Good-night, Clarence.” - </p> - <p> - The door into the yards closed with a bang, and Clarence, gleefully - skipping the mud-puddles which lay in his path, hurried his small person - off through the rain and mist. - </p> - <p> - Oakley glanced at his letters. One he saw was from General Cornish. It - proved to be a brief note, scribbled in pencil on the back of a telegram - blank. The general would arrive in Antioch that night on the late train. - He wished Oakley to meet him. - </p> - <p> - The other letter was in an unfamiliar hand. Oakley opened it. Like the - first, it was brief and to the point, but he did not at once grasp its - meaning. This is what he read: - </p> - <p> - <i>“DEAR Sir,—I enclose two newspaper clippings which fully explain - themselves. Your father is much interested in knowing your whereabouts. I - have not furnished him with any definite information on this point, as I - have not felt at liberty to do so. However, I was able to tell him I - believed you were doing well. Should you desire to write him, I will - gladly undertake to see that any communication you may send care of this - office will reach him.</i> - </p> - <p> - “<i>Very sincerely yours,</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>“Ezra Hart.”</i> - </p> - <p> - It was like a bolt from a clear sky. He drew a deep, quick breath. Then he - took up the newspaper clippings. One was a florid column-and-a-half - account of a fire in the hospital ward of the Massachusetts State prison, - and dealt particularly with the heroism of Roger Oakley, a life prisoner, - in leading a rescue. The other clipping, merely a paragraph, was of more - recent date. It announced that Roger Oakley had been pardoned. - </p> - <p> - Oakley had scarcely thought of his father in years. The man and his - concerns—his crime and his tragic atonement—had passed - completely out of his life, but now he was free, if he chose, to enter it - again. There was such suddenness in the thought that he turned sick on the - moment; a great wave of self-pity enveloped him, the recollection of his - struggles and his shame—the bitter, helpless shame of a child—returned. - He felt only resentment towards this man whose crime had blasted his - youth, robbing him of every ordinary advantage, and clearly the end was - not yet. - </p> - <p> - True, by degrees, he had grown away from the memory of it all. He had long - since freed himself of the fear that his secret might be discovered. With - success, he had even acquired a certain complacency. Without knowing his - history, the good or the bad of it, his world had accepted him for what he - was really worth. He was neither cowardly nor selfish. It was not alone - the memory of his own hardships that embittered him and turned his heart - against his father. His mother's face, with its hunted, fugitive look, - rose up before him in protest. He recalled their wanderings in search of - some place where their story was not known and where they could begin life - anew, their return to Burton, and then her death. - </p> - <p> - For years it had been like a dream, and now he saw only the slouching - figure of the old convict, which seemed to menace him, and remembered only - the evil consequent upon his crime. - </p> - <p> - Next he fell to wondering what sort of a man this Roger Oakley was who had - seemed so curiously remote, who had been as a shadow in his way preceding - the presence, and suddenly he found his heart softening towards him. It - was infinitely pathetic to the young man, with his abundant strength and - splendid energy; this imprisonment that had endured for almost a quarter - of a century. He fancied his father as broken and friendless, as dazed and - confused by his unexpected freedom, with his place in the world forever - lost. After all, he could not sit in judgment, or avenge. - </p> - <p> - So far as he knew he had never seen his father but once. First there had - been a hot, dusty journey by stage, then he had gone through a massive - iron gate and down a narrow passage, where he had trotted by his mother's - side, holding fast to her hand. - </p> - <p> - All this came back in a jerky, disconnected fashion, with wide gaps and - lapses he could not fill, but the impression made upon his mind by his - father had been lasting and vivid. He still saw him as he was then, with - the chalky prison pallor on his haggard face. A clumsily made man of - tremendous bone and muscle, who had spoken with them through the bars of - his cell-door, while his mother cried softly behind her shawl. The boy had - thought of him as a man in a cage. - </p> - <p> - He wondered who Ezra Hart was, for the name seemed familiar. At length he - placed him. He was the lawyer who had defended his father. He was puzzled - that Hart knew where he was; he had hoped the little New England village - had lost all track of him, but the fact that Hart did know convinced him - it would be quite useless to try to keep his whereabouts a secret from his - father, even if he wished to. Since Hart knew, there must be others, also, - who knew. - </p> - <p> - He took up the newspaper clippings again. By an odd coincidence they had - reached him on the very day the Governor of Massachusetts had set apart - for his father's release. - </p> - <p> - Outside, in the yards, on the drenched town, and in the sweating fields - beyond, the warm spring rain fell and splashed. - </p> - <p> - It was a fit time for Roger Oakley to leave the gray walls, and the gray - garb he had worn so long, and to re-enter the world of living things and - the life of the one person in all that world who had reason to remember - him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>AKLEY drew down - the top of his desk and left the office. Before locking the door, on which - some predecessor had caused the words, “Department of Transportation and - Maintenance. No admittance, except on business,” to be stencilled in black - letters, he called to McClintock, who, with Dutch Pete, was still fussing - over the wheezy switch-engine. - </p> - <p> - “Will you want in the office for anything, Milt?” The master-mechanic, who - had been swearing at a rusted nut, got up from his knees and, dangling a - big wrench in one hand, bawled back: “No, I guess not.” - </p> - <p> - “How's the job coming on?” - </p> - <p> - “About finished. Damn that fool Bennett, anyhow! Next time he runs this - old bird-cage into a freight, he'll catch hell from me!” - </p> - <p> - After turning the key on the Department of Transportation and Maintenance, - Oakley crossed the tracks to the station and made briskly off up-town, - with the wind and rain blowing in his face. - </p> - <p> - He lived at the American House, the best hotel the place could boast. It - overlooked the public square, a barren waste an acre or more in extent, - built about with stores and offices; where, on hot summer Saturdays, - farmers who had come to town to trade, hitched their teams in the deep - shade of the great maples that grew close to the curb. Here, on Decoration - Day and the Fourth of July, the eloquence of the county assembled and - commuted its proverbial peck of dirt in favor of very fine dust. Here, - too, the noisiest of brass-bands made hideous hash of patriotic airs, and - the forty odd youths constituting the local militia trampled the shine - from each other's shoes, while their captain, who had been a sutler's - clerk in the Civil War, cursed them for a lot of lunkheads. And at least - once in the course of each summer's droning flight the spot was abandoned - to the purely carnal delights of some wandering road circus. - </p> - <p> - In short, Antioch had its own life and interests, after the manner of - every other human ant-hill; and the Honorable Jeb Barrow's latest public - utterance, Dippy Ellsworth's skill on the snare-drum, or “Cap” Roberts's - military genius, and whether or not the Civil War would really have ended - at Don-elson if Grant had only been smart enough to take his advice, were - all matters of prime importance and occupied just as much time to weigh - properly and consider as men's interests do anywhere. - </p> - <p> - In Antioch, Oakley was something of a figure. He was the first manager of - the road to make the town his permanent headquarters, and the town was - grateful. It would have swamped him with kindly attention, but he had - studiously ignored all advances, preferring not to make friends. In this - he had not entirely succeeded. The richest man in the county, Dr. Emory, - who was a good deal of a patrician, had taken a fancy to him, and had - insisted upon entertaining him at a formal dinner, at which there were - present the Methodist minister, the editor of the local paper, the - principal merchant, a judge, and an ex-Congressman, who went to sleep with - the soup and only wakened in season for the ice-cream. It was the most - impressive function Oakley had ever attended, and even to think of it - still sent the cold chills coursing down his spine. - </p> - <p> - That morning he had chanced to meet Dr. Emory on the street, and the - doctor, who could always be trusted to say exactly what he thought, had - taken him to task for not calling. There was a reason why Oakley had not - done so. The doctor's daughter had just returned from the East, and vague - rumors were current concerning her beauty and elegance. Now, women were - altogether beyond Oakley's ken. However, since some responsive courtesy - was evidently expected of him, he determined to have it over with at once. - Imbued with this idea, he went to his room after supper to dress. As he - arrayed himself for the ordeal, he sought to recall a past experience in - line with the present. Barring the recent dinner, his most ambitious - social experiment had been a brakesmen's ball in Denver, years before, - when he was conductor on a freight. He laughed softly as he fastened his - tie. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder what Dr. Emory would think if I told him I'd punched a fellow at - a dance once because he wanted to take my girl away from me.” He recalled, - as pointing his innate conservatism, that he had decided not to repeat the - experiment until he achieved a position where a glittering social success - was not contingent upon his ability to punch heads. - </p> - <p> - It was still raining, a discouragingly persistent drizzle, when Oakley - left his hotel and turned from the public square into Main Street. This - Main Street was never an imposing thoroughfare, and a week of steady - downpour made it from curb to curb a river of quaking mud. It was lit at - long intervals by flickering gas-lamps that glowed like corpulent - fireflies in the misty darkness beneath the dripping maple-boughs. As in - the case of most Western towns, Antioch had known dreams of greatness, - dreams which had not been realized. It stood stockstill, in all its raw, - ugly youth, with the rigid angularity its founders had imposed upon it - when they hacked and hewed a spot for it in the pine-woods, whose stunted - second growth encircled it on every side. - </p> - <p> - The Emory home had once been a farm-house of the better class; various - additions and improvements gave it an air of solid and substantial comfort - unusual in a community where the prevailing style of architecture was a - square wooden box, built close to the street end of a narrow lot. - </p> - <p> - The doctor himself answered Oakley's ring, and led the way into the - parlor, after relieving him of his hat and umbrella. - </p> - <p> - “My wife you know, Mr. Oakley. This is my daughter.” - </p> - <p> - Constance Emory rose from her seat before the wood fire that smoldered on - the wide, old-fashioned hearth, and gave Oakley her hand. He saw a - stately, fair-haired girl, trimly gowned in an evening dress that to his - unsophisticated gaze seemed astonishingly elaborate. But he could not have - imagined anything more becoming. He decided that she was very pretty. - Later he changed his mind. She was more than pretty. - </p> - <p> - For her part, Miss Emory saw merely a tall young fellow, rather - good-looking than otherwise, who was feeling nervously for his cuffs. - Beyond this there was not much to be said in his favor, but she was - willing to be amused. - </p> - <p> - She had been absent from Antioch four years. These years had been spent in - the East, and in travel abroad with a widowed and childless sister of her - father's. She was, on the whole, glad to be home again. As yet she was not - disturbed by any thoughts of the future. She looked on the world with - serene eyes. They were a limpid blue, and veiled by long, dark lashes. She - possessed the poise and unshaken self-confidence that comes of position - and experience. Her father and mother were not so well satisfied with the - situation; they already recognized that it held the elements of a tragedy. - In their desire to give her every opportunity they had overreached - themselves. She had outgrown Antioch as surely as she had outgrown her - childhood, and it was as impossible to take her back to the one as to the - other. - </p> - <p> - The doctor patted Oakley on the shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “I am glad you've dropped in. I hope, now you have made a beginning, we - shall see more of you.” - </p> - <p> - He was a portly man of fifty, with kindly eyes and an easy, gracious - manner. Mrs. Emory was sedate and placid, a handsome, well-kept woman, who - administered her husband's affairs with a steadiness and economy that had - made it possible for him to amass a comfortable fortune from his - straggling country practice. - </p> - <p> - Constance soon decided that Oakley was not at all like the young men of - Antioch as she recalled them, nor was he like the men she had known while - under her aunt's tutelage—the leisurely idlers who drifted with the - social tide, apparently without responsibility or care. - </p> - <p> - He proved hopelessly dense on those matters with which they had been - perfectly familiar. It seemed to her that pleasure and accomplishment, as - she understood them, had found no place in his life. The practical quality - in his mind showed at every turn of the conversation. He appeared to - hunger after hard facts, and the harder these facts were the better he - liked them. But he offended in more glaring ways. He was too intense, and - his speech too careful and precise, as if he were uncertain as to his - grammar, as, indeed, he was. - </p> - <p> - Poor Oakley was vaguely aware that he was not getting on, and the strain - told. It slowly dawned upon him that he was not her sort, that where he - was concerned, she was quite alien, quite foreign, with interests he could - not comprehend, but which gave him a rankling sense of inferiority. - </p> - <p> - He had been moderately well satisfied with himself, as indeed he had good - reason to be, but her manner was calculated to rob him of undue pride; he - was not accustomed to being treated with mixed indifference and patronage. - He asked himself resentfully how it happened that he had never before met - such a girl. She fascinated him. The charm of her presence seemed to - suddenly create and satisfy a love for the beautiful. With generous - enthusiasm he set to work to be entertaining. Then a realization of the - awful mental poverty in which he dwelt burst upon him for the first time. - He longed for some light and graceful talent with which to bridge the wide - gaps between the stubborn heights of his professional erudition. - </p> - <p> - He was profoundly versed on rates, grades, ballast, motive power, and - rolling stock, but this solid information was of no avail He could on - occasion talk to a swearing section-boss with a grievance and a brogue in - a way to make that man his friend for life; he also possessed the happy - gift of inspiring his subordinates with a zealous sense of duty, but his - social responsibilities numbed his faculties and left him a bankrupt for - words. - </p> - <p> - The others gave him no assistance. Mrs. Emory, smiling and good-humored, - but silent, bent above her sewing. She was not an acute person, and the - situation was lost upon her, while the doctor took only the most casual - part in the conversation. - </p> - <p> - Oakley was wondering how he could make his escape, when the door-bell - rang. The doctor slipped from the parlor. When he returned he was not - alone. He was preceded by a dark young man of one or two and thirty. This - was Griffith Ryder, the owner of the Antioch <i>Herald</i>. - </p> - <p> - “My dear,” said he, “Mr. Ryder.” Ryder shook hands with the two ladies, - and nodded carelessly to Oakley; then, with an easy, graceful compliment, - he lounged down in a chair at Miss Emory's side. - </p> - <p> - Constance had turned from the strenuous Oakley to the new-comer with a - sense of unmistakable relief. Her mother, too, brightened visibly. She did - not entirely approve of Ryder, but he was always entertaining in a lazy, - indifferent fashion of his own. - </p> - <p> - “I see, Griff,” the doctor said, “that you are going to support Kenyon. I - declare it shakes my confidence in you,” And he drew forward his chair. - Like most Americans, the physician was something of a politician, and, as - is also true of most Americans, not professionally concerned in the hunt - for office, this interest fluctuated between the two extremes of party - enthusiasm before and non-partisan disgust after elections. - </p> - <p> - Ryder smiled faintly. “Yes, we know just how much of a rascal Kenyon is, - and we know nothing at all about the other fellow, except that he wants - the nomination, which is a bad sign. Suppose he should turn out a greater - scamp! Really it's too much of a risk.” he drawled, with an affectation of - contempt. - </p> - <p> - “Your politics always were a shock to your friends, but this serves to - explain them,” remarked the doctor, with latent combativeness. But Ryder - was not to be beguiled into argument. He turned again to Miss Emory. - </p> - <p> - “Your father is not a practical politician, or he would realize that it is - only common thrift to send Kenyon back, for I take it he has served his - country not without profit to himself; besides, he is clamorous and - persistent, and there seems no other way to dispose of him. It's either - that or the penitentiary.” - </p> - <p> - Constance laughed softly. “And so you think he can afford to be honest - now? What shocking ethics!” - </p> - <p> - “That is my theory. Anyhow, I don't see why your father should wish me to - forego the mild excitement of assisting to re-elect my more or less - disreputable friend. Antioch has had very little to offer one until you - came,” he added, with gentle deference. Miss Emory accepted the compliment - with the utmost composure. Once she had been rather flattered by his - attentions, but four years make a great difference. Either he had lost in - cleverness, or she had gained in knowledge. - </p> - <p> - He was a very tired young man. At one time he had possessed some - expectations and numerous pretensions. The expectation had faded out of - his life, but the pretence remained in the absence of any vital - achievement. He was college-bred, and had gone in for literature. From - literature he had drifted into journalism, and had ended in Antioch as - proprietor of the local paper, which he contrived to edit with a lively - irresponsibility that won him few friends, though it did gain him some - small reputation as a humorist. - </p> - <p> - His original idea had been that the management of a country weekly would - afford him opportunity for the serious work which he believed he could do, - but he had not done this serious work, and was not likely to do it. He - derived a fair income from the <i>Herald</i>, and he allowed his ambitions - to sink into abeyance, in spite of his cherished conviction that he was - cut out for bigger things. Perhaps he had wisely decided that his - pretensions were much safer than accomplishment, since the importance of - what a man actually does can generally be measured, while what he might do - admits of exaggerated claims. - </p> - <p> - Oakley had known Ryder only since the occasion of the doctor's dinner, and - felt that he could never be more than an acquired taste, if at all. - </p> - <p> - The editor took the floor, figuratively speaking, for Miss Emory's - presence made the effort seem worth his while. He promptly relieved Oakley - of the necessity to do more than listen, an act of charity for which the - latter was hardly as grateful as he should have been. He was no fool, but - there were wide realms of enlightenment where he was an absolute stranger, - so, when Constance and Ryder came to talk of books and music, as they did - finally, his only refuge was in silence, and he went into a sort of - intellectual quarantine. His reading had been strictly limited to - scientific works, and to the half-dozen trade and technical journals to - which he subscribed, and from which he drew the larger part of his mental - sustenance. As for music, he was familiar with the airs from the latest - popular operas, but the masterpieces were utterly unknown, except such as - had been brought to his notice by having sleeping-cars named in their - honor, a practice he considered very complimentary, and possessing value - as a strong commercial endorsement. - </p> - <p> - He amused himself trying to recall whether it was the “Tannhauser” or the - “Lohengrin” he had ridden on the last time he was East. He was distinctly - shocked, however, by “Gôtterdammerung,” which was wholly unexpected. It - suggested such hard swearing, or Dutch Pete's untrammelled observations in - the yards when he had caught an urchin stealing scrap-iron—a - recognized source of revenue to the youth of Antioch. But he felt more and - more aloof as the evening wore on. It was something of the same feeling he - had known as a boy, after his mother's death, when, homeless and - friendless at night, he had paused to glance in through uncurtained - windows, with a dumb, wordless longing for the warmth and comfort he saw - there. - </p> - <p> - It was a relief when the doctor took him into the library to examine - specimens of iron-ore he had picked up west of Antioch, where there were - undeveloped mineral lands for which he was trying to secure capital. This - was a matter Oakley was interested in, since it might mean business for - the road. He promptly forgot about Miss Emory and the objectionable Ryder, - and in ten minutes gave the doctor a better comprehension of the mode of - procedure necessary to success than that gentleman had been able to learn - in ten years of unfruitful attempting. He also supplied him with a few - definite facts and figures in lieu of the multitude of glittering - generalities on which he had been pinning his faith as a means of getting - money into the scheme. - </p> - <p> - When, at last, they returned to the parlor, they found another caller had - arrived during their absence, a small, shabbily dressed man, with a high, - bald head and weak, near-sighted eyes. It was Turner Joyce. Oakley knew - him just as he was beginning to know every other man, woman, and child in - the town. - </p> - <p> - Joyce rose hastily, or rather stumbled to his feet, as the doctor and - Oakley entered the room. - </p> - <p> - “I told you I was coming up, doctor,” he said, apologetically. “Miss - Constance has been very kind. She has been telling me of the galleries and - studios. What a glorious experience!” - </p> - <p> - A cynical smile parted Ryder's thin lips. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Joyce feels the isolation of his art here.” The little man blinked - doubtfully at the speaker, and then said, with a gentle, deprecatory - gesture, “I don't call it art.” - </p> - <p> - “You are far too modest. I have heard my foreman speak in the most - complimentary terms of the portrait you did of his wife. He was especially - pleased with the frame. You must know. Miss Constance, that Mr. Joyce - usually furnishes the frames, and his pictures go home ready to the wire - to hang on the wall.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Joyce continued to blink doubtfully at Ryder. He scarcely knew how to - take the allusion to the frames. It was a sore point with him. - </p> - <p> - Constance turned with a displeased air from Ryder to the little artist. - There was a faint, wistful smile on her lips. He was a rather pathetic - figure to her, and she could not understand how Ryder dared or had the - heart to make fun. - </p> - <p> - “I shall enjoy seeing all that you have done, Mr. Joyce; and of course I - wish to see Ruth. Why didn't she come with you to-night?” - </p> - <p> - “Her cousin, Lou Bentick's wife, is dead, and she has been over at his - house all day. She was quite worn out, but she sent you her love.” - </p> - <p> - Ryder glanced again at Miss Emory, and said, with hard cynicism: “The - notice will appear in Saturday's <i>Herald</i>, with a tribute from her - pastor. I never refuse his verse. It invariably contains some scathing - comment on the uncertainty of the Baptist faith as a means of salvation.” - </p> - <p> - But this was wasted on Joyce. Ryder rose with a sigh. - </p> - <p> - “Well, we toilers must think of the morrow.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley accepted this as a sign that it was time to go. Joyce, too, - stumbled across the room to the door, and the three men took their leave - together. As they stood on the steps, the doctor said, cordially, “I hope - you will both come again soon; and you, too, Turner,” he added, kindly. - </p> - <p> - Ryder moved off quickly with Oakley. Joyce would have dropped behind, but - the latter made room for him at his side. No one spoke until Ryder, - halting on a street corner, said, “Sorry, but it's out of my way to go any - farther unless you'll play a game of billiards with me at the hotel, - Oakley.” - </p> - <p> - “Thanks,” curtly. “I don't play billiards.” - </p> - <p> - “No? Well, they are a waste of time, I suppose. Good-night.” And he turned - down the side street, whistling softly. - </p> - <p> - “A very extraordinary young man,” murmured Joyce, rubbing the tip of his - nose meditatively with a painty forefinger. “And with quite an - extraordinary opinion of himself.” - </p> - <p> - A sudden feeling of friendliness prompted Oakley to tuck his hand through - the little artist's arm. “How is Bentick bearing the loss of his wife?” he - asked. “You said she was your cousin.” - </p> - <p> - “No, not mine. My wife's. Poor fellow! he feels it keenly. They had not - been married long, you know.” - </p> - <p> - The rain was falling in a steady downpour. They had reached Turner Joyce's - gate, and paused. - </p> - <p> - “Won't you come in and wait until it moderates, Mr. Oakley?” - </p> - <p> - Oakley yielded an assent, and followed him through the gate and around the - house. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HERE were three - people in the kitchen, the principal living room of the Joyce home—Christopher - Berry, the undertaker; Jeffy, the local outcast, a wretched ruin of a man; - and Turner Joyce's wife, Ruth. - </p> - <p> - Jeffy was seated at a table, eating. He was a cousin of the Benticks, and - Mrs. Joyce had furnished him with a complete outfit from her husband's - slender wardrobe for the funeral on the morrow. - </p> - <p> - Oakley had never known him to be so well or so wonderfully dressed, and he - had seen him in a number of surprising costumes. His black trousers barely - reached the tops of his shoes, while the sleeves of his shiny Prince - Albert stopped an inch or more above his wrists; he furthermore appeared - to be in imminent danger of strangulation, such was the height and - tightness of his collar. The thumb and forefinger of his right hand were - gone, the result of an accident at a Fourth of July celebration, where, at - the instigation of Mr. Gid Runyon—a gentleman possessing a lively - turn of mind and gifted with a keen sense of humor—he had undertaken - to hold a giant fire-cracker while it exploded, the inducement being a - quart of whiskey, generously donated for the occasion by Mr. Runyon - himself. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Joyce had charged herself with Jeffy's care. She was fearful that he - might escape and sell his clothes before the funeral. She knew they would - go immediately after, but then he would no longer be in demand as a - mourner. - </p> - <p> - As for Jeffy, he was feeling the importance of his position. With a fine - sense of what was expected from him as a near relative he had spent the - day in the stricken home: its most picturesque figure, seated bolt upright - in the parlor, a spotless cotton handkerchief in his hand, and breathing - an air of chastened sorrow. - </p> - <p> - He had exchanged mournful greetings with the friends of the family, and - was conscious that he had acquitted himself to the admiration of all. The - Swede “help,” who was new to Antioch, had thought him a person of the - first distinction, so great was the curiosity merely to see him. - </p> - <p> - Christopher Berry was a little, dried-up man of fifty, whose name was - chance, but whose profession was choice. He was his own best indorsement, - for he was sere and yellow, and gave out a faint, dry perfume as of drugs, - or tuberoses. “Well, Mrs. Joyce,” he was saying, as Oakley and the little - artist entered the room, “I guess there ain't nothing else to settle. - Don't take it so to heart; there are grand possibilities in death, even if - we can't always realize them, and we got a perfect body. I can't remember - when I seen death so majestic, and I may say—ca'm.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Joyce, who was crying, dried her eyes on the corner of her apron. - </p> - <p> - “Wasn't it sad about Smith Roberts's wife! And with all those children! - Dear, dear! It's been such a sickly spring!” - </p> - <p> - The undertaker's face assumed an expression of even deeper gloom than was - habitual to it. He coughed dryly and decorously behind his hand. - </p> - <p> - “They called in the other undertaker. I won't say I didn't feel it, Mrs. - Joyce, for I did. I'd had the family trade, one might say, always. There - was her father, his mother, two of her brothers, and the twins. You - recollect the two twins, Mrs. Joyce, typhoid—in one day,” with as - near an approach to enthusiasm as he ever allowed himself. - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. Poppleton told me over at Lou's that it was about the pleasantest - funeral she'd ever been to, and it's durn few she's missed, I'm telling - you!” remarked the outcast, hoarsely. He usually slept at the gas-house in - the winter on a convenient pile of hot cinders, and was troubled with a - bronchial affection. “She said she'd never seen so many flowers. Some of - Roberts's folks sent 'em here all the ways from Chicago. Say! that didn't - cost—oh no! I just wisht I'd the money. It'd do me for a spell.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, they may have had finer flowers than we got, but the floral - offerings weren't much when the twins passed away. I remember thinking - then that was a time for display, if one wanted display. Twins, you know—typhoid, - too, and in one day!” He coughed dryly again behind his hand. “I wouldn't - worry, Mrs. Joyce. Their body didn't compare with our body, and the body's - the main thing, after all.” With which professional view of the case he - took himself out into the night. - </p> - <p> - The outcast gave way to a burst of hoarse, throaty mirth. “It just makes - Chris Berry sick to think there's any other undertakers, but he knows his - business; I'll say that for him any time.” - </p> - <p> - He turned aggressively on Joyce. “Did you get me them black gloves? Now, - don't give me no fairy tales, for I know durn well from your looks you - didn't.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll get them for you the first thing in the morning, Jeffy.” - </p> - <p> - Jeffy brandished his fork angrily in the air. - </p> - <p> - “I never seen such a slip-shod way of doing things. I'd like to know what - sort of a funeral it's going to be if I don't get them black gloves. It'll - be a failure. Yes, sir, the durndest sort of a failure! All the Chris - Berrys in the world can't save it. I declare I don't see why I got to have - all this ornery worry. It ain't my funeral!” - </p> - <p> - “Hush, Jeffy!” said Mrs. Joyce. “You mustn't take on so.” - </p> - <p> - “Why don't he get me them gloves?” And he glared fiercely at the meek - figure of the little artist. Then suddenly he subsided. “Reach me the pie, - Ruthy.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Joyce turned nervously to her husband. - </p> - <p> - “Aren't you going to show Mr. Oakley your pictures, Turner?” - </p> - <p> - “Would you care to see them?” with some trepidation. - </p> - <p> - “If you will let me,” with a grave courtesy that was instinctive. - </p> - <p> - Joyce took a lamp from the mantel. “You will come, too, Ruth?” he said. - His wife was divided between her sense of responsibility and her desires. - She nodded helplessly towards the outcast, where he grovelled noisily over - his food. - </p> - <p> - “Jeffy will stay here until we come back, won't you, Jeffy?” ventured - Joyce, insinuatingly. - </p> - <p> - “Sure I will. There isn't anything to take me out, unless it's them black - gloves.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Joyce led the way into the hall. “I am so afraid when he's out of my - sight,” she explained to Oakley. “We've had such trouble in getting him - put to rights. I couldn't go through it again. He's so trying.” - </p> - <p> - The parlor had been fitted up as a studio. There were cheap draperies on - the walls, and numerous pictures and sketches. In one corner was a shelf - of books, with Somebody's <i>Lives of the Painters</i> ostentatiously - displayed. Standing on the floor, their faces turned in, were three or - four unfinished canvases. There was also a miscellaneous litter about the - room, composed of Indian relics and petrified wood. - </p> - <p> - It was popularly supposed that an artist naturally took an interest in - curios of this sort, his life being devoted to an impractical search after - the beautiful, and the farmer who ploughed up a petrified rail, or - discovered an Indian hand-mill, carted it in to poor Joyce, who was too - tender-hearted to rebel; consequently he had been the recipient of several - tons of broken rock, and would have been swamped by the accumulation, had - not Mrs. Joyce from time to time conveyed these offerings to the back - yard. - </p> - <p> - Joyce held the lamp, so Oakley might have a better view of the pictures on - the wall. “Perhaps you will like to see my earlier paintings first. There! - Is the light good? That was Mrs. Joyce just after our marriage.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley saw a plump young lady, with her hair elaborately banged and a - large bouquet in her hand. The background was a landscape, with a ruined - Greek temple in the distance. “Here she is a year later; and here she is - again, and over there in the corner above my easel.” - </p> - <p> - He swept the lamp back to the first picture. “She hasn't changed much, has - she?” - </p> - <p> - Oakley was no critic, yet he realized that the little artist's work was - painfully literal and exact, but then he had a sneaking idea that a good - photograph was more satisfactory than an oil painting, anyhow. - </p> - <p> - What he could comprehend and appreciate, however, was Mrs. Joyce's - attitude towards her husband's masterpieces. She was wholly and - pathetically reverent. It was the sublime, unshaken faith and approval - that marriage sometimes wins for a man. - </p> - <p> - “I am so sorry the light isn't any better. Mr. Oakley must come in in the - afternoon,” she said, anxiously. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose you have seen some of the best examples of the modern - painters,” said Joyce, with a tinge of wistful envy in his tones. “You - know I never have. I haven't been fifty miles from Antioch in my life.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley was ashamed to admit that the modern painters were the least of his - cares, so he said nothing. - </p> - <p> - “That's just like Mr. Joyce. He is always doubting his ability, and every - one says he gets wonderful likenesses.” - </p> - <p> - “I guess,” said Oakley, awkwardly, inspired by a feeling of large - humanity, “I guess you'll have to be my guest when I go East this fall. - You know I can always manage transportation,” he added, hastily. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that would be lovely!” cried Mrs. Joyce, in an ecstasy of happiness - at the mere thought. “Could you?” - </p> - <p> - Joyce, with a rather unsteady hand, placed the lamp on the centre-table - and gazed at his new friend with a gratitude that went beyond words. - </p> - <p> - Oakley recognized that in a small way he was committed as a patron of the - arts, but he determined to improve upon his original offer, and send Mrs. - Joyce with her husband. She would enter into the spirit of his pleasure as - no one else could. - </p> - <p> - “Can't I see more of your work?” he asked, anxious to avoid any expression - of gratitude. - </p> - <p> - “I wish you'd show Mr. Oakley what you are doing now, Turner. He may give - you some valuable criticisms.” - </p> - <p> - For, by that unique, intuitive process of reasoning peculiar to women, she - had decided that Oakley's judgment must be as remarkable as his - generosity. - </p> - <p> - His words roused Joyce, who had stood all this while with misty eyes - blinking at Oakley. He turned and took a fresh canvas from among those - leaning against the wall and rested it on the easel. “This is a portrait - I'm doing of Jared Thome's daughter. I haven't painted in the eyes yet. - That's a point they can't agree upon. You see, there's a slight cast—” - </p> - <p> - “She's cross-eyed, Turner,” interjected Mrs. Joyce, positively. - </p> - <p> - “Jared wants them the way they'll be after she's been to Chicago to be - operated on, and his wife wants them as they are now. They are to settle - it between them before she comes for the final sitting on Saturday.” - </p> - <p> - “That is a complication,” observed Oakley, but he did not laugh. It was - not that he lacked a sense of humor. It was that he was more impressed by - something else. - </p> - <p> - The little artist blinked affectionately at his work. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it's going to be a good likeness, quite as good as any I ever got. I - was lucky in my flesh tints there on the cheek,” he added, tilting his - head critically on one side. - </p> - <p> - “What do you think of Mr. Joyce's work?” asked Mrs. Joyce, bent on - committing their visitor to an opinion. - </p> - <p> - “It is very good, indeed, and perhaps he is doing a greater service in - educating us here at Antioch than if he had made a name for himself - abroad. Perhaps, too, he'll be remembered just as long.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you really think so, Mr. Oakley?” said the little artist, delighted. - “It may sound egotistical, but I have sometimes thought that myself—that - these portraits of mine, bad as I know they must be, give a great deal of - pleasure and happiness to their owners, and it's a great pleasure for me - to do them, and we don't get much beyond that in this world, do we?” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>AKLEY took the - satchel from General Cornish's hand as the latter stepped from his private - car. - </p> - <p> - “You got my note, I see,” he said. “I think I'll go to the hotel for the - rest of the night.” - </p> - <p> - He glanced back over his shoulder, as he turned with Dan towards the bus - which was waiting for them at the end of the platform. - </p> - <p> - “I guess no one else got off here. It's not much of a railroad centre.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” agreed Oakley, impartially; “there are towns where the traffic is - heavier.” - </p> - <p> - Arrived at the hotel, Oakley led the way up-stairs to the general's room. - It adjoined his own. Cornish paused on the threshold until he had lighted - the gas. - </p> - <p> - “Light the other burner, will you?” he requested. “There, thanks, that's - better.” - </p> - <p> - He was a portly man of sixty, with a large head and heavy face. His father - had been a Vermont farmer, a man of position and means, according to the - easy standard of his times. When the Civil War broke out, young Cornish, - who was just commencing the practice of the law, had enlisted as a private - in one of the first regiments raised by his State. Prior to this he had - overflowed with fervid oratory, and had tried hard to look like Daniel - Webster, but a skirmish or two opened his eyes to the fact that the waging - of war was a sober business, and the polishing off of his sentences not - nearly as important as the polishing off of the enemy. He was still - willing to die for the Union, if there was need of it, but while his life - was spared it was well to get on. The numerical importance of number one - was a belief too firmly implanted in his nature to be overthrown by any - patriotic aberration. - </p> - <p> - His own merits, which he was among the first to recognize, and the solid - backing his father was able to give, won him promotion. He had risen to - the command of a regiment, and when the war ended was brevetted a - brigadier-general of volunteers, along with a score of other anxious - warriors who wished to carry the title of general back into civil life, - for he was an amiable sort of a Shylock, who seldom overlooked his pound - of flesh, and he usually got all, and a little more, than was coming to - him. - </p> - <p> - After the war he married and went West, where he resumed the practice of - his profession, but he soon abandoned it for a commercial career. It was - not long until he was ranked as one of the rich men of his State. Then he - turned his attention to politics, He was twice elected to Congress, and - served one term as governor. One of his daughters had married an Italian - prince, a meek, prosaic little creature, exactly five feet three inches - tall: another was engaged to an English earl, whose debts were a - remarkable achievement for so young a man. His wife now divided her time - between Paris and London. She didn't think much of New York, which had - thought even less of her. He managed to see her once or twice a year. Any - oftener would have been superfluous. But it interested him to read of her - in the papers, and to feel a sense of proprietorship for this woman, who - was spending his money and carrying his name into the centres of elegance - and fashion. Personally he disliked fashion, and was rather shy of - elegance. - </p> - <p> - There were moments, however, when he felt his life to be wholly - unsatisfactory. He derived very little pleasure from all the luxury that - had accumulated about him, and which he accepted with a curious placid - indifference. He would have liked the affection of his children, to have - had them at home, and there was a remote period in his past when his wife - had inspired him with a sentiment at which he could only wonder. He held - it against her that she had not understood. - </p> - <p> - He lurched down solidly into the chair Oakley placed for him. “I hope you - are comfortable here,” he said, kindly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes.” He still stood. - </p> - <p> - “Sit down,” said Cornish. “I don't, as a rule, believe in staying up after - midnight to talk business, but I must start East to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - He slipped out of his chair and began to pace the floor, with his hands - thrust deep in his trousers-pockets. “I want to talk over the situation - here. I don't see that the road is ever going to make a dollar. I've an - opportunity to sell it to the M. & W. Of course this is extremely - confidential. It must not go any further. I am told they will discontinue - it beyond this point, and of course they will either move the shops away - or close them.” He paused in his rapid walk. “It's too bad it never paid. - It was the first thing I did when I came West. I thought it a pretty big - thing then. I have always hoped it would justify my judgment, and it - promised to for a while until the lumber interests played out. Now, what - do you advise, Oakley? I want to get your ideas. You understand, if I sell - I won't lose much. The price offered will just about meet the mortgage I - hold, but I guess the stockholders will come out at the little end of the - horn.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley understood exactly what was ahead of the stockholders if the road - changed hands. Perhaps his face showed that he was thinking of this, for - the general observed, charitably: - </p> - <p> - “It's unfortunate, but you can't mix sentiment in a transaction of this - sort. I'd like to see them all get their money back, and more, too.” - </p> - <p> - His mental attitude towards the world was one of generous liberality, but - he had such excellent control over his impulses that, while he always - seemed about to embark in some large philanthropy, he had never been known - to take even the first step in that direction. In short, he was hard and - unemotional, but with a deceptive, unswerving kindliness of manner, which, - while it had probably never involved a dollar of his riches, had at divers - times cost the unwary and the indiscreet much money. - </p> - <p> - No man presided at the board meetings of a charity with an air of larger - benevolence, and no man drove closer or more conscienceless bargains. His - friends knew better than to trust him—a precaution they observed in - common with his enemies. - </p> - <p> - “I am sure the road could be put on a paying basis,” said Oakley. “Certain - quite possible economies would do that. Of course we can't create - business, there is just so much of it, and we get it all as it is. But the - shops might be made very profitable. I have secured a good deal of work - for them, and I shall secure more. I had intended to propose a number of - reforms, but if you are going to sell, why, there's no use of going into - the matter—” he paused. - </p> - <p> - The general meditated in silence for a moment. “I'd hate to sacrifice my - interests if I thought you could even make the road pay expenses. Now, - just what do you intend to do?” - </p> - <p> - “I'll get my order-book and show you what's been done for the shops,” said - Oakley, rising with alacrity. “I have figured out the changes, too, and - you can see at a glance just what I propose doing.” - </p> - <p> - The road and the shops employed some five hundred men, most of whom had - their homes in Antioch. Oakley knew that if the property was sold it would - practically wipe the town out of existence. The situation was full of - interest for him. If Cornish approved, and told him to go ahead with his - reforms, it would be an opportunity such as he had never known. - </p> - <p> - He went into his own room, which opened off Cornish's, and got his - order-book and table of figures, which he had carried up from the office - that afternoon. - </p> - <p> - They lay on the stand with a pile of trade journals. For the first time in - his life he viewed these latter with an unfriendly eye. He thought of - Constance Emory, and realized that he should never again read and digest - the annual report of the Joint Traffic Managers' Association with the same - sense of intellectual fulness it had hitherto given him. No, clearly, that - was a pleasure he had outgrown. - </p> - <p> - He had taken a great deal of pains with his figures, and they seemed to - satisfy Cornish that the road, if properly managed, was not such a - hopeless proposition, after all. Something might be done with it. - </p> - <p> - Oakley rose in his good esteem; he had liked him, and he was justifying - his good opinion. He beamed benevolently on the young man, and thawed out - of his habitual reserve into a genial, ponderous frankness. - </p> - <p> - “You have done well,” he said, glancing through the order-book with - evident satisfaction. - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” explained Oakley, “I am going to make a cut in wages this - spring, if you agree to it, but I haven't the figures for this yet.” The - general nodded. He approved of cuts on principle. - </p> - <p> - “That's always a wise move,” he said. “Will they stand it?” - </p> - <p> - “They'll have to.” And Oakley laughed rather nervously. He appreciated - that his reforms were likely to make him very unpopular in Antioch. “They - shouldn't object. If the road changes hands it will kill their town.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose so,” agreed Cornish, indifferently. - </p> - <p> - “And half a loaf is lots better than no loaf,” added Oakley. Again the - general nodded his approval. That was the very pith and Gospel of his - financial code, and he held it as greatly to his own credit that he had - always been perfectly willing to offer halfloaves. - </p> - <p> - “What sort of shape is the shop in?” he asked, after a moment's silence. - </p> - <p> - “Very good on the whole.” - </p> - <p> - “I am glad to hear you say so. I spent over a hundred thousand dollars on - the plant originally.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course, the equipment can hardly be called modern, but it will do for - the sort of work for which I am bidding,” Oakley explained. - </p> - <p> - “Well, it will be an interesting problem for a young man, Oakley. If you - pull the property up it will be greatly to your credit. I was going to - offer you another position, but we will let that go over for the present. - I am very much pleased, though, with all you have done, very much pleased, - indeed. I go abroad in about two weeks. My youngest daughter is to be - married in London to the Earl of Minchester.” - </p> - <p> - The title rolled glibly from the great man's lips. “So you'll have the - fight, if it is a fight, all to yourself. I'll see that Holloway does what - you say. He's the only one you'll have to look to in my absence, but you - won't be able to count on him for anything; he gets limp in a crisis. Just - don't make the mistake of asking his advice.” - </p> - <p> - “I'd rather have no advice,” interrupted Dan, hastily, “unless it's - yours,” he added. - </p> - <p> - “I'll see that you are not bothered. You are the sort of fellow who will - do better with a free hand, and that is what I intend you shall have.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” said Oakley, his heart warming with the other's praise. - </p> - <p> - “I shall be back in three months, and then, if your schemes have worked - out at all as we expect, why, we can consider putting the property in - better shape.”—A part of Oakley's plan.—“As you say, it's gone - down so there won't be much but the right of way presently.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope that eventually there'll be profits,” said Oakley, whose mind was - beginning to reach out into the future. - </p> - <p> - “I guess the stockholders will drop dead if we ever earn a dividend. - That's the last thing they are looking forward to,” remarked Cornish, - dryly. “Will you leave a six-thirty call at the office for me? I forgot, - and I must take the first train.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley had gathered up his order-book and papers. The general was already - fumbling with his cravat and collar. - </p> - <p> - “I am very well satisfied with your plan, and I believe you have the - ability to carry it out.” - </p> - <p> - He threw aside his coat and vest and sat down to take off his shoes. - “Don't saddle yourself with too much work. Keep enough of an office force - to save yourself wherever you can. I think, if orders continue to come in - as they have been doing, the shops promise well. It just shows what a - little energy will accomplish.” - </p> - <p> - “With judicious nursing in the start, there should be plenty of work for - us, and we are well equipped to handle it.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” agreed Cornish. “A lot of money was spent on the plant. I wanted it - just right.” - </p> - <p> - “I can't understand why more hasn't been done with the opportunity here.” - </p> - <p> - “I've never been able to find the proper man to take hold, until I found - you, Oakley. You have given me a better insight into conditions than I - have had at any time since I built the road, and it ain't such a bad - proposition, after all, especially the shops.” The general turned out the - gas as he spoke, and Oakley, as he stood in the doorway of his own room, - saw dimly a white figure moving in the direction of the bed. - </p> - <p> - “I'd figure close on all repair work. The thing is to get them into the - habit of coming to us. Don't forget the call, please. Six-thirty sharp.” - </p> - <p> - The slats creaked and groaned beneath his weight. “Good-night.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next morning - Oakley saw General Cornish off on the 7.15 train, and then went back to - his hotel for breakfast Afterwards, on his way to the office he mailed a - check to Ezra Hart for his father. The money was intended to meet his - expenses in coming West. - </p> - <p> - He was very busy all that day making out his new schedules, and in - figuring the cuts and just what they would amount to. He approached his - task with a certain reluctance, for it was as unpleasant to him personally - as it was necessary to the future of the road, and he knew that no - half-way measures would suffice. He must cut, as a surgeon cuts, to save. - By lopping away a man here and there, giving his work to some other man, - or dividing it up among two or three men, he managed to peel off two - thousand dollars on the year. He counted that a very fair day's work. - </p> - <p> - He would start his reform with no particular aggressiveness. He would - retire the men he intended to dismiss from the road one at a time. He - hoped they would take the hint and hunt other positions. At any rate, they - could not get back until he was ready to take them back, as Cornish had - assured him he would not be interfered with. He concluded not to hand the - notices and orders to Miss Walton, the typewriter, to copy. She might let - drop some word that would give his victims an inkling of what was in store - for them. He knew there were unpleasant scenes ahead of him, but there was - no need to anticipate. When at last his figures for the cuts were complete - he would have been grateful for some one with whom to discuss the - situation. All at once his responsibilities seemed rather heavier than he - had bargained for. - </p> - <p> - There were only two men in the office besides himself—Philip Kerr, - the treasurer, and Byron Holt, his assistant. They were both busy with the - payroll, as it was the sixth of the month, and they commenced to pay off - in the shops on the tenth. - </p> - <p> - He had little or no use for Kerr, who still showed, where he dared, in - small things his displeasure that an outsider had been appointed manager - of the road. He had counted on the place for himself for a number of - years, but a succession of managers had come and gone apparently without - its ever having occurred to General Cornish that an excellent executive - was literally spoiling in the big, bare, general offices of the line. - </p> - <p> - This singular indifference on the part of Cornish to his real interests - had soured a disposition that at its best had more of acid in it than - anything else. As there was no way in which he could make his resentment - known to the general, even if he had deemed such a course expedient, he - took it out of Oakley, and kept his feeling for him on ice. Meanwhile he - hided his time, hoping for Oakley's downfall and his own eventual - recognition. - </p> - <p> - With the assistant treasurer, Dan's relations were entirely cordial. Holt - was a much younger man than Kerr, as frank and open as the other was - secret and reserved. When the six-o'clock whistle blew he glanced up from - his work and said: - </p> - <p> - “I wish you'd wait a moment, Holt. I want to see you.” - </p> - <p> - Kerr had already gone home, and Miss Walton was adjusting her hat before a - bit of a mirror that hung on the wall back of her desk. “All right,” - responded Holt, cheerfully. - </p> - <p> - “Just draw up your chair,” said Oakley, handing his papers to him. At - first Holt did not understand; then he began to whistle softly, and fell - to checking off the various cuts with his forefinger. - </p> - <p> - “What do you think of the job, Byron?” inquired Oakley. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'm glad I don't get laid off, that's sure. Say, just bear in mind - that I'm going to be married this summer.” - </p> - <p> - “You needn't worry; only I didn't know that.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, please don't forget it, Mr. Oakley.” - </p> - <p> - Holt ran over the cuts again. Then he asked: - </p> - <p> - “Who's going to stand for this? You or the old man? I hear he was in town - last night.” - </p> - <p> - “I stand for it, but of course he approves.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll bet he approves,” and the assistant treasurer grinned. “This is the - sort of thing that suits him right down to the ground.” - </p> - <p> - “How about the hands? Do you know if they are members of any union?” - </p> - <p> - “No, but there'll be lively times ahead for you. They are a great lot of - kickers here.” - </p> - <p> - “Wait until I get through. I haven't touched the shops yet; that's to come - later. I'll skin closer before I'm done.” Oakley got up and lit his pipe. - “The plant must make some sort of a showing. We can't continue at the rate - we have been going. I suppose you know what sort of shape it would leave - the town in if the shops were closed.” - </p> - <p> - “Damn poor shape, I should say. Why, it's the money that goes in and out - of this office twice a month that keeps the town alive. It couldn't exist - a day without that.” - </p> - <p> - “Then it behooves us to see to it that nothing happens to the shops or - road. I am sorry for the men I am laying off, but it can't be helped.” - </p> - <p> - “I see you are going to chuck Hoadley out of his good thing at the - Junction. If he was half white he'd a gone long ago. He must lay awake - nights figuring how he can keep decently busy.” - </p> - <p> - “Is the list all right?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. No, it's not, either. You've marked off Joe Percell at Harrison. He - used to brake for the Huckleberry until he lost an arm. His is a pension - job.” - </p> - <p> - “Put his name back, then. How do you think it's going to work?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it will work all right, because it has to, but they'll all be cussing - you,” with great good humor. “What's the matter, anyhow? Did the old man - throw a fit at the size of the pay-roll?” - </p> - <p> - “Not exactly, but he came down here with his mind made up to sell the road - to the M. & W.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't say so!” - </p> - <p> - “I talked him out of that, but we must make a showing, for he's good and - tired, and may dump the whole business any day.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, if he does that there'll be no marrying or giving in marriage for - me this summer. It will be just like a Shaker settlement where I am - concerned.” - </p> - <p> - Dan laughed. “Oh, you'd be all right, Holt. You'd get something else, or - the M. & W. would keep you on.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know about that. A new management generally means a clean sweep - all round, and my berth's a pretty good one.” - </p> - <p> - In some manner a rumor of the changes Oakley proposed making did get - abroad, and he was promptly made aware that his popularity in Antioch was - a thing of the past. He was regarded as an oppressor from whom some - elaborate and wanton tyranny might be expected. While General Cornish - suffered their inefficiency, his easy-going predecessors had been content - to draw their salaries and let it go at that, a line of conduct which - Antioch held to be entirely proper. This new man, however, was clearly an - upstart, cursed with an insane and destructive ambition to earn money from - the road. - </p> - <p> - Suppose it did not pay. Cornish could go down into his pocket for the - difference, just as he had always done. - </p> - <p> - What the town did not know, and what it would not have believed even if it - had been told, was that the general had been on the point of selling—a - change that would have brought hardship to every one. The majority of the - men in the shops owned their own homes, and these homes represented the - savings of years. The sudden exodus of two or three hundred families meant - of necessity widespread ruin. Those who were forced to go away would have - to sacrifice everything they possessed to get away, while those who - remained would be scarcely better off. But Antioch never considered such a - radical move as even remotely possible. It counted the shops a fixture; - they had always been there, and for this sufficient reason they would - always remain. - </p> - <p> - The days wore on, one very like another, with their spring heat and - lethargy. Occasionally, Oakley saw Miss Emory on the street to bow to, but - not to speak with; while he was grateful for these escapes, he found - himself thinking of her very often. He fancied—and he was not far - wrong—that she was finding Antioch very dull. He wondered, too, if - she was seeing much of Ryder. He imagined that she was; and here again he - was not far wrong. Now and then he was seized with what he felt to be a - weak desire to call, but he always thought better of it in time, and was - always grateful he had not succumbed to the impulse. But her mere presence - in Antioch seemed to make him dissatisfied and resentful of its - limitations. Ordinarily he was not critical of his surroundings. Until she - came, that he was without companionship and that the town was given over - to a deadly inertia which expressed itself in the collapsed ambition of - nearly every man and woman he knew, had scarcely affected him beyond - giving him a sense of mild wonder. - </p> - <p> - He had heard nothing of his father, and in the pressure of his work and - freshened interest in the fortunes of the Huckleberry, had hardly given - him a second thought. He felt that, since he had sent money to him, he was - in a measure relieved of all further responsibility. If his father did not - wish to come to him, that was his own affair. He had placed no obstacle in - his way. - </p> - <p> - He had gone through life without any demand having been made on his - affections. On those rare occasions that he devoted to self-analysis he - seriously questioned if he possessed any large capacity in that direction. - The one touch of sentiment to which he was alive was the feeling he - centred about the few square feet of turf where his mother lay under the - sweet-briar and the old elms in the burying-plot of the little Eastern - village. The sexton was instructed to see that the spot was not neglected, - and that there were always flowers on the grave. She had loved flowers. It - was somehow a satisfaction to Dan to overpay him for this care. But he had - his moments of remorse, because he was unable to go back there. Once or - twice he had started East, fully intending to do so, but had weakened at - the last moment. Perhaps he recognized that while it was possible to - return to a place, it was not possible to return to an emotion. - </p> - <p> - Oakley fell into the habit of working at the office after the others left - in the evening. He liked the quiet of the great bare room and the solitude - of the silent, empty shops. Sometimes Holt remained, too, and discussed - his matrimonial intentions, or entertained his superior with an account of - his previous love affairs, for the experiences were far beyond his years. - He had exhausted the possibilities of Antioch quite early in life. At one - time or another he had either been engaged, or almost engaged, to every - pretty girl in the place. He explained his seeming inconsistency, however, - by saying he was naturally of a very affectionate disposition. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ATE one afternoon, - as Oakley sat at his desk in the broad streak of yellow light that the sun - sent in through the west windows, he heard a step on the narrow board-walk - that ran between the building and the tracks. The last shrill shriek of - No. 7, as usual, half an hour late, had just died out in the distance, and - the informal committee of town loafers which met each train was plodding - up Main Street to the post-office in solemn silence. - </p> - <p> - He glanced around as the door into the yards opened, expecting to see - either Holt or Kerr. Instead he saw a tall, gaunt man of sixty-five, a - little stoop-shouldered, and carrying his weight heavily and solidly. His - large head was sunk between broad shoulders. It was covered by a wonderful - growth of iron-gray hair. The face was clean-shaven and had the look of a - placid mask. There was a curious repose in the man's attitude as he stood - with a big hand—the hand of an artisan—resting loosely on the - knob of the door. - </p> - <p> - “Is it you. Dannie?” - </p> - <p> - The smile that accompanied the words was at once anxious, hesitating, and - inquiring. He closed the door with awkward care and coming a step nearer, - put out his hand. Oakley, breathing hard, rose hastily from his chair, and - stood leaning against the corner of his desk as if he needed its support. - He was white to the lips. - </p> - <p> - There was a long pause while the two men looked into each other's eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Don't you know me, Dannie?” wistfully. Dan said nothing, but he extended - his hand, and his father's fingers closed about it with a mighty pressure. - Then, quite abruptly, Roger Oakley turned and walked over to the window. - Once more there was absolute silence in the room, save for the ticking of - the clock and the buzzing of a solitary fly high up on the ceiling. - </p> - <p> - The old convict was the first to break the tense stillness. - </p> - <p> - “I had about made up my mind I should never see you again, Dannie. When - your mother died and you came West it sort of wiped out the little there - was between me and the living. In fact, I really didn't know you would - care to see me, and when Hart told me you wished me to come to you and had - sent the money, I could hardly believe it.” - </p> - <p> - Here the words failed him utterly. He turned slowly and looked into his - son's face long and lovingly. “I've thought of you as a little boy for all - these years, Dannie—as no higher than that,” dropping his hand to - his hip. “And here you are a man grown. But you got your mother's look—I'd - have known you by it among a thousand.” - </p> - <p> - If Dan had felt any fear of his father it had left him the instant he - entered the room. Whatever he might have done, whatever he might have - been, there was no question as to the manner of man he had become. He - stepped to his son's side and took his hand in one of his own. - </p> - <p> - “You've made a man of yourself. I can see that. What do you do here for a - living?” - </p> - <p> - Dan laughed, queerly. “I am the general manager of the railroad, father,” - nodding towards the station and the yards. “But it's not much to brag - about. It's only a one-horse line,” he added. - </p> - <p> - “No, you don't mean it, Dannie!” And he could see that his father was - profoundly impressed. He put up his free hand and gently patted Dan's head - as though he were indeed the little boy he remembered. - </p> - <p> - “Did you have an easy trip West, father?” Oakley asked. “You must be - tired.” - </p> - <p> - “Not a bit, Dannie. It was wonderful. I'd been shut off from it all for - more than twenty years, and each mile was taking me nearer you.” - </p> - <p> - The warm yellow light was beginning to fade from the room. It was growing - late. - </p> - <p> - “I guess we'd better go up-town to the hotel and have our supper. Where is - your trunk? At the station?” - </p> - <p> - “I've got nothing but a bundle. It's at the door.” - </p> - <p> - Dan locked his desk, and they left the office. - </p> - <p> - “Is it all yours?” Roger Oakley asked, pausing as they crossed the yards, - to glance up and down the curving tracks. - </p> - <p> - “It's part of the property I manage. It belongs to General Cornish, who - holds most of the stock.” - </p> - <p> - “And the train I came on, Dannie, who owned that?” - </p> - <p> - “At Buckhorn Junction, where you changed cars for the last time, you - caught our local express. It runs through to a place called Harrison—the - terminus of the line. This is only a branch road, you know.” - </p> - <p> - But the explanation was lost on his father. His son's relation to the road - was a magnificent fact which he pondered with simple pleasure. - </p> - <p> - After their supper at the hotel they went up-stairs. Roger Oakley had been - given a room next his son's. It was the same room General Cornish had - occupied when he was in Antioch. - </p> - <p> - “Would you like to put away your things now?” asked Dan, as he placed his - father's bundle, which he had carried up-town from the office, on the bed. - </p> - <p> - “I'll do that by and by. There ain't much there—just a few little - things I've managed to keep, or that have been given me.” - </p> - <p> - Dan pushed two chairs before an open window that overlooked the square. - His father had taken a huge blackened meerschaum from its case and was - carefully filling it from a leather pouch. - </p> - <p> - “You don't mind if I light my pipe?” he inquired. - </p> - <p> - “Not a bit. I've one in my pocket, but it's not nearly as fine as yours.” - </p> - <p> - “Our warden gave it to me one Christmas, and I've smoked it ever since. He - was a very good man, Dannie. It's the old warden I'm speaking of, not - Kenyon, the new one, though he's a good man, too.” - </p> - <p> - Dan wondered where he had heard the name of Kenyon before; then he - remembered—it was at the Emorys'. - </p> - <p> - “Try some of my tobacco, Dannie,” passing the pouch. - </p> - <p> - For a time the two men sat in silence, blowing clouds of white smoke out - into the night. Under the trees, just bursting into leaf, the street-lamps - flickered in a long, dim perspective, and now and then a stray word - floated up to them, coming from a group of idlers on the corner below the - window. - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley hitched his chair nearer his son's, and rested a heavy hand - on his knee. “I like it here,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Do you? I am glad.” - </p> - <p> - “What will be the chances of my finding work? You know I'm a cabinet-maker - by trade.” - </p> - <p> - “There's no need of your working; so don't worry about that.” - </p> - <p> - “But I must work, Dannie. I ain't used to sitting still and doing - nothing.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Oakley, willing to humor him, “there are the car shops.” - </p> - <p> - “Can you get me in?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes, when you are ready to start. I'll have McClintock, the master - mechanic, find something in your line for you to do.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll need to get a kit of tools.” - </p> - <p> - “I guess McClintock can arrange that, too. I'll see him about it when you - are ready.” - </p> - <p> - “Then that's settled. I'll begin in the morning,” with quiet - determination. - </p> - <p> - “But don't you want to look around first?” - </p> - <p> - “I'll have my Sundays for that.” And Dan saw that there was no use in - arguing the point with him. He was bent on having his own way. - </p> - <p> - The old convict filled his lungs with a deep, free breath. “Yes, I'm going - to like it. I always did like a small town, anyhow. Tell me about - yourself, Dannie. How do you happen to be here?” - </p> - <p> - Dan roused himself. “I don't know. It's chance, I suppose. After mother's - death—” - </p> - <p> - “Twenty years ago last March,” breaking in upon him, softly; then, nodding - at the starlit heavens, “She's up yonder now, watching us. Nothing's - hidden or secret. It's all plain to her.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you really think that, father?” - </p> - <p> - “I know it, Dannie.” And his tone was one of settled conviction. - </p> - <p> - Dan had already discovered that his father was deeply religious. It was a - faith the like of which had not descended to his own day and generation. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I had it rather hard for a while,” going back to his story. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” with keen sympathy. “You were nothing but a little boy.” - </p> - <p> - “Finally, I was lucky enough to get a place as a newsboy on a train. I - sold papers until I was sixteen, and then began braking. I wanted to be an - engineer, but I guess my ability lay in another direction. At any rate, - they took me off the road and gave me an office position instead. I got to - be a division superintendent, and then I met General Cornish. He is one of - the directors of the line I was with at the time. Three months ago he made - me an offer to take hold here, and so here I am.” - </p> - <p> - “And you've never been back home, Dannie?” - </p> - <p> - “Never once. I've wanted to go, but I couldn't.” He hoped his father would - understand. - </p> - <p> - “Well, there ain't much to take you there but her grave. I wish she might - have lived, you'd have been a great happiness to her, and she got very - little happiness for her portion any ways you look at it. We were only - just married when the war came, and I was gone four years. Then there was - about eleven years When we were getting on nicely. We had money put by, - and owned our own home. Can you remember it, Dannie? The old brick place - on the corner across from the post-office. A new Methodist church stands - there now. It was sold to get money for my lawyer when the big trouble - came. Afterwards, when everything was spent, she must have found it very - hard to make a living for herself and you.” - </p> - <p> - “She did,” said Dan, gently. “But she managed somehow to keep a roof over - our heads.” - </p> - <p> - “When the law sets out to punish it don't stop with the guilty only. When - I went to her grave and saw there were flowers growing on it, and that it - was being cared for, it told me what you were. She was a very brave woman, - Dannie.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” pityingly, “she was.” - </p> - <p> - “Few women have had the sorrow she had, and few women could have borne up - under it as she did. You know that was an awful thing about Sharp.” - </p> - <p> - He put up his hand and wiped the great drops of perspiration from his - forehead. - </p> - <p> - Dan turned towards him quickly. - </p> - <p> - “Why do you speak of it? It's all past now.” - </p> - <p> - “I'd sort of like to tell you about it.” - </p> - <p> - There was a long pause, and he continued: - </p> - <p> - “Sharp and I had been enemies for a long time. It started back before the - war, when he wanted to marry your mother. We both enlisted in the same - regiment, and somehow the trouble kept alive. He was a bit of a bully, and - I was counted a handy man with my fists, too. The regiment was always - trying to get us into the ring together, but we knew it was dangerous. We - had sense enough for that. I won't say he would have done it, but I never - felt safe when there was a fight on in all those four years. It's easy - enough to shoot the man in front of you and no one be the wiser. Many a - score's been settled that way. When we got home again we didn't get along - any better. He was a drinking man, and had no control over himself when - liquor got the best of him. I did my share in keeping the feud alive. What - he said of me and what I said of him generally reached both of us in time, - as you can fancy. - </p> - <p> - “At last, when I joined the church, I concluded it wasn't right to hate a - man the way I hated Sharp, for, you see, he'd never really done anything - to me. - </p> - <p> - “One day I stopped in at the smithy—he was a blacksmith—to - have a talk with him and see if we couldn't patch it up somehow and be - friends. It was a Saturday afternoon, and he'd been drinking more than was - good for him. - </p> - <p> - “I hadn't hardly got the first words out when he came at me with a big - sledge in his hand, all in a rage, and swearing he'd have my life. I - pushed him off and started for the door. I saw it was no use to try to - reason with him, but he came at me again, and this time he struck me with - his sledge. It did no harm, though it hurt, and I pushed him out of my way - and backed off towards the door. The lock was caught, and before I could - open it, he was within striking distance again, and I had to turn to - defend myself. I snatched up a bar of iron perhaps a foot long. I had kept - my temper down until then, but the moment I had a weapon in my hand it got - clean away from me, and in an instant I was fighting—just as he was - fighting—to kill.” - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley had told the story of the murder in a hard, emotionless - voice, but Dan saw in the half-light that his face was pale and drawn. Dan - found it difficult to associate the thought of violence with the man at - his side, whose whole manner spoke of an unusual restraint and control. - That he had killed a man, even in self-defence, seemed preposterous and - inconceivable. - </p> - <p> - There was a part of the story Roger Oakley could not tell, and which his - son had no desire to hear. - </p> - <p> - “People said afterwards that I'd gone there purposely to pick a quarrel - with Sharp, and his helper, who, it seems, was in the yard back of the - smithy setting a wagon tire, swore he saw me through a window as I - entered, and that I struck the first blow. He may have seen only the end - of it, and really believed I did begin it, but that's a sample of how - things got twisted. Nobody believed my motive was what I said it was. The - jury found me guilty of murder, and the judge gave me a life sentence. A - good deal of a fuss was made over what I did at the fire last winter. Hart - told me he'd sent you the papers.” - </p> - <p> - Dan nodded, and his father continued: - </p> - <p> - “Some ladies who were interested in mission work at the prison took the - matter up and got me my pardon. It's a fearful and a wicked thing for a - man to lose his temper, Dannie. At first I was bitter against every one - who had a hand in sending me to prison, but I've put that all from my - heart. It was right I should be punished.” - </p> - <p> - He rose from his chair, striking the ashes from his pipe. - </p> - <p> - “Ain't it very late, Dannie? I'll just put away my things, and then we can - go to bed. I didn't mean to keep you up.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley watched his precise and orderly arrangement of his few belongings. - He could see that it was a part of the prison discipline under which he - had lived for almost a quarter of a century. When the contents of his - bundle were disposed of to his satisfaction, he put on a pair of - steel-rimmed spectacles, with large, round glasses, and took up a - well-thumbed Bible, which he had placed at one side. - </p> - <p> - “I hope you haven't forgotten this book, Dannie,” tapping it softly with a - heavy forefinger. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">K</span>ERR and Holt were - at Buckhom Junction with the pay-car, a decrepit caboose that complained - in every wheel as the engine jerked it over the rails. Holt said that its - motion was good for Kerr's dyspepsia. He called it the pay-car cure, and - professed to believe it a subtle manifestation of the general's - benevolence. - </p> - <p> - Miss Walton was having a holiday. This left Oakley the sole tenant of the - office. - </p> - <p> - He had returned from Chicago the day before, where he had gone to drum up - work. - </p> - <p> - It was a hot, breathless morning in May. The machinery in the shops droned - on and on, with the lazy, softened hum of revolving wheels, or the swish - of swiftly passing belts. A freight was cutting out cars in the yards. It - was rather noisy and bumped discordantly in and out of the sidings. - </p> - <p> - Beyond the tracks and a narrow field, where the young corn stood in fresh - green rows, was a line of stately sycamores and vivid willows that - bordered Billup's Fork. Tradition had it that an early settler by the name - of Billup had been drowned there—a feat that must have required - considerable ingenuity on his part, as the stream was nothing but a series - of shallow riffles, with an occasional deep hole. Once Jeffy, generously - drunk, had attempted to end his life in the fork. He had waded in above - his shoe-tops, only to decide that the water was too cold, and had waded - out again, to the keen disappointment of six small boys on the bank, who - would have been grateful for any little excitement. He said he wanted to - live to invent a drink that tasted as good coming up as it did going down; - there was all kinds of money in such a drink. But the boys felt they had - been swindled, and threw stones at him. It is sometimes difficult to - satisfy an audience. Nearer at hand, but invisible, Clarence was - practising an elusive dance-step in an empty coal-car. He was inspired by - a lofty ambition to equal—he dared not hope to excel—a - gentleman he had seen at a recent minstrel performance. - </p> - <p> - McClintock, passing, had inquired sarcastically if it was his busy day, - but Clarence had ignored the question. He felt that he had nothing in - common with one who possessed such a slavish respect for mere industry. - </p> - <p> - Presently McClintock wandered in from the hot out-of-doors to talk over - certain repairs he wished undertaken in the shops. He was a typical - American mechanic, and Oakley liked him, as he always liked the man who - knew his business and earned his pay. - </p> - <p> - They discussed the repairs, and then Oakley asked, “How's my father - getting along, Milt?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, all right. He's a little slow, that's all.” - </p> - <p> - “What's he on now?” - </p> - <p> - “Those blue-line cars that came in last month.” - </p> - <p> - “There isn't much in that batch. I had to figure close to get the work. - Keep the men moving.” - </p> - <p> - “They are about done. I'll put the painters on the job to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “That's good.” - </p> - <p> - McClintock went over to the water-cooler in the corner and filled a - stemless tumbler with ice-water. - </p> - <p> - “We'll be ready to send them up to Buckhorn the last of next week. Is - there anything else in sight?” - </p> - <p> - He gulped down the water at a single swallow. “No, not at present, but - there are one or two pretty fair orders coming in next month that I was - lucky enough to pick up in Chicago. Isn't there any work of our own we can - go at while things are slack?” - </p> - <p> - “Lots of it,” wiping his hands on the legs of his greasy overalls. “All - our day coaches need paint, and some want new upholstery.” - </p> - <p> - “We'd better go at that, then.” - </p> - <p> - “All right. I'll take a look at the cars in the yards, and see what I can - put out in place of those we call in. There's no use talking, Mr. Oakley, - you've done big things for the shops,” he added. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I am getting some work for them, and while there isn't much profit - in it, perhaps, it's a great deal better than being idle.” - </p> - <p> - “Just a whole lot,” agreed McClintock. - </p> - <p> - “I think I can pick up contracts enough to keep us busy through the - summer. I understand you've always had to shut down.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, or half-time,” disgustedly. - </p> - <p> - “I guess we can worry through without that; at any rate, I want to,” - observed Oakley. - </p> - <p> - “I'll go see how I can manage about our own repairs,” said McClintock. - </p> - <p> - He went out, and from the window Oakley saw him with a bunch of keys in - his hand going in the direction of a line of battered day coaches on one - of the sidings. The door opened again almost immediately to admit Griff - Ryder. This was almost the last person in Antioch from whom Dan was - expecting a call. The editor's cordiality as he greeted him made him - instantly suspect that some favor was wanted. Most people who came to the - office wanted favors. Usually it was either a pass or a concession on - freight. - </p> - <p> - As a rule, Kerr met all such applicants. His manner fitted him for just - such interviews, and he had no gift for popularity, which suffered in - consequence. - </p> - <p> - Ryder pushed a chair over beside Oakley's and seated himself. By sliding - well down on his spine he managed to reach the low sill of the window with - his feet. He seemed to admire the effect, for he studied them in silence - for a moment. - </p> - <p> - “There's a little matter I want to speak to you about, Oakley. I've been - intending to run in for the past week, but I have been so busy I - couldn't.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley nodded for him to go on. - </p> - <p> - “In the first place, I'd like to feel that you were for Kenyon. You can be - of a great deal of use to us this election. It's going to be close, and - Kenyon's a pretty decent sort of a chap to have come out of these parts. - You ought to take an interest in seeing him re-elected.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley surmised that this was the merest flattery intended to tickle his - vanity. He answered promptly that he didn't feel the slightest interest in - politics one way or the other. - </p> - <p> - “Well, but one good fellow ought to wish to see another good fellow get - what he's after, and you can help us if you've a mind to; but this isn't - what I've come for. It's about Hoadley.” - </p> - <p> - “What about Hoadley?” quickly. - </p> - <p> - “He's got the idea that his days with the Huckleberry are about numbered.” - </p> - <p> - “I haven't said so.” - </p> - <p> - “I know you haven't.” - </p> - <p> - “Then what is he kicking about? When he's to go, he'll hear of it from - me.” - </p> - <p> - “But, just the same, it's in the air that there's to be a shake-up, and - that a number of men, and Hoad-ly among them, are going to be laid off. - Now, he's another good fellow, and he's a friend of mine, and I told him - I'd come in and fix it up with you.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't think you can fix it up with me, Mr. Ryder. Just the same, I'd - like to know how this got out.” - </p> - <p> - “Then there is to be a shake-up?” - </p> - <p> - Oakley bit his lips. “You seem to take it for granted there is to be.” - </p> - <p> - “I guess there's something back of the rumor.” - </p> - <p> - “I may as well tell you why Hoadley's got to go.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he is to go, then? I thought my information was correct.” - </p> - <p> - “In the first place, he's not needed, and in the second place, he's a lazy - loafer. The road must earn its keep. General Cornish is sick of putting - his hand in his pocket every six months to keep it out of bankruptcy. You - are enough of a business man to know he won't stand that sort of thing - forever. Of course I am sorry for Hoadley if he needs the money, but some - one's got to suffer, and he happens to be the one. I'll take on his work - myself. I can do it, and that's a salary saved. I haven't any personal - feeling in the matter. The fact that I don't like him, as it happens, has - nothing to do with it. If he were my own brother he'd have to get out.” - </p> - <p> - “I can't see that one man, more or less, is going to make such a hell of a - difference, Oakley,” Ryder urged, with what he intended should be an air - of frank good-fellowship. - </p> - <p> - “Can't you?” with chilly dignity. Oakley was slow to anger, but he had - always fought stubbornly for what he felt was due him, and he wished the - editor to understand that the management of the B. & A. was distinctly - not his province. - </p> - <p> - Ryder's eyes were half closed, and only a narrow slit of color showed - between the lids. - </p> - <p> - “I am very much afraid we won't hit it off. I begin to see we aren't going - to get on. I want you to keep Hoadley as a personal favor to me. Just wait - until I finish. If you are going in for reform, I may have it in my power - to be of some service to you. You will need some backing here, and even a - country newspaper can manufacture public sentiment. Now if we aren't to be - friends you will find me on the other side, and working just as hard - against you as I am willing to work for you if you let Hoadley stay.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley jumped up. - </p> - <p> - “I don't allow anybody to talk like that to me. I am running this for - Cornish. They are his interests, not mine, and you can start in and - manufacture all the public sentiment you damn please.” Then he cooled down - a bit and felt ashamed of himself for the outburst. - </p> - <p> - “I am not going to be unfair to any one if I can help it. But if the - road's earnings don't meet the operating expenses the general will sell it - to the M. & W. Do you understand what that means? It will knock - Antioch higher than a kite, for the shops will be closed. I guess when all - hands get that through their heads they will take it easier.” - </p> - <p> - “That's just the point I made. Who is going to enlighten them if it isn't - me? I don't suppose you will care to go around telling everybody what a - fine fellow you are, and how thankful they should be that you have stopped - their wages. We can work double, Oakley. I want Hoadley kept because he's - promised me his influence for Kenyon if I'd exert myself in his behalf. - He's of importance up at the Junction. Of course we know he's a drunken - beast, but that's got nothing to do with it.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry, but he's got to go,” said Oakley, doggedly. “A one-horse - railroad can't carry dead timber.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well.” And Ryder pulled in his legs and rose slowly from his chair. - “If you can't and won't see it as I do it's your lookout.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley laughed, shortly. - </p> - <p> - “I guess I'll be able to meet the situation, Mr. Ryder.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you will, and perhaps you won't. We'll see about that when the - time comes.” - </p> - <p> - “You heard what I said about the M. & W.?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what about that?” - </p> - <p> - “You understand what it means—the closing of the shops?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I guess that's a long ways off.” - </p> - <p> - He stalked over to the door with his head in the air. He was mad clear - through. At the door he turned. Hoadley's retention meant more to him than - he would have admitted. It was not that he cared a rap for Hoadley. On the - contrary, he detested him, but the fellow was a power in country politics. - </p> - <p> - “If you should think better of it—” and he was conscious his manner - was weak with the weakness of the man who has asked and failed. - </p> - <p> - “I sha'n't,” retorted Oakley, laconically. - </p> - <p> - He scouted the idea that Ryder, with his little country newspaper could - either help or harm him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">R</span>OGER OAKLEY had - gone to work in the car-shops the day following his arrival in Antioch. - Dan had sought to dissuade him, but he was stubbornness itself, and the - latter realized that the only thing to do was to let him alone, and not - seek to control him. - </p> - <p> - After all, if he would be happier at work, it was no one's affair but his - own. - </p> - <p> - It never occurred to the old convict that pride might have to do with the - stand Dan took in the matter. - </p> - <p> - He was wonderfully gentle and affectionate, with a quaint, unworldly - simplicity that was rather pathetic. His one anxiety was to please Dan, - but, in spite of this anxiety, once a conviction took possession of him he - clung to it with unshaken tenacity in the face of every argument his son - could bring to bear. - </p> - <p> - Under the inspiration of his newly acquired freedom, he developed in - unexpected ways. As soon as he felt that his place in the shops was secure - and that he was not to be interfered with, he joined the Methodist Church. - Its services occupied most of his spare time. Every Thursday night found - him at prayer-meeting. Twice each Sunday he went to church, and by missing - his dinner he managed to take part in the Sunday-school exercises. A - social threw him into a flutter of pleased expectancy. Not content with - what his church offered, irrespective of creed, he joined every society in - the place of a religious or temperance nature, and was a zealous and - active worker among such of the heathen as flourished in Antioch. There - was a stern Old Testament flavor to his faith. He would have dragged the - erring from their peril by main strength, and have regulated their morals - by legal enactments. Those of the men with whom he came in contact in the - shops treated him with the utmost respect, partly on his own account, and - partly because of Dan. - </p> - <p> - McClintock always addressed him as “The Deacon,” and soon ceased to - overflow with cheerful profanity in his presence. The old man had early - taken occasion to point out to him the error of his ways and to hint at - what was probably in store for him unless he curbed the utterances of his - tongue. He was not the only professing Christian in the car-shops, but he - was the only one who had ventured to “call down” the master-mechanic. - </p> - <p> - Half of all he earned he gave to the church. The remainder of his slender - income he divided again into two equal parts. One of these he used for his - personal needs, the other disappeared mysteriously. He was putting it by - for “Dannie.” - </p> - <p> - It was a disappointment to him that his son took only the most casual - interest in religious matters. He comforted himself, however, with the - remembrance that at his age his own interest had been merely traditional. - It was only after his great trouble that the awakening came. He was quite - certain “Dannie” would experience this awakening, too, some day. - </p> - <p> - Finally he undertook the regeneration of Jeffy. Every new-comer in Antioch - of a philanthropic turn of mind was sure sooner or later to fall foul of - the outcast, who was usually willing to drop whatever he was doing to be - reformed. It pleased him and interested him. - </p> - <p> - He was firmly grounded in the belief, however, that in his case the - reformation that would really reform would have to be applied externally, - and without inconvenience to himself, but until the spiritual genius - turned up who could work this miracle, he was perfectly willing to be - experimented upon by any one who had a taste for what he called good - works. - </p> - <p> - After Mrs. Bentick's funeral he had found the means, derived in part from - the sale of Turner Joyce's wardrobe, to go on a highly sensational drunk, - which comprehended what was known in Antioch as “The Snakes.” - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley had unearthed him at the gas-house, a melancholy, tattered - ruin. He had rented a room for his occupancy, and had conveyed him thither - under cover of the night. During the week that followed, while Jeffy was - convalescent, he spent his evenings there reading to him from the Bible. - </p> - <p> - Jeffy would have been glad to escape these attentions. This new moral - force in the community inspired an emotion akin to awe. Day by day, as he - recognized the full weight of authority in Roger Oakley's manner towards - him, this awe increased, until at last it developed into an acute fear. So - he kept his bed and meditated flight. He even considered going as far away - as Buckhom or Harrison to be rid of the old man. Then, by degrees, he felt - himself weaken and succumb to the other's control. His cherished freedom—the - freedom of the woods and fields, and the drunken spree variously attained, - seemed only a happy memory. But the last straw was put upon him, and he - rebelled when his benefactor announced that he was going to find work for - him. - </p> - <p> - At first Jeffy had preferred not to take this seriously. He assumed to - regard it as a delicate sarcasm on the part of his new friend. He closed - first one watery eye and then the other. It was such a good joke. But - Roger Oakley only reiterated his intention with unmistakable seriousness. - It was no joke, and the outcast promptly sat up in bed, while a look of - slow horror overspread his face. - </p> - <p> - “But I ain't never worked, Mr. Oakley,” he whined, hoarsely. “I don't feel - no call to work. The fact is, I am too busy to work. I would be wasting my - time if I done that. I'd be durn thankful if you could reform me, but I'll - tell you right now this ain't no way to begin. No, sir, you couldn't make - a worse start.” - </p> - <p> - “It's high time you went at something,” said his self-appointed guide and - monitor, with stony conviction, and he backed his opinion with a quotation - from the Scriptures. - </p> - <p> - Now to Jeffy, who had been prayerfully brought up by a pious mother, the - Scriptures were the fountain-head of all earthly wisdom. To invoke a - citation from the Bible was on a par with calling in the town marshal. It - closed the incident so far as argument was concerned. He was vaguely aware - that there was one text which he had heard which seemed to give him - authority to loaf, but he couldn't remember it. - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley looked at him rather sternly over the tops of his - steel-rimmed spectacles, and said, with quiet determination, “I am going - to make a man of you. You've got it in you. There's hope in every human - life. You must let drink alone, and you must work. Work's what you need.” - </p> - <p> - “No, it ain't. I never done a day's work in my life. It'd kill me if I had - to get out and hustle and sweat and bile in the sun. Durnation! of all - fool ideas! I never seen the beat!” He threw himself back on the bed, - stiff and rigid, and covered his face with the sheet. - </p> - <p> - For perhaps a minute he lay perfectly still. Then the covers were seen to - heave tumultuously, while short gasps and sobs were distinctly audible. - Presently two skinny but expressive legs habited in red flannel were - thrust from under the covers and kicked violently back and forth. - </p> - <p> - A firm hand plucked the sheet from before the outcast's face, and the - gaunt form of the old convict bent grimly above him. - </p> - <p> - “Come, come, Jeffy, I didn't expect this of you. I am willing to help you - in every way I can. I'll get my son to make a place for you at the shops. - How will you like that?” - </p> - <p> - “How'll I like it? You ought to know me well enough to know I won't like - it a little bit!” in tearful and indignant protest. “You just reach me - them pants of mine off the back of that chair. You mean well, I'll say - that much for you, but you got the sweatiest sort of a religion; durned if - it ain't all work! Just reach me them pants, do now,” and he half rose up - in his bed, only to encounter a strong arm that pushed him back on the - pillows. - </p> - <p> - “You can't have your pants, Jeffy, not now. You must stay here until you - get well and strong.” - </p> - <p> - “How am I going to get well and strong with you hounding me to death? I - never seen such a man to take up with an idea and stick to it against all - reason. It just seems as if you'd set to work to break my spirit,” - plaintively. - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley frowned at him in silence for a moment, then he said: - </p> - <p> - “I thought we'd talked all this over, Jeffy.” - </p> - <p> - “I just wanted to encourage you. I was mighty thankful to have you take - hold. I hadn't been reformed for over a year. It about seemed to me that - everybody had forgotten I needed to be reformed, and I was willing to give - you a chance. No one can't ever say I ain't stood ready to do that much.” - </p> - <p> - “But, my poor Jeffy, you will have to do more than that.” - </p> - <p> - “Blamed if it don't seem to me as if you was expecting me to do it all!” - </p> - <p> - The old convict drew up a chair to the bedside and sat down. - </p> - <p> - “I thought you told me you wanted to be a man and to be respected?” said - this philanthropist, with evident displeasure. - </p> - <p> - Jeffy choked down a sob and sat up again. He gestured freely with his arms - in expostulation. - </p> - <p> - “I was drunk when I said that. Yes, sir, I was as full as I could stick. - Now I'm sober, I know rotten well what I want.” - </p> - <p> - “What do you want, Jeffy?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I want a lot of things.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what, for instance?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, sir, it ain't no prayers, and it ain't no Bible talks, and it ain't - no lousy work. It's coming warm weather. I want to lay up along the - crick-bank in the sun and do nothing—what I always done. I've had a - durned hard winter, and I been a-living for the spring.” - </p> - <p> - A look of the keenest disappointment clouded Roger Oakley's face as Jeffy - voiced his ignoble ambitions. His resentment gave way to sorrow. He - murmured a prayer that he might be granted strength and patience for his - task, and as he prayed with half-closed eyes, the outcast plugged his ears - with his fingers. He was a firm believer in the efficacy of prayer, and he - felt he couldn't afford to take any chances. - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley turned to him with greater gentleness of manner than he had - yet shown. - </p> - <p> - “Don't you want the love and confidence of your neighbors, Jeffy?” he - asked, pityingly. - </p> - <p> - “I ain't got no neighbors, except the bums who sleep along of me at the - gas-house winter nights. I always feel this way when I come off a spree; - first it seems as if I'd be willing never to touch another drop of licker - as long as I lived. I just lose interest in everything, and I don't care a - durn what happens to me. Why, I've joined the Church lots of times when I - felt that way, but as soon as I begin to get well it's different. I am - getting well now, and what I told you don't count any more. I got my own - way of living.” - </p> - <p> - “But what a way!” sadly. - </p> - <p> - “Maybe it ain't your way, and maybe it ain't the best way, but it suits me - bully. I can always get enough to eat by going and asking some one for it, - and you can't beat that. No, sir. You know durn well you can't!” becoming - argumentative. “It just makes me sick to think of paying for things like - vittles and clothes. A feller's got to have clothes, anyhow, ain't he? You - know mighty well he has, or he'll get pinched, and supposing I was to earn - a lot of money, even as much as a dollar a day, I'd have to spend every - blamed cent to live. One day I'd work, and then the next I'd swaller what - I'd worked for. Where's the sense in that? And I'd have all sorts of - ornery worries for fear I'd lose my job.” A look of wistful yearning - overspread his face. “Just you give me the hot days that's coming, when a - feller's warm clean through and sweats in the shade, and I won't ask for - no money. You can have it all!” - </p> - <p> - That night, when he left him, Roger Oakley carefully locked the door and - pocketed the key, and the helpless wretch on the bed, despairing and - miserable, and cut off from all earthly hope, turned his face to the white - wall and sobbed aloud. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HEY were standing - on the street corner before the hotel. Oakley had just come up-town from - the office. He was full of awkward excuses and apologies, but Mr. Emory - cut them short. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose I've a right to be angry at the way you've avoided us, but I'm - not. On the contrary, I'm going to take you home to dinner with me.” - </p> - <p> - If Dan find consulted his preferences in the matter, he would have begged - off, but he felt he couldn't, without giving offence; so he allowed the - doctor to lead him away, but he didn't appear as pleased or as grateful as - he should have been at this temporary release from the low diet of the - American House. - </p> - <p> - Miss Emory was waiting for her father on the porch. An errand of hers had - taken him downtown. - </p> - <p> - She seemed surprised to see Oakley, but graciously disposed towards him. - While he fell short of her standards, he was decidedly superior to the - local youth with whom she had at first been inclined to class him. Truth - to tell, the local youth fought rather shy of the doctor's beautiful - daughter. Mr. Burt Smith, the gentlemanly druggist and acknowledged social - leader, who was much sought after by the most exclusive circles in such - centres of fashion as Buckhorn and Harrison, had been so chilled by her - manner when, meeting her on the street, he had attempted to revive an - acquaintance which dated back to their childhood, that he was a mental - wreck for days afterwards, and had hardly dared trust himself to fill even - the simplest prescription. - </p> - <p> - When the Monday Club and the Social Science Club and the History Club - hinted that she might garner great sheaves of culture and enlightenment at - their meetings, Constance merely smiled condescendingly, but held aloof, - and the ladies of Antioch were intellectual without her abetment. They - silently agreed with the Emorys' free-born help, who had seen better days, - that she was “haughty proud” and “stuck up.” - </p> - <p> - Many was the informal indignation meeting they held, and many the - vituperate discussion handed down concerning Miss Emory, but Miss Emory - went her way with her head held high, apparently serenely unconscious of - her offence against the peace and quiet of the community. - </p> - <p> - It must not be supposed that she was intentionally unkind or arrogant. It - was unfortunate, perhaps, but she didn't like the townspeople. She would - have been perfectly willing to admit they were quite as good as she. The - whole trouble was that they were different, and the merits of this - difference had nothing to do with the case. Her stand in the matter - shocked her mother and amused her father. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Emory excused himself and went into the house. Dan made himself - comfortable on the steps at Miss Emory's side. In the very nearness there - was something luxurious and satisfying. He was silent because he feared - the antagonism of speech. - </p> - <p> - The rest of Antioch had eaten its supper, principally in its - shirt-sleeves, and was gossiping over front gates, or lounging on front - steps. When Antioch loafed it did so with great singleness of purpose. - </p> - <p> - Here and there through the town, back yards had been freshly ploughed for - gardens. In some of these men and boys were burning last year's brush and - litter. The smoke hung heavy and undispersed in the twilight. Already the - younger hands from the car-shops had “cleaned up,” and, dressed in their - best clothes, were hurrying back down-town to hang about the square and - street corners until it was time to return home and go to bed. - </p> - <p> - Off in the distance an occasional shrill whistle told where the ubiquitous - small boy was calling a comrade out to play, and every now and then, with - a stealthy patter of bare feet, some coatless urchin would scurry past the - Emorys' gate. - </p> - <p> - It was calm and restful, but it gave one a feeling of loneliness, too; - Antioch seemed very remote from the great world where things happened, or - were done. In spite of his satisfaction, Dan vaguely realized this. To the - girl at his side, however, the situation was absolutely tragic. The life - she had known had been so different, but it had been purchased at the - expense of a good deal of inconvenience and denial on the part of her - father and mother. It was impossible to ask a continuance of the - sacrifice, and it was equally impossible to remain in Antioch. She did not - want to be selfish, but the day was not far off when it would resolve - itself into a question of simple self-preservation. She had not yet - reached the point where she could consider marriage as a possible means of - escape, and, even if she had, it would not have solved the problem, for - whom was she to marry? - </p> - <p> - There was a tired, fretful look in her eyes. She had lost something of her - brilliancy and freshness. In her despair she told herself she was losing - everything. - </p> - <p> - “I was with friends of yours this afternoon, Mr. Oakley,” she said, by way - of starting the conversation. - </p> - <p> - “Friends of mine, here?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. The Joyces.” - </p> - <p> - “I must go around and see them. They have been very kind to my father,” - said Dan, with hearty good-will. - </p> - <p> - “How long is your father to remain in Antioch, Mr. Oakley?” inquired - Constance. - </p> - <p> - “As long as I remain, I suppose. There are only the two of us, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “What does he find to do here?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh,” laughed Dan, “he finds plenty to do. His energy is something - dreadful. Then, too, he's employed at the shops; that keeps him pretty - busy, you see.” - </p> - <p> - But Miss Emory hadn't known this before. She elevated her eyebrows in mild - surprise. She was not sure she understood. - </p> - <p> - “I didn't know that he was one of the officers of the road,” with - deceptive indifference. - </p> - <p> - “He's not. He's a cabinet-maker,” explained the literal Oakley, to whom a - cabinet-maker was quite as respectable as any one else. There was a brief - pause, while Constance turned this over in her mind. It struck her as very - singular that Oakley's father should be one of the hands. Perhaps she - credited him with a sensitiveness of which he was entirely innocent. - </p> - <p> - She rested her chin in her hands and gazed out into the dusty street. - </p> - <p> - “Isn't it infinitely pathetic to think of that poor little man and his - work?” going back to Joyce. “Do you know, I could have cried? And his - wife's faith, it is sublime, even if it is mistaken.” She laughed in a - dreary fashion. “What is to be done for people like that, whose lives are - quite uncompensated?” - </p> - <p> - To Oakley this opened up a field for future speculation, but he approved - of her interest in Joyce. It was kindly and sincere, and it was - unexpected. He had been inclined to view her as a proud young person, - unduly impressed with the idea of her own beauty and superiority. It - pleased him to think he had been mistaken. - </p> - <p> - They were joined by the doctor, who had caught a part of what Constance - said, and divined the rest. - </p> - <p> - “You see only the pathos. Joyce is just as well off here as he would be - anywhere else, and perhaps a little better. He makes a decent living with - his pictures.” As he spoke he crossed the porch and stood at her side, - with his hand resting affectionately on her shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “I guess there's a larger justice in the world than we conceive,” said - Oakley. - </p> - <p> - “But not to know, to go on blindly doing something that is really very - dreadful, and never to know!” - </p> - <p> - She turned to Oakley. “I am afraid I rather agree with your father. He - seems happy enough, and he is doing work for which there is a demand.” - </p> - <p> - “Would you be content to live here with no greater opportunity than he - has?” - </p> - <p> - Oakley laughed and shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “No. But that's not the same. I'll pull the Huckleberry up and make it - pay, and then go in for something bigger.” - </p> - <p> - “And if you can't make it pay?” - </p> - <p> - “I won't bother with it, then.” - </p> - <p> - “But if you had to remain?” - </p> - <p> - Oakley gave her an incredulous smile. - </p> - <p> - “That couldn't be possible. I have done all sorts of things but stick in - what I found to be undesirable berths; but, of course, business is not at - all the same.” - </p> - <p> - “But isn't it? Look at Mr. Ryder. He says that he is buried here in the - pine-woods, with no hope of ever getting back into the world, and I am - sure he is able, and journalism is certainly a business, like anything - else.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley made no response to this. He didn't propose to criticise Ryder, - but, all the same, he doubted his ability. - </p> - <p> - “Griff's frightfully lazy,” remarked the doctor. “He prefers to settle - down to an effortless sort of an existence rather than make a struggle.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't you think Mr. Ryder extremely clever, Mr. Oakley?” - </p> - <p> - “I know him so slightly, Miss Emory; but no doubt he is.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Emory appeared in the doorway, placid and smiling. - </p> - <p> - “Constance, you and Mr. Oakley come on in; dinner's ready.” - </p> - <p> - When Dan went home that night he told himself savagely that he would never - go to the Emorys' again. The experience had been most unsatisfactory. In - spite of Constance's evident disposition towards tolerance where he was - concerned, she exasperated him. Her unconscious condescension was a bitter - memory of which he could not rid himself. Certainly women must be petty, - small-souled creatures if she was at all representative of her sex. Yet, - in spite of his determination to avoid Constance, even at the risk of - seeming rude, he found it required greater strength of will than he - possessed to keep away from the Emorys. - </p> - <p> - He realized, in the course of the next few weeks, that a new stage in his - development had been reached. Inspired by what he felt was a false but - beautiful confidence in himself, he called often, and, as time wore on, - the frequency of these calls steadily increased. All this while he thought - about Miss Emory a great deal, and was sorry for her or admired her, - according to his mood. - </p> - <p> - In Constance's attitude towards him there was a certain fickleness that he - resented. Sometimes she was friendly and companionable, and then again she - seemed to revive all her lingering prejudices and was utterly indifferent - to him, and her indifference was the most complete thing of its kind he - had ever encountered. - </p> - <p> - Naturally Dan and Ryder met very frequently, and when they met they - clashed. It was not especially pleasant, of course, but Ryder was - persistent and Oakley was dogged. Once he started in pursuit of an object, - he never gave up or owned that he was beaten. In some form he had - accomplished everything he set out to do; and if the results had not - always been just what he had anticipated, he had at least had the - satisfaction of bringing circumstances under his control. He endured the - editor's sarcasms, and occasionally retaliated with a vengeance so heavy - as to leave Griff quivering with the smart of it. - </p> - <p> - Miss Emory found it difficult to maintain the peace between them, but she - admired Dan's mode of warfare. It was so conclusive, and he showed such - grim strength in his ability to look out for himself. - </p> - <p> - But Dan felt that he must suffer by any comparison with the editor. He had - no genius for trifles, but rather a ponderous capacity. He had worked - hard, with the single determination to win success. He had the practical - man's contempt, born of his satisfied ignorance for all useless things, - and to his mind the useless things were those whose value it was - impossible to reckon in dollars and cents. - </p> - <p> - He had been well content with himself, and now he felt that somehow he had - lost his bearings. Why was it he had not known before that the mere - strenuous climb, the mere earning of a salary, was not all of life? He - even felt a sneaking envy of Ryder of which he was heartily ashamed. - </p> - <p> - Men fall in love differently. Some resist and hang back from the - inevitable, not being sure of themselves, and some go headlong, never - having any doubts. With characteristic singleness of purpose, Dan went - headlong; but of course he did not know what the trouble was until long - after the facts in the case were patent to every one, and Antioch had lost - interest in its speculations as to whether the doctor's daughter would - take the editor or the general manager, for, as Mrs. Poppleton, the - Emorys' nearest neighbor, sagely observed, she was “having her pick.” - </p> - <p> - To Oakley Miss Emory seemed to accumulate dignity and reserve in the exact - proportion that he lost them, but he was determined she should like him if - she never did more than that. - </p> - <p> - She was just the least bit afraid of him. She knew he was not deficient in - a proper pride, and that he possessed plenty of self-respect, but for all - that he was not very dexterous. It amused her to lead him on, and then to - draw back and leave him to flounder out of some untenable position she had - beguiled him into assuming. - </p> - <p> - She displayed undeniable skill in these manoeuvres, and Dan was by turns - savage and penitent. But she never gave him a chance to say what he wanted - to say. - </p> - <p> - Ryder made his appeal to her vanity. It was a strong appeal. He was - essentially presentable and companionable. She understood him, and they - had much in common, but for all that her heart approved of Oakley. She - felt his dominance; she realized that he was direct and simple and strong. - Yet in her judgment of him she was not very generous. She could not - understand, for instance, how it was that he had been willing to allow his - father to go to work in the shops like one of the common hands. It seemed - to her to argue such an awful poverty in the way of ideals. - </p> - <p> - The old convict was another stumbling-block. She had met him at the - Joyces', and had been quick to recognize that he and Dan were very much - alike—the difference was merely that of age and youth. Indeed, the - similarity was little short of painful. There was the same simplicity, the - same dogged stubbornness, and the same devotion to what she conceived to - be an almost brutal sense of duty. In the case of the father this idea of - duty had crystallized in a strangely literal belief in the Deity and - expressed itself with rampant boastfulness at the very discomforts of a - faith which, like the worship of Juggernaut, demanded untold sacrifices - and apparently gave nothing in return. - </p> - <p> - She tried to stifle her growing liking for Oakley and her unwilling - admiration for his strength and honesty and a certain native refinement. - Unconsciously, perhaps, she had always associated qualities of this sort - with position and wealth. She divined his lack of early opportunity, and - was alive to his many crudities of speech and manner, and he suffered, as - he knew he must suffer, by comparison with the editor; but, in spite of - this, Constance Emory knew deep down in her heart that he possessed solid - and substantial merits of his own. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">K</span>ENYON came to town - to remind his Antioch friends and supporters that presently he would be - needing their votes. - </p> - <p> - He was Ryder's guest for a week, and the <i>Herald</i> recorded his - movements with painstaking accuracy and with what its editor secretly - considered metropolitan enterprise. The great man had his official - headquarters at the <i>Herald</i> office, a ramshackle two-story building - on the west side of the square. Here he was at home to the local - politicians, and to such of the general public as wished to meet him. The - former smoked his cigars and talked incessantly of primaries, nominations, - and majorities—topics on which they appeared to be profoundly - versed. Their distinguishing mark was their capacity for strong drink, - which was far in excess of that of the ordinary citizen who took only a - casual interest in politics. The <i>Herald's</i> back door opened into an - alley, and was directly opposite that of the Red Star saloon. At stated - intervals Mr. Kenyon and Mr. Ryder, followed by the faithful, trailed - through this back door and across the alley, where they cheerfully exposed - themselves to such of the gilded allurements of vice as the Red Star had - to offer. - </p> - <p> - The men of Antioch eschewed front doors as giving undue publicity to the - state of their thirst, a point on which they must have been very - sensitive, for though a number of saloons flourished in the town, only a - few of the most reckless and emancipated spirits were ever seen to enter - them. - </p> - <p> - Kenyon was a sloppily dressed man of forty-five or thereabouts, who - preserved an air of rustic shrewdness. He was angular-faced and - smooth-shaven, and wore his hair rather long in a tangled mop. He was - generally described in the party papers as “The Picturesque Statesman from - Old Hanover.” He had served one term in Congress; prior to that, by way of - apprenticeship, he had done a great deal of hard work and dirty work for - his party. His fortunes had been built on the fortunes of a bigger and an - abler man, who, after a fight which was already famous in the history of - the State for its bitterness, had been elected Governor, and Kenyon, - having picked the winner, had gone to his reward. Just now he had a shrewd - idea that the Governor was anxious to unload him, and that the party - leaders were sharpening their knives for him. Their change of heart grew - out of the fact that he had “dared to assert his independence,” as he - said, and had “played the sneak and broken his promises,” as they said, in - a little transaction which had been left to him to put through. - </p> - <p> - Personally Ryder counted him an unmitigated scamp, but the man's breezy - vulgarity, his nerve, and his infinite capacity to jolly tickled his - fancy. - </p> - <p> - He had so far freed himself of his habitual indifference that he was - displaying an unheard-of energy in promoting Kenyon's interest. Of course - he expected to derive certain very substantial benefits from the alliance. - The Congressman had made him endless promises, and Ryder saw, or thought - he saw, his way clear to leave Antioch in the near future. For two days he - had been saying, “Mr. Brown, shake hands with Congressman Kenyon,” or, - “Mr. Jones, I want you to know Congressman Kenyon, the man we must keep at - Washington.” - </p> - <p> - He had marvelled at the speed with which the statesman got down to first - names. He had also shown a positive instinct as to whom he should invite - to make the trip across the alley to the Red Star, and whom not. Mr. - Kenyon said, modestly, when Griff commented on this, that his methods were - modern—they were certainly vulgar. - </p> - <p> - “I guess I'm going to give 'em a run for their money, Ryder. I can see I'm - doing good work here. There's nothing like being on the ground yourself.” - </p> - <p> - It was characteristic of him that he should ignore the work Ryder had done - in his behalf. - </p> - <p> - “You are an inspiration, Sam. The people know their leader,” said the - editor, genially, but with a touch of sarcasm that was lost on Kenyon, who - took himself quite seriously. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir, they'd 'a' done me dirt,” feelingly, “but I am on my own range - now, and ready to pull off my coat and fight for what's due me.” - </p> - <p> - They were seated before the open door which looked out upon the square. - Kenyon was chewing nervously at the end of an unlit cigar, which he held - between his fingers. “When the nomination is made I guess the other fellow - will discover I 'ain't been letting the grass grow in my path.” He spat - out over the door-sill into the street. “What's that you were just telling - me about the Huckleberry?” - </p> - <p> - “This new manager of Cornish's is going to make the road pay, and he's - going to do it from the pockets of the employés,” said Ryder, with a - disgruntled air, for the memory of his interview with Dan still rankled. - </p> - <p> - “That ain't bad, either. You know the Governor's pretty close to Cornish. - The general was a big contributor to his campaign fund.” - </p> - <p> - Ryder hitched his chair nearer his companion's. - </p> - <p> - “If there's a cut in wages at the shops—and I suppose that will be - the next move—there's bound to be a lot of bad feeling.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, don't forget we are for the people.” remarked the Congressman, and - he winked slyly. - </p> - <p> - Ryder smiled cynically. - </p> - <p> - “I sha'n't. I have it in for the manager, anyhow.” - </p> - <p> - “What's wrong with him?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, nothing, but a whole lot,” answered Griff, with apparent - indifference. - </p> - <p> - At this juncture Dr. Emory crossed the square from the post-office and - paused in front of the <i>Herald</i> building. - </p> - <p> - “How's Dr. Emory?” said Kenyon, by way of greeting. - </p> - <p> - Ryder had risen. - </p> - <p> - “Won't you come in and sit down, doctor?” he inquired. - </p> - <p> - “No, no. Keep your seat, Griff. I merely strolled over to say how d'ye - do?” - </p> - <p> - Kenyon shot past the doctor a discolored stream. That gentleman moved - uneasily to one side. - </p> - <p> - “Don't move,” said the statesman, affably. “Plenty of room between you and - the casing.” - </p> - <p> - He left his chair and stood facing the doctor, and unpleasantly close. - “Say, our young friend here's turned what I intended to be a vacation into - a very busy time. He's got me down for speeches and all sorts of things, - and it will be a wonder if I go home to Hanover sober. I won't if he can - help it, that's dead sure. Won't you come in and have something?—just - a little appetizer before supper?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I thank you.” - </p> - <p> - “A cigar, then?” fumbling in his vest-pocket with fingers that were just - the least bit unsteady. - </p> - <p> - “No, I must hurry along.” - </p> - <p> - “We hope to get up again before Mr. Kenyon leaves town,” said Ryder, - wishing to head the statesman off. He was all right with such men as Cap - Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Burrows, but he had failed signally to take the - doctor's measure. The latter turned away. - </p> - <p> - “I hope you will, Griff,” he said, kindly, his voice dwelling with the - least perceptible insistence on the last pronoun. - </p> - <p> - “Remember me to the wife and daughter,” called out Kenyon, as the - physician moved up the street with an unusual alacrity. - </p> - <p> - It was late in the afternoon, and the men from the car-shops were - beginning to straggle past, going in the direction of their various homes. - Presently Roger Oakley strode heavily by, with his tin dinner-pail on his - arm. Otherwise there was nothing, either in his dress or appearance, to - indicate that he was one of the hands. As he still lived at the hotel with - Dan, he felt it necessary to exercise a certain care in the matter of - dress. As he came into view the Congressman swept him with a casual - scrutiny; then, as the old man plodded on up the street with deliberate - step, Kenyon rose from his chair and stood in the doorway gazing after - him. - </p> - <p> - “What's the matter, Sam?” asked Ryder, struck by his friend's manner. - </p> - <p> - “Who was that old man who just went past?” - </p> - <p> - “That? Oh, that's the manager's father. Why?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, he looks most awfully like some one else, that's all,” and he - appeared to lose interest. - </p> - <p> - “No, he's old man Oakley. He works in the shops.” - </p> - <p> - “Oakley?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, that's his name. Why?” curiously. - </p> - <p> - “How long has he been here, anyhow?” - </p> - <p> - “A month perhaps, maybe longer. Do you know him?” - </p> - <p> - “I've seen him before. A cousin of mine, John Kenyon, is warden of a - prison back in Massachusetts. It runs in the blood to hold office. I - visited him last winter, and while I was there a fire broke out in the - hospital ward, and that old man had a hand in saving the lives of two or - three of the patients. The beggars came within an ace of losing their - lives. I saw afterwards by the papers that the Governor had pardoned him.” - </p> - <p> - Ryder jumped up with sudden alacrity. - </p> - <p> - “Do you remember the convict's full name?” Kenyon meditated a moment; then - he said: - </p> - <p> - “Roger Oakley.” - </p> - <p> - The editor turned to the files of the <i>Herald</i>. - </p> - <p> - “I'll just look back and see if it's the same name. I've probably got it - here among the personals, if I can only find it. What was he imprisoned - for?” he added. - </p> - <p> - “He was serving a life sentence for murder, I think, John told me, but I - won't be sure.” - </p> - <p> - “The devil, you say!” ejaculated Ryder. “Yes, Roger Oakley, the name's the - same.” - </p> - <p> - “I knew I couldn't be mistaken. I got a pretty good memory for names and - faces. Curious, ain't it, that he should turn up here?” - </p> - <p> - Ryder smiled queerly as he dropped the <i>Herald</i> files back into the - rack. - </p> - <p> - “His son is manager for Cornish here. He's the fellow I was telling you - about.” - </p> - <p> - Kenyon smiled, too. - </p> - <p> - “I guess you won't have any more trouble with him. You've got him where - you can hit him, and hit him hard whenever you like.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">R</span>OGER OAKLEY - carried out his threat to find work for Jeffy. As soon as the outcast was - able to leave his bed, he took him down to the car-shops, which were - destined to be the scene of this brief but interesting industrial - experiment. - </p> - <p> - It was early morning, and they found only Clarence there. He was sweeping - out the office—a labor he should have performed the night before, - but, unless he was forcibly detained, he much preferred to let it go over, - on the principle that everything that is put off till the morrow is just - so much of a gain, and, in the end, tends to reduce the total of human - effort, as some task must necessarily be left undone. - </p> - <p> - As Roger Oakley pushed open the door and entered the office in search of - his son, his charge, who slunk and shuffled after him with legs which bore - him but uncertainly, cast a long and lingering look back upon the freedom - he was leaving. The dignity of labor, on which his patron had been - expatiating as they walked in the shortening shadows under the maples, - seemed a scanty recompense for all he was losing. A deep, wistful sigh - escaped his lips. He turned his back on the out-of-doors and peered over - the old man's shoulder at Clarence with bleary eyes. Of course, he knew - Clarence. This was a privilege not denied the humblest. Occasionally the - urchin called him names, more often he pelted him with stones. The - opportunities for excitement were limited in Antioch, and the juvenile - population heedfully made the most of those which existed. - </p> - <p> - Jeffy was a recognized source of excitement. It was not as if one stole - fruit or ran away from school. Then there was some one to object, and - consequences; but if one had fun with Jeffy there was none to object but - Jeffy, and, of course, he didn't count. - </p> - <p> - “Is my son here, Clarence?” asked Roger Oakley. - </p> - <p> - “Nope. The whistle ain't blowed yet. I am trying to get the place cleaned - up before he comes down,” making slaps at the desks and chairs with a - large wet cloth. “What you going to do with him, Mr. Oakley?” - </p> - <p> - He nodded towards Jeffy, who seemed awed by the unaccustomedness of his - surroundings, for he kept himself hidden back of the old man, his battered - and brimless straw hat held nervously in his trembling fingers. - </p> - <p> - “I am going to get work for him.” - </p> - <p> - “Him work! Him! Why, he don't want no work, Mr. Oakley. He's too strong to - work.” And Clarence went off into gales of merriment at the mere idea. - </p> - <p> - For an instant Jeffy gazed in silence at the boy with quickly mounting - wrath, then he said, in a hoarse <i>tremolo</i>: - </p> - <p> - “You durned little loafer! Don't you give me none of your lip!” - </p> - <p> - Clarence had sufficiently subsided to remark, casually: “The old man'd - like to know what you got for that horse-blanket and whip you stole from - our barn. You're a bird, you are! When he was willing to let you sleep in - the barn because he was sorry for you!” - </p> - <p> - “You lie, durn you!” fiercely. “I didn't steal no whip or horse-blanket!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you did, too! The old man found out who you sold 'em to,” smiling - with exasperating coolness. - </p> - <p> - The outcast turned to Roger Oakley. “Nobody's willing to let by-gones be - by-gones,” and two large tears slid from his moist eyes. Then his manner - changed abruptly. He became defiant, and, step-ing from behind his - protector, shook a long and very dirty forefinger in Clarence's face. - </p> - <p> - “You just tell Chris Berry this from me—I'm done with him. I don't - like no sneaks, and you just tell him this—he sha'n't never bury - me.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon he ain't sweatin' to bury any paupers,” hastily interjected the - grinning Clarence. “The old man ain't in the business for his health.” - </p> - <p> - “And if he don't stop slandering me”—his voice shot up out of its - huskiness—“if he don't stop slandering me, I'll fix him!” He turned - again to Roger Oakley. “Them Berrys is a low-lived lot! I hope you won't - never have doings with 'em. They'll smile in your face and then do you - dirt behind your back; I've done a lot for Chris Berry, but I'm durned if - I ever lift my hand for him again.” - </p> - <p> - Perhaps he was too excited to specify the exact nature of the benefits - which he had conferred upon the undertaker. Clarence ignored the attack - upon his family. He contented himself with remarking, judiciously: - “Anybody who can slander you's got a future ahead of him. He's got unusual - gifts.” - </p> - <p> - Here Roger Oakley saw fit to interfere in behalf of his protégé. He shook - his head in grave admonition at the grinning youngster. “Jeffy is going to - make a man of himself. It's not right to remember these things against - him.” - </p> - <p> - “They know rotten well that's what I'm always telling 'em. Let by-gones be - by-gones—that's my motto—but they are so ornery they won't - never give me a chance.” - </p> - <p> - “It's going to be a great shock to the community when Jeffy starts to - work, Mr. Oakley,” observed Clarence, politely. “He's never done anything - harder than wheel smoke from the gas-house. Where you going to put up, - Jeffy, when you get your wages?” - </p> - <p> - “None of your durn lip!” screamed Jeffy, white with rage. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose you'll want to return the horse-blanket and whip. You can leave - 'em here with me. I'll take 'em home to the old man,” remarked the boy, - affably. “I wouldn't trust you with ten cents; you know mighty well I - wouldn't,” retorted Jeffy. - </p> - <p> - “Good reason why—you ain't never had that much.” - </p> - <p> - Dan Oakley's step was heard approaching the door, and the wordy warfare - ceased abruptly. Clarence got out of the way as quickly as possible, for - he feared he might be asked to do something, and he had other plans for - the morning. - </p> - <p> - Jeffy was handed over to McClintock's tender mercies, who put him to work - in the yards. - </p> - <p> - It was pay-day in the car-shops, and Oakley posted a number of notices in - conspicuous places about the works. They announced a ten-per-cent, - reduction in the wages of the men, the cut to go into effect immediately. - </p> - <p> - By-and-by McClintock came in from the yards. He was hot and perspiring, - and his check shirt clung moistly to his powerful shoulders. As he crossed - to the water-cooler, he said to Dan: - </p> - <p> - “Well, we've lost him already. I guess he wasn't keen for work.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley looked up inquiringly from the letter he was writing. - </p> - <p> - “I mean Jeffy. He stuck to it for a couple of hours, and then Pete saw him - making a sneak through the cornfield towards the crick. I haven't told - your father yet.” - </p> - <p> - Dan laughed. - </p> - <p> - “I thought it would be that way. Have you seen the notices?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” nodding. - </p> - <p> - “Heard anything from the men yet?” - </p> - <p> - “Not a word.” - </p> - <p> - McClintock returned to the yards. It was the noon hour, and in the shade - of one of the sheds he found a number of the hands at lunch, who lived too - far from the shops to go home to dinner. - </p> - <p> - “Say, Milt,” said one of these, “have you tumbled to the notices?—ten - per cent, all round. You'll be having to go down in your sock for coin.” - </p> - <p> - “It's there all right,” cheerfully. - </p> - <p> - “I knew when Cornish came down here there would be something drop shortly. - I ain't never known it to fail. The old skinflint! I'll bet he ain't - losing any money.” - </p> - <p> - “You bet he ain't, not he,” said a second, with a short laugh. - </p> - <p> - The first man, Branyon by name, bit carefully into the wedge-shaped piece - of pie he was holding in his hand. “If I was as rich as Cornish I'm damned - if I'd be such an infernal stiff! What the hell good is his money doing - him, anyhow?” - </p> - <p> - “What does the boss say, Milt?” - </p> - <p> - “That wages will go back as soon as he can put them back.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, they will! Like fun!” said Branyon, sarcastically. - </p> - <p> - “You're a lot of kickers, you are,” commented McClintock, good-naturedly. - “You don't believe for one minute, do you, that the Huckleberry or the - shops ever earned a dollar?” - </p> - <p> - “You can gamble on it that they ain't ever cost Cornish a red cent,” said - Branyon, as positively as a mouthful of pie would allow. - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't be too sure about that,” said the master-mechanic, walking on. - </p> - <p> - “I bet he ain't out none on this,” remarked Branyon, cynically. “If he was - he wouldn't take it so blamed easy.” - </p> - <p> - The men began to straggle back from their various homes and to form in - little groups about the yards and in the shops. They talked over the cut - and argued the merits of the case, as men will, made their comments on - Cornish, who was generally conceded to be as mean in money matters as he - was fortunate, and then went back to their work when the one-o'clock - whistle blew, in a state of high good-humor with themselves and their - critical ability. - </p> - <p> - The next day the <i>Herald</i> dealt with the situation at some length. - The whole tone of the editorial was rancorous and bitter. It spoke of the - parsimony of the new management, which had been instanced by a number of - recent dismissals among men who had served the road long and faithfully, - and who deserved other and more considerate treatment. It declared that - the cut was but the beginning of the troubles in store for the hands, and - characterized it as an attempt on the part of the new management to curry - favor with Cornish, who was notoriously hostile to the best interests of - labor. It wound up by regretting that the men were not organized, as - proper organization would have enabled them to meet this move on the part - of the management. - </p> - <p> - When Oakley read the obnoxious editorial his blood grew hot and his mood - belligerent. It showed evident and unusual care in the preparation, and he - guessed correctly that it had been written and put in type in readiness - for the cut. It was a direct personal attack, too, for the expression “the - new management,” which was used over and over, could mean but the one - thing. - </p> - <p> - Dan's first impulse was to hunt Ryder up and give him a sound thrashing, - but his better sense told him that while this rational mode of expressing - his indignation would have been excusable enough a few years back, when he - was only a brakeman, as the manager of the Buckhom and Antioch Railroad it - was necessary to pursue a more pacific policy. - </p> - <p> - He knew he could be made very unpopular if these attacks were persisted - in. This he did not mind especially, except as it would interfere with the - carrying out of his plans and increase his difficulties. After thinking it - over he concluded that he would better see Ryder and have a talk with him. - It would do no harm, he argued, and it might do some good, provided, of - course, that he could keep his temper. - </p> - <p> - He went directly to the <i>Herald</i> office, and found Griff in and - alone. When Dan strode into the office, looking rather warm, the latter - turned a trifle pale, for he had his doubts about the manager's temper, - and no doubts at all about his muscular development, which was imposing. - </p> - <p> - “I came in to see what you meant by this, Ryder,” his caller said, and he - held out the paper folded to the insulting article. Ryder assumed to - examine it carefully, but he knew every word there. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, this? Oh yes! The story of the reduction in wages down at the - car-shops. There! You can take it from under my nose; I can see quite - clearly.” - </p> - <p> - “Well?” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” repeated Ryder after him, with exasperating composure. The editor - was no stranger to intrusions of this sort, for his sarcasms were - frequently personal. His manner varied to suit each individual case. When - the wronged party stormed into the office, wrathful and loud-lunged, he - was generally willing to make prompt reparation, especially if his visitor - had the advantage of physical preponderance on his side. When, however, - the caller was uncertain and palpably in awe of him, as sometimes - happened, he got no sort of satisfaction. With Oakley he pursued a middle - course. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” he repeated. - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean by this?” - </p> - <p> - “I think it speaks for itself, don't you?” - </p> - <p> - “I went into this matter with you, and you know as well as I do why the - men are cut. This,” striking the paper contemptuously with his open hand, - “is the worst sort of rubbish, but it may serve to make the men feel that - they are being wronged, and it is an attack on me.” - </p> - <p> - “Did you notice that? I didn't know but it was too subtle for you.” - </p> - <p> - He couldn't resist the gibe at Oakley's expense. - </p> - <p> - “Disguised, of course, but intended to give the men less confidence in me. - Now, I'm not going to stand any more of this sort of thing!” - </p> - <p> - He was conscious he had brought his remarks to a decidedly lame - conclusion. - </p> - <p> - “And I'll tell you one thing, Mr. Oakley, I'm editor of the <i>Herald</i>, - and I don't allow any man to dictate to me what I shall print. That's a - point I'll pass on for myself.” - </p> - <p> - “You know the situation. You know that the general will dispose of his - interests here unless they can be made self-sustaining; and, whether you - like him or not, he stands as a special providence to the town.” - </p> - <p> - “I only know what you have told me,” sneeringly. - </p> - <p> - Oakley bit his lips. He saw it would have been better to have left Ryder - alone. He felt his own weakness, and his inability to force him against - his will to be fair. He gulped down his anger and chagrin. - </p> - <p> - “I don't see what you can gain by stirring up this matter.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you don't.” - </p> - <p> - “Am I to understand you are hostile to the road?” - </p> - <p> - “If that means you—yes. You haven't helped yourself by coming here - as though you could bully me into your way of thinking. I didn't get much - satisfaction from my call on you. You let me know you could attend to your - own affairs, and I can attend to mine just as easily. I hope you - appreciate that.” - </p> - <p> - Dan turned on his heel and left the office, cursing himself for his - stupidity in having given the editor an opportunity to get even. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N the course of - the next few days Dan decided that there was no danger of trouble from the - hands. Things settled back into their accustomed rut. He was only a little - less popular, perhaps. - </p> - <p> - He was indebted to Clarence for the first warning he received as to what - was in store for him. - </p> - <p> - It came about in this way. Clarence had retired to the yards, where, - secure from observation, he was indulging in a quiet smoke, furtively - keeping an eye open for McClintock, whose movements were uncertain, as he - knew from sad experience. - </p> - <p> - A high board fence was in front of him, shutting off the yards from the - lower end of the town. At his back was a freight car, back of that again - were the interlacing tracks, and beyond them a cornfield and Billup's - Fork, with its inviting shade of sycamores and willows and its tempting - swimming-holes. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly he heard a scrambling on the opposite side of the fence, and ten - brown fingers clutched the tops of the boards, then a battered straw hat - came on a level with the fingers, at the same instant a bare foot and leg - were thrown over the fence, and the owner of the battered straw hat swung - himself into view. All this while a dog whined and yelped; then followed a - vigorous scratching sound, and presently a small, dilapidated-looking - yellow cur squeezed itself beneath the fence. Clarence recognized the - intruders. It was Branyon's boy, Augustus, commonly called “Spide,” - because of his exceeding slimness and the length of his legs, and his dog - Pink. - </p> - <p> - As soon as Branyon's boy saw Clarence he balanced himself deftly on the - top of the fence with one hand and shaded his eyes elaborately with the - other. An amiable, if toothless, smile curled his lips. When he spoke it - was with deep facetiousness. - </p> - <p> - “Hi! come out from behind that roll of paper!” - </p> - <p> - But Clarence said not a word. He puffed away at his cigarette, apparently - oblivious of everything save the contentment it gave him, and as he puffed - Spide's mouth worked and watered sympathetically. His secret admiration - was tremendous. Here was Clarence in actual and undisturbed possession of - a whole cigarette. He had to purchase his cigarettes in partnership with - some other boy, and go halves on the smoking of them. It made him feel - cheap and common. - </p> - <p> - “Say I got one of them coffin-tacks that ain't working?” he inquired. - Clarence gazed off up the tracks, ignoring the question and the - questioner. Spide's presence was balm to his soul. But as one of the - office force of the Buckhom and Antioch he felt a certain lofty reserve to - be incumbent upon him. Besides, he and Spide had been engaged in a recent - rivalry for Susie Poppleton's affections. It is true he had achieved a - brilliant success over his rival, but that a mere school-boy should have - ventured to oppose him, a salaried man, had struck him as an unpardonable - piece of impertinence for which there could be no excuse. - </p> - <p> - Spide, however, had taken the matter most philosophically. He had - recognized that he could not hope to compete with a youth who possessed - unlimited wealth, which he was willing to lay out on chewing-gum and - candy, his experience being that the sex was strictly mercenary and - incapable of a disinterested love. Of course he had much admired Miss - Poppleton; from the crown of her small dark head, with its tightly braided - “pig-tails,” down to her trim little foot he had esteemed her as wholly - adorable; but, after all, his affair of the heart had been an affair of - the winter only. With the coming of summer he had found more serious - things to think of. He was learning to swim and to chew tobacco. The - mastering of these accomplishments pretty well occupied his time. - </p> - <p> - “Say!” he repeated, “got another?” - </p> - <p> - Still Clarence blinked at the fierce sunlight which danced on the rails, - and said nothing. Spide slid skilfully down from his perch, but his manner - had undergone a change. - </p> - <p> - “Who throwed that snipe away, anyhow?” he asked, disdainfully. Clarence - turned his eyes slowly in his direction. - </p> - <p> - “Lookee here. You fellows got to keep out of these yards, or I'll tell - McClintock. First we know some of you kids will be getting run over, and - then your folks will set up a lively howl. Get on out! It ain't no place - for little boys!” - </p> - <p> - He put the cigarette between his lips and took a deep and tantalizing pull - at it. Spide kept to his own side of the ditch that ran between the fence - and the tracks. - </p> - <p> - “Huh!” with infinite scorn. “Who's a kid? You won't be happy till I come - over there and lick you!” - </p> - <p> - “First thing I know you'll be stealing scrap iron!” - </p> - <p> - “My gosh! The Huckleberry'd have to stop running if I swiped a - coupling-pin!” - </p> - <p> - Clarence had recourse to the cigarette, and again Spide was consumed with - torturing jealousies. “Where did you shoot that snipe, anyhow?” he - inquired, insultingly. - </p> - <p> - Once more Clarence allowed his glance to stray off up the tracks. - </p> - <p> - “For half a cent I'd come across and do what I say!” added Spide, stooping - down to roll up his trousers leg, and then easing an unelastic “gallus” - that cut his shoulders. This elicited a short and contemptuous grunt from - Clarence. He was well pleased with himself. He felt Spide's envy. It was - sweet and satisfying. - </p> - <p> - “Say!” with sudden animation. “You fellers will be going around on your - uppers in a day or so. I'll bet you'd give a heap to know what I know!” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't give a darned cent to know all you know or ever will know!” - retorted Clarence, promptly. - </p> - <p> - “Some people's easily upset here in the cupola,” tapping his brimless - covering. “I wouldn't want to give you brain-fever; I don't hate you bad - enough.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, move on. You ain't wanted around here. It may get me into trouble - if I'm seen fooling away my time on you.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope to hell it will,” remarked Branyon's boy, Augustus, with cordial - ill-will and fluent profanity. He was not a good little boy. He himself - would have been the first to spurn the idea of personal sanctity. But he - was literally bursting with the importance of the facts which he - possessed, and Clarence's indifference gave him no opening. - </p> - <p> - “What will you bet there ain't a strike?” - </p> - <p> - “I ain't betting this morning,” said Clarence, blandly. “But if there is - one we are ready for it. You bet the hands won't catch us napping. We are - ready for 'em any time and all the time.” This, delivered with a large - air, impressed Spide exceedingly. - </p> - <p> - “Have you sent for the militia a'ready?” he asked, anxiously. - </p> - <p> - “That's saying,” noting the effect of his words. “I can't go blabbing - about, telling what the road's up to, but we are awake, and the hands will - get it in the neck if they tackle the boss. He's got dam little use for - laboring men, anyhow.” - </p> - <p> - To Clarence, Oakley was the most august person he had ever known. He - religiously believed his position to be only second in point of importance - and power to that of the President of the United States. - </p> - <p> - He was wont to invest him with purely imaginary attributes, and to lie - about him at a great rate among his comrades, who were ready to credit any - report touching a man who was reputed to be able to ride on the cars - without a ticket. Human grandeur had no limits beyond this. - </p> - <p> - “There was a meeting last night. I bet you didn't know that,” said Spide. - </p> - <p> - “I heard something of it. Was your father at the meeting, Spide?” he - asked, dropping his tone of hostility for one of gracious familiarity. The - urchin promptly crossed the ditch and stood at his side. - </p> - <p> - “Of course the old man was. You don't suppose he wouldn't be in it?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well, let 'em kick. You see the boss is ready for 'em,” remarked - Clarence, indifferently. He wanted to know what Spide knew, but he didn't - feel that he could afford to show any special interest. “Where you going—swimming?” - he added. - </p> - <p> - “Yep.” But Spide was not ready to drop the fascinating subject of the - strike. He wished to astonish Clarence, who was altogether too knowing. - </p> - <p> - “The meeting was in the room over Jack Britt's saloon,” he volunteered. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose you think we didn't know that up at the office. We got our - spies out. There ain't nothing the hands can do we ain't on to.” - </p> - <p> - Spide wrote his initials in the soft bank of the ditch with his big toe, - while he meditated on what he could tell next. - </p> - <p> - “Well, sir, you'd 'a' been surprised if you'd 'a' been there.” - </p> - <p> - “Was you there, Spide?” - </p> - <p> - “Yep.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, come off; you can't stuff me.” - </p> - <p> - “I was, too, there. The old lady sent me down to fetch pap home. She was - afraid he'd get full. Joe Stokes was there, and Lou Bentick, and a whole - slew of others, and Griff Ryder.” - </p> - <p> - Clarence gasped with astonishment. “Why, he ain't one of the hands.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, he's on their side.” - </p> - <p> - “What you giving us?” - </p> - <p> - “Say, they are going to make a stiff kick on old man Oakley working in the - shops. They got it in for him good and strong.” He paused to weigh the - effect of this, and then went on rapidly: “He's done something. Ryder - knows about it. He told my old man and Joe Stokes. They say he's got to - get out. What's a convicted criminal, anyhow?” - </p> - <p> - “What do you want to know that for, Spide?” questioned the artful - Clarence, with great presence of mind. - </p> - <p> - “Well, that's what old man Oakley is. I heard Ryder say so myself, and pap - and Joe Stokes just kicked themselves because they hadn't noticed it - before, I suppose. My! but they were hot! Say, you'll see fun to-morrow. I - shouldn't be surprised if they sent you all a-kiting.” - </p> - <p> - Clarence was swelling with the desire to tell Oakley what he had heard. He - took the part of a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. - </p> - <p> - “Have one?” he said. - </p> - <p> - Spide promptly availed himself of his companion's liberality. - </p> - <p> - “Well, so long,” the latter added. “I got to get back,” and a moment later - he might have been seen making his way cautiously in the direction of the - office, while Spide, his battered hat under his arm, and the cigarette - clutched in one hand, was skipping gayly across the cornfield towards the - creek followed by Pink. He was bound for the “Slidy,” a swimming-hole his - mother had charged him on no account to visit. Under these peculiar - circumstances it was quite impossible for him to consider any other spot. - Nowhere else was the shade so cool and dense, nowhere else did the wild - mint scent the summer air with such seductive odors, and nowhere else were - such social advantages to be found. - </p> - <p> - There were always big boys hanging about the “Slidy” who played cards and - fished and loafed, but mostly loafed, because it was the easiest, and here - Mr. Tink Brown, Jeffy's logical successor and unofficial heir apparent, - held court from the first of June to the last of August. The charm of his - society no respectable small boy was able to withstand. His glittering - indecencies made him a sort of hero, and his splendid lawless state was - counted worthy of emulation. - </p> - <p> - But Spide discovered that the way of the transgressor is sometimes as hard - as the moralists would have us believe. - </p> - <p> - It was the beginning of the season, and a group of boys, in easy undress, - were clustered on the bank above the swimming-hole. They were “going in” - as soon as an important question should be decided. - </p> - <p> - The farmer whose fields skirted Billup's Fork at this point usually filled - in the “Slidy” every spring with bits of rusty barb-wire and osage-orange - cuttings. The youth of Antioch who were prejudiced maintained that he did - it to be mean, but the real reason was that he wished to discourage the - swimmers, who tramped his crops and stole his great yellow pumpkins to - play with in the water. - </p> - <p> - The time-honored method of determining the condition of the hole was - beautifully simple. It was to catch a small boy and throw him in, and - until this rite was performed the big boys used the place but gingerly. - Mr. Brown and his friends were waiting for this small boy to happen along, - when the unsuspecting Spide ran down the bank. He was promptly seized by - the mighty Tink. - </p> - <p> - “Been in yet, Spide?” asked his captor, genially. - </p> - <p> - “Nope.” - </p> - <p> - “Then this is your chance.” Whereat Spide began to cry. He didn't want to - go in. All at once he remembered he had promised his mother he wouldn't - and that his father had promised him a licking if he did—two - excellent reasons why he should stay out—but Tink only pushed him - towards the water's edge. - </p> - <p> - “You're hurting me! Lemme alone, you big loafer! Lemme go, or I'll tell - the old man on you!” and he scratched and clawed, but Tink merely laughed, - and the other boys advised him to “chuck the little shaver in.” - </p> - <p> - “Lemme take off my shirt and pants! Lemme take off my pants—just my - pants, Tink!” he entreated. - </p> - <p> - But he was raised on high and hurled out into the stream where the - sunlight flashed among the shadows cast by the willows. His hat went one - way and his cigarette another. Pink was considerately tossed after him, - and all his earthly possessions were afloat. - </p> - <p> - There was a splash, and he disappeared from sight to reappear a second - later, with streaming hair and dripping face. - </p> - <p> - “How is it?” chorussed the big boys, who were already pulling off their - clothes, as they saw that neither barb-wire nor osage-orange brush - festooned the swimmer. - </p> - <p> - “Bully!” ecstatically, and he dived dexterously into the crown of his - upturned hat, which a puff of wind had sent dancing gayly down-stream. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>AY!” Clarence - blurted out, “there's going to be a strike!” - </p> - <p> - Oakley glanced up from his writing. - </p> - <p> - “What's that you are telling me, Clarence?” - </p> - <p> - “There's going to be a strike, Mr. Oakley.” - </p> - <p> - Dan smiled good-naturedly at the boy. - </p> - <p> - “I guess that has blown over, Clarence,” he said, kindly. - </p> - <p> - “No, it ain't. The men had a meeting last night. It was in the room over - Jack Britt's saloon. I've just been talking with a fellow who was there; - he told me.” - </p> - <p> - “Sit down,” said Oakley, pushing a chair towards him. - </p> - <p> - “Now, what is it?” as soon as he was seated. And Clarence, editing his - reminiscences as he saw fit, gave a tolerably truthful account of his - conversation with Spide. The source of his information, its general - incompleteness, and the frequent divergences, occasioned by the boy's - attempt to incorporate into the narrative a satisfactory reason for his - own presence in the yards, did not detract from its value in Oakley's - estimation. The mere fact that the men had held a meeting was in itself - significant. Such a thing was new to Antioch, as yet unvisited by labor - troubles. - </p> - <p> - “What is that you say about my father?” For he had rather lost track of - the story and caught at the sudden mention of his father's name. - </p> - <p> - “Spide says they got it in for him. I can't just remember what he did say. - It was something or other Griff Ryder knows about him. It's funny, but - it's clean gone out of my head, Mr. Oakley.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley started. What could Ryder know about his father? What could any one - know? - </p> - <p> - He was not left long in doubt. The next morning, shortly after he arrived - at the office, he heard the heavy shuffling of many feet on the narrow - platform outside his door, and a deputation from the carpenter-shop, led - by Joe Stokes and Branyon, entered the room. For a moment or so the men - stood in abashed silence about the door, and then moved over to his desk. - </p> - <p> - Oakley pushed back his chair, and, as they approached, came slowly to his - feet. There was a hint of anger in his eyes. The whole proceeding smacked - of insolence. The men were in their shirt-sleeves and overalls, and had on - their hats. Stokes put up his hand and took off his hat. The others - accepted this as a signal, and one after another removed theirs. Then - followed a momentary shuffling as they bunched closer. Several, who looked - as if they would just as soon be somewhere else, breathed deep and hard. - The office force—Kerr, Holt, and Miss Walton—suspended their - various tasks and stood up so as not to miss anything that was said of - done. - </p> - <p> - “Well, men, what is it?” asked Oakley, sharply—so sharply that - Clarence, who was at the water-cooler, started. He had never heard the - manager use that tone before. - </p> - <p> - Stokes took a step forward and cleared his throat, as if to speak. Then he - looked at his comrades, who looked back their encouragement at him. - </p> - <p> - “We want a word with you, Mr. Oakley,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “What have you to say?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, sir, we got a grievance,” began Stokes, weakly, but Branyon pushed - him to one side hastily and took his place. He was a stockily built - Irish-American, with plenty of nerve and a loose tongue. The men nudged - each other. They knew Mike would have his say. - </p> - <p> - “It's just this, Mr. Oakley: There's a man in the carpenter-shop who's got - to get out. We won't work with him no longer!” - </p> - <p> - “That's right,” muttered one or two of the men under their breath. - </p> - <p> - “Whom do you mean?” asked Oakley, and his tone was tense and strenuous, - for he knew. There was an awkward silence. Branyon fingered his hat a - trifle nervously. At last he said, doggedly: - </p> - <p> - “The man who's got to go is your father.” - </p> - <p> - “Why?” asked Oakley, sinking his voice. He guessed what was coming next, - but the question seemed dragged from him. He had to ask it. - </p> - <p> - “We got nothing against you, Mr. Oakley, but we won't work in the same - shop with a convicted criminal.” - </p> - <p> - “That's right,” muttered the chorus of men again. - </p> - <p> - Oakley's face flushed scarlet. Then every scrap of color left it. - </p> - <p> - “Get out of here!” he ordered, hotly. - </p> - <p> - “Don't we get our answer?” demanded Branyon. - </p> - <p> - While the interview was in progress, McClintock had entered, and now stood - at the opposite end of the room, an attentive listener. - </p> - <p> - “No,” cried Oakley, hoarsely. “I'll put whom I please to work in the - shops. Leave the room all of you!” - </p> - <p> - The men retreated before his fury, their self-confidence rather dashed by - it. One by one they backed sheepishly out of the door, Branyon being the - last to leave. As he quitted the room he called to Dan: - </p> - <p> - “We'll give you until to-morrow to think it over, but the old man's got to - go.” - </p> - <p> - McClintock promptly followed Branyon, and Clarence darted after him. He - was in time to witness the uncorking of the master-mechanic's vials of - wrath, and to hear the hot exchange of words which followed. - </p> - <p> - “You can count your days with the Huckleberry numbered, Branyon,” he said. - “I'm damned if I'll have you under me after this.” - </p> - <p> - “We'll see about that,” retorted Branyon, roughly. “Talk's cheap.” - </p> - <p> - “What's the old man ever done to you, you infernal loafer?” - </p> - <p> - “Shut up, Milt, and keep your shirt on!” said Stokes, in what he intended - should be conciliatory tones. “We only want our rights.” - </p> - <p> - “We'll have 'em, too,” said Branyon, shaking his head ominously. “We ain't - Dagoes or Pollacks. We're American mechanics, and we know our rights.” - </p> - <p> - “You're a sneak, Branyon. What's he ever done to you?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you go to hell!” ruffling up his shirt-sleeves. - </p> - <p> - “Well, sir,” said McClintock, his gray eyes flashing, “you needn't be so - particular about the old man's record. You know as much about the inside - of a prison as he does.” - </p> - <p> - “You're a damn liar!” Nevertheless McClintock spoke only the truth. At - Branyon's last word he smashed his fist into the middle of the carpenter's - sour visage with a heavy, sickening thud. No man called him a liar and got - away with it. - </p> - <p> - “Gee!” gasped the closely attentive but critical Clarence. “What a - soaker!” Branyon fell up against the side of the building near which they - were standing. Otherwise he would have gone his length upon the ground, - and the hands rushed in between the two men. - </p> - <p> - Stokes and Bentick dragged their friend away by main strength. The affair - had gone far enough. They didn't want a fight. - </p> - <p> - McClintock marched into the office, crossed to the water-cooler, and - filled himself a tumbler; then he turned an unruffled front on Oakley. - </p> - <p> - “I guess we'd better chuck those fellows—fire 'em out bodily, the - impudent cusses! What do you say, Mr. Oakley?” - </p> - <p> - But Dan was too demoralized to consider or even reply to this. He was - feeling a burning sense of shame and disgrace. The whole town must know - his father's history, or some garbled version of it. Worse still, - Constance Emory must know. The pride of his respectability was gone from - him. He felt that he had cheated the world of a place to which he had no - right, and now he was found out. He could not face Kerr, nor Holt, nor - McClintock. But this was only temporary. He couldn't stand among his - ruins. Men survive disgrace and outlive shame just as they outlive sorrow - and suffering. Nothing ever stops. Then he recognized that, since his - secret had been wrested from him, there was no longer discovery to fear. A - sense of freedom and relief came when he realized this. The worst had - happened, and he could still go on. How the men had learned about his - father he could not understand, but instinct told him he had Ryder to - thank. Following up the clew Kenyon had given him, he had carefully looked - into Roger Oakley's record, a matter that simply involved a little - correspondence. - </p> - <p> - He had told Branyon and Stokes only what he saw fit, and had pledged - himself to support the men in whatever action they took. He would drive - Oakley out of Antioch. That was one of his motives; he was also bent on - cultivating as great a measure of personal popularity as he could. It - would be useful to Kenyon, and so advantageous to himself. The Congressman - had large ambitions. If he brought his campaign to a successful issue it - would make him a power in the State. Counting in this victory, Ryder had - mapped out his own career. Kenyon had force and courage, but his judgment - and tact were only of a sort. Ryder aspired to supply the necessary brains - for his complete success. Needless to say, Kenyon knew nothing of these - benevolent intentions on the part of his friend. He could not possibly - have believed that he required anything but votes. - </p> - <p> - Oakley turned to Clarence. - </p> - <p> - “Run into the carpenter-shop, and see if you can find my father. If he is - there, ask him to come here to me at once.” - </p> - <p> - The boy was absent only a few moments. Roger Oakley had taken off his work - clothes and had gone up-town before the men left the shop. He had not - returned. - </p> - <p> - Dan closed his desk and put on his hat, “I am going to the hotel,” he said - to Kerr. “If anybody wants to see me you can tell them I'll be back this - afternoon.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well, Mr. Oakley.” The treasurer was wondering what would be his - superior's action. Would he resign and leave Antioch, or would he try and - stick it out? - </p> - <p> - Before he left the room, Dan said to McClintock: - </p> - <p> - “I hope you won't have any further trouble, Milt Better keep an eye on - that fellow Branyon.” - </p> - <p> - McClintock laughed shortly, but made no answer, and for the rest of the - morning Clarence dogged his steps in the hope that the quarrel would be - continued under more favorable circumstances. In this he was disappointed. - Branyon had been induced to go home for repairs, and had left the yards - immediately after the trouble occurred, with a wet handkerchief held - gingerly to a mashed and bloody nose. His fellows had not shown the - sympathy he felt they should have shown under the circumstances. They told - him he had had enough, and that it was well to stop with that. - </p> - <p> - Dan hurried up-town to the hotel. He found his father in his room, seated - before an open window in his shirt-sleeves, and with his Bible in his lap. - He glanced up from the book as his son pushed open the door. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Dannie?” he said, and his tones were mild, meditative, and - inquiring. - </p> - <p> - “I was looking for you, father. They told me you'd come up-town.” - </p> - <p> - “So I did; as soon as I heard there was going to be trouble over my - working in the shops I left.” - </p> - <p> - “Did they say anything to you?” - </p> - <p> - “Not a word, Dannie, but I knew what was coming, and quit work.” - </p> - <p> - “You shouldn't have done it, daddy,” said Dan, seating himself on the edge - of the bed near the old man. “I can't let them say who shall work in the - shops and who not. The whole business was trumped up out of revenge for - the cut. They want to get even with me for <i>that</i>, you see. If I back - down and yield this point, there is no telling what they'll ask next—probably - that the wages be restored to the old figure.” - </p> - <p> - He spoke quite cheerfully, for he saw his father was cruelly hurt. - </p> - <p> - “It was all a mistake, Dannie—my coming to you, I mean,” Roger - Oakley said, shutting the book reverently and laying it to one side. “The - world's a small place, after all, and we should have known we couldn't - keep our secret. It's right I should bear my own cross, but it's not your - sin, and now it presses hardest on you. I'm sorry, Dannie—” and his - voice shook with the emotion he was striving to hide. - </p> - <p> - “No, no, father. To have you here has been a great happiness to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Has it, Dannie? has it really?” with a quick smile. “I am glad you can - say so, for it's been a great happiness to me—greater than I - deserved,” and he laid a big hand caressingly on his son's. - </p> - <p> - “We must go ahead, daddy, as if nothing had happened. If we let this hurt - us, we'll end by losing all our courage.” - </p> - <p> - “It's been a knock-out blow for me, Dannie,” with a wistful sadness, “and - I've got to go away. It's best for you I should. I've gone in one - direction and you've gone another. You can't reconcile opposites. I've - been thinking of this a good deal. You're young, and got your life ahead - of you, and you'll do big things before you're done, and people will - forget I can't drag you down just because I happen to be your father and - love you. Why, I'm of a different class even, but I can't go on. I'm just - as I am, and I can't change myself.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, bless your heart, daddy,” cried Dan, “I wouldn't have you changed. - You're talking nonsense. I won't let you go away.” - </p> - <p> - “But the girl, Dannie, the girl—the doctor's daughter! You see I - hear a lot of gossip in the shop, and even if you haven't told me, I - know.” - </p> - <p> - “We may as well count that at an end,” said Dan, quietly. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think of leaving here?” - </p> - <p> - “No. If I began by running, I'd be running all the rest of my life. I - shall remain until I've accomplished everything I've set out to do, if it - takes ten years.” - </p> - <p> - “And what about Miss Emory, Dannie? If you are going to stay, why is that - at an end?” - </p> - <p> - “I dare say she'll marry Mr. Ryder. Anyhow, she won't marry me.” - </p> - <p> - “But I thought you cared for her?” - </p> - <p> - “I do, daddy.” - </p> - <p> - “Then why do you give up? You're as good as he is any day.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm not her kind, that's all. It has nothing to do with this. It would - have been the same, anyhow. I'm not her kind.” - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley turned this over slowly in his mind. It was most astonishing. - He couldn't grasp it. - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean she thinks she is better than you are?” he asked, curiously. - </p> - <p> - “Something of that sort, I suppose,” dryly. “I want you to come back into - the shops, father.” - </p> - <p> - “I can't do it, Dannie. I'm sorry if you wish it, but it's impossible. I - want to keep out of sight. Back East, when they pardoned me, every one - knew, and I didn't seem to mind, but here it's not the same. I can't face - it. It may be cowardly, but I can't.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>AKLEY had told his - father he was going to call at the Emorys'. He wanted to see Constance - once more. Then it didn't much matter what happened. - </p> - <p> - As he passed up the street he was conscious of an impudent curiosity in - the covert glances the idlers on the corners shot at him. With hardly an - exception they turned to gaze after him as he strode by. He realized that - an unsavory distinction had been thrust upon him. He had become a marked - man. He set his lips in a grim smile. This was what he would have to meet - until the silly wonder of it wore off, or a fresh sensation took its - place, and there would be the men at the shops; their intercourse had - hitherto been rather pleasant and personal, as he had recognized certain - responsibilities in the relation which had made him desire to be more than - a mere task-master. The thought of his theories caused him to smile again. - His humanitarian-ism had received a jolt from which it would not recover - in many a long day. - </p> - <p> - The hands already hated him as a tyrant, and probably argued that his - authority was impaired by the events of the morning, though how they - arrived at any such conclusion was beyond him, but he had felt something - of the kind in Branyon's manner. When the opportunity came it would be a - satisfaction to undeceive them, and he was not above wishing this - opportunity might come soon, for his mood was bitter and revengeful, when - he recalled their ignorant and needlessly brutal insolence. - </p> - <p> - Early as he was, he found, as he had anticipated when he started out, that - Ryder was ahead of him. The editor was lounging on the Emorys' porch with - the family. He had dined with them. - </p> - <p> - As Dan approached he caught the sound of Constance's voice. There was no - other voice in Antioch which sounded the same, or possessed the same - quality of refinement and culture. His heart beat with quickened - pulsations and his pace slackened. He paused for an instant in the shadow - of the lilac-bushes that shut off the well-kept lawn from the street. Then - he forced himself to go on. There was no gain in deferring his sentence; - better have it over with. Yet when he reached the gate he would gladly - have passed it without entering had it not been that he never abandoned - any project simply because it was disagreeable. He had done too many - disagreeable things not to have outlived this species of cowardice. - </p> - <p> - The instant he saw him, the doctor rose from his seat on the steps and - came quickly down the walk. There was no mistaking the cordiality he gave - his greeting, for he intended there should be none. Mrs. Emory, too, took - pains that he should feel the friendliness of her sentiment towards him. - Constance, however, appeared embarrassed and ill at ease, and Dan's face - grew very white. He felt that he had no real appreciation of the changed - conditions since his father's story had become public property. He saw it - made a difference in the way his friends viewed him. He had become - hardened, and it had been impossible for him to foresee just how it would - affect others, but to these people it was plainly a shock. The very - kindliness he had experienced at the hands of the doctor and Mrs. Emory - only served to show how great the shock was. In their gracious, generous - fashion they had sought to make it easy for him. - </p> - <p> - Oakley and the editor did not speak. Civility seemed the rankest hypocrisy - under the circumstances. A barely perceptible inclination of the head - sufficed, and then Ryder turned abruptly to Miss Emory and resumed his - conversation with her. - </p> - <p> - Dan seated himself beside the doctor on the steps. He was completely - crushed. He hadn't the wit to leave, and he knew that he was a fool for - staying. What was the good in carrying on the up-hill fight any longer? - Courage is a fine quality, no doubt, but it is also well for a man to have - sense enough to know when he is fairly beaten, and he was fairly beaten. - </p> - <p> - He took stock of the situation. Quite independent of his hatred of the - fellow, he resented Ryder's presence there beside Constance. But what was - the use of struggling? The sooner he banished all thought of her the - better it would be for him. His chances had never been worth considering. - </p> - <p> - He stole a glance at the pair, who had drawn a little to one side, and - were talking in low tones and with the intimacy of long acquaintance. He - owned they were wonderfully well suited to each other. Ryder was no mean - rival, had it come to that. The world had given him its rub. He knew - perfectly the life with which Miss Emory was familiar, his people had been - the right sort. He was well-born and well-bred, and he showed it. - </p> - <p> - It dawned upon the unwilling Oakley slowly and by degrees that to - Constance Emory he must be nothing more nor less than the son of a - murderer. He had never quite looked at it in that light before. He had - been occupied with the effect rather than the cause, but he was sure that - if Ryder had told her his father's history he had made the most of his - opportunity. He wondered how people felt about a thing of this kind. He - knew now what his portion would be. Disgrace is always vicarious in its - consequences. The innocent generally suffer indiscriminately along with - the guilty. - </p> - <p> - The doctor talked a steady stream at Oakley, but he managed to say little - that made any demand on Dan's attention. He was sorry for the young man. - He had liked him from the start, and he believed but a small part of what - he had heard. It is true he had had the particulars from Ryder, but Ryder - said what he had to say with his usual lazy indifference, as if his - interest was the slightest, and had vouched for no part of it. - </p> - <p> - He would hardly have dared admit that he himself was the head and front of - the offending. Dr. Emory would not have understood how it could have been - any business of his. It would have finished him with the latter. As it was - he had been quick to resent his glib, sneering tone. - </p> - <p> - But Dan's manner convinced the doctor that there were some grounds for the - charges made by the hands when they demanded Roger Oakley's dismissal, or - else he was terribly hurt by the occurrence. While Dr. Emory was reaching - this conclusion Dan was cursing himself for his stupidity. It would have - been much wiser for him to have remained away until Antioch quieted down. - Perhaps it would have been fairer, too, to his friends, but since he had - blundered he would try and see Miss Emory again; she should know the - truth. It was characteristic of him that he should wish the matter put - straight, even when there was no especial advantage to be gained. - </p> - <p> - Soon afterwards he took his leave. The doctor followed him down to the - gate. There was a certain constraint in the manner of the two men, now - that they were alone together. As they paused by the gate, Dr. Emory broke - silence with: - </p> - <p> - “For God's sake, Oakley, what is this I hear about your father? I'd like - your assurance that it is all a pack of lies.” - </p> - <p> - A lump came into Dan's throat, and he answered, huskily: “I am sure it is - not at all as you have heard; I am sure the facts are quite different from - the account you have had—” - </p> - <p> - “But—” - </p> - <p> - “No, I can't deny it outright, much as I'd like to.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't mean—Pardon me, for, of course, I have no right to ask.” - </p> - <p> - Dan turned away his face. “I don't know any one who has a better right to - ask,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I shouldn't have asked if I'd thought there was a word of truth in - the story. I had hoped I could deny it for you. That was all.” - </p> - <p> - “I guess I didn't appreciate how you would view it. I have lived in the - shadow of it so long—” - </p> - <p> - The doctor looked aghast at the admission. He had not understood before - that Dan was acknowledging the murder. Even yet he could not bring himself - to believe it. Dan moved off a step, as if to go. - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean it is true, Oakley?” he asked, detaining him. - </p> - <p> - “Substantially, yes. Good-night,” he added, hopelessly. - </p> - <p> - “Wait,” hastily. “I don't want you to go just yet.” He put out his hand - frankly. “It's nothing you have done, anyhow,” he said, as an - afterthought. - </p> - <p> - “No, but I begin to think it might just as well have been.” - </p> - <p> - Dr. Emory regarded him earnestly. “My boy, I'm awfully sorry for you, and - I'm afraid you have gotten in for more than you can manage. It looks as - though your troubles were all coming in a bunch.” - </p> - <p> - Dan smiled. “My antecedents won't affect the situation down at the shops, - if that is what you mean. The men may not like me any the better, or - respect me any the more for knowing of them, but they will discover that - that will make no difference where our relations are concerned.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure. I only meant that public opinion will be pretty strong - against you. It somehow has an influence,” ruefully. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose it has,” rather sadly. - </p> - <p> - “Do you have to stay and face it? It might be easier, you know—I - don't mean exactly to run away—” - </p> - <p> - “I am pledged to put the shops and road on a paying basis for General - Cornish. He'd about made up his mind to sell to the M. & W. If he - does, it will mean the closing of the shops, and they will never be opened - up again. That will wipe Antioch off the map. Not so very long ago I had a - good deal of sympathy for the people who would be ruined, and I can't - change simply because they have, can I?” with a look on his face which - belonged to his father. - </p> - <p> - The doctor stroked his beard meditatively and considered the question. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose there is such a thing as duty, but don't you think, under the - circumstances, your responsibility is really very light?” - </p> - <p> - Dan laughed softly. - </p> - <p> - “I didn't imagine you would be the first to advise me to shirk it.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't ordinarily, but you don't know Antioch. They can make it very - unpleasant for you. The town is in a fever of excitement over what has - happened to-day. It seems the men are not through with you yet.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know. My father should have gone back. It looks as if I'd yielded, - but I couldn't ask him to when I saw how he felt about it.” - </p> - <p> - “You see the town lives off the shops and road. It is a personal matter to - every man, woman, and child in the place.” - </p> - <p> - “That's what makes me so mad at the stupid fools!” said Oakley, with some - bitterness. “They haven't the brains to see that they have a lot more at - stake than any one else. If they could gain anything from a fight I'd have - plenty of patience with them, but they are sure losers. Even if they - strike, and the shops are closed for the next six months, it won't cost - Cornish a dollar; indeed, it will be money in his pocket.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't think they'll strike,” said the doctor. “I didn't mean that - exactly, but they'll try to keep you on a strain.” - </p> - <p> - “They have done about all they can in that direction. The worst has - happened. I won't say it didn't bruise me up a bit. Why, I am actually - sore in every bone and muscle. I was never so battered, but I'm beginning - to get back, and I'm going to live the whole thing down right here. I - can't have skeletons that are liable to be unearthed at any moment.” - </p> - <p> - He took a letter from his pocket, opened it and handed it to the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “I guess you can see to read this if you will step nearer the - street-lamp.” - </p> - <p> - The letter was an offer from one of the big Eastern lines. While the - doctor knew very little of railroads, he understood that the offer was a - fine one, and was impressed accordingly. - </p> - <p> - “I'd take it.” he said. “I wouldn't fritter away my time here. Precious - little thanks you'll ever get.” - </p> - <p> - “I can't honorably break with General Cornish. In fact, I have already - declined, but I wanted you to see the letter.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry for your sake that you did. You are sure to have more - trouble.” - </p> - <p> - “So much the more reason why I should stay.” - </p> - <p> - “I am quite frank with you, Oakley. Some strong influence is at work. No, - it hasn't to do with your father. You can't well be held accountable for - his acts.” - </p> - <p> - Ryder's laughter reached them as he spoke. Oakley could see him faintly - outlined in the moonlight, where he sat between Constance Emory and her - mother. The influence was there. It was probably at work at that very - moment. - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't be made a martyr through any chivalrous sense of duty,” - continued the doctor. “I'd look out for myself.” - </p> - <p> - Dan laughed again. “You are preaching cowardice at a great rate.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what's the use of sacrificing one's self? You possess a most - horrible sense of rectitude.” - </p> - <p> - “I would like to ask a favor of you,” hesitating. - </p> - <p> - “I was going to say if there was anything I could do—” - </p> - <p> - “If you don't mind,” with increasing hesitancy, “will you say to Miss - Emory for me that I'd like to see her to-morrow afternoon? I'll call about - three—that is—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I'll tell her for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” gratefully. “Thank you very much. You think she will be at - home?” awkwardly, for he was afraid the doctor had misunderstood. - </p> - <p> - “I fancy so. I can see now, if you wish.” - </p> - <p> - “No, don't. I'll call on the chance of finding her in.” - </p> - <p> - “Just as you prefer.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley extended his hand. “I won't keep you standing any longer. Somehow - our talk has helped me. Good-night.” - </p> - <p> - “Good-night.” - </p> - <p> - The doctor gazed abstractedly after the young man as he moved down the - street, and he continued to gaze after him until he had passed from sight - in the shadows that lay beneath the whispering maples. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>ERHAPS it showed - lack of proper feeling, but Oakley managed to sleep off a good deal of his - emotional stress, and when he left his hotel the next morning he was quite - himself again. - </p> - <p> - His attitude towards the world was the decently cheerful one of the man - who is earning a good salary, and whose personal cares are fax from being - numerous or pressing. He was still capable of looking out for Cornish's - interests, and his own, too, if the need arose. - </p> - <p> - He went down to the office alert and vigorous. As he strode along he - nodded and smiled at the people he met on the street. If the odium of his - father's crime was to attach itself to him it should be without his help. - Antioch might count him callous if it liked, but it must not think him - weak. - </p> - <p> - His first official act was to go for Kerr, who was unusually cantankerous, - and he gave that frigid gentleman a scare which lasted him for the better - part of a week. For Kerr, who had convinced himself overnight that Oakley - must resign, saw himself having full swing with the Huckleberry, and was - disposed to treat his superior with airy indifference. He had objected to - hunting up an old order-book Dan wished to see, on the score that he was - too busy, whereat, as Holt expressed it, the latter “jumped on him with - both feet.” His second official act was to serve formal notice on Branyon - that he was dismissed from the shops, the master-mechanic's dismissal not - having been accepted as final, for Branyon had turned up that morning with - a black eye as if to go to work. He was even harsh with Miss Walton, and - took exception to her spelling of a typewritten letter, which he was - sending off to Cornish in London. - </p> - <p> - He also inspected every department in the shops, and was glad of an excuse - he discovered to reprimand Joe Stokes, who was stock-keeper in the - carpenter's room, for the slovenly manner in which the stock was handled. - Then he returned to the office, and as a matter of discipline kept Kerr - busy all the rest of the morning hauling dusty order-books from a dark - closet. He felt that if excitement was what was wanted he was the one to - furnish it. He had been too easy. - </p> - <p> - He even read Clarence, whom he had long since given up as hopeless, a - moving lecture on the sin of idleness, and that astonished youth, who had - fancied himself proof against criticism, actually searched for things to - do, so impressed and startled was he by the manager's earnestness, and so - fearful was he lest he should lose his place. If that happened, he knew - his father would send him to school, and he almost preferred work, so he - flew around, was under everybody's feet and in everybody's way, and when - Oakley left the office at half-past two, Holt forcibly ejected him, after - telling him he was a first-class nuisance, and that if he Stuck his nose - inside the door again he'd skin him. - </p> - <p> - Feeling deeply his unpopularity, Clarence withdrew to the yards, where he - sought out Dutch Pete With tears in his eyes he begged the yard boss to - find some task for him, it made no difference what, just so it was work; - but Dutch Pete didn't want to be bothered, and sent him away with what - Clarence felt to be a superfluity of bad words. - </p> - <p> - Naturally the office force gave a deep sigh of satisfaction when Oakley - closed his desk and announced that he was going up-town and would not - return. Miss Walton confided to Kerr that she just hoped he would never - come back. - </p> - <p> - It was a little before three o'clock when Dan presented himself at the - Emorys'. The maid who answered his ring ushered him into the parlor with - marked trepidation. She was a timid soul. Then she swished from the room, - but returned almost immediately to say that Miss Emory would be down in a - moment. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder what's troubling her,” muttered Oakley, with some exasperation. - “You'd think she expected me to take her head off.” He guessed that, like - her betters, she was enjoying to the limit the sensation of which he was - the innocent victim. - </p> - <p> - When Constance entered the room, he advanced a little uncertainly. She - extended her hand quite cordially, however. There was no trace of - embarrassment or constraint in her manner. - </p> - <p> - As he took her hand, Dan said, simply, going straight to the purpose of - his call: “I have thought a good deal over what I want to tell you, Miss - Emory.” Miss Emory instantly took the alarm, and was on the defensive. She - enveloped herself in that species of inscrutable feminine reserve men find - so difficult to penetrate. She could not imagine what he had to tell her - that was so pressing. He was certainly very curious and unconventional. - There was one thing she feared he might want to tell her which she was - firmly determined not to hear. - </p> - <p> - Oakley drew forward a chair. - </p> - <p> - “Won't you sit down?” he asked, gravely. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, yes.” It was all so formal they both smiled. - </p> - <p> - Dan stood with his back to the fire-place, now filled with ferns, and - rested an elbow on the mantel. There was an awkward pause. At last he - said, slowly: - </p> - <p> - “It seems I've been the subject of a lot of talk during the last two days, - and I have been saddled with a matter for which I am in no way - responsible, though it appears to reflect on me quite as much as if I - were.” - </p> - <p> - “Really, Mr. Oakley”—began Constance, scenting danger ahead. But her - visitor was in no mood to temporize. - </p> - <p> - “One moment, please,” he said, hastily. “You have heard the story from Mr. - Ryder.” - </p> - <p> - “I have heard it from others as well.” - </p> - <p> - “It has influenced you—” - </p> - <p> - “No, I won't say that,” defiantly. She was not accustomed to being - catechised. - </p> - <p> - “At least it has caused you to seriously doubt the wisdom of an - acquaintance,” blurted Oakley. “You are very unfair,” rising with latent - anger. - </p> - <p> - “You will greatly oblige me by sitting down again.” - </p> - <p> - And Constance, astonished beyond measure at his tone of command, sank back - into her chair with a little smothered gasp of surprise. No one had ever - ventured to speak to her like that before. It was a new experience. - </p> - <p> - “We've got to finish this, you know,” explained Dan, with one of his - frankest smiles, and there was a genial simplicity about his smile which - was very attractive. Constance, however, was not to be propitiated, but - she kept her seat. She was apprehensive lest Oakley would do something - more startling and novel if she attempted to cut short the interview. - </p> - <p> - She stole a glance at him from under her long lashes. He was studying the - carpet, apparently quite lost to the enormity of his conduct. “You have - heard their side of the story, Miss Emory. I want you to hear mine. It's - only fair, isn't it? You have heard that my father is an ex-convict?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” with a tinge of regret. - </p> - <p> - “That he is a murderer?” plunging ahead mercilessly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “And this is influencing you?” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose it is,” helplessly. “It would naturally. It was a great shock - to us all.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” agreed Dan, “I can understand, I think, just how you must look at - it.” - </p> - <p> - “We are very, very sorry for you, Mr. Oakley. I want to explain my manner - last night. The whole situation was so excessively awkward. I am sure you - must have felt it.” - </p> - <p> - “I did,” shortly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, dear, I hope you didn't think me unkind!” - </p> - <p> - “No.” Then he added, a trifle wearily, “It's taken me all this time to - realize my position. I suppose I owe you some sort of an apology. You must - have thought me fearfully thick-skinned.” He hoped she would say no, but - he was disappointed. Her conscience had been troubling her, and she was - perfectly willing to share her remorse with him, since he was so ready to - assume a part of it. She was as conventional as extreme respectability - could make her, but she had never liked Oakley half so well. She admired - his courage. He didn't whine. His very stupidity was in its way admirable, - but it was certainly too bad he could not see just how impossible he was - under the circumstances. - </p> - <p> - Dan raised his eyes to hers. “Miss Emory, the only time I remember to have - seen my father until he came here a few weeks ago was through the grating - of his cell door. My mother took me there as a little boy. When she died I - came West, where no one knew me. I had already learned that, because of - him, I was somehow judged and condemned, too. It has always been hanging - over me. I have always feared exposure. I suppose I can hush it up after a - while, but there will always be some one to tell it to whoever will - listen. It is no longer a secret.” - </p> - <p> - “Was it fair to your friends, Mr. Oakley, that it was a secret?” - </p> - <p> - “I can't see what business it was of theirs. It's nothing I have done, - and, anyhow, I have never had any friends until now I cared especially - about.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” and Miss Emory lowered her eyes. So long as he was merely determined - and stupid he was safe, but should he become sentimental it might be - embarrassing for them both. - </p> - <p> - “You have seen my father. Do you think from what you can judge from - appearances that he would kill a man in cold blood? It was only after - years of insult that it came to that, and then the other man was the - aggressor. What my father did he did in self-defence, but I am pretty sure - you were not told this.” - </p> - <p> - He was swayed by a sense of duty towards his father, and a desire to - vindicate him—he was so passive and enduring. The intimacy of their - relation had begotten warmth and sympathy. They had been drawn nearer and - nearer each other. The clannishness of his blood and race asserted itself. - It was a point of honor with him to stand up for his friends, and to stand - up for his father most of all. Could he, he would have ground his heel - into Ryder's face for his part in circulating the garbled version of the - old convict's history. Some one should suffer as he had been made to - suffer. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, Mr. Ryder did not know what you have told me,” Constance said, - hastily. She could not have told why, but she had the uneasy feeling that - Griff required a champion, that he was responsible. “Then you did hear it - from Mr. Ryder?” - </p> - <p> - She did not answer, and Oakley, taking her silence for assent, continued: - “I don't suppose it was told you either that he was pardoned because of an - act of conspicuous heroism, that, at the risk of his own life, he saved - the lives of several nurses and patients in the hospital ward of the - prison where he was confined.” He looked inquiringly at Constance, but she - was still silent. “Miss Emory, my father came to me to all intents an - absolute stranger. Why, I even feared him, for I didn't know the kind of - man he was, but I have come to have a great affection and regard for him. - I respect him, too, most thoroughly. There is not an hour of the day when - the remembrance of his crime is not with him. Don't you think it cowardly - that it should have been ventilated simply to hurt me, when it must - inevitably hurt him so much more? He has quit work in the shops, and he is - determined to leave Antioch. I may find him gone when I return to the - hotel.” - </p> - <p> - “And you blame Mr. Ryder for this?” - </p> - <p> - “I do. It's part of the debt we'll settle some day.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you are unjust. It was Mr. Kenyon. His cousin is warden of the - prison. He saw your father there and remembered him.” - </p> - <p> - “And told Mr. Ryder,” with a contemptuous twist of the lips. - </p> - <p> - “There were others present at the time. They were not alone.” - </p> - <p> - “But Mr. Ryder furnished the men with the facts.” - </p> - <p> - “How do you know?” And once more her tone was one of defiance and defence. - </p> - <p> - “I have been told so, and I have every reason to believe I was correctly - informed. Why, don't you admit that it was a cowardly piece of business to - strike at me over my father's shoulder?” demanded Oakley, with palpable - exasperation. The narrowness of her nature and her evasions galled him. - Why didn't she show a little generous feeling. He expected she would be - angry at his words and manner. On the contrary, she replied: - </p> - <p> - “I am not defending Mr. Ryder, as you seem to think, but I do not believe - in condemning any one as you would condemn him—unheard.” - </p> - <p> - She was unduly conscious, perhaps, that sound morality was on her side in - this. - </p> - <p> - “Let us leave him out of it. After all, it is no odds who told. The harm - is done.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I shall ask Griff.” - </p> - <p> - Dan smiled, doubtfully. “That will settle it, if you believe what he tells - you.” - </p> - <p> - “His denial will be quite sufficient for me, Mr. Oakley,” with chilly - politeness. - </p> - <p> - There was a long pause, during which Dan looked at the carpet, and Miss - Emory at nothing in particular. He realized how completely he had - separated himself from the rest of the world in her eyes. The hopelessness - of his love goaded him on. He turned to her with sudden gentleness and - said, penitently: “Won't you forgive me?” - </p> - <p> - “I have nothing to forgive, Mr. Oakley,” with lofty self-denial, and again - Dan smiled doubtfully. Her saying so did not mean all it should have meant - to him. - </p> - <p> - He swept his hand across his face with a troubled gesture. “I don't know - what to do,” he observed, ruefully. “The turf seems knocked from under my - feet.” - </p> - <p> - “It must have been a dreadful ordeal to pass through alone,” she said. “We - are so distressed for your sake.” And she seemed so keenly sympathetic - that Dan's heart gave a great bound in his breast. He put aside his - mounting bitterness against her. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know why I came to see you to-day. I just wanted to, and so I - came. I don't want to force a friendship.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Emory murmured that no excuse was necessary. - </p> - <p> - “I am not too sure of that. I must appear bent on exhibiting myself and my - woes, but I can't go into retirement, and I can't let people see I'm - hurt.” - </p> - <p> - His face took on a strong resolve. He couldn't go without telling her he - loved her. His courage was suddenly riotous. - </p> - <p> - “Once, not long ago, I dared to believe I might level the differences - between us. I recognized what they were, but now it is hopeless. There are - some things a man can't overcome, no matter how hard he tries, and I - suppose being the son of a murderer is one of these.” He paused, and, - raising his eyes from the carpet, glanced at her, but her face was - averted. He went on, desperately: “It's quite hopeless, but I have dared - to hope, and I wanted you to know. I hate to leave things unfinished.” - </p> - <p> - There was a long silence, then Miss Emory said, softly: - </p> - <p> - “I am so sorry.” - </p> - <p> - “Which means you've never cared for me,” dryly. - </p> - <p> - But she did not answer him. She was wondering how she would have felt had - the confession come forty-eight hours earlier. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose I've been quite weak and foolish,” said Dan. - </p> - <p> - She looked into his face with a slow smile. - </p> - <p> - “Why do you say that? Is it weak and foolish to care for some one?” - </p> - <p> - “Wasn't it?” with suddenly kindled hope, for he found it hard to give her - up. - </p> - <p> - Miss Emory drew herself together with a sigh. - </p> - <p> - “I never thought of this,” she said, which was hardly true; she had - thought of it many times. - </p> - <p> - “No,” admitted Dan, innocently enough, for her lightest word had become - gospel to him, such was his love and reverence. “You couldn't know.” Poor - Oakley, his telling of it was the smallest part of the knowledge. “I think - I see now, perfectly, how great a difference this affair of my father's - must make. It sort of cuts me off from everything.” - </p> - <p> - “It is very tragic. I wish you hadn't told me just now.” Her lips trembled - pathetically, and there were tears in her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I've wanted to tell you for a long time.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't know.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course you couldn't know,” he repeated; then he plunged ahead - recklessly, for he found there was a curious satisfaction in telling her - of his love, hopeless as it was. - </p> - <p> - “It has been most serious and sacred to me. I shall never forget you—never. - It has helped me in so many ways just to know you. It has changed so many - of my ideals. I can't be grateful enough.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Emory approved his attitude. It was as it should be. She was sorry - for him. She admired his dignity and repression. It made him seem so - strong and purposeful. - </p> - <p> - “You will find your happiness some day, Mr. Oakley. You will find some one - more worthy than I.” She knew he would be insensible to the triteness of - her remark. - </p> - <p> - “No,” generously, “that couldn't be. I'll not find any one. I'll not - look.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, but you will.” - </p> - <p> - Already, with the selfishness of her sex, and a selfishness which was - greater than that of her sex, she was regretting that she had allowed him - to step so easily into the position of a rejected lover. - </p> - <p> - “I don't want you to think it is going to ruin my life,” he said, quietly, - “or anything of that sort.” - </p> - <p> - An appeal to her pity seemed weak and contemptible. - </p> - <p> - “I have striven to win what I can't have, what is not for me, and I am - satisfied to have made the effort.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Emory bit her lip. He was going to put her out of his life entirely. - It was ended, and he would do his best to forget her with what speed he - might, for he loved her, and was too generous to wish her to suffer. This - generosity, needless to say, was too altruistic for Constance to fully - appreciate its beauties. Indeed, she did not regard it as generosity at - all. She resented it. She realized that probably she would not see him - again; at least the meeting would not be of his making or choosing. There - was to be no sentimental aftermath. He was preparing to go, like the - sensible fellow he was, for good and all, and she rebelled against the - decree. It seemed brutal and harsh. She was angry, hurt, and offended. - Perhaps her conscience was troubling her, too. She knew she was mean and - petty. - </p> - <p> - “I don't think it could have been very serious to you, Mr. Oakley,” she - murmured, gazing abstractedly from the window. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know why you think that. I can't say any more than I have said. - It includes all.” She wanted to tell him he gave up too easily. - </p> - <p> - “At any rate, we are friends,” he added. - </p> - <p> - “Are you going?” she cried, with a ring of real longing and regret in her - voice, lifted out of herself for the moment at the thought of losing him. - </p> - <p> - Dan nodded, and a look of pain came into his face. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I am going.” - </p> - <p> - “But you are not going to leave Antioch?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no!” - </p> - <p> - And Miss Emory felt a sense of relief. She rose from her chair. “Then I - shall see you again?” - </p> - <p> - “Probably,” smiling. “We couldn't well avoid seeing each other in a place - the size of this.” - </p> - <p> - He held out his hand frankly. - </p> - <p> - “And I sha'n't see you here any more?” she asked, softly. - </p> - <p> - “I guess not,” a little roughly. The bitterness of his loss stung him. He - felt something was wrong somewhere. He wondered, too, if she had been - quite fair to him, if her ability to guard herself was entirely - commendable, after all. He knew, in the end, his only memory of her would - be that she was beautiful. He would carry this memory and a haunting sense - of incompleteness with him wherever he went. - </p> - <p> - She placed her hand in his and looked up into his face with troubled, - serious eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye.” It was almost a whisper. - </p> - <p> - Dan crossed the room to the door and flung it open. For an instant he - wavered on the threshold, but a moment later he was striding down the - street, with his hat jammed needlessly low over his ears, and his hands - thrust deep in his trousers pockets. - </p> - <p> - At the window, Constance, with a white, scared face, was watching him from - between the parted curtains. She hoped he would look back, but he never - once turned his head. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>N Thursday the <i>Herald</i> - published its report of the trouble at the shops. Oakley had looked - forward to the paper's appearance with considerable eagerness. He hoped to - glean from it some idea of the tactics the men would adopt, and in this he - was not disappointed. Ryder served up his sensation, which was still a - sensation, in spite of the fact that it was common property and two days - old before it was accorded the dignity of type and ink, in his most - impressive style: - </p> - <p> - “The situation at the car-shops has assumed a serious phase, and a strike - is imminent. Matters came to a focus day before yesterday, and may now be - said to have reached an acute stage. It is expected that the carpenters—of - whom quite a number are employed on repair work—will be the first to - go out unless certain demands which they are to make to-day are promptly - acceded to by General Cornish's local representative. - </p> - <p> - “Both sides maintain the strictest secrecy, but from reliable sources the - Herald gathers that the men will insist upon Mr. Branyon being taken back - by the company. - </p> - <p> - “Another grievance of the men, and one in which they should have the - sympathy of the entire community, is their objection to working with the - manager's father, who came here recently from the East and has since been - employed in the shops. It has been learned that he is an ex-convict who - was sentenced for a long term of imprisonment in June, 1875, for the - murder of Thomas Sharp, at Burton, Massachusetts. - </p> - <p> - “He was only recently set at liberty, and the men are natural-ly incensed - and indignant at having to work with him. Still another grievance is the - new schedule of wages. - </p> - <p> - “A committee representing every department in the shops and possessing the - fullest authority, met last night at the Odd Fellows' Hall on South Main - Street, but their deliberations were secret. A well-authenticated rumor - has it, however, that the most complete harmony prevailed, and that the - employés are pledged to drastic measures unless they get fair treatment - from the company.” - </p> - <p> - Ryder tacked a moral to this, and the moral was that labor required a - champion to protect it from the soulless greed and grinding tyranny of the - great corporations which had sprung into existence under the fostering - wing of corrupt legislation. Of course “the Picturesque Statesman from Old - Hanover” was the Hercules who was prepared to right these wrongs of honest - industry, and to curb the power of Cornish, whose vampire lusts fattened - on the sweat of the toiler, and especially the toiler at Antioch. - </p> - <p> - A copy of the paper was evidently sent the “Picturesque Statesman,” who - had just commenced his canvass, for in its very next issue the <i>Herald</i> - was able to print a telegram in which he “heartily endorsed the sentiments - embodied in the <i>Herald's</i> ringing editorial on the situation at - Antioch,” and declared himself a unit with his fellow-citizens of whatever - party in their heroic struggle for a fair day's wage for a fair day's - work. He also expressed himself as honored by their confidence, as, - indeed, he might well have been. - </p> - <p> - Dan digested the <i>Herald's</i> report along with his breakfast. Half an - hour later, when he reached the office, he found McClintock waiting for - him. - </p> - <p> - “The men want to see you, Mr. Oakley. They were going to send their - committee in here, but I told 'em you'd come out to them.” - </p> - <p> - “All right. It's just as well you did.” And Oakley followed him from the - office. - </p> - <p> - “Did you read the <i>Herald's</i> yap this morning?” Inquired the - master-mechanic. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Dan, “I did. It was rather funny, Wasn't it?” - </p> - <p> - “The town will be owing Ryder a coat of tar and feathers presently. He'll - make these fools think they've got a reason to be sore on the company.” - </p> - <p> - The men were clustered about the great open door of the works in their - shirt-sleeves. From behind them, in the silence and the shadow, came the - pleasant, droning sound of machinery, like the humming of a million bees. - There was something dogged and reckless in the very way they stood around, - with folded arms, or slouched nervously to and fro. - </p> - <p> - Dan singled out Bentick and Joe Stokes, and three or four others, as the - committee, and made straight towards them. - </p> - <p> - “Well, men, what do you want?” he asked, briskly. - </p> - <p> - “We represent every department in the shops, sir,” said Bentick, civilly, - “and we consider Branyon's discharge as unjust. We want him taken back.” - </p> - <p> - “And suppose I won't take him back, what are you going to do about it—eh?” - asked Dan, good-naturedly, and, not waiting for a reply, with oldtime - deftness he swung himself up into an empty flat-car which stood close at - hand and faced his assembled workmen. - </p> - <p> - “You know why Branyon was dismissed. It was a business none of you have - much reason to be proud of, but I am willing to let him come back on - condition he first offers an apology to McClintock and to me. Unless he - does he can never set his foot inside these doors again while I remain - here. I agree to this, because I don't wish to make him a scapegoat for - the rest of you, and I don't wish those dependent on him to suffer.” - </p> - <p> - He avoided looking in McClintock's direction. He felt, rather than saw, - that the latter was shaking his head in strong disapproval of his course. - The committee and the men exchanged grins. The boss was weakening. They - had scored twice. First against Roger Oakley, and now for Branyon. - </p> - <p> - “I guess Branyon would as lief be excused from making an apology, if it's - all the same to Milt,” said Bentick, less civilly than before, and there - was a ripple of smothered laughter from the crowd. - </p> - <p> - Dan set his lips, and said, sternly but quietly, '“That's for him to - decide.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, we'll tell him what you say, and if he's ready to eat humble-pie - there won't be no kick coming from us,” remarked Bentick, impartially. - </p> - <p> - “Is this all?” asked Oakley. - </p> - <p> - “No, we can't see the cut.” And a murmur of approval came from the men. - </p> - <p> - Dan looked out over the crowd. Why couldn't they see that the final - victory was in his hands? “Be guided by me,” he said, earnestly, “and take - my word for it; the cut is necessary. I'll meet you half-way in the - Branyon matter; let it go at that.” - </p> - <p> - “We want our old wages,” insisted Bentick, doggedly. - </p> - <p> - “It is out of the question; the shops are running behind; they are not - earning any money, they never have, and it's as much to your interests as - mine, or General Cornish's, to do your full part in making them - profitable.” - </p> - <p> - He pleaded with unmistakable sincerity in his tones, and now he looked at - McClintock, who nodded his head. This was the stiff talk he liked to hear, - and had expected from Oakley. - </p> - <p> - The committee turned to the men, and the men sullenly shook their heads. - Some one whispered, “He'll knuckle. He's got to. We'll make him.” Dan - caught the sense of what was said, if not the words. - </p> - <p> - “Wages can't go back until the business in the shops warrants it. If you - will continue to work under the present arrangement, good and well. If - not, I see no way to meet your demands. You will have to strike. That, - however, is an alternative I trust you will carefully weigh before you - commit yourselves. Once the shops are closed it will not be policy to open - them until fall, perhaps not until the first of the year. But if you can - afford to lie idle all summer, it's your own affair. That's exactly what - it means if you strike.” - </p> - <p> - He jumped down from the car, and would have left them then and there, but - Bentick stepped in front of him. “Can't we talk it over, Mr. Oakley?” - </p> - <p> - “There is nothing to talk over, Bentick. Settle it among yourselves.” And - he marched off up the tracks, with McClintock following in his wake and - commending the stand he had taken. - </p> - <p> - The first emotion of the men was one of profound and depressing surprise - at the abruptness with, which Oakley had terminated the interview, and his - evident willingness to close the shops, a move they had not counted on. It - dashed their courage. - </p> - <p> - “We'll call his bluff,” cried Bentick, and the men gave a faint cheer. - They were not so sure it was a bluff, after all. It looked real enough. - </p> - <p> - There were those who thought, with a guilty pang, of wives and children at - home, and no payday—the fortnightly haven of rest towards which, - they lived. And there were the customarily reckless, souls, who thirsted - for excitement at any price, and who were willing to see the trouble to a - finish. These ruled, as they usually do. Not a man returned to work. - Instead, they hung about the yards and canvassed the situation. Finally - the theory was advanced that, if the shops were closed, it would serve to - bring down Cornish's wrath on Oakley, and probably result in his immediate - dismissal. This theory found instant favor, and straightway became a - conviction with the majority. - </p> - <p> - At length all agreed to strike, and the whistle in the shops was set - shrieking its dismal protest. The men swarmed into the building, where - each got together his kit of tools. They were quite jolly now, and laughed - and jested a good deal. Presently they were streaming off up-town, with - their coats over their arms, and the strike was on. - </p> - <p> - An unusual stillness fell on the yards and in the shops. The belts, as - they swept on and on in endless revolutions, cut this stillness with a - sharp, incisive hiss. The machinery seemed to hammer at it, as if to beat - out some lasting echo. Then, gradually, the volume of sound lessened. It - mumbled to a dotage of decreasing force, and then everything stopped with - a sudden jar. The shops had shut down. - </p> - <p> - McClintock came from the office and entered the works, pulling the big - doors to after him. He wanted to see that all was made snug. He cursed - loudly as he strode through the deserted building. It was the first time - since he had been with the road that the shops had been closed, and it - affected him strangely. - </p> - <p> - The place held a dreadful, ghostly inertness. The belts and shafting, with - its innumerable cogs and connections, reached out like the heavy-knuckled - tentacles of some great, lifeless monster. The sunlight stole through the - broken, cobwebbed windows, to fall on heaps of rusty iron and heaps of - dirty shavings. - </p> - <p> - In the engine-room he discovered Smith Roberts and his assistant, Joe - Webber, banking the fires, preparatory to leaving. They were the only men - about the place. Roberts closed a furnace-door with a bang, threw down his - shovel, and drew a grimy arm across his forehead. - </p> - <p> - “Did you ever see such a lot of lunkheads, Milt? I'll bet they'll be - kicking themselves good and hard before they get to the wind-up of this.” - </p> - <p> - McClintock looked with singular affection at the swelling girths of iron - which held the panting lungs of the monster the men had doomed to silence, - and swore his most elaborate oath. - </p> - <p> - “No, I never did, Smith. You'd think they had money to burn the way they - chucked their job.” - </p> - <p> - “When do you suppose I'll get a chance to build steam again?” - </p> - <p> - “Oakley says we won't start up before the first of September.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE first weeks of - the strike slipped by without excitement. Harvest time came and went. A - rainless August browned the earth and seared the woods with its heat, but - nothing happened to vary the dull monotony. The shops, a sepulchre of - sound, stood silent and empty. General Cornish, in the rôle of the - avenger, did not appear on the scene, to Oakley's discomfiture and to the - joy of the men. A sullen sadness rested on the town. The women began to - develop shrewish tempers and a trying conversational habit, while their - husbands squandered their rapidly dwindling means in the saloons. There - was large talk and a variety of threats, but no lawlessness. - </p> - <p> - Simultaneously with the inauguration of the strike, Jeffy reappeared - mysteriously. He hinted darkly at foreign travel under singularly - favorable auspices, and intimated that he had been sojourning in a - community where there was always some one to “throw a few whiskeys” into - him when his “coppers got hot,” and where he had “fed his face” three - times a day, so bounteous was the charity. - </p> - <p> - At intervals a rumor was given currency that Oakley was on the verge of - starting up with imported labor, and the men, dividing the watches, met - each train; but only familiar types, such as the casual commercial - traveller with his grips, the farmer from up or down the line, with his - inevitable paper parcels, and the stray wayfarer were seen to step from - the Huckleberry's battered coaches. Finally it dawned upon the men that - Dan was bent on starving them into submission. - </p> - <p> - Ryder had displayed what, for him, was a most <i>unusual</i> activity. - Almost every day he held conferences with the leaders of the strike, and - his personal influence went far towards keeping the men in line. Indeed, - his part in the whole affair was much more important than was generally - recognized. - </p> - <p> - The political campaign had started, and Kenyon was booked to speak in - Antioch. It was understood in advance that he would declare for the - strikers, and his coming caused a welcome flutter of excitement. - </p> - <p> - The statesman arrived on No. 7, and the reception committee met him at the - station in two carriages. It included Cap Roberts, the Hon. Jeb Barrows, - Ryder, Joe Stokes, and Bentick. The two last were an inspiration of the - editor's, and proved a popular success. - </p> - <p> - The brass-band hired for the occasion discoursed patriotic airs, as - Kenyon, in a long linen duster and a limp, wilted collar, presented - himself at the door of the smoker. The great man was all blandness and - suavity—an oily suavity that oozed and trickled from every pore. - </p> - <p> - The crowd on the platform gave a faint, unenthusiastic cheer as it caught - sight of him. It had been more interested in staring at Bentick and - Stokes. They looked so excessively uncomfortable. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Kenyon climbed down the steps and shook hands with Mr. Ryder. Then, - bowing and smiling to the right and left, he crossed the platform, leaning - on the editor's arm. At the carriages there were more greetings. Stokes - and Bentick were formally presented, and the Congressman mounted to a - place beside them, whereat the crowd cheered again, and Stokes and Bentick - looked, if possible, more miserable than before. They had a sneaking idea - that a show was being made of them. Ryder took his place in the second - carriage, with Cap Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Barrows, and the procession - moved off up-town to the hotel, preceded by the band playing a lively - two-step out of tune, and followed by a troop of bare-legged urchins. - </p> - <p> - After supper the statesman was serenaded by the band, and a little later - the members of the Young Men's Kenyon Club, attired in cotton-flannel - uniforms, marched across from the <i>Herald</i> office to escort him to - the Rink, where he was to speak. He appeared radiant in a Prince Albert - and a shiny tile, and a <i>boutonnière</i>, this time leaning on the arm - of Mr. Stokes, to the huge disgust of that worthy mechanic, who did not - know that a statesman had to lean on somebody's arm. It is hoary - tradition, and yet it had a certain significance, too, if it were meant to - indicate that Kenyon couldn't keep straight unless he was propped. - </p> - <p> - A wave of fitful enthusiasm swept the assembled crowd, and Mr. Stokes's - youngest son, Samuel, aged six, burst into tears, no one knew why, and was - led out of the press by an elder brother, who alternately slapped him and - wiped his nose on his cap. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Kenyon, smiling his unwearied, mirthless smile, seated himself in his - carriage. Mr. Ryder, slightly bored and wholly cynical, followed his - example. Mr. Stokes and Mr. Bentick, perspiring and abject, and looking - for all the world like two criminals, dropped dejectedly into the places - assigned them. Only Cap Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Barrows seemed entirely - at ease. They were campaign fixtures. The band emitted a - harmony-destroying crash, while Mr. Jimmy Smith, the drum-major, performed - sundry bewildering passes with his gilt staff. The Young Men's Kenyon Club - fell over its own feet into line, and the procession started for the Rink. - It was a truly inspiring moment. - </p> - <p> - As soon as the tail of the procession was clear of the curb, it developed - that Clarence and Spide were marshalling a rival demonstration. Six small - and exceedingly dirty youngsters, with reeking torches, headed by Clarence - and his trusty lieutenant, fell gravely in at the rear of the Kenyon Club. - Clarence was leaning on Spide's arm. Pussy Roberts preceded them, giving a - highly successful imitation of Mr. Jimmy Smith. He owned the six torches, - and it was unsafe to suppress him, but the others spoke disparagingly of - his performance as a side-show. - </p> - <p> - Since an early hour of the evening the people had been gathering at the - Rink. It was also the Opera-House, where, during the winter months, an - occasional repertory company appeared in “East Lynn,” the “New Magdalen,” - or Tom Robertson's “Caste.” The place was two-thirds full at a quarter to - eight, when a fleet courier arrived with the gratifying news that the - procession was just leaving the square, and that Kenyon was riding with - his hat off, and in familiar discourse with Stokes and Bentick. - </p> - <p> - Presently out of the distance drifted the first strains of the band. A - little later Cap. Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Barrows appeared on the - make-shift stage from the wings. There was an applausive murmur, for the - Hon. Jeb was a popular character. It was said of him that he always - carried a map of the United States in tobacco juice on his shirt front. He - was bottle-nosed and red faced. No man could truthfully say he had ever - seen him drunk, nor had any one ever seen him sober. He shunned extremes. - Next, the band filed into the balcony, and was laboriously sweating its - way through the national anthem, when Kenyon and Ryder appeared, followed - by the wretched Stokes and Bentick. A burst of applause shook the house. - When it subsided, the editor stepped to the front of the stage. With words - that halted, for the experience was a new one, he introduced the guest of - the evening. - </p> - <p> - It was generally agreed afterwards that it had been a great privilege to - hear Kenyon. No one knew exactly what it was all about, but that was a - minor consideration. The Congressman was well on towards the end of his - speech, and had reached the local situation, which he was handling in what - the <i>Herald</i> subsequently described as “a masterly fashion, cool, - logical, and convincing,” when Oakley wandered in, and, unobserved, took a - seat near the door. He glanced about him glumly. There had been a time - when these people had been, in their way, his friends. Now those nearest - him even avoided looking in his direction. At last he became conscious - that some one far down near the stage, and at the other side of the - building, was nodding and smiling at him. It was Dr. Emory. Mrs. Emory and - Constance were with him. Dan caught the fine outline of the latter's - profile. She was smiling an amused smile. It was her first political - meeting, and she was finding it quite as funny as Ryder had said it would - be. - </p> - <p> - Dan listened idly, hearing only a word now and then. At length a sentence - roused him. The speaker was advising the men to stand for their rights. He - rose hastily, and turned to leave; he had heard enough; but some one cried - out, “Here's Oakley,” and instantly every one in the place was staring at - him. - </p> - <p> - Kenyon took a step nearer the foot-lights. Either he misunderstood or else - he wished to provoke an argument, for he said, with slippery civility: “I - shall be very pleased to listen to Mr. Oakley's side of the question. This - is a free country, and I don't deny him or any man the right to express - his views. The fact that I am unalterably opposed to the power he - represents is no bar to the expression here of his opinion.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley's face was crimson. He paused irresolutely; he saw the jeer on - Ryder's lips, and the desire possessed him to tell these people what fools - they were to listen to the cheap, lungy patriotism of the demagogue on the - stage. - </p> - <p> - He rested a hand on the back of the chair in front of him, and leaned - forward with an arm extended at the speaker, but his eyes were fixed on - Miss Emory's face. She was smiling at him encouragingly, he thought, - bidding him to speak. - </p> - <p> - “This is doubtless your opportunity,” he said, “but I would like to ask - what earthly interest you have in Antioch beyond the votes it may give - you?” - </p> - <p> - Kenyon smiled blandly and turned for one fleeting instant to wink at - Ryder. “And my reply is this: What about the twenty-million-dollar - specimen of American manhood who is dodging around London on the money - he's made here in this State—yes, and in this town? He's gone to - England to break his way into London society, and, incidentally, to marry - his daughter to a title.” - </p> - <p> - A roar of laughter greeted this sally. - </p> - <p> - “That may be,” retorted Oakley, hotly, “but Antioch has been getting its - share of his money, too. Don't forget that. There's not a store-keeper in - this audience whose bank account will not show, in hard American dollars, - what General Cornish does for Antioch when Antioch is willing to let him - do for it. But, granted that what you have said is true, who can best - afford to meet the present situation? General Cornish or these men? On - whom does the hardship fall heavier, on them or on him?” - </p> - <p> - “That was not the spirit which prevailed at Bunker Hill and Lexington! No, - thank God! our fathers did not stop to count the cost, and we have our - battles to-day just as vital to the cause of humanity; and I, for one, - would rather see the strong arm of labor wither in its socket than submit - to wrong or injustice!” - </p> - <p> - Oakley choked down his disgust and moved towards the door. There was - applause and one or two cat-calls. Not heeding them, he made his way from - the building. He had reached the street when a detaining hand was placed - upon his arm. He turned savagely, but it proved to be only Turner Joyce, - who stepped to his side, with a cheerful: - </p> - <p> - “Good-evening, Mr. Oakley. They seem to be having a very gay time in - there, don't they?” - </p> - <p> - “Have you been in?” demanded Oakley, grimly. - </p> - <p> - “I? Oh, no! I have just been taking a picture home.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Oakley, “I have just been making a damned fool of myself. I - hope that is something you are never guilty of, Mr. Joyce?” Joyce laughed, - and tucked his hand through his companion's arm. - </p> - <p> - “Doesn't every one do that occasionally?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - Dan shook off his bitterness. Recently he had been seeing a great deal of - the little artist and his wife, who were about the only friends he or his - father had left in Antioch. They walked on in silence Joyce was too - tactful to ask any questions concerning his friend's affairs, so he - ventured an impersonal criticism on Kenyon, with the modest diffidence of - a man who knows he is going counter to public sentiment. - </p> - <p> - “Neither Ruth nor I had any curiosity to hear him speak to-night. I heard - him when he was here last. It may be my bringing up, but I do like things - that are not altogether rotten, and I'm afraid I count him as sort of - decayed.” Then he added: “I suppose everybody was at the Rink to-night?” - </p> - <p> - “The place was packed.” - </p> - <p> - “It promises to be a lively campaign, I believe, but I take very little - interest in politics. My own concerns occupy most of my time. Won't you - come in, Mr. Oakley?” for they had reached his gate. - </p> - <p> - On the little side porch which opened off the kitchen they found Ruth. She - rose with a pleased air of animation when she saw who was with her - husband. Oakley had lived up to his reputation as a patron of the arts. He - had not forgotten, in spite of his anxieties, the promise made Joyce - months before, and at that very moment, safely bestowed in Mrs. Joyce's - possession, were two formidable-looking strips of heavy pink paper, which - guaranteed the passage of the holder to New York and return. - </p> - <p> - “I hope this confounded strike is not going to interfere with you, Mr. - Joyce,” said Oakley, as he seated himself. He had discovered that they - liked to talk about their own plans and hopes, and the trip East was the - chief of these. Already he had considered it with them from every - conceivable point of view. - </p> - <p> - “It is aggravating, for, of course, if people haven't money they can't - very well afford to have pictures painted. But Ruth is managing - splendidly. I really don't think it will make any special difference.” - </p> - <p> - “I am determined Turner shall not miss this opportunity. I think, if it - wasn't for me, Mr. Oakley, he'd give up most everything he wants to do, or - has set his heart on.” - </p> - <p> - “He's lucky to have you, then. Most men need looking after.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm sure I do,” observed the little artist, with commendable meekness. He - was keenly alive to his own shortcomings. “I'd never get any sort of - prices for my work if she didn't take a hand in the bargaining.” - </p> - <p> - “Some one has to be mercenary,” said Ruth, apologetically. “It's all very - well to go around with your head in the clouds, but it don't pay.” - </p> - <p> - “No, it don't pay,” agreed Dan. - </p> - <p> - There was a long pause, which a cricket improved to make itself heard - above the sweep of the night wind through the tree-tops. Then Ruth said: - “I saw Miss Emory to-day. She asked about you.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Joyce and her husband had taken a passionate interest in Oakley's - love affair, and divined the utter wreck of his hopes. - </p> - <p> - “Did she? I saw her at the Rink, too, but of course not to speak with.” - </p> - <p> - Turner Joyce trod gently but encouragingly on his wife's foot. He felt - that Oakley would be none the worse for a little cheer, and he had - unbounded faith in his wife's delicacy and tact. She was just the person - for such a message. - </p> - <p> - “She seemed—that is, I gathered from what she said, and it wasn't so - much what she said as what she didn't say—” - </p> - <p> - Dan laughed outright, and Joyce joined in with a panic-stricken chuckle. - Ruth was making as bad a botch of the business as he could have made. - </p> - <p> - “I am not at all sensitive,” said Dan, with sudden candor. “I have admired - her immensely; I do still, for the matter of that.” - </p> - <p> - “Then why don't you go there?” - </p> - <p> - “I can't, Mrs. Joyce. You know why.” - </p> - <p> - “But I think she looks at it differently now.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley shook his head. “No, she doesn't. There's just one way she can look - at it.” - </p> - <p> - “Women are always changing their minds,” persisted Ruth. It occurred to - her that Constance had been at her worst in her relation with Oakley. If - she cared a scrap for him, why hadn't she stood by him when he needed it - most? The little artist blinked tenderly at his wife. He was lost in - admiration at her courage. He would not have dared to give their friend - this comfort. - </p> - <p> - The conversation languished. They heard the strains of the band when the - meeting at the Rink broke up, and the voices of the people on the street, - and then there was silence again. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE hot days - dragged on. Dan and his father moved down to the shops. Two cots were - placed in the pattern-room, where they slept, and where Roger Oakley spent - most of his time reading his Bible or in brooding over the situation. - Their meals were brought to them from the hotel. It was not that Dan - suspected the men of any sinister intentions, but he felt it was just as - well that they should understand the utter futility of any lawlessness, - and, besides, his father was much happier in the solitude of the empty - shops than he could have been elsewhere in Antioch. All day long he - followed McClintock about, helping with such odd jobs as were necessary to - keep the machinery in perfect order. He was completely crushed and broken - in spirit He had aged, too. - </p> - <p> - At the office Dan saw only Holt and McClintock. Sick of Kerr's presence, - and exasperated at his evident sympathy for the strikers—a sympathy - he was at no pains to conceal—he had laid him off, a step that was - tantamount to dismissal. Miss Walton was absent on her vacation, which he - extended from week to week. It was maddening to him to have her around - with nothing to do, for he and Holt found it difficult to keep decently - busy themselves, now the shops had closed. - </p> - <p> - Holloway, the vice-president of the road, visited Antioch just once during - the early days of the strike. He approved—being of an approving - disposition—of all Oakley had done, and then went back home to - Chicago, after telling him not to yield a single point in the fight. - </p> - <p> - “We've got to starve 'em into submission,” said this genial soul. “There's - nothing like an empty stomach to sap a man's courage, especially when he's - got a houseful of hungry, squalling brats. I don't know but what you'd - better arrange to get in foreigners. Americans are too independent.” - </p> - <p> - But Oakley was opposed to this. “The men will be glad enough to accept the - new scale of wages a little later, and the lesson won't be wasted on - them.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know, but the question is, do we want 'em? I wish Cornish was - here. I think he'd advise some radical move. He's all fight.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley, however, was devoutly thankful that the general was in England, - where he hoped he would stay. He had no wish to see the men ruined. A - wholesome lesson would suffice. He was much relieved when the time arrived - to escort Holloway to his train. - </p> - <p> - All this while the <i>Herald</i> continued its attacks, but Dan no longer - minded them. Nothing Ryder could say could augment his unpopularity. It - had reached its finality. He never guessed that, indirectly at least, - Constance Emory was responsible for by far the greater part of Ryder's - present bitterness. She objected to his partisanship of the men, and this - only served to increase his verbal intemperance. But, in spite of the - antagonism of their views, they remained friends. Constance was willing to - endure much from Ryder that she would have resented from any one else. She - liked him, and she was sorry for him; he seemed unhappy, and she imagined - he suffered as she herself suffered, and from the same cause. There was - still another motive for her forbearance, which, perhaps, she did not - fully realize. The strike and Oakley had become a mania with the editor, - and from him she was able to learn what Dan was doing. - </p> - <p> - The unpopularity of his son was a source of infinite grief to Roger - Oakley. The more so as he took the burden of it on his own shoulders. He - brooded over it until presently he decided that he would have a talk with - Ryder and explain matters to him, and ask him to discontinue his abuse of - Dan. There was a streak in the old convict's mind which was hardly sane, - for no man spends the best years of his life in prison and comes out as - clear-headed as he goes in. - </p> - <p> - As he pottered about the shops with McClintock, he meditated on his - project. He was sure, if he could show Ryder where he was wrong and - unfair, he would hasten to make amends. It never occurred to him that - Ryder had merely followed in the wake of public opinion, giving it - definite expression. - </p> - <p> - One evening—and he chose the hour when he knew Antioch would be at - supper and the streets deserted—he stole from the shops, without - telling Dan where he was going, as he had a shrewd idea that he would put - a veto on his scheme did he know of it. - </p> - <p> - With all his courage his pace slackened as he approached the <i>Herald</i> - office. He possessed unbounded respect for print, and still greater - respect for the man who spoke in print. - </p> - <p> - The door stood open, and he looked in over the top of his steel-bowed - spectacles. The office was dark and shadowy, but from an inner room, where - the presses stood, a light shone. While he hesitated, the half-grown boy - who was Griff's chief assistant came from the office. Roger Oakley placed - a hand on his shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “Is Mr. Ryder in, sonny?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he's in the back room, where you see the light.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you.” - </p> - <p> - He found Ryder busy making up, by the light of a single dingy lamp, for - the <i>Herald</i> went to press in the morning. Griff gave a start of - surprise when he saw who his visitor was; then he said, sharply, “Well, - sir, what can I do for you?” - </p> - <p> - It was the first time the old convict and the editor had met, and Roger - Oakley, peering over his spectacles, studied Ryder's face in his usual - slow fashion. At last he said: “I hope I am not intruding, Mr. Ryder, for - I'd like to speak with you.” - </p> - <p> - “Then be quick about it,” snapped Griff. “Don't you see I'm busy?” - </p> - <p> - With the utmost deliberation the old convict took from his pocket a large - red-and-yellow bandanna handkerchief. Then he removed his hat and wiped - his face and neck with elaborate thoroughness. When he finally spoke he - dropped his voice to an impressive whisper. “I don't think you understand - Dannie, Mr. Ryder, or the reasons for the trouble down at the shops.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't I? Well, I'll be charmed to hear your explanation.” And he put down - the rule with which he had been measuring one of the printed columns on - the table before him. - </p> - <p> - Without being asked Roger Oakley seated himself in a chair by the door. He - placed his hat and handkerchief on a corner of the table, and took off his - spectacles, which he put into their case. Ryder watched him with curious - interest. - </p> - <p> - “I knew we could settle this, Mr. Ryder,” said he, with friendly - simplicity. “You've been unfair to my son. That was because you did not - understand. When you do, I am certain you will do what you can to make - right the wrong you have done him.” - </p> - <p> - A vicious, sinister smile wreathed Ryder's lips. He nodded. “Go on.” - </p> - <p> - “Dannie's done nothing to you to make you wish to hurt him—for you - are hurting him. He don't admit it, but I know.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope so,” said Ryder, tersely. “I should hate to think my energy had - been entirely wasted.” - </p> - <p> - A look of pained surprise crossed Roger Oakley's face. He was quite - shocked at the unchristian feeling Griff was displaying. “No, you don't - mean that!” he made haste to say. “You can't mean it.” - </p> - <p> - “Can't I?” cynically. - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley stole a glance from under his thick, bushy eyebrows at the - editor. He wondered if an apt quotation from the Scriptures would be of - any assistance. The moral logic with which he had intended to overwhelm - him had somehow gone astray-He presented the singular spectacle of a man - who was in the wrong, and who knew he was in the wrong and was yet - determined to persist in it. - </p> - <p> - “There's something I'll tell you that I haven't told any one else.” He - glanced again at Ryder to see the effect of the proposed confidence, and - again the latter nodded for him to go on. - </p> - <p> - “I am going away. I haven't told my son yet, but I've got it all planned, - and when I am gone you won't have any reason to hate Dannie, will you?” - </p> - <p> - “That's an admirable idea, Mr. Oakley, and if Dannie, as you call him, has - half your good-sense he'll follow your example.” - </p> - <p> - “No; he can't leave. He must stay. He's the manager of the road,” with - evident pride. “He's got to stay, but I'll go. Won't that do just as - well?” a little anxiously, for he could not fathom the look on Ryder's - dark face. Ryder only gave him a smile in answer, and he continued, - hurriedly: - </p> - <p> - “You see, the trouble's been about me and my working in the shops. If I - hadn't come here there'd have been no strike. As for Dannie, he's made a - man of himself. You don't know, and I don't know, how hard he's worked and - how faithful he's been. What I've done mustn't reflect on him. It all - happened when he was a little boy—so high,” extending his hand. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Oakley,” said Ryder, coldly and insultingly, “I propose, if I can, to - make this town too hot to hold your son, and I am grateful to you for the - unconscious compliment you have paid me by this visit.” - </p> - <p> - “Dannie don't know I came,” quickly. - </p> - <p> - “No, I don't suppose he does. I take it it was an inspiration of your - own.” - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley had risen from his seat. - </p> - <p> - “What's Dannie ever done to you?” he asked, with just the least - perceptible tremor in his tones. - </p> - <p> - Ryder shrugged his shoulders. “We don't need him in Antioch.” - </p> - <p> - The old man mastered his wrath, and said, gently: - </p> - <p> - “You can't afford to be unfair, Mr. Ryder. No one can afford to be unfair. - You are too young a man to persevere in what you know to be wrong.” - </p> - <p> - To maintain his composure required a great effort. In the riotous days of - his youth he had concluded most arguments in which he had become involved - with his fists. Aged and broken, his religion overlay his still vigorous - physical strength but thinly, as a veneer. He squared his massive - shoulders and stood erect, like a man in his prime, and glowered heavily - on the editor. - </p> - <p> - “I trust you have always been able to make right your guiding star,” - retorted Ryder, jeeringly. The anger instantly faded from the old - convict's face. He was recalled to himself. - </p> - <p> - Ordinarily, that is, in the presence of others, Ryder would have felt - bound to treat Roger Oakley with the deference due to his years. Alone, as - they were, he was restrained by no such obligation. He was in an ugly - mood, and he proceeded to give it rein. - </p> - <p> - “I wish to hell you'd mind your own business,” he said, suddenly. “What do - you mean by coming here to tell me what I ought to do? If you want to - know, I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I am going to hound you and that - precious son of yours out of this part of the country.” - </p> - <p> - The old man straightened up again as Ryder spoke. The restraint of years - dropped from him in a twinkling. He told him he was a scoundrel, and he - prefaced it with an oath—a slip he did not notice in his excitement. - </p> - <p> - “Hey! What's that?” - </p> - <p> - “You're a damned scoundrel!” repeated Roger Oakley, white with rage. He - took a step around the table and came nearer the editor. “I don't know but - what I ought to break every bone in your body! You are trying to ruin my - son!” He hit the table a mighty blow with his clinched fist, and, - thrusting his head forward, glared into Ryder's face. - </p> - <p> - “You have turned his friends against him. Why, he ain't got none left any - more. They have all gone over to the other side; and you done it, you done - it, and it's got to stop!” - </p> - <p> - Ryder had been taken aback for the moment by Roger Oakley's fierce anger, - which vibrated in his voice and flashed in his dark, sunken eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Get out of here,” he shouted, losing control of himself. “Get out or, - damn you, I'll kick you out!” - </p> - <p> - “When I'm ready to go I'll leave,” retorted the old man, calmly, “and that - will be when I've said my say.” - </p> - <p> - “You'll go now,” and he shoved him in the direction of the door. The shove - was almost a blow, and as it fell on his broad chest Roger Oakley gave a - hoarse, inarticulate cry and struck out with his heavy hand. Ryder - staggered back, caught at the end of the table as he plunged past it, and - fell his length upon the floor. The breath whistled sharply from the old - man's lips. “There,” he muttered, “you'll keep your hands off!” - </p> - <p> - Ryder did not speak nor move. All was hushed and still in the room. - Suddenly a nervous chill seized the old convict. He shook from head to - heel. - </p> - <p> - “I didn't mean to hit you,” he said, speaking to the prostrate figure at - his feet. “Here, let me help you.” - </p> - <p> - He stooped and felt around on the floor until he found Ryder's hand. He - released it instantly to take the lamp from the table. Then he knelt - beside the editor. In the corner where the latter lay stood a rusty - wood-stove. In his fall Griff's head had struck against it. - </p> - <p> - The lamp shook in Roger Oakley's hand like a leaf in a gale. Ryder's eyes - were open and seemed to look into his own with a mute reproach. For the - rest he lay quite limp, his head twisted to one side. The old man felt of - his heart. One or two minutes elapsed. His bearing was one of feverish - intensity. He heard three men loiter by on the street, and the sound of - their footfalls die off in the distance, but Ryder's heart had ceased to - beat. Fully convinced of this, he returned the lamp to the table and, - sitting down in the chair by the door, covered his face with his hands and - sobbed aloud. - </p> - <p> - Over and over he murmured: “I've killed him, I've killed him! Poor boy! - poor boy! I didn't goto do it!” - </p> - <p> - Presently he got up and made a second examination. The man was dead past - every doubt. His first impulse was to surrender himself to the town - marshal, as he had done once before under similar circumstances. - </p> - <p> - Then he thought of Dan. - </p> - <p> - No, he must escape, and perhaps it would never be known who had killed - Ryder. His death might even be attributed to an accident. In his - excitement he forgot the boy he had met at the door. That incident had - passed entirely from his mind, and he did not remember the meeting until - days afterwards. - </p> - <p> - He had been utterly indifferent to his own danger, but now he extinguished - the lamp and made his way cautiously into the outer room and peered into - the street. As he crouched in the darkness by the door he heard the town - bell strike the hour. He counted the strokes. It was eight o'clock. An - instant later and he was hurrying down the street, fleeing from the - ghastly horror of the white, upturned face, and the eyes, with their look - of mute reproach. - </p> - <p> - When he reached the railroad track at the foot of Main Street, he paused - irresolutely. - </p> - <p> - “If I could see Dannie once more, just once more!” he muttered, under his - breath; but he crossed the tracks with a single, longing look turned - towards the shops, a black blur in the night a thousand yards distant. - </p> - <p> - Main Street became a dusty country road south of the tracks. He left it at - this point and skirted a cornfield, going in the direction of the creek. - </p> - <p> - At the shops Dan had waited supper for his father until half-past seven, - when he decided he must have gone up-town, probably to the Joyces'. So he - had eaten his supper alone. Then he drew his chair in front of an open - window and lighted his pipe. It was very hot in the office, and by-and-by - he carried his lamp into the pattern-room, where he and his father slept. - He arranged their two cots, blew out the light, which seemed to add to the - heat, partly undressed, and lay down. He heard the town bell strike eight, - and then the half-hour. Shortly after this he must have fallen asleep, for - all at once he awoke with a start. From off in the night a confusion of - sounds reached him. The town bell was ringing the alarm. At first he - thought it was a fire, but there was no light in the sky, and the bell - rang on and on. - </p> - <p> - He got up and put on his coat and hat and started out. - </p> - <p> - It was six blocks to the <i>Herald</i> office, and as he neared it he - could distinguish a group of excited, half-dressed men and women where - they clustered on the sidewalk before the building. A carriage was - standing in the street. - </p> - <p> - He elbowed into the crowd unnoticed and unrecognized. A small boy, who had - climbed into the low boughs of a maple-tree, now shouted in a perfect - frenzy of excitement: “Hi! They are bringing him out! Jimmy Smith's got - him by the legs!” - </p> - <p> - At the same moment Chris. Berry appeared in the doorway. The crowd stood - on tiptoe, breathless, tense, and waiting. - </p> - <p> - “Drive up a little closter, Tom,” Berry called to the man in the carriage. - Then he stepped to one side, and two men pushed past him carrying the body - of Ryder between them. The crowd gave a groan. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">R</span>YDER'S murder - furnished Antioch with a sensation the like of which it had not known in - many a day. It was one long, breathless shudder, ramified with contingent - horrors. - </p> - <p> - Dippy Ellsworth remembered that when he drove up in his cart on the night - of the tragedy to light the street lamp which stood on the corner by the - <i>Herald</i> office his horse had balked and refused to go near the curb. - It was generally conceded that the sagacious brute smelled blood. Dippy - himself said he would not sell that horse for a thousand dollars, and it - was admitted on all sides that such an animal possessed a value hard to - reckon in mere dollars and cents. - </p> - <p> - Three men recalled that they had passed the <i>Herald</i> office and - noticed that the door stood open. Within twenty-four hours they were - hearing groans, and within a week, cries for help, but they were not - encouraged. - </p> - <p> - Of course the real hero was Bob Bennett, Ryder's assistant, who had - discovered the body when he went back to the office at half-past eight to - close the forms. His account of the finding of Ryder dead on the floor was - an exceedingly grizzly narrative, delightfully conducive of the shivers. - He had been the quietest of youths, but two weeks after the murder he left - for Chicago. He said there might be those who could stand it, but Antioch - was too slow for him. - </p> - <p> - Not less remarkable was Ryder's posthumous fame. Men who had never known - him in life now spoke of him with trembling voices and every outward - evidence of the sincerest sorrow. It was as if they had sustained a - personal loss, for his championship of the strike had given him a great - popularity, and his murder, growing out of this championship, as all - preferred to believe, made his death seem a species of martyrdom. - </p> - <p> - Indeed, the mere fact that he had been murdered would have been sufficient - to make him popular at any time. He had supplied Antioch with a glorious - sensation. It was something to talk over and discuss and shudder at, and - the town was grateful and happy, with the deep, calm joy of a perfect - emotion. - </p> - <p> - It determined to give him a funeral which should be creditable alike to - the cause for which he had died and to the manner of his death. So - widespread was the feeling that none should be denied a share in this - universal expression of respect and grief that Jeffy found it easy to - borrow five pairs of trousers, four coats, and a white vest to wear to the - funeral; but, in spite of these unusual preparations, he was unable to be - present. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile Dan had been arrested, examined, and set at liberty again, in - the face of the prevailing sentiment that he should be held. No one - doubted—he himself least of all—that Roger Oakley had killed - Ryder. Bob Bennett recalled their meeting as he left the office to go home - for supper on the night of the murder, and a red-and-yellow bandanna - handkerchief was found under the table which Dan identified as having - belonged to his father. - </p> - <p> - Kenyon came to Antioch and made his re-election almost certain by the - offer of a reward of five hundred dollars for the arrest and conviction of - the murderer. This stimulated a wonderful measure of activity. Parties of - men and boys were soon scouring the woods and fields in quest of the old - convict. - </p> - <p> - The day preceding that of the funeral a dusty countryman, on a hard-ridden - plough-horse, dashed into town with the news that a man who answered - perfectly to the description of Roger Oakley had been seen the night - before twenty-six miles north of Antioch, at a place called Barrow's Saw - Mills, where he had stopped at a store and made a number of purchases. - Then he had struck off through the woods. It was also learned that he had - eaten his breakfast the morning after the murder at a farmhouse midway - between Antioch and Barrow's Saw Mills. The farmer's wife had, at his - request, put up a lunch for him. Later in the day a man at work in a field - had seen and spoken with him. - </p> - <p> - There was neither railroad, telegraph, nor telephone at Barrow's Saw - Mills, and the fugitive had evidently considered it safe to venture into - the place, trusting that he was ahead of the news of his crime. It was on - the edge of a sparsely settled district, and to the north of it was the - unbroken wilderness stretching away to the lakes and the Wisconsin line. - </p> - <p> - The morning of the funeral an extra edition of the <i>Herald</i> was - issued, which contained a glowing account of Ryder's life and - achievements. It was an open secret that it was from the gifted pen of - Kenyon. This notable enterprise was one of the wonders of the day. - Everybody wanted a <i>Herald</i> as a souvenir of the occasion, and nearly - five hundred copies were sold. - </p> - <p> - All that morning the country people, in unheard-of numbers, flocked into - town. As Clarence remarked to Spide, it was just like a circus day. The - noon train from Buckhom Junction arrived crowded to the doors, as did the - one-o'clock train from Harrison. Antioch had never known anything like it. - </p> - <p> - The funeral was at two o'clock from the little white frame Methodist - church, but long before the appointed hour it was crowded to the verge of - suffocation, and the anxious, waiting throng overflowed into the yard and - street, with never a hope of wedging into the building, much less securing - seats. - </p> - <p> - A delegation of the strikers, the Young Men's Kenyon Club, of which Ryder - was a member, and a representative body of citizens escorted the remains - to the church. These were the people he had jeered at, whose simple joys - he had ridiculed, and whose griefs he had made light of, but they would - gladly have forgiven him his sarcasms even had they known of them. He had - become a hero and a martyr. - </p> - <p> - Chris Berry and Cap Roberts were in charge of the arrangements. On the - night of the murder the former had beaten his rival to the <i>Herald</i> - office by exactly three minutes, and had never left Ryder until he lay in - the most costly casket in his shop. - </p> - <p> - It was admitted afterwards by thoughtful men, who were accustomed to weigh - their opinions carefully, that Mr. Williamson, the minister, had never - delivered so moving an address, nor one that contained so obvious a moral. - The drift of his remarks was that the death of their brilliant and - distinguished fellow-townsman should serve as a warning to all that there - was no time like the present in which to prepare for the life everlasting. - He assured his audience that each hour of existence should be devoted to - consecration and silent testimony; otherwise, what did it avail? It was - not enough that Ryder had thrown the weight of his personal influence and - exceptional talents on the side of sound morality and civic usefulness. - And as he soared on from point to point, his hearers soared with him, and - when he rounded in on each well-tried climax, they rounded in with him. He - never failed them once. They always knew what he was going to say before - it was said, and were ready for the thrill when the thrill was due. It - might have seemed that Mr. Williamson was paid a salary merely to make an - uncertain hereafter yet more uncomfortable and uncertain, but Antioch took - its religion hot, with a shiver and a threat of blue flame. - </p> - <p> - When Mr. Williamson sat down Mr. Kenyon rose. As a layman he could be - entirely eulogistic. He was sure of the faith which through life had been - the guiding star of the departed. He had seen it instanced by numerous - acts of eminently Christian benevolence, and on those rare occasions when - he had spoken of his hopes and fears he had, in spite of his shrinking - modesty, shown that his standards of Christian duty were both lofty and - consistent. - </p> - <p> - Here the Hon. Jeb Barrows, who had been dozing peacefully, awoke with a - start, and gazed with wide, bulging eyes at the speaker. He followed Mr. - Kenyon, and, though he tried hard, he couldn't recall any expression of - Ryder's, at the Red Star bar or elsewhere, which indicated that there was - any spiritual uplift to his nature which he fed at secret altars; so he - pictured the friend and citizen, and the dead fared well at his hands, - perhaps better than he was conscious of, for he said no more than he - believed. - </p> - <p> - Then came the prayer and hymn, to be succeeded by a heavy, solemn pause, - and Mr. Williamson stepped to the front of the platform-. - </p> - <p> - “All those who care to view the remains—and I presume there are many - here who will wish to look upon the face of our dead friend before it is - conveyed to its final resting-place—will please form in line at the - rear of the edifice and advance quietly up the right aisle, passing across - the church as quickly as possible and thence down the left aisle and on - out through the door. This will prevent confusion and make it much - pleasanter for all.” - </p> - <p> - There was a rustle of skirts and the awkward shuffling of many feet as the - congregation formed in line; then it filed slowly up the aisle to where - Chris Berry stood, weazened and dry, with a vulture look on his face and a - vulture touch to his hands that now and again picked at the flowers which - were banked about the coffin. - </p> - <p> - The Emorys, partly out of regard for public sentiment, had attended the - funeral, for, as the doctor said, they were the only real friends Griff - had in the town. They had known and liked him when the rest of Antioch was - dubiously critical of the new-comer, whose ways were not its ways. - </p> - <p> - When the congregation thronged up the aisle, Constance, who had endured - the long service, which to her was unspeakably grotesque and horrible, in - shocked if silent rebellion slipped her hand into her mother's. “Take me - away,” she whispered, brokenly, “or I shall cry out! Take me away!” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Emory hesitated. It seemed a desertion of a trust to go and leave - Griff to these strangers, who had been brought there by morbid curiosity. - Constance guessed what was passing in her mind. - </p> - <p> - “Papa will remain if it is necessary.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Emory touched the doctor on the shoulder. “We're going home, John; - Constance doesn't feel well; but you stay.” - </p> - <p> - When they reached the street the last vestige of Constance's self-control - vanished utterly. “Wasn't it awful!” she sobbed, “and his life had only - just begun! And to be snuffed out like this, when there was everything to - live for!” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Emory, surprised at the sudden show of feeling, looked into her - daughter's face. Constance understood the look. - </p> - <p> - “No, no! He was only a friend! He could never have been more than that. - Poor, poor Griff!” - </p> - <p> - “I am glad for your sake, dearie,” said Mrs. Emory, gently. - </p> - <p> - “I wasn't very kind to him at the last, but I couldn't know—I - couldn't know,” she moaned. - </p> - <p> - She was not much given to these confidences, even with her mother. Usually - she never questioned the wisdom or righteousness of her own acts, and it - was not her habit to put them to the test of a less generous judgment. But - she was remembering her last meeting with Ryder. It had been the day - before his death; he had told her that he loved her, and she had flared - up, furious and resentful, with the dull, accusing ache of many days in - her heart, and a cruel readiness to make him suffer. She had tried to - convince herself afterwards that it was only his vanity that was hurt. - </p> - <p> - Then she thought of Oakley. She had been thinking of him all day, - wondering where he was, if he had left Antioch, and not daring to ask. - They were going up the path now towards the house, and she turned to her - mother again. - </p> - <p> - “What do they say of Mr. Oakley—I mean Mr. Dan Oakley? I don't know - why, but I'm more sorry for him than I am for Griff; he has so much to - bear!” - </p> - <p> - “I heard your father say he was still here. I suppose he has to remain. He - can't choose.” - </p> - <p> - “What will be done with his father if he is captured? Will they—” - She could not bring herself to finish the sentence. - </p> - <p> - “Goodness knows! I wouldn't worry about him,” said Mrs. Emory, in a tone - of considerable asperity. “He's made all the trouble, and I haven't a - particle of patience with him!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>Y three o'clock - the saloons and stores, which had closed at noon, opened their doors, and - Antioch emerged from the shadow of its funeral gloom. - </p> - <p> - By four o'clock a long procession of carriages and wagons was rumbling out - of town. Those who had come from a distance were going home, but many - lingered in the hope that the excitement was not all past. - </p> - <p> - An hour later a rumor reached Antioch that Roger Oakley had been captured. - It spread about the streets like wildfire and penetrated to the stores and - saloons. At first it was not believed. - </p> - <p> - Just who was responsible for the rumor no one knew, and no one cared, but - soon the additional facts were being vouched for by a score of excited men - that a search-party from Barrow's Saw Mills, which had been trailing the - fugitive for two days, had effected his capture after a desperate fight in - the northern woods, and were bringing him to Antioch for identification. - It was generally understood that if the prisoner proved to be Roger Oakley - he would be spared the uncertainty of a trial. The threat was made openly - that he would be strung up to the first convenient lamp-post. As Mr. Britt - remarked to a customer from Harrison, for whom he was mixing a cocktail: - </p> - <p> - “It'd be a pity to keep a man of his years waiting; and what's the use of - spending thousands of dollars for a conviction, anyhow, when everybody - knows he done it?” - </p> - <p> - At this juncture Jim Brown, the sheriff, and Joe Weaver, the town marshal, - were seen to cross the square with an air of importance and preoccupation. - It was noted casually that the right-hand coat-pocket of each sagged - suggestively. They disappeared into McElroy's livery-stable. Fifty men and - boys rushed precipitately in pursuit, and were just in time to see the two - officers pass out at the back of the stable and jump into a light - road-cart that stood in the alley. A moment later and they were whirling - off up-town. - </p> - <p> - All previous doubt vanished instantly. It was agreed on all sides that - they were probably acting on private information, and had gone to bring in - the prisoner. So strong was this conviction that a number of young men, - whose teams were hitched about the square, promptly followed, and soon an - anxious cavalcade emptied itself into the dusty country road. - </p> - <p> - Just beyond the corporation line the North Street, as it was called, - forked. Mr. Brown and his companion had taken the road which bore to the - west and led straight to Barrow's Saw Mills. Those who were first to reach - the forks could still see the road-cart a black dot in the distance. - </p> - <p> - The afternoon passed, and the dusk of evening came. Those of the - townspeople who were still hanging about the square went home to supper. - Unless a man could hire or borrow a horse there was not much temptation to - start off on a wild-goose chase, which, after all, might end only at - Barrow's Saw Mills. - </p> - <p> - Fortunately for him, Dan Oakley had gone to Chicago that morning, - intending to see Holloway and resign. In view of what had happened it was - impossible for him to remain in Antioch, nor could General Cornish expect - him to. - </p> - <p> - Milton McClintock was at supper with his family, when Mrs. Stapleton, who - lived next door, broke in upon them without ceremony, crying, excitedly: - </p> - <p> - “They've got him, and they're going to lynch him!” - </p> - <p> - Then she as suddenly disappeared. McClintock, from where he sat, holding a - piece of bread within an inch of his lips, and his mouth wide open to - receive it, could see her through the window, her gray hair dishevelled - and tossed about her face, running from house to house, a gaunt rumor in - flapping calico skirts. - </p> - <p> - He sprang to his feet when he saw her vanish around the corner of Lou - Bentick's house across the way. “You keep the children in, Mary,” he said, - sharply. “Don't let them into the street.” And, snatching up his hat and - coat, he made for the door, but his wife was there ahead of him and threw - her arms about his neck. - </p> - <p> - “For God's sake, Milt, stay with the boys and me!” she ejaculated. “You - don't know what may happen!” - </p> - <p> - Outside they heard the trampling of many feet coming nearer and nearer. - They listened breathlessly. - </p> - <p> - “You don't know what may happen!” she repeated. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I do, and they mustn't do it!” unclasping her hands. “Jim will be - needing help.” The sheriff was his wife's brother. “He's promised me he'd - hang the old man himself, or no one else should.” - </p> - <p> - There was silence now in the street. The crowd had swept past the house. - </p> - <p> - “But the town's full of strangers. You can't do anything, and Jim can't!” - </p> - <p> - “We can try. Look out for the children!” - </p> - <p> - And he was gone. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. McClintock turned to the boys, who were still at the table. “Go - up-stairs to your room and stay there until I tell you to come down,” she - commanded, peremptorily. “There, don't bother me with questions!” For Joe, - the youngest boy, was already whimpering. The other two, with white, - scared faces, sat bolt upright in their chairs. Some danger threatened; - they didn't know what this danger was, and their very ignorance added to - their terror. - </p> - <p> - “Do what I say!” she cried. At this they left the table and marched - towards the stairs. Joe found courage to say: “Ain't you coming, too? - George's afraid.” But his mother did not hear him. She was at the window - closing the shutters. In the next yard she saw old Mrs. Smith, Mrs. - Stapleton's mother, carrying her potted plants into the house and scolding - in a shrill, querulous voice. - </p> - <p> - McClintock, pulling on his coat as he ran, hurried up the street past the - little white frame Methodist church. The crowd had the start of him, and - the town seemed deserted, except for the women and children, who were - everywhere, at open doors and windows, some pallid and pitying, some ugly - with the brutal excitement they had caught from brothers or husbands. - </p> - <p> - As he passed the Emorys', he heard his name called. He glanced around, and - saw the doctor standing on the porch with Mrs. Emory and Constance. - </p> - <p> - “Will you go with me, McClintock?” the physician cried. At the same moment - the boy drove his team to the door. McClintock took the fence at a bound - and ran up the drive. - </p> - <p> - “There's no time to lose,” he panted. “But,” with a sudden, sickening - sense of helplessness, “I don't know that we can stop them.” - </p> - <p> - “At least he will not be alone.” - </p> - <p> - It was Constance who spoke. She was thinking of Oakley as struggling - single-handed to save his father from the howling, cursing rabble which - had rushed up the street ten minutes before. - </p> - <p> - “No, he won't be alone,” said McClintock, not understanding whom it was - she meant. He climbed in beside the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “You haven't seen him?” the latter asked, as he took the reins from the - boy. - </p> - <p> - “Seen who?” - </p> - <p> - “Dan Oakley.” - </p> - <p> - “He's on his way to Chicago. Went this morning.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank God for that!” and he pulled in his horses to call back to - Constance that Oakley had left Antioch. A look of instant relief came into - her face. He turned again to McClintock. - </p> - <p> - “This is a bad business.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we don't want no lynching, but it's lucky Oakley isn't here. I - hadn't thought of what he'd do if he was.” - </p> - <p> - “What a pity he ever sent for his father! but who could have foreseen - this?” said the doctor, sadly. McClintock shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “I can't believe the old man killed Ryder in cold blood. Why, he's as - gentle as a lamb.” - </p> - <p> - As they left the town, off to the right in a field they saw a bareheaded - woman racing after her two runaway sons, and then the distant shouts of - men, mingled with the shrill cries of boys, reached their ears. The doctor - shook out his reins and plied his whip. - </p> - <p> - “What if we are too late!” he said. - </p> - <p> - For answer McClintock swore. He was fearing that himself. - </p> - <p> - Two minutes later and they were up with the rear of the mob, where it - straggled along on foot, sweating and dusty and hoarsely articulate. A - little farther on and it was lost to sight in a thicketed dip of the road. - Out of this black shadow buggy after buggy flashed to show in the red dusk - that lay on the treeless hill-side beyond. On the mob's either flank, but - keeping well out of the reach of their elders, slunk and skulked the - village urchins. - </p> - <p> - “Looks as if all Antioch was here to-night,” commented McClintock, grimly. - </p> - <p> - “So much the better for us; surely they are not all gone mad,” answered - the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't give a button for his chances.” - </p> - <p> - The doctor drove recklessly into the crowd, which scattered to the right - and left. - </p> - <p> - McClintock, bending low, scanned the faces which were raised towards them. - </p> - <p> - “The whole township's here. I don't know one in ten,” he said, - straightening up. - </p> - <p> - “I wish I could manage to run over a few,” muttered the doctor, savagely. - </p> - <p> - As they neared the forks of the road Dr. Emory pulled in his horses. A - heavy farm-wagon blocked the way, and the driver was stolidly indifferent - alike to his entreaties and to McClintock's threat to break his head for - him if he didn't move on. They were still shouting at him, when a savage - cry swelled up from the throats of those in advance. The murderer was - being brought in from the east road. - </p> - <p> - “The brutes!” muttered the doctor, and he turned helplessly to McClintock. - “What are we going to do? What can we do?” - </p> - <p> - By way of answer McClintock stood up. - </p> - <p> - “I wish I could see Jim.” - </p> - <p> - But Jim had taken the west road three hours be-fore, and was driving - towards Barrow's Saw Mills as fast as McElroy's best team could take him. - When he reached there it was enough to make one's blood run cold to hear - the good man curse. - </p> - <p> - “You wait here, doctor,” cried McClintock. “You can't get past, and they - seem to be coming this way now.” - </p> - <p> - “Look out for yourself, Milt!” - </p> - <p> - “Never fear for me.” - </p> - <p> - He jumped down into the dusty, trampled road, and foot by foot fought his - way forward. - </p> - <p> - As he had said, those in front were turning back. The result was a - horrible jam, for those behind were still struggling to get within sight - of the murderer. A drunken man at McClintock's elbow was shouting, “Lynch - him!” at the top of his lungs. - </p> - <p> - The master-mechanic wrenched an arm free and struck at him with the flat - of his hand. The man appeared surprised, but not at all angry. He merely - wiped the blood from his lips and asked, in an injured tone, which - conveyed a mild reproof, “What did you want to do that for? I don't know - you,” and as he sought to maintain his place at McClintock's side he kept - repeating, “Say, neighbor, I don't know you. You certainly got the - advantage of me.” - </p> - <p> - Soon McClintock was in the very thick of the mob, and then he saw the - captive. His hands were bound and he was tied with ropes to the front seat - of a buckboard drawn by two jaded horses. His captors were three - iron-jawed, hard-faced countrymen. They were armed with shot-guns, and - were enjoying their splendid triumph to the full. - </p> - <p> - McClintock gave only one look at the prisoner. An agony of fear was on - him. The collar of his shirt was stiff with blood from a wounded face. His - hat was gone, and his coat was torn. Scared and wondering, his eyes - shifted uneasily over the crowd. - </p> - <p> - But the one look sufficed McClintock, and he lost all interest in the - scene. - </p> - <p> - There would be no lynching that night, for the man was not Roger Oakley. - Further than that, he was gray-haired and burly; he was as unlike the old - convict as one man could well be unlike another. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly the cry was raised, “It ain't him. You fellows got the wrong - man!” - </p> - <p> - The cry was taken up and bandied back down the road. The mob drew a great, - free breath of rejoicing. It became good-natured with a noisy hilarity. - The iron-jawed countrymen glanced around sheepishly. - </p> - <p> - “You are sure about that?” one inquired. “He answers the description all - right.” - </p> - <p> - It was hard to have to abandon the idea of the rewards. “What have you - been doing to him?” asked half a dozen voices in chorus They felt a - friendly interest in the poor bound wretch in the buckboard; perhaps, too, - they were grateful to him because he was the wrong man. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, nothing much,” uneasily, “only he put up a hell of a fight.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course he did. He didn't want to be hanged!” And there was a - good-natured roar from the crowd. Already those nearest the prisoner were - reaching up to throw off the ropes that bound him. His captors looked on - in stupid surprise, but did not seek to interfere. - </p> - <p> - The prisoner himself, now that he saw he was surrounded by well-wishers, - and being in a somewhat surly temper, which was pardonable enough under - the circumstances, fell to complaining bitterly and loudly of the - treatment he had received. Presently the mob began to disperse, some to - slink back into town, rather ashamed of their fury, while the - ever-lengthening procession which had followed the four men in the - buckboard since early in the day faced about and drove off into the night. - </p> - <p> - An hour afterwards and the prisoner was airing his grievances in sagacious - Mr. Britt's saloon, whither he had been conveyed by the latter gentleman, - who had been quick to recognize that, temporarily, at least, he possessed - great drawing-powers. He was only a battered vagabond on his way East from - the harvests in the Dakota wheat-fields, and he knew that he had looked - into the very eyes of death. As he limped about the place, not disdaining - to drink with whoever offered to pay for his refreshment, he nursed a - bruised and blackened ear, where some enthusiast had planted his fist. - </p> - <p> - “Just suppose they hadn't seen I was the wrong man! Gosh damn 'em! they'd - a strung me up to the nearest sapling. I'd like to meet the cuss that - punched me in the ear!” The crowd smiled tolerantly and benevolently upon - him. - </p> - <p> - “How did they come to get you?” asked one of his auditors. - </p> - <p> - “I was doing a flit across the State on foot looking for work, and camping - in the woods nights. How the bloody blazes was I to know you'd had a - murder in your jay town? They jumped on me while I was asleep, that's what - they done. Three of 'em, and when I says, 'What the hell you want of me?' - one of 'em yells, 'We know you. Surrender!' and jabs the butt of his gun - into my jaw, and over I go. Then another one yells, 'He's feeling for his - knife!' and he rushes in and lets drive with his fist and fetches me a - soaker in the neck.” - </p> - <p> - About the same hour two small figures brushed past Chris Berry as he came - up Main Street, and he heard a familiar voice say: “My, wasn't it a close - call, Spide? He was just saved by the skin of his teeth!” - </p> - <p> - A hand was extended, and the speaker felt himself seized by the ear, and, - glancing up, looked into his father's face. - </p> - <p> - “You come along home with me, son,” said the undertaker. “Your ma 'll have - a word to say to you. She's been wanting to lay her hands on you all day.” - </p> - <p> - “See you later, Spide,” Clarence managed to gasp, and then he moved off - with a certain jaunty buoyancy, as though he trod on air. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN Roger Oakley - fled from Antioch on the night of the murder he was resolved that, happen - what might, he would not be taken. - </p> - <p> - For half an hour he traversed back alleys and grass-grown “side streets,” - seeing no one and unseen, and presently found himself to the north of the - town. - </p> - <p> - Then he sat down to rest and consider the situation. - </p> - <p> - He was on the smooth, round top of a hill-side. At his back were woods and - fields, while down in the hollow below him, beyond a middle space that was - neither town nor country, he saw the lights of Antioch twinkling among the - trees. Dannie was there somewhere, wondering why he did not return. Nearer - at hand, across a narrow lane, where the rag-weed and jimson and pokeberry - flourished rankly, was the cemetery. - </p> - <p> - In the first peaceful month of his stay in Antioch he had walked out there - almost every Sunday afternoon to smoke his pipe and meditate. He had liked - to hear the blackbirds calling overhead in the dark pines, and he had a - more than passing fondness for tombstone literature. Next to the Bible it - seemed about the soundest kind of reading. He would seat himself beside a - grave whose tenant had been singularly pre-eminent as possessing all the - virtues, and, in friendly fellowship with the dead, watch the shadows - marshalled by the distant woodlands grow from short to long, or listen to - the noisy cawing of the crows off in the cornfields. - </p> - <p> - The night was profoundly still, until suddenly the town bell rang the - alarm. The old convict's face blanched at the sound, and he came slowly to - his feet. The bell rang on. The lights among the trees grew in number, - dogs barked, there was the murmur of voices. He clapped his hands to his - ears and plunged into the woods. - </p> - <p> - He had no clear idea of where he was going, but all night long he plodded - steadily forward, his one thought to be as far from Antioch as possible by - morning. When at last morning came, with its song of half-awakened birds - and its level streaks of light piercing the gray dawn, he remembered that - he was hungry, and that he had eaten nothing since noon the day before. He - stopped at the first farmhouse he came to for breakfast, and at his - request the farmer's wife put up a lunch for him to carry away. - </p> - <p> - It was night again when he reached Barrow's Saw Mills. He ventured boldly - into the one general store and made a number of purchases. The storekeeper - was frankly curious to learn what he was doing and where he was going, but - the old convict met his questions with surly reserve. - </p> - <p> - When he left the store he took the one road out of the place, and half a - mile farther on forsook the road for the woods. - </p> - <p> - It was nearly midnight when he went into camp. He built a fire and toasted - some thin strips of bacon. He made his supper of these and a few crackers. - He realized that he must harbor his slender stock of provisions. - </p> - <p> - He had told himself over and over that he was not fit to live among men. - He would have to dwell alone like a dangerous animal, shunning his - fellows. The solitude and the loneliness suited him. He would make a - permanent camp somewhere close to the lakes, in the wildest spot he could - find, and end his days there. - </p> - <p> - He carried in his pocket a small railroad map of the State, and in the - morning, after a careful study of it, marked out his course. That day, and - for several days following, he plodded on and on in a tireless, patient - fashion, and with but the briefest stops at noon for his meagre lunch. - Each morning he was up and on his way with the first glimmer of light, and - he kept his even pace until the glow faded from the sky in the west. - </p> - <p> - Beyond Barrow's Saw Mills the pine-woods stretched away to the north in - one unbroken wilderness. At long intervals he passed loggers' camps, and - more rarely a farm in the forest; but he avoided these. Instinct told him - that the news of Ryder's murder had travelled far and wide. In all that - range of country there was no inhabited spot where he dare show his face. - </p> - <p> - Now that he had evolved a definite purpose he was quite cheerful and - happy, save for occasional spells of depression and bitter - self-accusation, but the excitement of his flight buoyed him up amazingly. - </p> - <p> - He had distanced and outwitted pursuit, and his old pride in his physical - strength and superiority returned. The woods never ceased to interest him. - There was a mighty freedom about them, a freedom he shared and joyed in. - He felt he could tramp on forever, with the scent of the pines filling his - nostrils and the sweep of the wind in his ears. His muscles seemed of - iron. There was cunning and craft, too, in the life he was living. - </p> - <p> - The days were sultry August days. No rain had fallen in weeks, and the - earth was a dead, dry brown. A hot haze quivered under the great trees. - Off in the north, against which his face was set, a long, low, black cloud - lay on the horizon. Sometimes the wind lifted it higher, and it sifted - down dark threads of color against the softer blue of the summer sky. - Presently the wind brought the odor of smoke. At first it was almost - imperceptible—a suggestion merely, but by-and-by it was in every - breath he drew. The forest was on fire ahead of him. He judged that the - tide of devastation was rolling nearer, and he veered to the west. Then - one evening he saw what he had not seen before—a dull red light that - shone sullenly above the pines. The next day the smoke was thick in the - woods; the wind, blowing strongly from the north, floated little wisps and - wreaths of it down upon him. It rested like a heavy mist above the cool - surface of the lake, on the shores of which he had made his camp the night - previous, while some thickly grown depressions he crossed were sour with - the stale, rancid odor that clung to his clothes and rendered breathing - difficult. There was a powdering of fine white ashes everywhere. At first - it resembled a hoar-frost, and then a scanty fall of snow. - </p> - <p> - By five o'clock he gained the summit of a low ridge. From its top he was - able to secure an extended view of the fire. A red line—as red as - the reddest sunset—stretched away to the north as far as the eye - could see. He was profoundly impressed by the spectacle. The conflagration - was on a scale so gigantic that it fairly staggered him. He knew millions - of feet of timber must be blazing. - </p> - <p> - He decided to remain on the ridge and study the course of the fire, so he - lay down to rest. Sleep came over him, for the day had been a fatiguing - one, but at midnight he awoke. A dull, roaring sound was surging through - the forest, and the air was stifling. The fire had burned closer while he - slept. It had reached the ridge opposite, which was nearly parallel to the - one he was on, and was burning along its northern base. The ridge - flattened perceptibly to the west, and already at this point a single lone - line of fire had surmounted the blunt crest, and was creeping down into - the valley which intervened. Presently tongues, of fire shot upwards. The - dark, nearer side of the ridge showed clearly in the fierce light, and - soon the fire rolled over its entire length, a long, ruddy cataract of - flame. As it gained the summit it seemed to fall forward and catch fresh - timber, then it raced down the slope towards the valley, forming a great - red avalanche that roared and hissed and crackled and sent up vast clouds - of smoke into the night. - </p> - <p> - Clearly any attempt to go farther north would be but a waste of time and - strength. The fire shut him off completely in that quarter. He must - retrace his steps until he was well to the south again. Then he could go - either to the east or west, and perhaps work around into the burned - district. The risk he ran of capture did not worry him. Indeed, he - scarcely considered it. He felt certain the pursuit, if pursuit there - were, had been abandoned days before. He had a shrewd idea that the fire - would give people something else to think of. His only fear was that his - provisions would be exhausted. When they went he knew the chances were - that he would starve, but he put this fear resolutely aside whenever it - obtruded itself. With care his supplies could be made to last many days. - </p> - <p> - He did not sleep any more that night, but watched the fire eat its way - across the valley. When it reached the slope at his feet he shouldered his - pack and started south. It was noon when he made his first halt. He rested - for two hours and then resumed his march. He was now well beyond the - immediate range of the conflagration. There was only an occasional faint - odor of smoke in the woods. He had crossed several small streams, and he - knew they would be an obstacle in the path of the fire unless the wind, - which was from the north, should freshen. - </p> - <p> - Night fell. He lighted a camp-fire and scraped together his bed of - pine-needles, and lay down to sleep with the comforting thought that he - had put a sufficient distance between himself and the burning forest. He - would turn to the west when morning came. He trusted to a long day's - journey to carry him out of the menaced territory. It would be easier - travelling, too, for the ridges which cut the face of the country ran east - and west. The sun was in the boughs of the hemlocks when he awoke. There - had been a light rain during the night, and the forest world had taken on - new beauty. But it grew hot and oppressive as the hours passed. The smoke - thickened once more. At first he tried to believe it was only his fancy. - Then the wind shifted into the east, and the woods became noticeably - clearer. He pushed ahead with renewed hope. This change in the wind was a - good sign. If it ever got into the south it would drive the fire back on - itself. - </p> - <p> - He tramped for half the night and threw himself down and slept heavily—the - sleep of utter exhaustion and weariness. It was broad day when he opened - his eyes. The first sound he heard was the dull roar of the flames. He - turned with a hunted, fugitive look towards the west. A bright light shone - through the trees. The fire was creeping around and already encircled him - on two sides. His feeling was one of bitter disappointment, fear, too, - mingled with it. In the south were Ryder's friends—Dannie's enemies - and his. Of the east he had a horror which the study of his map did not - tend to allay; there were towns there, and settlements, thickly scattered. - Finally he concluded he would go forward and examine the line of fire. - There might be some means by which he could make his way through it. - </p> - <p> - A journey of two miles brought him to a small watercourse. The fire was - burning along the opposite bank. It blazed among the scrub and underbrush - and leaped from tree to tree; first to shrivel their foliage to a dead, - dry brown, and then envelop them in sheets of flame. The crackling was - like the report of musketry. - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley was awed by the sight. In spite of the smoke and heat he sat - down on the trunk of a fallen pine to rest. Some birds fluttered out of - the rolling masses of smoke above his head and flew south with shrill - cries of alarm. A deer crossed the stream, not two hundred yards from - where he sat, at a single bound. Next, two large timber wolves entered the - water. They landed within a stone's throw of him, and trotted leisurely - off. The heat soon drove him from his position, and he, too, sought refuge - in the south. The wall of flame cut him off from the north and west, and - to the east he would not go. - </p> - <p> - There was something tragic in this blocking of his way. He wondered if it - was not the Lord's wish, after all, that he should be taken. This thought - had been troubling him for some time. Then he remembered Dannie. Dannie, - to whom he had brought only shame and sorrow. He set his lips with grim - determination. Right or wrong, the Lord's vengeance would have to wait. - Perhaps He would understand the situation. He prayed that He might. - </p> - <p> - Twenty-four hours later and he had turned westward, with the desperate - hope that he could cross out of the path of the fire, but the hope proved - futile. There was no help for it. To the east he must go if he would - escape. - </p> - <p> - It was the towns and settlements he feared most, and the people; perhaps - they still continued the search. When he left the wilderness the one - precaution he could take would be to travel only by night. This plan, when - it was firmly fixed in his mind, greatly encouraged him. But at the end of - ten hours of steady tramping he discovered that the fire surrounded him on - three sides. Still he did not despair. For two days he dodged from east to - west, and each day the wall of flame and smoke drew closer about him, and - the distances in which he moved became less and less. And now a great fear - of Antioch possessed him. The railroad ran nearly due east and west from - Buckhom Junction to Harrison, a distance of ninety-five miles. Beyond the - road the country was well settled. There were thriving farms and villages. - To pass through such a country without being seen was next to impossible. - He felt a measure of his strength fail him, and with it went his courage. - It was only the thought of Dannie that kept him on the alert. Happen what - might, he would not be taken. It should go hard with the man or men who - made the attempt. He told himself this, not boastfully, but with quiet - conviction. In so far as he could, as the fire crowded him back, he - avoided the vicinity of Antioch and inclined towards Buckhorn Junction. - </p> - <p> - There was need of constant vigilance now, as he was in a sparsely settled - section. One night some men passed quite near to the fringe of tamarack - swamp where he was camped. Luckily the undergrowth was dense, and his fire - had burned to a few red embers. On another occasion, just at dusk, he - stumbled into a small clearing, and within plain view of the windows of a - log-cabin. As he leaped back into the woods a man with a cob-pipe in his - mouth came to the door of the cabin. - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley, with the hickory staff which he had cut that day held firmly - in his hands, and a fierce, wild look on his face, watched him from his - cover. Presently the man turned back into the house, closing the door - after him. - </p> - <p> - These experiences startled and alarmed him. He grew gaunt and haggard; a - terrible weariness oppressed him; his mind became confused, and a sort of - panic seized him. His provisions had failed him, but an occasional - cultivated field furnished corn and potatoes, in spite of the serious - misgivings he felt concerning the moral aspect of these nightly - depredations. When he raided a spring-house, and carried off eggs and - butter and milk, he was able to leave money behind. He conducted these - transactions with scrupulous honesty. - </p> - <p> - He had been living in the wilderness three weeks, when at last the fire - drove him from cover at Buck-horn Junction. As a town the Junction was - largely a fiction. There was a railroad crossing, a freight-shed, and the - depot, and perhaps a score of houses scattered along a sandy stretch of - country road. - </p> - <p> - The B. & A. had its connection with the M. & W. at this point. It - was also the beginning of a rich agricultural district, and the woods gave - place to cultivated fields and farm-lands. - </p> - <p> - It was late afternoon as Roger Oakley approached Buckhorn. When it was - dark he would cross the railroad and take his chance there. He judged from - the light in the sky that the fire had already burned in between Buckhom - and Antioch. This gave him a certain sense of security. Indeed, the fire - surrounded Buckhorn in every quarter except the south. Where there was no - timber or brush it crept along the rail-fences, or ran with tiny spurts of - flame through the dry weeds and dead stubble which covered much of the - cleared land. - </p> - <p> - He could see a number of people moving about, a quarter of a mile west of - the depot. They were tearing down a burning fence that was in perilous - proximity to some straw-stacks and a barn. - </p> - <p> - He heard and saw the 6.50 on the M. & W. pull in. This was the Chicago - express; and the Huckleberry's local, which was due at Antioch at - midnight, connected with it. This connection involved a wait of three - hours at Buckhom. Only one passenger left the train. He disappeared into - the depot. - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley waited until it was quite dark, and then, leaving the strip - of woods just back of the depot, where he had been hiding, stole - cautiously down to the track. He had noticed that there was an engine and - some freight cars on one of the sidings. He moved among them, keeping well - in the shadow. Suddenly he paused. Two men emerged from the depot. They - came down the platform in the direction of the cars. They were talking - earnestly together. One swung himself up into the engine and lighted a - torch. - </p> - <p> - He wondered what they were doing, and stole nearer. - </p> - <p> - They were standing on the platform now, and the man who held the torch had - his back to him. His companion was saying something about the wires being - down. - </p> - <p> - He listened intently. - </p> - <p> - Antioch was in danger, and if Antioch was in danger—Dannie— - </p> - <p> - All at once the man with the torch turned and its light Suffused his face. - </p> - <p> - It was Dan Oakley. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>AN OAKLEY went to - Chicago, intending to see Holloway and resign, but he found that the - Huckleberry's vice-president was in New York on business, and no one in - his office seemed to know when he would return, so he sat down and wrote a - letter, telling him of the condition of affairs at Antioch, and explaining - the utter futility, in view of what had happened, of his trying to cope - with the situation. - </p> - <p> - He waited five days for a reply, and, none coming, wired to learn if his - letter had been received. This produced results. Holloway wired back that - he had the letter under consideration, and requested Oakley to remain in - Chicago until he returned, but he did not say whether or not his - resignation would be accepted. Since there was nothing to be done but - await Holloway's pleasure in the matter, Dan employed his enforced leisure - in looking about for another position. He desired a connection which would - take him out of the country, for the farther away from Antioch and - Constance Emory he could get the better he would be satisfied. He fancied - he would like to go to South America. He was willing to accept almost any - kind of a post—salary was no longer a consideration with him. What - he required was a radical change, with plenty of hard work. - </p> - <p> - It was not to be wondered at that his judgment of the case was an extreme - one, or that he told himself he must make a fresh start, as his record was - very much against him and his ability at a discount. While he could not - fairly be held responsible for the miscarriage of his plans at Antioch, he - felt their failure keenly, so keenly that could he have seen the glimmer - of a hope ahead he could have gone back and taken up the struggle, but the - killing of Ryder by his father made this impossible. There was nothing he - could do, and his mere presence outraged the whole town. No understanding - would ever be reached with the hands if he continued in control, while a - new man in his place would probably have little or no difficulty in coming - to an agreement with them. No doubt they were quite as sick as he had been - of the fight, and if he left they would be content to count his going a - victory, and waive the question of wages. It was part of the irony of the - condition that the new man would find enough work contracted for to keep - the shop open and running full time for the next eight or ten months. But - his successor was welcome to the glory of it when he had hidden himself in - some God-forsaken corner of the globe along with the other waifs and - strays—the men who have left home because of their health or their - accounts, and who hang around dingy seaport towns and read month-old - newspapers and try to believe that the game has been worth the candle. - </p> - <p> - By far his greatest anxiety was his father. He watched the papers closely, - expecting each day to read that he had been captured and sent back to - Antioch, but the days slipped past, and there was no mention of him. Holt, - with whom he was in constant correspondence, reported that interest in his - capture had considerably abated, while the organized pursuit had entirely - ceased. - </p> - <p> - Dan had the feeling that he should never see him again, and the pathos of - his age and dependence tore his heart. In a manner, too, he blamed himself - for the tragedy. It might have been averted had he said less about Ryder - in his father's hearing. He should have known better than to discuss the - strike with him. - </p> - <p> - One morning, as he left Holloway's office, he chanced to meet an - acquaintance by the name of Curtice. They had been together in Denver - years before, and he had known him as a rather talkative young fellow, - with large hopes and a thrifty eye to the main chance. But he was the one - man he would have preferred to meet, for he had been in South America and - knew the field there. Apparently Curtice was equally glad to see him. He - insisted upon carrying him off to his club to lunch, where it developed he - was in a state of happy enthusiasm over his connection with a road that - had just gone into the hands of a receiver, and a new baby, which he - assured Oakley on the spur of the moment he was going to name after him. - </p> - <p> - “You see, Oakley,” he explained, as they settled themselves, “I was - married after you left to a girl who had come to Denver with a consumptive - brother. They boarded at the same place I did.” His companion was properly - interested. “Look here, how long are you going to be in the city? I want - you to come and see us.” - </p> - <p> - Dan avoided committing himself by saying his stay in Chicago was most - uncertain. He might have to leave very soon. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, you must drop in at my office. I wish you'd make it your - headquarters while you are here.” - </p> - <p> - “What about the road you are with?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, the road! We are putting it in shape.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley smiled a trifle skeptically. He recalled that even as a very young - man filling a very subordinate position, Curtice had clung to the “we.” - Curtice saw the smile and remembered too. - </p> - <p> - “Now, see here, I'm giving it to you straight. I really am the whole - thing. I've got a greenhorn for a boss, whose ignorance of the business is - only equalled by his confidence in me. If you want to be nasty you can say - his ignorance is responsible for much of his confidence. I've been told - that before.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I'll wait. I may be able to think of something better.” - </p> - <p> - “There are times when I wonder if he really knows the difference between - an engine's head-light and a coupling-pin. He's giving me all the rope I - want, and we'll have a great passenger service when I get done. That's - what I am working on now.” - </p> - <p> - “But where are you going to get the funds for it? A good service costs - money,” said Dan. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, the road's always made money. That was the trouble.” Oakley looked - dense. He had heard of such things, but they had been outside of his own - experience. - </p> - <p> - “The directors were a superstitious lot; they didn't believe in paying - dividends, and as they had to get rid of the money somehow, they put it - all out in salaries. The president's idea of the value of his own services - would have been exorbitant if the road had been operating five thousand - miles of track instead of five hundred. I am told a directors' meeting - looked like a family reunion, and they had a most ungodly lot of nephews—nephews - were everywhere. The purchasing agent was a nephew, so were two of the - division superintendents. Why, the president even had a third cousin of - his wife's braking on a way freight. We've kept him as a sort of - curiosity, and because he was the only one in the bunch who was earning - his pay.” - </p> - <p> - “No wonder the stockholders went to law,” said Oakley, laughing. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, when the road was taken into court its affairs were seen to be - in such rotten shape that a receiver was appointed.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley's business instinct asserted itself. He had forgotten for the time - being that his services still belonged to Cornish. Now he said: “See here, - haven't you cars you intend to rebuild?” - </p> - <p> - '“We've precious few that don't need carpenter-work or paint or - upholstering.” - </p> - <p> - “Then send them to me at Antioch. I'll make you a price you can't get - inside of, I don't care where you go.” - </p> - <p> - Curtice meditated, then he asked: “How are you fixed to handle a big - contract? It 'll be mostly for paint and upholstery or woodwork. We have - been considering equipping works of our own, but I am afraid they are not - going to materialize.” - </p> - <p> - “We can handle anything,” and from sheer force of habit he was all - enthusiasm. He had pleasant visions of the shops running over-time, and - everybody satisfied and happy. It made no difference to him that he would - not be there to share in the general prosperity. With the start he had - given it, the future of the Huckleberry would be assured. He decided he - had better say nothing to Curtice about South America. - </p> - <p> - The upshot of this meeting was that he stuck to Curtice with a genial - devotion that made him wax in his hands. They spent two days together, - inspecting paintless and tattered day coaches, and on the third day Dan - strolled from his friend's office buttoning his coat on a contract that - would mean many thousands of dollars for Antioch. It was altogether his - most brilliant achievement. He felt that there only remained for him to - turn the Huckleberry over to Holloway and leave the country. He had done - well by it. - </p> - <p> - Dan had been in Chicago about three weeks, when at last Holloway returned, - and he proved as limp as Cornish had said he would be in a crisis. He was - inclined to be critical, too, and seemed astonished that Oakley had been - waiting in Chicago to see him. He experienced a convenient lapse of memory - when the latter mentioned his telegram. - </p> - <p> - “I can't accept your resignation,” he said, fussing nervously among the - papers on his desk. “I didn't put you at Antioch; that was General - Cornish's own idea, and I don't know what he'll think.” - </p> - <p> - “It has gotten past the point where I care what he thinks,” retorted Dan, - curtly. “You must send some one else there to take hold.” - </p> - <p> - “Why didn't you cable him instead of writing me?” fretfully. “I don't know - what he will want, only it's pretty certain to be the very thing I sha'n't - think of.” - </p> - <p> - “I would have cabled him if I had considered it necessary, but it never - occurred to me that my resignation would not be agreed to on the spot, as - my presence in Antioch only widens the breach and increases the difficulty - of a settlement with the men.” - </p> - <p> - “Whom did you leave in charge?” inquired Holloway. - </p> - <p> - “Holt.” - </p> - <p> - “Who's he?” - </p> - <p> - “He's Kerr's assistant,” Dan explained. - </p> - <p> - “Why didn't you leave Kerr in charge?” demanded the vice-president. - </p> - <p> - “I laid him off,” said Dan, in a tone of exasperation, and then he added, - to forestall more questions: “He was in sympathy with the men, and he - hadn't the sense to keep it to himself. I couldn't be bothered with him, - so I got rid of him.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I must say you have made a frightful mess of the whole business, - Oakley, but I told General Cornish from the first that you hadn't the - training for the position.” - </p> - <p> - Dan turned very red in the face at this, but he let it pass. - </p> - <p> - “It's too bad,” murmured Holloway, still fingering the letters on the - desk. - </p> - <p> - “Since you are in doubt, why don't you cable General Cornish for - instructions, or, if there is a reason why you don't care to, it is not - too late for me to cable,” said Dan. - </p> - <p> - This proposal did not please Holloway at all, but he was unwilling to - admit that he feared Cornish's displeasure, which, where he was concerned, - usually took the form of present silence and a subsequent sarcasm that - dealt with the faulty quality of his judgment. The sarcasm might come six - months after it had been inspired, but it was certain to come sooner or - later, and to be followed by a bad half-hour, which Cornish devoted to - past mistakes. Indeed, Cornish's attitude towards him had become, through - long association, one of chronic criticism, and he was certain to be - unpleasantly affected both by what he did and by what he left undone. - </p> - <p> - “Why don't you wait until the general returns from England? That's not far - off now. Under the circumstances he'll accept your resignation.” - </p> - <p> - “He will have to,” said Oakley, briefly. - </p> - <p> - “Don't worry; he'll probably demand it,” remarked the vice-president, - disagreeably. - </p> - <p> - “If you are so sure of this, why don't you accept it?” retorted Dan. - </p> - <p> - “I have no one to appoint in your place.” - </p> - <p> - “What's wrong with Holt? He'll do temporarily.” - </p> - <p> - “I couldn't feel positive of his being satisfactory to General Cornish. - He's a very young man, ain't he?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I suppose you'd call him a young man, but he has been with the road - for a long time, and has a pretty level head. I have found him very - trustworthy.” - </p> - <p> - “I would have much greater confidence in Kerr. He's quiet and - conservative, and he's had an excellent training with us.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, you can get him. He is doing nothing, and will be glad to - come.” - </p> - <p> - “But you have probably succeeded in antagonizing him.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope so,” with sudden cheerfulness. “It was a hardship not to be able - to give him a sound thrashing. That's what he deserved.” - </p> - <p> - Holloway looked shocked. The young man was displaying a recklessness of - temper which was most unseemly and entirely unexpected. - </p> - <p> - “I guess it will be well for you to think it over, Oakley, before you - conclude to break with General Cornish. To go now will be rather shabby of - you, and you owe him fair treatment. Just remember it was those reforms of - yours that started the strike, in the first place. I know—I know. - What you did you did with his approval The men are peaceable enough, ain't - they?” and he glared at Oakley with mingled disfavor and weariness. - </p> - <p> - “Anybody can handle them but me.” - </p> - <p> - “It won't be long until they are begging you to open the shops. They will - be mighty sick of the trouble they've shouldered when their money is all - gone.” - </p> - <p> - “They will never come to me for that, Mr. Holloway,” said Dan. “I think - they would, one and all, rather starve than recognize my position.” - </p> - <p> - “They'll have to. We'll make them. We mustn't let them think we are - weakening.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't appreciate the feeling of intense hostility they have for me.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course the murder of that man—what was his name?” - </p> - <p> - “Ryder, you mean.” - </p> - <p> - “Was unfortunate. I don't wonder you have some feeling about going back.” - </p> - <p> - Dan smiled sadly. - </p> - <p> - The vice-president was wonderfully moderate in his choice of words. He - added: “But it is really best for the interest of those concerned that you - should go and do what you can to bring about a settlement.” - </p> - <p> - “It would be the sheerest idiocy for me to attempt it. The town may go - hungry from now till the end of its days, but it won't have me at any - price.” - </p> - <p> - “I always told Cornish he should sell the road the first opportunity he - got. He had the chance once and you talked him out of it. Now you don't - want to stand by the situation.” - </p> - <p> - “I do,” said Oakley, rising. “I want to see an understanding reached with - the men, and I am going to do what I can to help along. You will please to - consider that I have resigned. I don't for the life of me see how you can - expect me to show my face in Antioch,” and with that he stalked from the - place. He was thoroughly angry. He heard Holloway call after him: - </p> - <p> - “I won't accept your resignation. You'll have to wait until you see - Cornish!” - </p> - <p> - Dan strode out into the street, not knowing what he would do. He was - disheartened and exasperated at the stand Holloway had taken. - </p> - <p> - Presently his anger moderated and his pace slackened. He had been quite - oblivious to what was passing about him, and now for the first time, above - the rattle of carts and trucks, he heard the newsboys shrilly calling an - extra. He caught the words, “All about the big forest fire!” repeated over - and over again. - </p> - <p> - He bought a paper and opened it idly, but a double-leaded head-line - arrested his attention. It was a brief special from Buckhom Junction. He - read it with feverish interest. Antioch was threatened with complete - destruction by the forest fires. - </p> - <p> - “I'll take the first train for Antioch. Have you seen this?” and he held - out the crumpled page he had just torn from his newspaper. - </p> - <p> - Holloway glanced up in astonishment at this unlooked-for change of heart. - </p> - <p> - “I thought you'd conclude it was no way to treat General Cornish,” he - said. - </p> - <p> - “Hang Cornish! It's not on his account I'm going. The town is in a fair - way to be wiped off the map. Here, read.” - </p> - <p> - And he thrust the paper into Holloway's hands. “The woods to the north and - west of Antioch have been blazing for two days. They have sent out call - after call for help, and apparently nobody has responded yet. That's why I - am going back, and for no other reason.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>T Buckhorn - Junction, Joe Durks, who combined the duties of telegraph operator with - those of baggage-master and ticket-agent, was at his table receiving a - message when Dan Oakley walked into the office. He had just stepped from - the Chicago express. - </p> - <p> - “What's the latest word from Antioch, Joe?” he asked, hurriedly. - </p> - <p> - “How are you, Mr. Oakley? I got Antioch now.” - </p> - <p> - “What do they say?” - </p> - <p> - “They are asking help.” - </p> - <p> - The metallic clicking of the instrument before him ceased abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “What's wrong, anyhow?” He pushed back his chair and came slowly to his - feet His finger was still on the key. He tried again to call up Antioch. - “They are cut off. I guess the wire is down.” - </p> - <p> - The two men stared at each other in silence. - </p> - <p> - Dan's face was white in the murky, smoky twilight that filled the room. - Durks looked anxious—the limit of his emotional capacity. He was a - lank, colorless youth, with pale yellow tobacco stains about the corners - of his mouth, and a large nose, which was superior to its surroundings. - </p> - <p> - Oakley broke silence with: - </p> - <p> - “What's gone through to-day, Joe?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing's gone through on the B. & A. There's nothing to send from - this end of the line,” the operator answered, nervously. - </p> - <p> - “What went through yesterday?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing yesterday, either.” - </p> - <p> - “Where is No. 7?” - </p> - <p> - “It's down at Harrison, Mr. Oakley.” - </p> - <p> - “And No. 9?” - </p> - <p> - “It's at Harrison, too.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you know what they are doing at Harrison?” demanded Oakley, angrily. - </p> - <p> - It seemed criminal negligence that no apparent effort had as yet been made - to reach Antioch. - </p> - <p> - “I don't,” said Durks, laconically, biting his nails. “I suppose they are - waiting for the fire to burn out.” - </p> - <p> - “Why don't you know?” persisted Dan, tartly. His displeasure moved the - operator to a fuller explanation. - </p> - <p> - “It was cut off yesterday morning. The last word I got was that No. 7 was - on a siding there, and that No. 9, which started at 8.15 for Antioch, had - had to push back. The fire was in between Antioch and Harrison, on both - sides of the track, and blazing to beat hell.” - </p> - <p> - Having reached this verbal height, he relapsed into comparative - indifference. - </p> - <p> - “Where's the freight?” questioned Oakley. - </p> - <p> - “The last I heard it was trying to make Parker's Run.” - </p> - <p> - “When was that?” - </p> - <p> - “That was yesterday morning, too. It had come up that far from Antioch the - day before to haul out four carloads of ties. Holt gave the order. It is - still there, for all I know—that is, if it ain't burned or ditched. - I sent down the extra men from the yards here to help finish loading the - cars. I had Holt's order for it, and supposed he knew what was wanted. - They ain't come back, but they got there ahead of the freight all right.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley felt this care for a few hundred dollars' worth of property to have - been unnecessary, in view of the graver peril that threatened Antioch. - Still, it was not Durks's fault. It was Holt who was to blame. He had - probably lost his head in the general alarm and excitement. - </p> - <p> - While Harrison might be menaced by the fire, it was in a measure protected - by the very nature of its surroundings. But with Antioch, where there was - nothing to stay the progress of the flames, the case was different. With a - north wind blowing, they could sweep over the town unhindered. - </p> - <p> - “Yesterday the wind shifted a bit to the west, and for a while they - thought Antioch was out of danger,” said Durks, who saw what was in - Oakley's mind. - </p> - <p> - “What have you heard from the other towns?” - </p> - <p> - “They're deserted. Everybody's gone to Antioch or Harrison. There was - plenty of time for that, and when No. 7 made her last run, I wired ahead - that it was the only train we could send out.” - </p> - <p> - “How did you get the extra men to Parker's Rim?” - </p> - <p> - “Baker took 'em there on the switch engine. I sent him down again this - morning to see what was the matter with the freight, but he only went to - the ten-mile fill and come back. He said he couldn't go any farther. I - guess he wasn't so very keen to try. He said he hadn't the money put by - for his funeral expenses.” - </p> - <p> - “They told me up above that the M. & W. had hauled a relief train for - Antioch. What has been done with it? Have you made an effort to get it - through?” - </p> - <p> - Durks looked distressed. Within the last three days flights of inspiration - and judgment had been demanded of him such as he hoped would never be - required again. And for forty-eight hours he had been comforting himself - with the thought that about everything on wheels owned by the Huckleberry - was at the western terminus of the road. - </p> - <p> - “It ain't much of a relief train, Mr. Oakley. Two cars, loaded with - fire-engines and a lot of old hose. They are on the siding now.” - </p> - <p> - “Were any men sent here with the relief train?” questioned Oakley. - </p> - <p> - “No; Antioch just wanted hose and engines. The water's played out, and - they got to depend on the river if the fire strikes the town. They're in - pretty bad shape, with nothing but one old hand-engine. You see, their - water-mains are about empty and their hose-carts ain't worth a damn.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley turned on his heel and strode from the office. The operator - followed him. As they gained the platform Dan paused. The very air was - heavy with smoke. The sun was sinking behind a blue film. Its dull disk - was the color of copper. He wondered if the same sombre darkness was - settling down on Antioch. The element of danger seemed very real and - present. To Dan this danger centred about Constance Emory. He quite - overlooked the fact that there were several thousand other people in - Antioch. Durks, at his side, rubbed the sandy bristles on his chin with - the back of his hand, and tried to believe he had thought of everything - and had done everything there was to do. - </p> - <p> - The woods were on fire all about the Junction, but the town itself was in - no especial danger, as cultivated fields intervened to shut away the - flames. In these fields Dan could see men and women busy at work tearing - down fences. On a hillside a mile off a barn was blazing. - </p> - <p> - “There goes Warrick's barn,” remarked the operator. - </p> - <p> - “What was the last word from Antioch? Do you remember exactly what was - said?” asked Dan. - </p> - <p> - “The message was that a strong north wind was blowing, and that the town - was pretty certain to burn unless the engines and hose reached there - tonight; but they have been saying that for two days, and the wind's - always changed at the right moment and driven the fire back.” - </p> - <p> - Dan glanced along the track, and saw the relief train, consisting of an - engine, tender, and two flatcars, loaded with hose and fire-engines, on - one of the sidings. He turned on Durks with an angry scowl. - </p> - <p> - “Why haven't you tried to start that train through? It's ready.” - </p> - <p> - “No one is here to go with it, Mr. Oakley. I was sort of counting on the - freight crew for the job.” - </p> - <p> - “Where's Baker?” - </p> - <p> - “He went home on the 6. 10. He lives up at Car-son, you know.” - </p> - <p> - This was the first stop on the M. & W. east of Buckhom. - </p> - <p> - “Why did you let him leave? Great God, man! Do you mean to say that he's - been loafing around here all day with his hands in his pockets? He'll - never pull another throttle for the Huckleberry!” - </p> - <p> - Durks did not attempt to reply to this explosion of wrath. - </p> - <p> - “Who made up the train?” demanded Dan. - </p> - <p> - “Baker did. Him and his fireman. I didn't know but the freight might come - up from Parker's Run, and I wanted to be fixed for 'em. I couldn't do a - thing with Baker. I told him his orders were to try and reach Antioch with - the relief train, but he said he didn't care a damn who gave the order, he - wasn't going to risk his life.” - </p> - <p> - But Dan had lost interest in Baker. - </p> - <p> - “Look here,” he cried. “You must get a fireman for me, and I'll take out - the train myself.” - </p> - <p> - He wondered why he had not thought of this before. - </p> - <p> - “I guess I'll manage to reach Antioch,” he added, as he ran across to the - siding and swung himself into the cab. - </p> - <p> - A faded blue blouse and a pair of greasy overalls were lying on the seat - in the cab. He removed his coat and vest and put them on. Durks, who had - followed him, climbed up on the steps. - </p> - <p> - “You'll have to run slow, Mr. Oakley, because it's likely the heat has - spread the rails, if it ain't twisted them loose from the ties,” he - volunteered. For answer Oakley thrust a shovel into his hands. - </p> - <p> - “Here, throw in some coal,” he ordered, opening the furnace door. - </p> - <p> - Durks turned a sickly, mottled white. - </p> - <p> - “I can't leave,” he gasped. - </p> - <p> - “You idiot. You don't suppose I'd take you from your post. What I want you - to do is to help me get up steam.” - </p> - <p> - The operator attacked the coal on the tender vigorously. He felt an - immense sense of comfort. - </p> - <p> - Dan's railroad experience covered nearly every branch. So it chanced that - he had fired for a year prior to taking an office position. Indeed, his - first ambition had been to be an engineer. It was now quite dark, and, the - fires being raked down, he lit a torch and inspected his engine with a - comprehensive eye. Next he probed a two-foot oiler into the rods and - bearings and filled the cups. He found a certain pleasure in the fact that - the lore of the craft to which he had once aspired was still fresh in his - mind. - </p> - <p> - “Baker keeps her in apple-pie order, Joe,” he observed, approvingly. The - operator nodded. - </p> - <p> - “He's always tinkering.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, he's done tinkering for us, unless I land in a ditch to-night, with - the tender on top of me.” - </p> - <p> - A purring sound issued from the squat throat of the engine. It was sending - aloft wreaths of light gray smoke and softly spitting red-hot cinders. - </p> - <p> - Dan climbed upon the tender and inspected the tank. Last of all he went - forward and lit the headlight, and his preparations were complete. He - jumped down from the cab, and stood beside Joe on the platform. - </p> - <p> - “Now,” he said, cheerfully, “where's that fireman, Joe?” - </p> - <p> - “He's gone home, Mr. Oakley. He lives at Car-son, too, same as Baker,” - faltered the operator. - </p> - <p> - “Then there's another man whose services we won't require in future. We'll - have to find some one else.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't think you can,” ventured Durks, reluctantly. Instinct told him - that this opinion would not tend to increase his popularity with Oakley. - </p> - <p> - “Why not?” - </p> - <p> - “They just won't want to go.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean to tell me that they will allow Antioch to burn and not lift - a hand to save the town?” he demanded, sternly. - </p> - <p> - He couldn't believe it. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you see, there won't any one here want to get killed; and they will - think they got enough trouble of their own to keep them home.” - </p> - <p> - “We can go up-town and see if we can't find a man who thinks of more than - his own skin,” said Dan. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, we can try,” agreed Durks, apathetically, but his tone implied - an unshaken conviction that the search would prove a fruitless one. - </p> - <p> - “Can't you think of any one who would like to make the trip?” Durks was - thoughtful. He thanked his lucky stars that the M. & W. paid half his - salary. At last he said: - </p> - <p> - “No, I can't, Mr. Oakley.” - </p> - <p> - There was a sound like the crunching of cinders underfoot on the other - side of the freight car near where they were standing, but neither Durks - nor Oakley heard it. The operator's jaws worked steadily in quiet animal - enjoyment of their task. He was still canvassing the Junction's adult male - population for the individual to whom life had become sufficiently - burdensome for Oakley's purpose. Dan was gazing down the track at the red - blur in the sky. Back of that ruddy glow, in the path of the flames, lay - Antioch. The wind was in the north. He was thinking, as he had many times - in the last hour, of Constance and the Emorys. In the face of the danger - that threatened he even had a friendly feeling for the rest of Antioch. It - had been decent and kindly in its fashion until Ryder set to work to ruin - him. - </p> - <p> - He knew he might ride into Antioch on his engine none the worse for the - trip, except for a few bums, but there was the possibility of a more - tragic ending. Still, whatever the result, he would have done his full - part. - </p> - <p> - He faced Durks again. - </p> - <p> - “Any man who knows enough to shovel coal will do,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “But no one will want to take such long chances, Mr. Oakley. Baker said it - was just plain suicide.” - </p> - <p> - “Hell!” and Dan swore like a brakeman out of temper, in the bad, - thoughtless manner of his youth. - </p> - <p> - At the same moment a heavy, slouching figure emerged from the shadow at - the opposite end of the freight car, and came hesitatingly towards the two - men. Then a voice said, in gentle admonition: - </p> - <p> - “Don't swear so, Dannie. It ain't right. I'll go with you.” - </p> - <p> - It was his father. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>NTIOCH had grown - indifferent to forest fires, They were of almost annual recurrence, and - the town had come to expect them each fall. As the Hon. Jeb Barrows - remarked, with cheerful optimism, voicing a popular belief, if it was - intended Antioch should go that way it would have gone long ago. - </p> - <p> - But this summer the drought had been of longer duration than usual. The - woods were like tinder, and the inevitable wadding from some careless - hunter's gun, or the scattered embers from some camp-fire far up in the - northern part of the State, had started a conflagration that was licking - up miles of timber and moving steadily south behind a vast curtain of - smoke that darkened half the State. It was only when the burned-out - settlers from the north began to straggle in that Antioch awoke to a - proper sense of its danger. - </p> - <p> - Quick upon the heels of these fugitives came the news that the half-dozen - families at Barrow's Saw Mills had been forced to flee from their homes. - The fire had encircled the mills in a single night, and one old man, a - trapper and hunter, who lived alone in a cabin in a small clearing on the - outskirts of the settlement, had been burned to death in his bunk before - he could be warned of his danger or help reach him. - </p> - <p> - It was then that Antioch sent out its first call for help. It needed - fire-engines and hose, and it needed them badly, especially the hose, for - the little reservoir from which the town drew its water supply was almost - empty. - </p> - <p> - Antioch forgot the murder of Ryder. It forgot Roger Oakley, the strike, - and all lesser affairs. A common danger threatened its homes, perhaps the - lives of its citizens. - </p> - <p> - A score of angry men were stamping up and down the long platform across - from the shops, or pushing in and out of the ugly little depot, which had - taken on years in apparent age and decay in the two days during which no - trains had been running. - </p> - <p> - They were abusing Holt, the railroad, and every one connected with it. For - the thousandth time they demanded to know where the promised relief train - was—if it had started from Buckhorn Junction, and, if it <i>hadn't</i> - started, the reason of the delay. - </p> - <p> - The harried assistant-treasurer answered these questions as best he could. - </p> - <p> - “Are you going to let the town burn without making a move to save it?” - demanded an excited citizen. - </p> - <p> - “You don't think I am any more anxious to see it go than you are?” - retorted Holt, angrily. - </p> - <p> - “Then why don't your damn road do something to prevent it?” - </p> - <p> - “The road's doing all it can, gentlemen.” - </p> - <p> - “That's a whole lot, ain't it?” - </p> - <p> - “We are cut off,” said Holt, helplessly. “Everything's tied up tight.” - </p> - <p> - “You can wire, can't you?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I can wire; I have wired.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, where's the relief train, then?” - </p> - <p> - “It's at the Junction.” - </p> - <p> - “It's going to do us a lot of good there, ain't it?” - </p> - <p> - “They'll send it as soon as they can get together a crew.” - </p> - <p> - “Stir them up again, Holt Tell 'em we got to have that hose and those - engines, or the town's gone. It's a matter of life and death.” - </p> - <p> - Holt turned back into the depot, and the crowd dispersed. - </p> - <p> - In the ticket-office he found McClintock, who had just come in from - up-town. The master mechanic's face was unusually grave. - </p> - <p> - “I have been investigating the water supply with the city engineer. Things - are in awful shape. The mains are about empty, and there isn't pressure - enough from the stand-pipe to throw a thirty-five foot stream.” - </p> - <p> - “I wish Oakley was here,” muttered Holt. - </p> - <p> - “So do I. Somehow he had a knack at keeping things moving. I don't mean - but what you've done your level best, Byron,” he added, kindly. - </p> - <p> - “They've laid down on me at the Junction,” said the younger man, bitterly. - </p> - <p> - He stepped to the door, mopping his face with his handkerchief, and stood - looking down the track in the direction of Buckhorn. - </p> - <p> - “They made it so Oakley couldn't stay, and now they wonder why the relief - train is hung up. All Durks says is that he can't get a crew. I tell you - if Oakley was here he'd <i>have</i> to get one.” - </p> - <p> - “It was a mistake to send the yard engine up to Parker's Run. If we had it - here now—” - </p> - <p> - “How in hell was <i>I</i> to know we'd need it? I had to try to save those - ties, and we thought the wind was shifting into the south,” in fierce - justification of his course. - </p> - <p> - “That's so, all right,” said McClintock. “We did think the danger was - past; only we shouldn't have taken any chances.” - </p> - <p> - At this point they were joined by Dr. Emory. - </p> - <p> - “Anything new from Buckhorn?” he inquired, anxiously. - </p> - <p> - “No, it's the same old story. Durks ain't got anybody to send.” - </p> - <p> - “Damn his indifference!” muttered McClintock. - </p> - <p> - The doctor, like Holt, fell to mopping his face with his handkerchief. - </p> - <p> - “Don't he know our danger? Don't he know we can't fight the fire without - engines and hose?—that our water supply is about exhausted, and that - we'll have to depend on the river?” - </p> - <p> - Holt nodded wearily. - </p> - <p> - “It looks as though we were to be left to face this situation as best we - can, without help from the outside,” said the doctor, uneasily. - </p> - <p> - Holt turned to McClintock. - </p> - <p> - “Isn't there some method of back-firing?” - </p> - <p> - “It's too late to try that, and, with this wind blowing, it would have - been too big a risk.” - </p> - <p> - He glanced moodily across the town to the north, where the black cloud - hung low in the sky. He added: - </p> - <p> - “I have told my wife to keep the young ones in, no matter what happens. - But Lord! they will be about as well off one place as another, when it - comes to the pinch.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose so,” agreed the doctor. “I am at a loss to know what - precautions to take to insure the safety of Mrs. Emory and my daughter.” - </p> - <p> - It was only four o'clock, but it was already quite dark in the town—a - strange half-light that twisted the accustomed shape of things. The air - was close, stifling; and the wind, which blew in heavy gusts, was like the - breath from a furnace. The sombre twilight carried with it a horrible - sense of depression. Every sound in nature was stilled; silence reigned - supreme. It was the expectant hush of each living thing. - </p> - <p> - The three men stepped out on the platform. Holt and the doctor were still - mopping their faces with their limp handkerchiefs. McClintock was fanning - himself with his straw hat. When they spoke they unconsciously dropped - their voices to a whisper. - </p> - <p> - “Those families in the North End should move out of their homes,” said the - doctor. “If they wait until the fire gets here, they will save nothing but - what they have on their backs.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and the houses ought to come down,” added McClintock. “There's where - the fire will get its first grip on the town, and then Heaven help us!” - </p> - <p> - Night came, and so imminent seemed the danger that Antioch was roused to - something like activity. - </p> - <p> - A crowd, composed almost exclusively of men, gathered early on the square - before the court-house. - </p> - <p> - They had by common consent given up all hope that the relief train would - be sent from Buckhom Junction. The light in the sky told them that they - were completely cut off from the outside world. The town and the woods - immediately adjacent formed an island in the centre of an unbroken sea of - fire. The ragged red line had crept around to the east, west, and south, - but the principal danger would be from the north, where the wind drove the - flames forward with resistless fury. To the south and east Billup's Fork - interposed as a barrier to the progress of the fire, and on the west was a - wide area of cultivated fields. - </p> - <p> - At regular intervals waves of light flooded the square, as the freshening - gusts fanned the conflagration or whirled across the town great patches of - black smoke. In the intervals of light a number of dark figures could be - seen moving about on the roof of the court-house. Like the square below, - it was crowded with anxious watchers. - </p> - <p> - The crowd jostled to and fro on the square, restless and excited, and - incapable of physical quiet. Then suddenly a voice was raised and made - itself heard above the tramp of feet. “Those houses in the North End must - come down!” this voice said. - </p> - <p> - There was silence, and then a many-tongued murmur. Each man present knew - that the residents of the North End had sworn that they would not - sacrifice their homes to the public good. If their homes must go, they - much preferred to have them burn, for then the insurance companies would - have to bear the loss. - </p> - <p> - “'Those houses must come down!” the voice repeated. - </p> - <p> - It was McClintock who had spoken. - </p> - <p> - “Who's going to pull them down?” another voice asked. “They are ready to - fight for them.” - </p> - <p> - “And we ought to be just as ready to fight, if it comes to that,” answered - the master mechanic. “It's for the common good.” - </p> - <p> - The crowd was seized with a noisy agitation. Its pent-up feelings found - vent in bitter denunciation of the North End. A man—it was the Hon. - Jeb Barrows—had mounted the court-house steps, and was vainly - endeavoring to make himself heard. He was counselling delay, but no one - listened to him. The houses must be torn down whether their owners wanted - it or not. McClintock turned up the street. - </p> - <p> - “Fall in!” he shouted, and at least a hundred men fell in behind him, - marching two abreast. Here and there, as they moved along, a man would - forsake the line to disappear into his own gate. When he rejoined his - neighbors he invariably carried an axe, pick, or crowbar. - </p> - <p> - From the square they turned into Main Street, and from Main Street into - the north road, and presently the head of the procession halted before a - cluster of small frame houses resting in a hollow to their right. - </p> - <p> - “These must come down first,” said McClintock. “Now we want no noise, men. - We'll pass out their stuff as quietly as we can, and take it back to the - square.” - </p> - <p> - He swung open a gate as he spoke. “Williams keeps a team. A couple of you - fellows run around to the barn and hook up.” - </p> - <p> - Just then the front door opened, and Williams himself appeared on the - threshold. A dog barked, other doors opened, lights gleamed in a score of - windows, and the North End threw off its cloak of silence and darkness. - </p> - <p> - “Keep quiet, and let me do the talking,” said McClintock over his - shoulder. Then to the figure in the doorway: - </p> - <p> - “We have come to help you move, John. I take it you will be wanting to - leave here shortly.” - </p> - <p> - “The hell you have!” responded Williams, roughly. - </p> - <p> - “We'll give you a hand!” and the master mechanic pushed through the gate - and took a step down the path. - </p> - <p> - “Hold on!” cried Williams, swinging out an arm. “I got something to say - about that!” - </p> - <p> - There was a sound as of the clicking, of a lock, and he presented the - muzzle of a shot-gun. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, say,” said McClintock, gently; “you had better not try to use that. - It will only make matters worse. Your house has got to come down.” - </p> - <p> - “The hell it has!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said McClintock, still gently. “We got to save what we can of the - town.” - </p> - <p> - Williams made no answer to this, but McClintock saw him draw the butt of - the gun up towards his shoulder. - </p> - <p> - The men at his back were perfectly still. They filled the street, and, - breathing hard, pressed heavily against the picket fence, which bent - beneath the weight of their bodies. - </p> - <p> - “You'd better be reasonable. We are losing precious time,” urged - McClintock. - </p> - <p> - “The hell you are!” - </p> - <p> - It occurred to McClintock afterwards that there had been no great variety - to Williams's remarks. - </p> - <p> - “In an hour or two this place will be on fire.” - </p> - <p> - “I've got no kick coming if it burns, but it sha'n't be pulled down.” - </p> - <p> - “Put up your gun, and we'll give you a lift at getting your stuff out.” - </p> - <p> - “No, you won't.” - </p> - <p> - McClintock kept his eyes on the muzzle of the shotgun. - </p> - <p> - “It ain't the property loss we are thinking of—it's the possible - loss of life,” he said, mildly. - </p> - <p> - “I'll chance it,” retorted Williams, briefly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, we won't.” - </p> - <p> - Williams made no reply; he merely fingered the lock of his gun. - </p> - <p> - “Put down that gun, John!” commanded McClintock, sternly. - </p> - <p> - At the same moment he reached around and took an axe from the hands of the - nearest man. - </p> - <p> - “Put it down,” he repeated, as he stepped quickly towards Williams. - </p> - <p> - The listening men pressed heavily against the fence in their feverish - anxiety to miss nothing that was said or done. The posts snapped, and they - poured precipitously into the yard. At the same moment the gun exploded, - and a charge of buckshot rattled harmlessly along the pavement at - McClintock's feet. - </p> - <p> - Then succeeded a sudden pause, deep, breathless, and intense, and then the - crowd gave a cry—a cry that was in answer to a hoarse cheer that had - reached them from the square. - </p> - <p> - An instant later the trampled front yard was deserted by all save Williams - in the doorway. He still held the smoking gun to his shoulder. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN Roger Oakley - appeared on the platform at Buckhom Junction, Durks started violently, - while Dan took a quick step forward and placed a warning hand on the old - convict's arm. He feared what he might say. Then he said to the operator: - “He'll do. Go see if you can get Antioch. Try just once more. If you - succeed, tell them the engines and hose will be there within an hour, or - they need not look for them. Do you understand?” - </p> - <p> - “All right, Mr. Oakley.” And Durks moved up the platform with alacrity. He - was relieved of one irksome responsibility. He had his own theories as to - who the stranger was, but he told himself it was none of his business. - </p> - <p> - As soon as he was out of hearing, Dan turned to his father, and said, - earnestly: “Look here, daddy, I can't allow you to do it. We are neither - of us popular. It's bad enough for me to have to go.” - </p> - <p> - “Why can't you allow it, Dannie?” And his son recognized the same cheerful - tone with which he had always met and overruled his objections. - </p> - <p> - “It will end in your arrest, and we don't want that.” - </p> - <p> - “It's more than likely I'll be arrested sooner or later, anyhow,” he said, - with a suggestion of weariness, as if this were a matter it was a waste of - time to consider. “The Lord has set His face against me. It's His wish I - should return. I've been stubborn and headstrong and wouldn't see it, but - look there,” and he nodded towards the red western sky. “It's a summons. I - got to obey, whether I want to or not.” - </p> - <p> - “It won't be safe. No telling what they will do with you.” - </p> - <p> - “That ain't the question, Dannie; that ain't at all the question. It's not - what they'll do to me,” and he softly patted the hand that rested on his - arm. - </p> - <p> - Dan saw that his clothes hung loosely to his mighty frame. They were torn - and stained. He had the appearance of a man who had endured hardship, - privation, and toil. His glance was fugitive and anxious. “Where have you - been all this while?” he asked. “Not here?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I have been living in the woods, trying to escape from the country, - and the fires wouldn't let me. Wherever I went, they were there ahead of - me, driving me back.” - </p> - <p> - “Why did you kill him? How did it happen?” Dan added. “Or is it all a - mistake? Did you do it?” - </p> - <p> - The smile faded from the old convict's lips. - </p> - <p> - “It was a sort of accident, and it was sort of carelessness, Dannie,” he - explained, with a touch of sullenness. “I hit him—not hard, mind - you. I know I shouldn't have done it, but he was in the wrong, and he - wouldn't listen to reason. I don't know when I ever seen a man so set in - his wickedness.” - </p> - <p> - “And now you want to go back. Do you know what it means if you are - arrested? Have you thought of that?” - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley waved the query aside as though it concerned him not at all. - </p> - <p> - “I want to be with you,” he said, wistfully. “You may not get through - alive, and I want to be with you. You'll need me. There's no one you can - trust as you can me, for I won't fail you, no matter what the danger is. - And there's the girl, Dannie. Have you thought of her?” - </p> - <p> - Dan set his lips. “My God, I can't think of anything else.” - </p> - <p> - There was a moment's silence. - </p> - <p> - “Here,” said Dan, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “I am going to - give you what money I have. It isn't much.” - </p> - <p> - “What for, Dannie?” - </p> - <p> - “You are sure to be seen and recognized if you stay about here. Your - description has been telegraphed all over the State. For that reason I'll - take you with me part way. Then I'll slow up, and you can hide again. It's - your only chance. I am sorry I can't do more for you. I wish I could; but - perhaps we can arrange to meet afterwards.” - </p> - <p> - His father smiled with the unconscious superiority of the man who firmly - believes he is controlled by an intelligence infinitely wise and beyond - all human conception. No amount of argument could have convinced him that - Providence was not burning millions of feet of standing timber and an - occasional town solely for his guidance. In his simple seriousness he saw - nothing absurd nor preposterous in the idea. He said: - </p> - <p> - “I've wanted to escape, Dannie, for your sake, not for mine. But when I - seen you to-night I knew the Lord intended we should keep together. He - didn't bring us here for nothing. That ain't His way. There's no one to go - with you but me, and you can't go alone.” - </p> - <p> - “I can—I will!” And Dan swore under his breath. He realized that no - word of his could move his father. He would carry his point, just as he - always had. - </p> - <p> - Durks came running along the platform from the dépôt. - </p> - <p> - “It's no use,” shaking his head. “The wire's down. Say, you want to keep - your eyes open for the freight. It may be on the siding at Parker's Run, - and it may be on the main track.” - </p> - <p> - Dan made a last appeal to his father. - </p> - <p> - “Won't you listen to what I say?” sinking his voice to a hoarse whisper. - “They'll hang you—do you hear? If ever they lay hands on you they - will show no mercy!” It did not occur to him that his father would be - returning under circumstances so exceptional that public sentiment might - well undergo a radical change in his favor. - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley merely smiled as he answered, with gentle composure: “I don't - think we need to worry about that. We are in His hands, Dannie,” and he - raised his face to the heavens. - </p> - <p> - Dan groaned. - </p> - <p> - “Come, then,” he said aloud. - </p> - <p> - “I'll throw the switch for you!” and the operator ran down the track. He - was quite positive he should never see Oakley again, and he felt something - akin to enthusiasm at the willing sacrifice of his life which he conceived - him to be making. - </p> - <p> - Father and son stepped to the engine. The old convict mounted heavily to - his post, and Dan sprang after him, his hand groping for the throttle - lever. There was the hiss of steam, and Joe cried from the darkness: - </p> - <p> - “All right, come ahead!” And the engine, with its tender and two cars, - began its hazardous journey. - </p> - <p> - As they slipped past him, the operator yelled his good-bye, and Dan pushed - open the cab window and waved his hand. - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley, on the narrow iron shelf between the engine and the tender, - was already throwing coal into the furnace. His face wore a satisfied - expression. Apparently he was utterly unmoved by the excitement of the - moment, for he bent to his work as if it were the most usual of tasks, and - the occasion the most commonplace. He had taken off his coat and vest and - had tossed them up on the tender out of his way. Dan, looking over the - boiler's end, could see his broad shoulders and the top of his head. He - leaned back with his hand on the throttle. - </p> - <p> - “Father!” he called. - </p> - <p> - The old convict straightened up instantly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Dannie?” - </p> - <p> - “You are going with me? You are determined?” - </p> - <p> - “I thought we settled that, Dannie, before we started,” he said, - pleasantly, but there was a shrewd, kindly droop to the corners of his - mouth, for he appreciated his victory. - </p> - <p> - “I want to know, because if I am to slow up for you I'll have to do it - soon, or I'll be leaving you in worse shape than I found you.” - </p> - <p> - To this his father made no direct reply. Instead he asked, “Do you think - we'll reach Antioch in time to do them any good?” Dan faced about. - </p> - <p> - They slid into a straight stretch of road beyond the Junction, and the - track shone yellow far ahead, where the engine looked down upon it with - its single eye. Each minute their speed increased. A steady jarring and - pounding had begun that grew into a dull and ponderous roar as the engine - rushed forward. Dan kept a sharp watch for the freight. - </p> - <p> - As Durks had said, it might be on the siding at Parker's Rim, and it might - not. In the latter event, his and his father's troubles would soon be at - an end. - </p> - <p> - He rose from his seat and went to the door of the cab. - </p> - <p> - “We'll take it easy for the first ten miles or so, then we'll be in the - fire, and that will be our time to hit her up.” - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley nodded his acquiescence. In what he conceived to be worldly - matters he was quite willing to abide by Dan's judgment, for which he had - profound respect. - </p> - <p> - “How fast are we going?” he asked. Dan steadied himself and listened, with - a finger on his pulse, until he caught the rhythmic swing of the engine, - as it jarred from one rail to another. Then he said: “Twenty-five miles an - hour.” - </p> - <p> - “It ain't very fast, is it, Dannie?” - </p> - <p> - He was evidently disappointed. - </p> - <p> - “We'll do twice that presently.” - </p> - <p> - The old convict looked relieved. They were running now with a strip of - forest on one side of the track and cultivated fields on the other, but - with each rod they covered they were edging in nearer the flames. At - Parker's Rim the road crossed a little stream which doubled back in the - direction of Buckhorn Junction. There was nothing after that to stay the - progress of the fire, and the rest of their way lay through the blazing - pine-woods. - </p> - <p> - Just before they reached the ten-mile fill they came to the strip of - burned timber that had sent Baker back to Buckhorn earlier in the day. - Here and there a tree was still blazing, but for the most part the fire - had spent its strength. - </p> - <p> - As they swung past Parker's Run a little farther on, Dan saw the freight, - or, rather, what was left of it, on the siding. It had been cutting out - four flat-cars loaded with ties, and he understood the difficulty at a - glance. On the main track a brick-and-stone culvert spanned the Run, but - the siding crossed it on a flimsy wooden bridge. This bridge had probably - been burning as the freight backed in for the flatcars, and when it - attempted to pull out the weakened structure had collapsed and the engine - had gone through into the cut. It rested on its forward end, jammed - between the steep banks, with its big drivers in the air. Of the cars - there remained only the trucks and iron work. Near by a tool-shed had - formerly stood, but that was gone, too. The wheels and gearing of a - hand-car in the midst of a heap of ashes marked the spot. - </p> - <p> - Dan turned to his father. “Are you all right, daddy?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Dannie.” - </p> - <p> - “Mind your footing. It will be pretty shaky back there.” - </p> - <p> - They were still in the burned district, where a change in the wind that - afternoon had driven the fire back on itself. It had made a clean sweep of - everything inflammable. Luckily the road had been freshly ballasted, and - the track was in fair condition to resist the flames. But an occasional - tie smouldered, and from these the rushing train thrashed showers of - sparks. - </p> - <p> - Dan kept his eyes fastened on the rails, which showed plainly in the jerky - glare of the headlight It was well to be careful while care was possible. - By-and-by he would have to throw aside all caution and trust to chance. - Now he increased his speed, and the insistent thud of the wheels drowned - every other sound, even the far-off roar of the flames. At his back, at - intervals, a ruddy glow shot upward into the night, when Roger Oakley - threw open the furnace door to pass in coal. Save for this it was still - quite dark in the cab, where Dan sat with his hand on the throttle lever - and watched the yellow streak that ran along the rails in advance of the - engine. Suddenly the wall of light ahead brightened visibly, and its glare - filled the cab. They were nearing the fire. - </p> - <p> - Dan jammed the little window at his elbow open and put out his head. A hot - blast roared past him, and the heat of the fire was in his face. He drew - the window shut. It was light as day in the cab now. - </p> - <p> - He leaned across the boiler's end, and, with a hand to his lips, called to - his father, “Are you all right?” - </p> - <p> - The old man drew himself erect and crept nearer. - </p> - <p> - “What's that you say, Dannie?” he asked. His face was black with coal-dust - and grime. - </p> - <p> - “Are you all right? Can you bear the heat?” - </p> - <p> - “I am doing very nicely, but this ain't a patch on what it's going to be.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it will be much worse, though this is had enough.” - </p> - <p> - “But we can stand it. We must think of those poor people at Antioch.” - </p> - <p> - “We'll stick to the engine as long as the engine sticks to the rails,” - said Dan, grimly. “Hadn't you better come into the cab with me? You'll be - frightfully exposed when we get into the thick of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Not yet, Dannie? I'll give you steam, and you drive her as hard as you - can.” - </p> - <p> - He turned away, shovel in hand. - </p> - <p> - Then, all in a second, and they were in the burning woods, rushing beneath - trees that were blazing to their very summits. The track seemed to shake - and tremble in the fierce light and fiercer heat. Burning leaves and - branches were caught up to be whirled in fiery eddies back down the rails - as the train tore along, for Dan was hitting her up. - </p> - <p> - Tongues of fire struck across at the two men. Smoke and fine white ashes - filled their mouths and nostrils. Their bodies seemed to bake. They had - been streaming wet with perspiration a moment before. - </p> - <p> - Off in the forest it was possible to see for miles. Every tree and bush - stood forth distinct and separate. - </p> - <p> - Roger Oakley put down his shovel for an instant to fill a bucket with - water from the tank on the tender. He plunged his head and arms in it and - splashed the rest over his clothes. Dan turned to him for the last time. - </p> - <p> - “It isn't far now,” he panted. “Just around the next curve and we'll see - the town, if it's still there, off in the valley.” - </p> - <p> - The old convict did not catch more than the half of what he said, but he - smiled and nodded his head. - </p> - <p> - As they swung around the curve a dead sycamore, which the fire had girdled - at the base, crashed across the track. The engine plunged into its top, - rolled it over once and tossed it aside. There was the smashing of glass - and the ripping of leather as the sycamore's limbs raked the cab, and - Roger Oakley uttered a hoarse cry, a cry Dan did not hear, but he turned, - spitting dust and cinders from his lips, and saw the old convict still - standing, shovel in hand, in the narrow gangway that separated the engine - and tender. - </p> - <p> - He had set the whistle shrieking, and it cut high above the roar of the - flames, for, off in the distance, under a canopy of smoke, he saw the - lights of Antioch shining among the trees. - </p> - <p> - Two minutes later and they were running smoothly through the yards, with - the brakes on and the hiss of escaping steam. As they slowed up beside the - depot, Dan sank down on the seat in the cab, limp and exhausted. He was - vaguely conscious that the platform was crowded with people, and that they - were yelling at him excitedly and waving their hats, but he heard their - cries only indifferently well. His ears were dead to everything except the - noise of his engine, which still echoed in his tired brain. - </p> - <p> - He staggered to his feet, and was about to descend from the cab, when he - saw that his father was lying face down on the iron shelf between the - engine and tender. He stooped and raised him gently in his arms. - </p> - <p> - The old convict opened his eyes and looked up into his face, his lips - parted as if he were about to speak, but no sound came from them. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>ONSTANCE EMORY and - her mother, waiting quietly in their own home, heard the cheers when the - noise from Dan's shrieking engine reached the crowd of desperate men on - the square. Then presently they heard the rattle and clash of the - fire-engines as they were dragged through the street, and were aware that - the relief train had arrived, but it was not until the doctor came in some - time long after midnight that they knew who had been the savior of the - town. - </p> - <p> - “It's all over, dear. The fire is under control,” he said, cheerfully, - addressing his wife. “I guess we can go to bed now and feel pretty sure we - won't be burned out before morning.” - </p> - <p> - Constance put down the book she had been trying to read, and rose tiredly - and stiffly from her chair beside the table. - </p> - <p> - “Then the train did come, after all?” she said. “Yes, but not a moment too - soon. I tell you we can't be grateful enough. I've been with Oakley and - his father; that's what kept me,” he explained. - </p> - <p> - “Oakley!” Constance cried, in amazement. “You don't mean—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Didn't you know that it was Oakley and his father who brought the - relief train? The old man is dead. He was killed on the way. It's a - miracle that either of them got through alive. Hadn't you heard?” - </p> - <p> - Constance put out her hands blindly, for a sudden mist had come before her - eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Father, you don't mean that Mr. Oakley has returned to Antioch—that - he is here now?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it seems no one else would come. Oakley was in Chicago when he first - heard of the fire, and started immediately for Buckhorn, where he found - the relief train. Oddly enough, he found his father there, too.” - </p> - <p> - “Then there was something to the old man, after all,” said Mrs. Emory, - whose sympathies were as generous as they were easily aroused. - </p> - <p> - “A good deal, I should say. He must have known that he was coming back to - arrest and almost certain conviction.” - </p> - <p> - Constance's glance searched her father's face. She wanted to hear more of - Oakley. Her heart was hungering for news of this man who had risked his - life to save them. All her lingering tenderness—the unwilling growth - of many days—was sweeping away the barriers of her pride. “Mr. - Oakley was not hurt?” she questioned, breathlessly, pale to the lips. - </p> - <p> - “He is pretty badly shaken up, and no wonder, but he will be all right in - the morning.” - </p> - <p> - “Where is he now?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - Her father turned to her. - </p> - <p> - “Oakley—You look tired out, Constance. Do go to bed. I'll tell you - all about it in the morning.” - </p> - <p> - “Where is he now, papa?” she questioned, going to his side and clasping - her hands about his arm. - </p> - <p> - “Down at the shop. They carried his father there from the train.” - </p> - <p> - “Why didn't you have them bring him here?” said Mrs. Emory, quickly. - “After this I won't listen to a word against either of them. I would like - to show the town just how we feel in the matter.” - </p> - <p> - “I suggested it, but Oakley wouldn't hear to it. But don't worry about the - town. It's gone wild. You should have seen the crowd on the platform when - it saw Oakley in the engine-cab. It went stark mad.” - </p> - <p> - Again Constance's eyes swam with tears. The strike, the murder of Ryder, - the fire, had each seemed in turn a part of the tragedy of her life at - Antioch, but Oakley's return was wholly glorious. - </p> - <p> - Her father added, “I shall see Oakley in the morning, and learn if we can - be of any service to him.” - </p> - <p> - A little later, when Constance went to her own room, she drew forward a - chair and seated herself by the window. Across the town, on the edge of - the “flats,” she saw dimly the long, dark outline of the railroad shop, - with its single tall chimney. She thought of Oakley as alone there keeping - watch at the side of the grim old murderer, who had so splendidly redeemed - himself by this last sacrifice. - </p> - <p> - Great clouds of black smoke were still rolling over the town, and the - woods were still blazing fiercely in the distance. Beyond her window she - heard the call of frightened birds, as they fluttered to and fro in the - dull red light, and farther off, in the North End, the muffled throbbing - of the fire-engines. - </p> - <p> - If she had had any doubts as to her feeling for Oakley, these doubts were - now a thing of the past. She knew that she loved him. She had been petty - and vain; she had put the small things of life against the great, and this - was her punishment. She tried to comfort herself with the thought that she - should see him in the morning; then she could tell him all. But what could - she tell him? The time had gone by when she could tell him anything. - </p> - <p> - It was almost morning when she undressed and threw herself down on her - bed. She was disconsolate and miserable, and the future seemed quite - barren of hope or happiness. Love had come to her, and she had not known - its presence. Yes, she would tell Oakley that she had been little and - narrow and utterly unworthy. He had cared for her, and perhaps he would - understand. She fell asleep thinking this, and did not waken until her - mother called her for breakfast. - </p> - <p> - “I am waiting for your father. He has gone down to see Mr. Oakley,” Mrs. - Emory said when she entered the dining-room. Constance glanced at the - table. - </p> - <p> - “Is he going to bring Mr. Oakley back with him?” she asked, nervously. - </p> - <p> - “He expected to. I declare, Constance, you look worn out. Didn't you sleep - well?” - </p> - <p> - “No, not very. I wonder if they are coming?” - </p> - <p> - “You might go look,” said her mother, and Constance hurried into the - parlor. She was just in time to see her father enter the gate. He was - alone. Constance flew to the front door and threw it open. - </p> - <p> - “He wouldn't come?” she cried, breathlessly. - </p> - <p> - “He's gone.” - </p> - <p> - “Gone?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, a train was made up early this morning, and he has returned to - Buckhorn—Why, what's the matter, Constance?” - </p> - <p> - For Constance, with a little gasp of dismay, had slipped down into a - chair, with her hands before her face. - </p> - <p> - “What is it, dear?” he questioned, anxiously. But she gave him no answer. - She was crying softly, unrestrainedly. It was all over. Oakley was gone, - and with him went her only hope of happiness. Yet more keen than her sense - of pain and personal loss was her regret that he would never understand - that she respected and admired him as he deserved. - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry, Constance, but I didn't know that you especially wanted to - see him,” said the doctor, awkwardly, but with a dawning comprehension of - what it all meant. She made no answer. - </p> - <p> - “What is it, dear?” he repeated. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, nothing. I wanted to tell him about something; that is all. It - doesn't matter now.” She glanced up into his face with a sudden doubt. - “You didn't see him—you are quite sure he went away without your - seeing him—you are not deceiving me?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, of course, Constance, but he'll come back.” - </p> - <p> - “No, he won't, papa,” shaking her head sadly. “He's gone, and he will - never come back. I know him better than you do.” - </p> - <p> - And then she fled promptly up-stairs to her own room. - </p> - <p> - This was the nearest Constance came to betraying her love for Oakley. She - was not much given to confidences, and the ideals that had sustained her - in her pride now seemed so childish and unworthy that she had no wish to - dwell upon them, but whenever Dan's name was mentioned in her presence she - looked frightened and guilty and avoided meeting her father's glance. - </p> - <p> - It seemed, indeed, that. Oakley had taken final leave of Antioch. A new - manager appeared and took formal charge of the destinies of the road. - Under his direction work was resumed in the shops, for the strike had died - a natural death. None of the hands were disposed to question the - ten-per-cent cut, and before the winter was over the scale of wages that - had been in force before the strike was inaugurated was voluntarily - restored. The town had no criticisms to make of Johnson, the new manager, - a quiet, competent official; the most any one said was that he was not - Oakley. That was enough. For Dan had come into his own. - </p> - <p> - Early in October there was a flutter of excitement when Turner Joyce and - his wife left for the East to be Oakley's guests. When they returned, some - weeks later, they had a good deal to say about him that Antioch was - frankly curious to hear. - </p> - <p> - He had taken his father to Burton, where his mother was buried. Afterwards - he had joined General Cornish in New York. - </p> - <p> - While abroad, the financier had effected a combination of interests which - grouped a number of roads under one management, and Dan had been made - general superintendent of the consolidated lines, with his headquarters in - New York City. The Joyces were but vaguely informed as to where these - lines were, but they did full justice to their magnitude, as well as to - the importance of Oakley's new connection. - </p> - <p> - The dull monotony of those fall days in Antioch was never forgotten by - Constance Emory. She was listless and restless by turns. She had hoped - that she might hear from Oakley. She even thought the Joyces might bring - her some message, but none had come. Dan had taken her at her word. - </p> - <p> - She had made no friends, and, with Ryder dead and Oakley gone, she saw. no - one, and finally settled down into an apathy that alarmed the doctor. He, - after some deliberation, suddenly announced his intention of going East to - attend a medical convention. - </p> - <p> - “Shall you see Mr. Oakley?” Constance asked, with quick interest. - </p> - <p> - “Probably, if he's in New York when I get there.” - </p> - <p> - Constance gave him a scared look and dropped her eyes. But when the time - drew near for his departure, she followed him about as if there were - something on her mind which she wished to tell him. - </p> - <p> - The day he started, she found courage to ask, “Won't you take me with you, - papa?” - </p> - <p> - “Not this time, dear,” he answered. - </p> - <p> - She was quiet for a moment, and then said: - </p> - <p> - “Papa, you are not going to tell him?” - </p> - <p> - “Tell who, Constance? What?” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Oakley.” - </p> - <p> - “What about Oakley, dear?” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him from under her long lashes while the color slowly - mounted to her cheeks. - </p> - <p> - “You are not going to tell him what you think you know?” - </p> - <p> - The doctor smiled. - </p> - <p> - “I wish you would grant me the possession of ordinary sense, Constance. I - am not quite a fool.” - </p> - <p> - “You are a precious,” she said, kissing him. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you. What message shall I give Oakley for you?” - </p> - <p> - “None.” - </p> - <p> - “None?” - </p> - <p> - “He won't want to hear from me,” shyly. - </p> - <p> - “Why not?” - </p> - <p> - “Because he just won't, papa. Besides, I expect he has forgotten that such - a person ever lived.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't be too sure of that. What was the trouble, Constance? You'd - better tell me, or I may say something I shouldn't.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you must not say anything,” in alarm. “You must promise.” - </p> - <p> - “Constance, what did Oakley say to you that last day he was here at the - house?” - </p> - <p> - Constance's glance wandered meditatively from her father's face to the - window and back again, while her color came and went. There was a faraway, - wistful look in her eyes, and a sad little smile on her lips. At last she - said, softly, “Oh, he said a number of things. I can't remember now all he - did say. - </p> - <p> - “Did Oakley tell you he cared for you?” - </p> - <p> - Constance hesitated a moment, then, reluctantly: - </p> - <p> - “Well, yes, he did. And I let him go, thinking I didn't care for him,” - miserably, and with a pathetic droop of her lips, from which the smile had - fled. “I didn't know, and I have been so unhappy!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” - </p> - <p> - Constance left the room abruptly. - </p> - <p> - When he reached New York, the first thing the doctor did was to look up - Oakley. He was quick to notice a certain constraint in the young man's - manner as they shook hands, but this soon passed off. - </p> - <p> - “I am awfully glad to see you,” he had said. “I have thought of you again - and again, and I have been on the point of writing you a score of times. I - haven't forgotten your kindness to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense, Oakley. I liked you, and it was a pleasure to me to be able to - show my regard,” responded the doctor, with hearty good-will. - </p> - <p> - “How is Mrs. Emory—and Miss Emory?” - </p> - <p> - “They are both very well. They were just a little hurt that you ran off - without so much as a goodbye.” - </p> - <p> - Oakley gave him a quick glance. - </p> - <p> - “She is—Miss Emory is still in Antioch?” - </p> - <p> - The doctor nodded. - </p> - <p> - “I didn't know but what she might be in the city with you,” Dan explained, - with evident disappointment. - </p> - <p> - “Aren't we ever going to see you in Antioch again?” inquired the doctor. - He put the question with studied indifference. Dan eagerly scanned his - face. The doctor fidgeted awkwardly. - </p> - <p> - “Do <i>you</i> think I'd better go back?” he asked, with a perceptible - dwelling on the “you.” - </p> - <p> - The doctor's face became a trifle red. He seemed to weigh the matter - carefully; then he said: - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I think you'd better. Antioch would like mightily to lay hands on - you.” - </p> - <p> - Dan laughed happily. “You don't suppose a fellow could dodge all that, do - you? You see, I was going west to Chicago in a day or so, and I had - thought to take a run on to Antioch. As a matter of fact, Cornish wants me - to keep an eye on the shops. They are doing well, you know, and we don't - want any falling off. But, you understand, I don't want to get let in for - any fool hysterics,” he added, impatiently. - </p> - <p> - Notwithstanding the supposed confidence in which telegrams are - transmitted, Brown, the day man at Antioch, generally used his own - discretion in giving publicity to any facts of local interest that came - under his notice. But when he wrote off Dr. Emory's message, announcing - that he and Oakley were in Chicago, and would arrive in Antioch the last - of the week, he held it for several hours, not quite knowing what to do. - Finally he delivered it in person, a sacrifice of official dignity that - only the exigencies of the occasion condoned in his eyes. As he handed it - to Mrs. Emory, he said: - </p> - <p> - “It's from the doctor. You needn't be afraid to open it; he's all right. - He'll be back Saturday night, and he's bringing Mr. Oakley with him. I - came up to see if you had any objection to my letting the town know?” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Emory saw no reason why the knowledge of Oakley's return should be - withheld, and in less than half an hour Antioch, with bated breath, was - discussing the news on street corners and over back fences. - </p> - <p> - That night the town council met in secret session to consider the weighty - matter of his reception, for by common consent it was agreed that the town - must take official action. It was suggested that he be given the freedom - of the city. This sounded large, and met with instant favor, but when the - question arose as to how the freedom of the city was conferred, the - president turned, with a slightly embarrassed air, to the member who had - made the motion. The member explained, with some reserve, that he believed - the most striking feature had to do with the handing over of the city keys - to the guest of honor. But, unfortunately, Antioch had no city keys to - deliver. The only keys that, by any stretch of the imagination, could be - so called, were those of the court-house, and they were lost. Here an - appeal was made to the Hon. Jeb Barrows, who was usually called in to - straighten out any parliamentary tangles in which the council became - involved. That eminent statesman was leaning dreamily against a pillar at - the end of the council-chamber. On one of his cards he had already - pencilled the brief suggestion: “Feed him, and have out the band.” He - handed the card to the president, and the council heaved a sigh of relief. - The momentous question of Oakley's official reception was settled. - </p> - <p> - When Dan and Dr. Emory stepped from No. 7 Saturday night the station - platform was crowded with men and boys. The brass-band, which Antioch - loved with a love that stifled criticism, perspiring and in dire haste, - was turning the street corner half a block distant. Across the tracks at - the railroad shops a steam-whistle shrieked an ecstatic welcome. - </p> - <p> - Dan glanced at the doctor with a slightly puzzled air. “What do you - suppose is the matter?” he asked, unsuspiciously. - </p> - <p> - “Why, man, don't you understand? It's <i>you!</i>” - </p> - <p> - There was no need for him to say more, for the crowd had caught sight of - Dan, and a hundred voices cried: - </p> - <p> - “There he is! There's Oakley!” - </p> - <p> - And in an instant Antioch, giving way to wild enthusiasm, was cheering - itself black in the face, while above the sound of cheers and the crash of - music, the steam-whistle at the shops shrieked and pealed. - </p> - <p> - The blood left Oakley's face. He looked down at the crowd and saw Turner - Joyce. He saw McClintock and Holt and the men from the shops, who were, if - possible, the noisiest of all. He turned helplessly to the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Let's get out of this,” he said between his teeth. The crowd and the - noise and the excitement recalled that other night when he had ridden into - Antioch. As he spoke he swung himself down from the steps of the coach, - and the crowd closed about him with a glad shout of welcome. - </p> - <p> - The doctor followed more slowly. As he gained the platform, the Hon. Jeb - Barrows hurried to his side. - </p> - <p> - “Where is he to go, Doc?” he panted. “To your house, or to the hotel?” - </p> - <p> - “To my house.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, then. The crowd's spoiling the whole business. I've got an - address of welcome in my pocket that I was to have delivered, and there's - to be a supper at the Rink to-night. Don't let him get away from you.” - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile, Dan had succeeded in extricating himself from the clutches of - his friends, and was struggling towards a closed carriage at the end of - the platform that he recognized as the Emorys'. - </p> - <p> - In his haste and the dusk of the dull October twilight, he supposed the - figure he saw in the carriage to be the doctor, who had preceded him, and - called to the man on the box to drive home. - </p> - <p> - As he settled himself, he said, reproachfully: - </p> - <p> - “I hope you hadn't anything to do with this?” - </p> - <p> - A slim, gloved hand was placed in his own, and a laughing voice said: - </p> - <p> - “How do you do, Mr. Oakley?” - </p> - <p> - He glanced up quickly, and found himself face to face with Constance - Emory. - </p> - <p> - There was a moment's silence, and then Dan said, the courage that had - brought him all the way to Antioch suddenly deserting him: “It's too bad, - isn't it? I had hoped I could slip in and out of town without any one - being the wiser.” - </p> - <p> - “But you can't,” with a little air of triumph. “Antioch is going to - entertain you. It's been in a perfect furor of excitement ever since it - knew you were coming back.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I suppose there is no help for it,” resignedly. - </p> - <p> - “Where is my father, Mr. Oakley?” - </p> - <p> - “I guess we left him behind,” with sudden cheerfulness. He leaned forward - so that he could look into her face. - </p> - <p> - “Constance, I have returned because I couldn't stay away any longer. I - tried to forget, but it was no use.” - </p> - <p> - She had withdrawn her hand, but he had found it again, and now his fingers - closed over it and held it fast He was feeling a sense of ownership. - </p> - <p> - “Did you come to meet me?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “I came to meet papa.” - </p> - <p> - “But you knew I was coming, too?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh no.” - </p> - <p> - It was too dark for him to see the color that was slowly mounting to her - face. - </p> - <p> - “Constance, I don't believe you,” he cried. - </p> - <p> - “I was not sure you were coming,” Constance said, weakly. - </p> - <p> - “You might have known that I'd come back—that I couldn't stay away.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't you think you have been a long time in making that discovery?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, yes, but when I saw your father—” - </p> - <p> - “What did papa say to you?” with keen suspicion in her tones. - </p> - <p> - “You mustn't blame him, Constance. It was not so much what he said as what - he didn't say. I never knew any one to be quite so ostentatious about what - was left unsaid.” - </p> - <p> - Constance freed her hand, and, shrinking into a corner, covered her face. - She had a painful realization of the direction those confidences must have - taken, between her father, who only desired her happiness, and the candid - Oakley, who only desired her love. - </p> - <p> - “Was there any use in my coming? You must be fair with me now. It's too - serious a matter for you not to be.” - </p> - <p> - “You think I was not fair once?” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't mean that, but you have changed.” - </p> - <p> - “For the better, Mr. Oakley?” - </p> - <p> - “Infinitely,” with blunt simplicity. - </p> - <p> - “You haven't changed a scrap. You are just as rude as you ever were.” - </p> - <p> - Dan cast a hurried glance from the window. “Constance, we won't have much - more time to ourselves; we are almost home. Won't you tell me what I have - come to hear—that you do care for me, and will be my wife? You know - that I love you. But you mustn't send me from you a second time without - hope.” - </p> - <p> - “I shouldn't think you would care about me now. I wouldn't care about you - if you had been as unworthy as I have been,” her voice faltered. “I might - have shown you that I, too, could be brave, but I let the opportunity - pass, and now, when everyone is proud—” - </p> - <p> - “But I <i>do</i> care. I care a great deal, for I love you just as I have - loved you from the very first.” - </p> - <p> - She put out both her hands. - </p> - <p> - “If you had only looked back when you left the house that day you told me - you cared—” - </p> - <p> - “What, Constance?” - </p> - <p> - “I was at the window. I thought you'd surely look back, and then you would - have known—” - </p> - <p> - “My darling!” - </p> - <p> - The carriage had drawn up to the Emorys' gate. Dan jumped out and gave - Constance his hand. Off in the distance they heard the band. Constance - paused and rested her hand gently on Oakley's arm. - </p> - <p> - “Hark! Do you hear?” - </p> - <p> - “I wish they'd stop their confounded nonsense,” said Dan. - </p> - <p> - “No, you can't stop them,” delightedly. “Antioch feels a sense of - proprietorship. But do you hear the music, Dan?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, dear. It's the band.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course it's the band. But do you know what it is <i>playing?</i>” - </p> - <p> - Oakley shook his head dubiously. She gave his arm a little pat and laughed - softly. - </p> - <p> - “It might be difficult to recognize it, but it's the bridal-march from - 'Lohengrin.'” - </p> - <p> - “If they stick to that, I don't care, Constance.” - </p> - <p> - And side by side they went slowly and silently up the path to the house. - </p> - <h3> - THE END - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Manager of The B. & A., by Vaughan Kester - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANAGER OF THE B. & A. *** - -***** This file should be named 51953-h.htm or 51953-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/5/51953/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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- <title>
- The Manager of the B. & A., by Vaughan Kester
- </title>
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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Manager of The B. & A., by Vaughan Kester
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-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
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-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: The Manager of The B. & A.
- A Novel
-
-Author: Vaughan Kester
-
-Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51953]
-Last Updated: March 15, 2018
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANAGER OF THE B. & A. ***
-
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-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by Google Books
-
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-</pre>
-
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- THE MANAGER OF THE B. & A.
- </h1>
- <h3>
- A Novel
- </h3>
- <h2>
- By Vaughan Kester
- </h2>
- <h4>
- Grosset & Dunlap, New York
- </h4>
- <h4>
- Published by Arrangement with Harper & Brothers
- </h4>
- <h3>
- 1901
- </h3>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0002.jpg" alt="0002 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0002.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0008 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <h3>
- TO
- </h3>
- <h3>
- THE MEMORY OF MY UNCLE
- </h3>
- <h3>
- HARRY WATKINS
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE MANAGER OF THE B.</b> & <b>A.</b>
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- THE MANAGER OF THE B. & A.
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER I
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>AKLEY was alone in
- the bare general offices of the Huckleberry line-as the Buckhom and
- Antioch Railroad was commonly called by the public, which it betrayed in
- the matter of meals and connections. He was lolling lazily over his desk
- with a copy of the local paper before him, and the stem of a disreputable
- cob pipe between his teeth.
- </p>
- <p>
- The business of the day was done, and the noise and hurry attending its
- doing had given way to a sudden hush. Other sounds than those that had
- filled the ear since morning grew out of the stillness. Big drops of rain
- driven by the wind splashed softly against the unpainted pine door which
- led into the yards, or fell with a gay patter on the corrugated tin roof
- overhead. No. 7, due at 5.40, had just pulled out with twenty minutes to
- make up between Antioch and Harrison, the western terminus of the line.
- The six-o'clock whistle had blown, and the men from the car shops, a
- dingy, one-story building that joined the general offices on the east,
- were straggling off home. Across the tracks at the ugly little depot the
- ticket-agent and telegraph-operator had locked up and hurried away under
- one umbrella the moment No. 7 was clear of the platform. From the yards
- every one was gone but Milton McClintock, the master mechanic, and Dutch
- Pete, the yard buss. Protected by dripping yellow oil-skins, they were
- busy repairing a wheezy switch engine that had been incontinently backed
- into a siding and the caboose of a freight.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley was waiting the return of Clarence, the office-boy, whom he had
- sent up-town to the post-office. Having read the two columns of local and
- personal gossip arranged under the heading “People You Know,” he swept his
- newspaper into the wastebasket and pushed back his chair. The window
- nearest his desk overlooked the yards and a long line of shabby day
- coaches and battered freight cars on one of the sidings. They were there
- to be rebuilt or repaired. This meant a new lease of life to the shops,
- which had never proved profitable.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley had been with the Huckleberry two months. The first intimation the
- office force received that the new man whom they had been expecting for
- over a week had arrived in Antioch, and was prepared to take hold, was
- when he walked into the office and quietly introduced himself to Kerr and
- Holt. Former general managers had arrived by special after much
- preliminary wiring. The manner of their going had been less spectacular.
- They one and all failed, and General Cornish cut short the days of their
- pride and display.
- </p>
- <p>
- Naturally the office had been the least bit skeptical concerning Oakley
- and his capabilities, but within a week a change was patent to every one
- connected with the road: the trains began to regard their schedules, and
- the slackness and unthrift in the yards gave place to an ordered
- prosperity. Without any apparent effort he found work for the shops, a few
- extra men even were taken on, and there was no hint as yet of half-time
- for the summer months.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was a broad-shouldered, long-limbed, energetic young fellow, with frank
- blue eyes that looked one squarely in the face. Men liked him because he
- was straightforward, alert, and able, with an indefinite personal charm
- that lifted him out of the ordinary. These were the qualities Cornish had
- recognized when he put him in control of his interests at Antioch, and
- Oakley, who enjoyed hard work, had earned his salary several times over
- and was really doing wonders.
- </p>
- <p>
- He put down his pipe, which was smoked out, and glanced at the clock.
- “What's the matter with that boy?” he muttered.
- </p>
- <p>
- The matter was that Clarence had concluded to take a brief vacation. After
- leaving the post-office he skirted a vacant lot and retired behind his
- father's red barn, where he applied himself diligently to the fragment of
- a cigarette that earlier in the day McClintock, to his great scandal, had
- discovered him smoking in the solitude of an empty box-car in the yards.
- The master mechanic, who had boys of his own, had called him a runty
- little cuss, and had sent him flying up the tracks with a volley of bad
- words ringing in his ears.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the cigarette was finished, the urchin bethought him of the purpose
- of his errand. This so worked upon his fears that he bolted for the office
- with all the speed of his short legs. As he ran he promised himself,
- emotionally, that “the boss” was likely to “skin” him. But whatever his
- fears, he dashed into Oakley's presence, panting and in hot haste. “Just
- two letters for you, Mr. Oakley!” he gasped. “That was all there was!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He went over to the superintendent and handed him the letters. Oakley
- observed him critically and with a dry smile. For an instant the boy hung
- his head sheepishly, then his face brightened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's an awfully wet day; it's just sopping!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley waived this bit of gratuitous information.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you run all the way?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yep, every step,” with the impudent mendacity that comes of long
- practice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's rather curious you didn't get back sooner.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Clarence looked at the clock.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was I gone long? It didn't seem long to me,” he added, with a candor he
- intended should disarm criticism.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only a little over half an hour, Clarence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The superintendent sniffed suspiciously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “McClintock says he caught you smoking a cigarette to-day—how about
- it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cubebs,” in a faint voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- The superintendent sniffed again and scrutinized the boy's hands, which
- rested on the corner of his desk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's that on your fingers?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Clarence considered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That? Why, that must be walnut-stains from last year. Didn't you ever get
- walnut-stains on your hands when you was a boy, Mr. Oakley?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose so, but I don't remember that they lasted all winter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Clarence was discreetly silent. He felt that the chief executive of the
- Huckleberry took too great an interest in his personal habits. Besides, it
- was positively painful to have to tell lies that went so wide of the mark
- as his had gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess you may as well go home now. But I wouldn't smoke any more
- cigarettes, if I were you,” gathering up his letters.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-night, Mr. Oakley,” with happy alacrity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-night, Clarence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The door into the yards closed with a bang, and Clarence, gleefully
- skipping the mud-puddles which lay in his path, hurried his small person
- off through the rain and mist.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley glanced at his letters. One he saw was from General Cornish. It
- proved to be a brief note, scribbled in pencil on the back of a telegram
- blank. The general would arrive in Antioch that night on the late train.
- He wished Oakley to meet him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The other letter was in an unfamiliar hand. Oakley opened it. Like the
- first, it was brief and to the point, but he did not at once grasp its
- meaning. This is what he read:
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>“DEAR Sir,—I enclose two newspaper clippings which fully explain
- themselves. Your father is much interested in knowing your whereabouts. I
- have not furnished him with any definite information on this point, as I
- have not felt at liberty to do so. However, I was able to tell him I
- believed you were doing well. Should you desire to write him, I will
- gladly undertake to see that any communication you may send care of this
- office will reach him.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Very sincerely yours,</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>“Ezra Hart.”</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- It was like a bolt from a clear sky. He drew a deep, quick breath. Then he
- took up the newspaper clippings. One was a florid column-and-a-half
- account of a fire in the hospital ward of the Massachusetts State prison,
- and dealt particularly with the heroism of Roger Oakley, a life prisoner,
- in leading a rescue. The other clipping, merely a paragraph, was of more
- recent date. It announced that Roger Oakley had been pardoned.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley had scarcely thought of his father in years. The man and his
- concerns—his crime and his tragic atonement—had passed
- completely out of his life, but now he was free, if he chose, to enter it
- again. There was such suddenness in the thought that he turned sick on the
- moment; a great wave of self-pity enveloped him, the recollection of his
- struggles and his shame—the bitter, helpless shame of a child—returned.
- He felt only resentment towards this man whose crime had blasted his
- youth, robbing him of every ordinary advantage, and clearly the end was
- not yet.
- </p>
- <p>
- True, by degrees, he had grown away from the memory of it all. He had long
- since freed himself of the fear that his secret might be discovered. With
- success, he had even acquired a certain complacency. Without knowing his
- history, the good or the bad of it, his world had accepted him for what he
- was really worth. He was neither cowardly nor selfish. It was not alone
- the memory of his own hardships that embittered him and turned his heart
- against his father. His mother's face, with its hunted, fugitive look,
- rose up before him in protest. He recalled their wanderings in search of
- some place where their story was not known and where they could begin life
- anew, their return to Burton, and then her death.
- </p>
- <p>
- For years it had been like a dream, and now he saw only the slouching
- figure of the old convict, which seemed to menace him, and remembered only
- the evil consequent upon his crime.
- </p>
- <p>
- Next he fell to wondering what sort of a man this Roger Oakley was who had
- seemed so curiously remote, who had been as a shadow in his way preceding
- the presence, and suddenly he found his heart softening towards him. It
- was infinitely pathetic to the young man, with his abundant strength and
- splendid energy; this imprisonment that had endured for almost a quarter
- of a century. He fancied his father as broken and friendless, as dazed and
- confused by his unexpected freedom, with his place in the world forever
- lost. After all, he could not sit in judgment, or avenge.
- </p>
- <p>
- So far as he knew he had never seen his father but once. First there had
- been a hot, dusty journey by stage, then he had gone through a massive
- iron gate and down a narrow passage, where he had trotted by his mother's
- side, holding fast to her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- All this came back in a jerky, disconnected fashion, with wide gaps and
- lapses he could not fill, but the impression made upon his mind by his
- father had been lasting and vivid. He still saw him as he was then, with
- the chalky prison pallor on his haggard face. A clumsily made man of
- tremendous bone and muscle, who had spoken with them through the bars of
- his cell-door, while his mother cried softly behind her shawl. The boy had
- thought of him as a man in a cage.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wondered who Ezra Hart was, for the name seemed familiar. At length he
- placed him. He was the lawyer who had defended his father. He was puzzled
- that Hart knew where he was; he had hoped the little New England village
- had lost all track of him, but the fact that Hart did know convinced him
- it would be quite useless to try to keep his whereabouts a secret from his
- father, even if he wished to. Since Hart knew, there must be others, also,
- who knew.
- </p>
- <p>
- He took up the newspaper clippings again. By an odd coincidence they had
- reached him on the very day the Governor of Massachusetts had set apart
- for his father's release.
- </p>
- <p>
- Outside, in the yards, on the drenched town, and in the sweating fields
- beyond, the warm spring rain fell and splashed.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a fit time for Roger Oakley to leave the gray walls, and the gray
- garb he had worn so long, and to re-enter the world of living things and
- the life of the one person in all that world who had reason to remember
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER II
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>AKLEY drew down
- the top of his desk and left the office. Before locking the door, on which
- some predecessor had caused the words, “Department of Transportation and
- Maintenance. No admittance, except on business,” to be stencilled in black
- letters, he called to McClintock, who, with Dutch Pete, was still fussing
- over the wheezy switch-engine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you want in the office for anything, Milt?” The master-mechanic, who
- had been swearing at a rusted nut, got up from his knees and, dangling a
- big wrench in one hand, bawled back: “No, I guess not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How's the job coming on?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “About finished. Damn that fool Bennett, anyhow! Next time he runs this
- old bird-cage into a freight, he'll catch hell from me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- After turning the key on the Department of Transportation and Maintenance,
- Oakley crossed the tracks to the station and made briskly off up-town,
- with the wind and rain blowing in his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- He lived at the American House, the best hotel the place could boast. It
- overlooked the public square, a barren waste an acre or more in extent,
- built about with stores and offices; where, on hot summer Saturdays,
- farmers who had come to town to trade, hitched their teams in the deep
- shade of the great maples that grew close to the curb. Here, on Decoration
- Day and the Fourth of July, the eloquence of the county assembled and
- commuted its proverbial peck of dirt in favor of very fine dust. Here,
- too, the noisiest of brass-bands made hideous hash of patriotic airs, and
- the forty odd youths constituting the local militia trampled the shine
- from each other's shoes, while their captain, who had been a sutler's
- clerk in the Civil War, cursed them for a lot of lunkheads. And at least
- once in the course of each summer's droning flight the spot was abandoned
- to the purely carnal delights of some wandering road circus.
- </p>
- <p>
- In short, Antioch had its own life and interests, after the manner of
- every other human ant-hill; and the Honorable Jeb Barrow's latest public
- utterance, Dippy Ellsworth's skill on the snare-drum, or “Cap” Roberts's
- military genius, and whether or not the Civil War would really have ended
- at Don-elson if Grant had only been smart enough to take his advice, were
- all matters of prime importance and occupied just as much time to weigh
- properly and consider as men's interests do anywhere.
- </p>
- <p>
- In Antioch, Oakley was something of a figure. He was the first manager of
- the road to make the town his permanent headquarters, and the town was
- grateful. It would have swamped him with kindly attention, but he had
- studiously ignored all advances, preferring not to make friends. In this
- he had not entirely succeeded. The richest man in the county, Dr. Emory,
- who was a good deal of a patrician, had taken a fancy to him, and had
- insisted upon entertaining him at a formal dinner, at which there were
- present the Methodist minister, the editor of the local paper, the
- principal merchant, a judge, and an ex-Congressman, who went to sleep with
- the soup and only wakened in season for the ice-cream. It was the most
- impressive function Oakley had ever attended, and even to think of it
- still sent the cold chills coursing down his spine.
- </p>
- <p>
- That morning he had chanced to meet Dr. Emory on the street, and the
- doctor, who could always be trusted to say exactly what he thought, had
- taken him to task for not calling. There was a reason why Oakley had not
- done so. The doctor's daughter had just returned from the East, and vague
- rumors were current concerning her beauty and elegance. Now, women were
- altogether beyond Oakley's ken. However, since some responsive courtesy
- was evidently expected of him, he determined to have it over with at once.
- Imbued with this idea, he went to his room after supper to dress. As he
- arrayed himself for the ordeal, he sought to recall a past experience in
- line with the present. Barring the recent dinner, his most ambitious
- social experiment had been a brakesmen's ball in Denver, years before,
- when he was conductor on a freight. He laughed softly as he fastened his
- tie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder what Dr. Emory would think if I told him I'd punched a fellow at
- a dance once because he wanted to take my girl away from me.” He recalled,
- as pointing his innate conservatism, that he had decided not to repeat the
- experiment until he achieved a position where a glittering social success
- was not contingent upon his ability to punch heads.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was still raining, a discouragingly persistent drizzle, when Oakley
- left his hotel and turned from the public square into Main Street. This
- Main Street was never an imposing thoroughfare, and a week of steady
- downpour made it from curb to curb a river of quaking mud. It was lit at
- long intervals by flickering gas-lamps that glowed like corpulent
- fireflies in the misty darkness beneath the dripping maple-boughs. As in
- the case of most Western towns, Antioch had known dreams of greatness,
- dreams which had not been realized. It stood stockstill, in all its raw,
- ugly youth, with the rigid angularity its founders had imposed upon it
- when they hacked and hewed a spot for it in the pine-woods, whose stunted
- second growth encircled it on every side.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Emory home had once been a farm-house of the better class; various
- additions and improvements gave it an air of solid and substantial comfort
- unusual in a community where the prevailing style of architecture was a
- square wooden box, built close to the street end of a narrow lot.
- </p>
- <p>
- The doctor himself answered Oakley's ring, and led the way into the
- parlor, after relieving him of his hat and umbrella.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My wife you know, Mr. Oakley. This is my daughter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Constance Emory rose from her seat before the wood fire that smoldered on
- the wide, old-fashioned hearth, and gave Oakley her hand. He saw a
- stately, fair-haired girl, trimly gowned in an evening dress that to his
- unsophisticated gaze seemed astonishingly elaborate. But he could not have
- imagined anything more becoming. He decided that she was very pretty.
- Later he changed his mind. She was more than pretty.
- </p>
- <p>
- For her part, Miss Emory saw merely a tall young fellow, rather
- good-looking than otherwise, who was feeling nervously for his cuffs.
- Beyond this there was not much to be said in his favor, but she was
- willing to be amused.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had been absent from Antioch four years. These years had been spent in
- the East, and in travel abroad with a widowed and childless sister of her
- father's. She was, on the whole, glad to be home again. As yet she was not
- disturbed by any thoughts of the future. She looked on the world with
- serene eyes. They were a limpid blue, and veiled by long, dark lashes. She
- possessed the poise and unshaken self-confidence that comes of position
- and experience. Her father and mother were not so well satisfied with the
- situation; they already recognized that it held the elements of a tragedy.
- In their desire to give her every opportunity they had overreached
- themselves. She had outgrown Antioch as surely as she had outgrown her
- childhood, and it was as impossible to take her back to the one as to the
- other.
- </p>
- <p>
- The doctor patted Oakley on the shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad you've dropped in. I hope, now you have made a beginning, we
- shall see more of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was a portly man of fifty, with kindly eyes and an easy, gracious
- manner. Mrs. Emory was sedate and placid, a handsome, well-kept woman, who
- administered her husband's affairs with a steadiness and economy that had
- made it possible for him to amass a comfortable fortune from his
- straggling country practice.
- </p>
- <p>
- Constance soon decided that Oakley was not at all like the young men of
- Antioch as she recalled them, nor was he like the men she had known while
- under her aunt's tutelage—the leisurely idlers who drifted with the
- social tide, apparently without responsibility or care.
- </p>
- <p>
- He proved hopelessly dense on those matters with which they had been
- perfectly familiar. It seemed to her that pleasure and accomplishment, as
- she understood them, had found no place in his life. The practical quality
- in his mind showed at every turn of the conversation. He appeared to
- hunger after hard facts, and the harder these facts were the better he
- liked them. But he offended in more glaring ways. He was too intense, and
- his speech too careful and precise, as if he were uncertain as to his
- grammar, as, indeed, he was.
- </p>
- <p>
- Poor Oakley was vaguely aware that he was not getting on, and the strain
- told. It slowly dawned upon him that he was not her sort, that where he
- was concerned, she was quite alien, quite foreign, with interests he could
- not comprehend, but which gave him a rankling sense of inferiority.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been moderately well satisfied with himself, as indeed he had good
- reason to be, but her manner was calculated to rob him of undue pride; he
- was not accustomed to being treated with mixed indifference and patronage.
- He asked himself resentfully how it happened that he had never before met
- such a girl. She fascinated him. The charm of her presence seemed to
- suddenly create and satisfy a love for the beautiful. With generous
- enthusiasm he set to work to be entertaining. Then a realization of the
- awful mental poverty in which he dwelt burst upon him for the first time.
- He longed for some light and graceful talent with which to bridge the wide
- gaps between the stubborn heights of his professional erudition.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was profoundly versed on rates, grades, ballast, motive power, and
- rolling stock, but this solid information was of no avail He could on
- occasion talk to a swearing section-boss with a grievance and a brogue in
- a way to make that man his friend for life; he also possessed the happy
- gift of inspiring his subordinates with a zealous sense of duty, but his
- social responsibilities numbed his faculties and left him a bankrupt for
- words.
- </p>
- <p>
- The others gave him no assistance. Mrs. Emory, smiling and good-humored,
- but silent, bent above her sewing. She was not an acute person, and the
- situation was lost upon her, while the doctor took only the most casual
- part in the conversation.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley was wondering how he could make his escape, when the door-bell
- rang. The doctor slipped from the parlor. When he returned he was not
- alone. He was preceded by a dark young man of one or two and thirty. This
- was Griffith Ryder, the owner of the Antioch <i>Herald</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear,” said he, “Mr. Ryder.” Ryder shook hands with the two ladies,
- and nodded carelessly to Oakley; then, with an easy, graceful compliment,
- he lounged down in a chair at Miss Emory's side.
- </p>
- <p>
- Constance had turned from the strenuous Oakley to the new-comer with a
- sense of unmistakable relief. Her mother, too, brightened visibly. She did
- not entirely approve of Ryder, but he was always entertaining in a lazy,
- indifferent fashion of his own.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see, Griff,” the doctor said, “that you are going to support Kenyon. I
- declare it shakes my confidence in you,” And he drew forward his chair.
- Like most Americans, the physician was something of a politician, and, as
- is also true of most Americans, not professionally concerned in the hunt
- for office, this interest fluctuated between the two extremes of party
- enthusiasm before and non-partisan disgust after elections.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder smiled faintly. “Yes, we know just how much of a rascal Kenyon is,
- and we know nothing at all about the other fellow, except that he wants
- the nomination, which is a bad sign. Suppose he should turn out a greater
- scamp! Really it's too much of a risk.” he drawled, with an affectation of
- contempt.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your politics always were a shock to your friends, but this serves to
- explain them,” remarked the doctor, with latent combativeness. But Ryder
- was not to be beguiled into argument. He turned again to Miss Emory.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your father is not a practical politician, or he would realize that it is
- only common thrift to send Kenyon back, for I take it he has served his
- country not without profit to himself; besides, he is clamorous and
- persistent, and there seems no other way to dispose of him. It's either
- that or the penitentiary.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Constance laughed softly. “And so you think he can afford to be honest
- now? What shocking ethics!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is my theory. Anyhow, I don't see why your father should wish me to
- forego the mild excitement of assisting to re-elect my more or less
- disreputable friend. Antioch has had very little to offer one until you
- came,” he added, with gentle deference. Miss Emory accepted the compliment
- with the utmost composure. Once she had been rather flattered by his
- attentions, but four years make a great difference. Either he had lost in
- cleverness, or she had gained in knowledge.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was a very tired young man. At one time he had possessed some
- expectations and numerous pretensions. The expectation had faded out of
- his life, but the pretence remained in the absence of any vital
- achievement. He was college-bred, and had gone in for literature. From
- literature he had drifted into journalism, and had ended in Antioch as
- proprietor of the local paper, which he contrived to edit with a lively
- irresponsibility that won him few friends, though it did gain him some
- small reputation as a humorist.
- </p>
- <p>
- His original idea had been that the management of a country weekly would
- afford him opportunity for the serious work which he believed he could do,
- but he had not done this serious work, and was not likely to do it. He
- derived a fair income from the <i>Herald</i>, and he allowed his ambitions
- to sink into abeyance, in spite of his cherished conviction that he was
- cut out for bigger things. Perhaps he had wisely decided that his
- pretensions were much safer than accomplishment, since the importance of
- what a man actually does can generally be measured, while what he might do
- admits of exaggerated claims.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley had known Ryder only since the occasion of the doctor's dinner, and
- felt that he could never be more than an acquired taste, if at all.
- </p>
- <p>
- The editor took the floor, figuratively speaking, for Miss Emory's
- presence made the effort seem worth his while. He promptly relieved Oakley
- of the necessity to do more than listen, an act of charity for which the
- latter was hardly as grateful as he should have been. He was no fool, but
- there were wide realms of enlightenment where he was an absolute stranger,
- so, when Constance and Ryder came to talk of books and music, as they did
- finally, his only refuge was in silence, and he went into a sort of
- intellectual quarantine. His reading had been strictly limited to
- scientific works, and to the half-dozen trade and technical journals to
- which he subscribed, and from which he drew the larger part of his mental
- sustenance. As for music, he was familiar with the airs from the latest
- popular operas, but the masterpieces were utterly unknown, except such as
- had been brought to his notice by having sleeping-cars named in their
- honor, a practice he considered very complimentary, and possessing value
- as a strong commercial endorsement.
- </p>
- <p>
- He amused himself trying to recall whether it was the “Tannhauser” or the
- “Lohengrin” he had ridden on the last time he was East. He was distinctly
- shocked, however, by “Gôtterdammerung,” which was wholly unexpected. It
- suggested such hard swearing, or Dutch Pete's untrammelled observations in
- the yards when he had caught an urchin stealing scrap-iron—a
- recognized source of revenue to the youth of Antioch. But he felt more and
- more aloof as the evening wore on. It was something of the same feeling he
- had known as a boy, after his mother's death, when, homeless and
- friendless at night, he had paused to glance in through uncurtained
- windows, with a dumb, wordless longing for the warmth and comfort he saw
- there.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a relief when the doctor took him into the library to examine
- specimens of iron-ore he had picked up west of Antioch, where there were
- undeveloped mineral lands for which he was trying to secure capital. This
- was a matter Oakley was interested in, since it might mean business for
- the road. He promptly forgot about Miss Emory and the objectionable Ryder,
- and in ten minutes gave the doctor a better comprehension of the mode of
- procedure necessary to success than that gentleman had been able to learn
- in ten years of unfruitful attempting. He also supplied him with a few
- definite facts and figures in lieu of the multitude of glittering
- generalities on which he had been pinning his faith as a means of getting
- money into the scheme.
- </p>
- <p>
- When, at last, they returned to the parlor, they found another caller had
- arrived during their absence, a small, shabbily dressed man, with a high,
- bald head and weak, near-sighted eyes. It was Turner Joyce. Oakley knew
- him just as he was beginning to know every other man, woman, and child in
- the town.
- </p>
- <p>
- Joyce rose hastily, or rather stumbled to his feet, as the doctor and
- Oakley entered the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I told you I was coming up, doctor,” he said, apologetically. “Miss
- Constance has been very kind. She has been telling me of the galleries and
- studios. What a glorious experience!”
- </p>
- <p>
- A cynical smile parted Ryder's thin lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Joyce feels the isolation of his art here.” The little man blinked
- doubtfully at the speaker, and then said, with a gentle, deprecatory
- gesture, “I don't call it art.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are far too modest. I have heard my foreman speak in the most
- complimentary terms of the portrait you did of his wife. He was especially
- pleased with the frame. You must know. Miss Constance, that Mr. Joyce
- usually furnishes the frames, and his pictures go home ready to the wire
- to hang on the wall.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Joyce continued to blink doubtfully at Ryder. He scarcely knew how to
- take the allusion to the frames. It was a sore point with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Constance turned with a displeased air from Ryder to the little artist.
- There was a faint, wistful smile on her lips. He was a rather pathetic
- figure to her, and she could not understand how Ryder dared or had the
- heart to make fun.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall enjoy seeing all that you have done, Mr. Joyce; and of course I
- wish to see Ruth. Why didn't she come with you to-night?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her cousin, Lou Bentick's wife, is dead, and she has been over at his
- house all day. She was quite worn out, but she sent you her love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder glanced again at Miss Emory, and said, with hard cynicism: “The
- notice will appear in Saturday's <i>Herald</i>, with a tribute from her
- pastor. I never refuse his verse. It invariably contains some scathing
- comment on the uncertainty of the Baptist faith as a means of salvation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But this was wasted on Joyce. Ryder rose with a sigh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, we toilers must think of the morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley accepted this as a sign that it was time to go. Joyce, too,
- stumbled across the room to the door, and the three men took their leave
- together. As they stood on the steps, the doctor said, cordially, “I hope
- you will both come again soon; and you, too, Turner,” he added, kindly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder moved off quickly with Oakley. Joyce would have dropped behind, but
- the latter made room for him at his side. No one spoke until Ryder,
- halting on a street corner, said, “Sorry, but it's out of my way to go any
- farther unless you'll play a game of billiards with me at the hotel,
- Oakley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thanks,” curtly. “I don't play billiards.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No? Well, they are a waste of time, I suppose. Good-night.” And he turned
- down the side street, whistling softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A very extraordinary young man,” murmured Joyce, rubbing the tip of his
- nose meditatively with a painty forefinger. “And with quite an
- extraordinary opinion of himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A sudden feeling of friendliness prompted Oakley to tuck his hand through
- the little artist's arm. “How is Bentick bearing the loss of his wife?” he
- asked. “You said she was your cousin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, not mine. My wife's. Poor fellow! he feels it keenly. They had not
- been married long, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The rain was falling in a steady downpour. They had reached Turner Joyce's
- gate, and paused.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Won't you come in and wait until it moderates, Mr. Oakley?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley yielded an assent, and followed him through the gate and around the
- house.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER III
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HERE were three
- people in the kitchen, the principal living room of the Joyce home—Christopher
- Berry, the undertaker; Jeffy, the local outcast, a wretched ruin of a man;
- and Turner Joyce's wife, Ruth.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jeffy was seated at a table, eating. He was a cousin of the Benticks, and
- Mrs. Joyce had furnished him with a complete outfit from her husband's
- slender wardrobe for the funeral on the morrow.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley had never known him to be so well or so wonderfully dressed, and he
- had seen him in a number of surprising costumes. His black trousers barely
- reached the tops of his shoes, while the sleeves of his shiny Prince
- Albert stopped an inch or more above his wrists; he furthermore appeared
- to be in imminent danger of strangulation, such was the height and
- tightness of his collar. The thumb and forefinger of his right hand were
- gone, the result of an accident at a Fourth of July celebration, where, at
- the instigation of Mr. Gid Runyon—a gentleman possessing a lively
- turn of mind and gifted with a keen sense of humor—he had undertaken
- to hold a giant fire-cracker while it exploded, the inducement being a
- quart of whiskey, generously donated for the occasion by Mr. Runyon
- himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Joyce had charged herself with Jeffy's care. She was fearful that he
- might escape and sell his clothes before the funeral. She knew they would
- go immediately after, but then he would no longer be in demand as a
- mourner.
- </p>
- <p>
- As for Jeffy, he was feeling the importance of his position. With a fine
- sense of what was expected from him as a near relative he had spent the
- day in the stricken home: its most picturesque figure, seated bolt upright
- in the parlor, a spotless cotton handkerchief in his hand, and breathing
- an air of chastened sorrow.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had exchanged mournful greetings with the friends of the family, and
- was conscious that he had acquitted himself to the admiration of all. The
- Swede “help,” who was new to Antioch, had thought him a person of the
- first distinction, so great was the curiosity merely to see him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Christopher Berry was a little, dried-up man of fifty, whose name was
- chance, but whose profession was choice. He was his own best indorsement,
- for he was sere and yellow, and gave out a faint, dry perfume as of drugs,
- or tuberoses. “Well, Mrs. Joyce,” he was saying, as Oakley and the little
- artist entered the room, “I guess there ain't nothing else to settle.
- Don't take it so to heart; there are grand possibilities in death, even if
- we can't always realize them, and we got a perfect body. I can't remember
- when I seen death so majestic, and I may say—ca'm.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Joyce, who was crying, dried her eyes on the corner of her apron.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wasn't it sad about Smith Roberts's wife! And with all those children!
- Dear, dear! It's been such a sickly spring!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The undertaker's face assumed an expression of even deeper gloom than was
- habitual to it. He coughed dryly and decorously behind his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They called in the other undertaker. I won't say I didn't feel it, Mrs.
- Joyce, for I did. I'd had the family trade, one might say, always. There
- was her father, his mother, two of her brothers, and the twins. You
- recollect the two twins, Mrs. Joyce, typhoid—in one day,” with as
- near an approach to enthusiasm as he ever allowed himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mrs. Poppleton told me over at Lou's that it was about the pleasantest
- funeral she'd ever been to, and it's durn few she's missed, I'm telling
- you!” remarked the outcast, hoarsely. He usually slept at the gas-house in
- the winter on a convenient pile of hot cinders, and was troubled with a
- bronchial affection. “She said she'd never seen so many flowers. Some of
- Roberts's folks sent 'em here all the ways from Chicago. Say! that didn't
- cost—oh no! I just wisht I'd the money. It'd do me for a spell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, they may have had finer flowers than we got, but the floral
- offerings weren't much when the twins passed away. I remember thinking
- then that was a time for display, if one wanted display. Twins, you know—typhoid,
- too, and in one day!” He coughed dryly again behind his hand. “I wouldn't
- worry, Mrs. Joyce. Their body didn't compare with our body, and the body's
- the main thing, after all.” With which professional view of the case he
- took himself out into the night.
- </p>
- <p>
- The outcast gave way to a burst of hoarse, throaty mirth. “It just makes
- Chris Berry sick to think there's any other undertakers, but he knows his
- business; I'll say that for him any time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned aggressively on Joyce. “Did you get me them black gloves? Now,
- don't give me no fairy tales, for I know durn well from your looks you
- didn't.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll get them for you the first thing in the morning, Jeffy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jeffy brandished his fork angrily in the air.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never seen such a slip-shod way of doing things. I'd like to know what
- sort of a funeral it's going to be if I don't get them black gloves. It'll
- be a failure. Yes, sir, the durndest sort of a failure! All the Chris
- Berrys in the world can't save it. I declare I don't see why I got to have
- all this ornery worry. It ain't my funeral!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hush, Jeffy!” said Mrs. Joyce. “You mustn't take on so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why don't he get me them gloves?” And he glared fiercely at the meek
- figure of the little artist. Then suddenly he subsided. “Reach me the pie,
- Ruthy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Joyce turned nervously to her husband.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Aren't you going to show Mr. Oakley your pictures, Turner?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would you care to see them?” with some trepidation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you will let me,” with a grave courtesy that was instinctive.
- </p>
- <p>
- Joyce took a lamp from the mantel. “You will come, too, Ruth?” he said.
- His wife was divided between her sense of responsibility and her desires.
- She nodded helplessly towards the outcast, where he grovelled noisily over
- his food.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jeffy will stay here until we come back, won't you, Jeffy?” ventured
- Joyce, insinuatingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sure I will. There isn't anything to take me out, unless it's them black
- gloves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Joyce led the way into the hall. “I am so afraid when he's out of my
- sight,” she explained to Oakley. “We've had such trouble in getting him
- put to rights. I couldn't go through it again. He's so trying.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The parlor had been fitted up as a studio. There were cheap draperies on
- the walls, and numerous pictures and sketches. In one corner was a shelf
- of books, with Somebody's <i>Lives of the Painters</i> ostentatiously
- displayed. Standing on the floor, their faces turned in, were three or
- four unfinished canvases. There was also a miscellaneous litter about the
- room, composed of Indian relics and petrified wood.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was popularly supposed that an artist naturally took an interest in
- curios of this sort, his life being devoted to an impractical search after
- the beautiful, and the farmer who ploughed up a petrified rail, or
- discovered an Indian hand-mill, carted it in to poor Joyce, who was too
- tender-hearted to rebel; consequently he had been the recipient of several
- tons of broken rock, and would have been swamped by the accumulation, had
- not Mrs. Joyce from time to time conveyed these offerings to the back
- yard.
- </p>
- <p>
- Joyce held the lamp, so Oakley might have a better view of the pictures on
- the wall. “Perhaps you will like to see my earlier paintings first. There!
- Is the light good? That was Mrs. Joyce just after our marriage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley saw a plump young lady, with her hair elaborately banged and a
- large bouquet in her hand. The background was a landscape, with a ruined
- Greek temple in the distance. “Here she is a year later; and here she is
- again, and over there in the corner above my easel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He swept the lamp back to the first picture. “She hasn't changed much, has
- she?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley was no critic, yet he realized that the little artist's work was
- painfully literal and exact, but then he had a sneaking idea that a good
- photograph was more satisfactory than an oil painting, anyhow.
- </p>
- <p>
- What he could comprehend and appreciate, however, was Mrs. Joyce's
- attitude towards her husband's masterpieces. She was wholly and
- pathetically reverent. It was the sublime, unshaken faith and approval
- that marriage sometimes wins for a man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am so sorry the light isn't any better. Mr. Oakley must come in in the
- afternoon,” she said, anxiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose you have seen some of the best examples of the modern
- painters,” said Joyce, with a tinge of wistful envy in his tones. “You
- know I never have. I haven't been fifty miles from Antioch in my life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley was ashamed to admit that the modern painters were the least of his
- cares, so he said nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's just like Mr. Joyce. He is always doubting his ability, and every
- one says he gets wonderful likenesses.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess,” said Oakley, awkwardly, inspired by a feeling of large
- humanity, “I guess you'll have to be my guest when I go East this fall.
- You know I can always manage transportation,” he added, hastily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, that would be lovely!” cried Mrs. Joyce, in an ecstasy of happiness
- at the mere thought. “Could you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Joyce, with a rather unsteady hand, placed the lamp on the centre-table
- and gazed at his new friend with a gratitude that went beyond words.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley recognized that in a small way he was committed as a patron of the
- arts, but he determined to improve upon his original offer, and send Mrs.
- Joyce with her husband. She would enter into the spirit of his pleasure as
- no one else could.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can't I see more of your work?” he asked, anxious to avoid any expression
- of gratitude.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish you'd show Mr. Oakley what you are doing now, Turner. He may give
- you some valuable criticisms.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For, by that unique, intuitive process of reasoning peculiar to women, she
- had decided that Oakley's judgment must be as remarkable as his
- generosity.
- </p>
- <p>
- His words roused Joyce, who had stood all this while with misty eyes
- blinking at Oakley. He turned and took a fresh canvas from among those
- leaning against the wall and rested it on the easel. “This is a portrait
- I'm doing of Jared Thome's daughter. I haven't painted in the eyes yet.
- That's a point they can't agree upon. You see, there's a slight cast—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She's cross-eyed, Turner,” interjected Mrs. Joyce, positively.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jared wants them the way they'll be after she's been to Chicago to be
- operated on, and his wife wants them as they are now. They are to settle
- it between them before she comes for the final sitting on Saturday.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a complication,” observed Oakley, but he did not laugh. It was
- not that he lacked a sense of humor. It was that he was more impressed by
- something else.
- </p>
- <p>
- The little artist blinked affectionately at his work.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it's going to be a good likeness, quite as good as any I ever got. I
- was lucky in my flesh tints there on the cheek,” he added, tilting his
- head critically on one side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you think of Mr. Joyce's work?” asked Mrs. Joyce, bent on
- committing their visitor to an opinion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is very good, indeed, and perhaps he is doing a greater service in
- educating us here at Antioch than if he had made a name for himself
- abroad. Perhaps, too, he'll be remembered just as long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you really think so, Mr. Oakley?” said the little artist, delighted.
- “It may sound egotistical, but I have sometimes thought that myself—that
- these portraits of mine, bad as I know they must be, give a great deal of
- pleasure and happiness to their owners, and it's a great pleasure for me
- to do them, and we don't get much beyond that in this world, do we?”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>AKLEY took the
- satchel from General Cornish's hand as the latter stepped from his private
- car.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You got my note, I see,” he said. “I think I'll go to the hotel for the
- rest of the night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced back over his shoulder, as he turned with Dan towards the bus
- which was waiting for them at the end of the platform.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess no one else got off here. It's not much of a railroad centre.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” agreed Oakley, impartially; “there are towns where the traffic is
- heavier.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Arrived at the hotel, Oakley led the way up-stairs to the general's room.
- It adjoined his own. Cornish paused on the threshold until he had lighted
- the gas.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Light the other burner, will you?” he requested. “There, thanks, that's
- better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was a portly man of sixty, with a large head and heavy face. His father
- had been a Vermont farmer, a man of position and means, according to the
- easy standard of his times. When the Civil War broke out, young Cornish,
- who was just commencing the practice of the law, had enlisted as a private
- in one of the first regiments raised by his State. Prior to this he had
- overflowed with fervid oratory, and had tried hard to look like Daniel
- Webster, but a skirmish or two opened his eyes to the fact that the waging
- of war was a sober business, and the polishing off of his sentences not
- nearly as important as the polishing off of the enemy. He was still
- willing to die for the Union, if there was need of it, but while his life
- was spared it was well to get on. The numerical importance of number one
- was a belief too firmly implanted in his nature to be overthrown by any
- patriotic aberration.
- </p>
- <p>
- His own merits, which he was among the first to recognize, and the solid
- backing his father was able to give, won him promotion. He had risen to
- the command of a regiment, and when the war ended was brevetted a
- brigadier-general of volunteers, along with a score of other anxious
- warriors who wished to carry the title of general back into civil life,
- for he was an amiable sort of a Shylock, who seldom overlooked his pound
- of flesh, and he usually got all, and a little more, than was coming to
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- After the war he married and went West, where he resumed the practice of
- his profession, but he soon abandoned it for a commercial career. It was
- not long until he was ranked as one of the rich men of his State. Then he
- turned his attention to politics, He was twice elected to Congress, and
- served one term as governor. One of his daughters had married an Italian
- prince, a meek, prosaic little creature, exactly five feet three inches
- tall: another was engaged to an English earl, whose debts were a
- remarkable achievement for so young a man. His wife now divided her time
- between Paris and London. She didn't think much of New York, which had
- thought even less of her. He managed to see her once or twice a year. Any
- oftener would have been superfluous. But it interested him to read of her
- in the papers, and to feel a sense of proprietorship for this woman, who
- was spending his money and carrying his name into the centres of elegance
- and fashion. Personally he disliked fashion, and was rather shy of
- elegance.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were moments, however, when he felt his life to be wholly
- unsatisfactory. He derived very little pleasure from all the luxury that
- had accumulated about him, and which he accepted with a curious placid
- indifference. He would have liked the affection of his children, to have
- had them at home, and there was a remote period in his past when his wife
- had inspired him with a sentiment at which he could only wonder. He held
- it against her that she had not understood.
- </p>
- <p>
- He lurched down solidly into the chair Oakley placed for him. “I hope you
- are comfortable here,” he said, kindly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh yes.” He still stood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sit down,” said Cornish. “I don't, as a rule, believe in staying up after
- midnight to talk business, but I must start East to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He slipped out of his chair and began to pace the floor, with his hands
- thrust deep in his trousers-pockets. “I want to talk over the situation
- here. I don't see that the road is ever going to make a dollar. I've an
- opportunity to sell it to the M. & W. Of course this is extremely
- confidential. It must not go any further. I am told they will discontinue
- it beyond this point, and of course they will either move the shops away
- or close them.” He paused in his rapid walk. “It's too bad it never paid.
- It was the first thing I did when I came West. I thought it a pretty big
- thing then. I have always hoped it would justify my judgment, and it
- promised to for a while until the lumber interests played out. Now, what
- do you advise, Oakley? I want to get your ideas. You understand, if I sell
- I won't lose much. The price offered will just about meet the mortgage I
- hold, but I guess the stockholders will come out at the little end of the
- horn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley understood exactly what was ahead of the stockholders if the road
- changed hands. Perhaps his face showed that he was thinking of this, for
- the general observed, charitably:
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's unfortunate, but you can't mix sentiment in a transaction of this
- sort. I'd like to see them all get their money back, and more, too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His mental attitude towards the world was one of generous liberality, but
- he had such excellent control over his impulses that, while he always
- seemed about to embark in some large philanthropy, he had never been known
- to take even the first step in that direction. In short, he was hard and
- unemotional, but with a deceptive, unswerving kindliness of manner, which,
- while it had probably never involved a dollar of his riches, had at divers
- times cost the unwary and the indiscreet much money.
- </p>
- <p>
- No man presided at the board meetings of a charity with an air of larger
- benevolence, and no man drove closer or more conscienceless bargains. His
- friends knew better than to trust him—a precaution they observed in
- common with his enemies.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure the road could be put on a paying basis,” said Oakley. “Certain
- quite possible economies would do that. Of course we can't create
- business, there is just so much of it, and we get it all as it is. But the
- shops might be made very profitable. I have secured a good deal of work
- for them, and I shall secure more. I had intended to propose a number of
- reforms, but if you are going to sell, why, there's no use of going into
- the matter—” he paused.
- </p>
- <p>
- The general meditated in silence for a moment. “I'd hate to sacrifice my
- interests if I thought you could even make the road pay expenses. Now,
- just what do you intend to do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll get my order-book and show you what's been done for the shops,” said
- Oakley, rising with alacrity. “I have figured out the changes, too, and
- you can see at a glance just what I propose doing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The road and the shops employed some five hundred men, most of whom had
- their homes in Antioch. Oakley knew that if the property was sold it would
- practically wipe the town out of existence. The situation was full of
- interest for him. If Cornish approved, and told him to go ahead with his
- reforms, it would be an opportunity such as he had never known.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went into his own room, which opened off Cornish's, and got his
- order-book and table of figures, which he had carried up from the office
- that afternoon.
- </p>
- <p>
- They lay on the stand with a pile of trade journals. For the first time in
- his life he viewed these latter with an unfriendly eye. He thought of
- Constance Emory, and realized that he should never again read and digest
- the annual report of the Joint Traffic Managers' Association with the same
- sense of intellectual fulness it had hitherto given him. No, clearly, that
- was a pleasure he had outgrown.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had taken a great deal of pains with his figures, and they seemed to
- satisfy Cornish that the road, if properly managed, was not such a
- hopeless proposition, after all. Something might be done with it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley rose in his good esteem; he had liked him, and he was justifying
- his good opinion. He beamed benevolently on the young man, and thawed out
- of his habitual reserve into a genial, ponderous frankness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have done well,” he said, glancing through the order-book with
- evident satisfaction.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” explained Oakley, “I am going to make a cut in wages this
- spring, if you agree to it, but I haven't the figures for this yet.” The
- general nodded. He approved of cuts on principle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's always a wise move,” he said. “Will they stand it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They'll have to.” And Oakley laughed rather nervously. He appreciated
- that his reforms were likely to make him very unpopular in Antioch. “They
- shouldn't object. If the road changes hands it will kill their town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose so,” agreed Cornish, indifferently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And half a loaf is lots better than no loaf,” added Oakley. Again the
- general nodded his approval. That was the very pith and Gospel of his
- financial code, and he held it as greatly to his own credit that he had
- always been perfectly willing to offer halfloaves.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What sort of shape is the shop in?” he asked, after a moment's silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very good on the whole.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad to hear you say so. I spent over a hundred thousand dollars on
- the plant originally.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, the equipment can hardly be called modern, but it will do for
- the sort of work for which I am bidding,” Oakley explained.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it will be an interesting problem for a young man, Oakley. If you
- pull the property up it will be greatly to your credit. I was going to
- offer you another position, but we will let that go over for the present.
- I am very much pleased, though, with all you have done, very much pleased,
- indeed. I go abroad in about two weeks. My youngest daughter is to be
- married in London to the Earl of Minchester.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The title rolled glibly from the great man's lips. “So you'll have the
- fight, if it is a fight, all to yourself. I'll see that Holloway does what
- you say. He's the only one you'll have to look to in my absence, but you
- won't be able to count on him for anything; he gets limp in a crisis. Just
- don't make the mistake of asking his advice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd rather have no advice,” interrupted Dan, hastily, “unless it's
- yours,” he added.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll see that you are not bothered. You are the sort of fellow who will
- do better with a free hand, and that is what I intend you shall have.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” said Oakley, his heart warming with the other's praise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall be back in three months, and then, if your schemes have worked
- out at all as we expect, why, we can consider putting the property in
- better shape.”—A part of Oakley's plan.—“As you say, it's gone
- down so there won't be much but the right of way presently.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope that eventually there'll be profits,” said Oakley, whose mind was
- beginning to reach out into the future.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess the stockholders will drop dead if we ever earn a dividend.
- That's the last thing they are looking forward to,” remarked Cornish,
- dryly. “Will you leave a six-thirty call at the office for me? I forgot,
- and I must take the first train.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley had gathered up his order-book and papers. The general was already
- fumbling with his cravat and collar.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am very well satisfied with your plan, and I believe you have the
- ability to carry it out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He threw aside his coat and vest and sat down to take off his shoes.
- “Don't saddle yourself with too much work. Keep enough of an office force
- to save yourself wherever you can. I think, if orders continue to come in
- as they have been doing, the shops promise well. It just shows what a
- little energy will accomplish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “With judicious nursing in the start, there should be plenty of work for
- us, and we are well equipped to handle it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” agreed Cornish. “A lot of money was spent on the plant. I wanted it
- just right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't understand why more hasn't been done with the opportunity here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've never been able to find the proper man to take hold, until I found
- you, Oakley. You have given me a better insight into conditions than I
- have had at any time since I built the road, and it ain't such a bad
- proposition, after all, especially the shops.” The general turned out the
- gas as he spoke, and Oakley, as he stood in the doorway of his own room,
- saw dimly a white figure moving in the direction of the bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd figure close on all repair work. The thing is to get them into the
- habit of coming to us. Don't forget the call, please. Six-thirty sharp.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The slats creaked and groaned beneath his weight. “Good-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER V
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next morning
- Oakley saw General Cornish off on the 7.15 train, and then went back to
- his hotel for breakfast Afterwards, on his way to the office he mailed a
- check to Ezra Hart for his father. The money was intended to meet his
- expenses in coming West.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was very busy all that day making out his new schedules, and in
- figuring the cuts and just what they would amount to. He approached his
- task with a certain reluctance, for it was as unpleasant to him personally
- as it was necessary to the future of the road, and he knew that no
- half-way measures would suffice. He must cut, as a surgeon cuts, to save.
- By lopping away a man here and there, giving his work to some other man,
- or dividing it up among two or three men, he managed to peel off two
- thousand dollars on the year. He counted that a very fair day's work.
- </p>
- <p>
- He would start his reform with no particular aggressiveness. He would
- retire the men he intended to dismiss from the road one at a time. He
- hoped they would take the hint and hunt other positions. At any rate, they
- could not get back until he was ready to take them back, as Cornish had
- assured him he would not be interfered with. He concluded not to hand the
- notices and orders to Miss Walton, the typewriter, to copy. She might let
- drop some word that would give his victims an inkling of what was in store
- for them. He knew there were unpleasant scenes ahead of him, but there was
- no need to anticipate. When at last his figures for the cuts were complete
- he would have been grateful for some one with whom to discuss the
- situation. All at once his responsibilities seemed rather heavier than he
- had bargained for.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were only two men in the office besides himself—Philip Kerr,
- the treasurer, and Byron Holt, his assistant. They were both busy with the
- payroll, as it was the sixth of the month, and they commenced to pay off
- in the shops on the tenth.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had little or no use for Kerr, who still showed, where he dared, in
- small things his displeasure that an outsider had been appointed manager
- of the road. He had counted on the place for himself for a number of
- years, but a succession of managers had come and gone apparently without
- its ever having occurred to General Cornish that an excellent executive
- was literally spoiling in the big, bare, general offices of the line.
- </p>
- <p>
- This singular indifference on the part of Cornish to his real interests
- had soured a disposition that at its best had more of acid in it than
- anything else. As there was no way in which he could make his resentment
- known to the general, even if he had deemed such a course expedient, he
- took it out of Oakley, and kept his feeling for him on ice. Meanwhile he
- hided his time, hoping for Oakley's downfall and his own eventual
- recognition.
- </p>
- <p>
- With the assistant treasurer, Dan's relations were entirely cordial. Holt
- was a much younger man than Kerr, as frank and open as the other was
- secret and reserved. When the six-o'clock whistle blew he glanced up from
- his work and said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish you'd wait a moment, Holt. I want to see you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Kerr had already gone home, and Miss Walton was adjusting her hat before a
- bit of a mirror that hung on the wall back of her desk. “All right,”
- responded Holt, cheerfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just draw up your chair,” said Oakley, handing his papers to him. At
- first Holt did not understand; then he began to whistle softly, and fell
- to checking off the various cuts with his forefinger.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you think of the job, Byron?” inquired Oakley.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I'm glad I don't get laid off, that's sure. Say, just bear in mind
- that I'm going to be married this summer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You needn't worry; only I didn't know that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, please don't forget it, Mr. Oakley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Holt ran over the cuts again. Then he asked:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who's going to stand for this? You or the old man? I hear he was in town
- last night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I stand for it, but of course he approves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll bet he approves,” and the assistant treasurer grinned. “This is the
- sort of thing that suits him right down to the ground.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How about the hands? Do you know if they are members of any union?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, but there'll be lively times ahead for you. They are a great lot of
- kickers here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait until I get through. I haven't touched the shops yet; that's to come
- later. I'll skin closer before I'm done.” Oakley got up and lit his pipe.
- “The plant must make some sort of a showing. We can't continue at the rate
- we have been going. I suppose you know what sort of shape it would leave
- the town in if the shops were closed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Damn poor shape, I should say. Why, it's the money that goes in and out
- of this office twice a month that keeps the town alive. It couldn't exist
- a day without that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then it behooves us to see to it that nothing happens to the shops or
- road. I am sorry for the men I am laying off, but it can't be helped.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see you are going to chuck Hoadley out of his good thing at the
- Junction. If he was half white he'd a gone long ago. He must lay awake
- nights figuring how he can keep decently busy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is the list all right?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. No, it's not, either. You've marked off Joe Percell at Harrison. He
- used to brake for the Huckleberry until he lost an arm. His is a pension
- job.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Put his name back, then. How do you think it's going to work?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it will work all right, because it has to, but they'll all be cussing
- you,” with great good humor. “What's the matter, anyhow? Did the old man
- throw a fit at the size of the pay-roll?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not exactly, but he came down here with his mind made up to sell the road
- to the M. & W.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't say so!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I talked him out of that, but we must make a showing, for he's good and
- tired, and may dump the whole business any day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, if he does that there'll be no marrying or giving in marriage for
- me this summer. It will be just like a Shaker settlement where I am
- concerned.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan laughed. “Oh, you'd be all right, Holt. You'd get something else, or
- the M. & W. would keep you on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know about that. A new management generally means a clean sweep
- all round, and my berth's a pretty good one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In some manner a rumor of the changes Oakley proposed making did get
- abroad, and he was promptly made aware that his popularity in Antioch was
- a thing of the past. He was regarded as an oppressor from whom some
- elaborate and wanton tyranny might be expected. While General Cornish
- suffered their inefficiency, his easy-going predecessors had been content
- to draw their salaries and let it go at that, a line of conduct which
- Antioch held to be entirely proper. This new man, however, was clearly an
- upstart, cursed with an insane and destructive ambition to earn money from
- the road.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suppose it did not pay. Cornish could go down into his pocket for the
- difference, just as he had always done.
- </p>
- <p>
- What the town did not know, and what it would not have believed even if it
- had been told, was that the general had been on the point of selling—a
- change that would have brought hardship to every one. The majority of the
- men in the shops owned their own homes, and these homes represented the
- savings of years. The sudden exodus of two or three hundred families meant
- of necessity widespread ruin. Those who were forced to go away would have
- to sacrifice everything they possessed to get away, while those who
- remained would be scarcely better off. But Antioch never considered such a
- radical move as even remotely possible. It counted the shops a fixture;
- they had always been there, and for this sufficient reason they would
- always remain.
- </p>
- <p>
- The days wore on, one very like another, with their spring heat and
- lethargy. Occasionally, Oakley saw Miss Emory on the street to bow to, but
- not to speak with; while he was grateful for these escapes, he found
- himself thinking of her very often. He fancied—and he was not far
- wrong—that she was finding Antioch very dull. He wondered, too, if
- she was seeing much of Ryder. He imagined that she was; and here again he
- was not far wrong. Now and then he was seized with what he felt to be a
- weak desire to call, but he always thought better of it in time, and was
- always grateful he had not succumbed to the impulse. But her mere presence
- in Antioch seemed to make him dissatisfied and resentful of its
- limitations. Ordinarily he was not critical of his surroundings. Until she
- came, that he was without companionship and that the town was given over
- to a deadly inertia which expressed itself in the collapsed ambition of
- nearly every man and woman he knew, had scarcely affected him beyond
- giving him a sense of mild wonder.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had heard nothing of his father, and in the pressure of his work and
- freshened interest in the fortunes of the Huckleberry, had hardly given
- him a second thought. He felt that, since he had sent money to him, he was
- in a measure relieved of all further responsibility. If his father did not
- wish to come to him, that was his own affair. He had placed no obstacle in
- his way.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had gone through life without any demand having been made on his
- affections. On those rare occasions that he devoted to self-analysis he
- seriously questioned if he possessed any large capacity in that direction.
- The one touch of sentiment to which he was alive was the feeling he
- centred about the few square feet of turf where his mother lay under the
- sweet-briar and the old elms in the burying-plot of the little Eastern
- village. The sexton was instructed to see that the spot was not neglected,
- and that there were always flowers on the grave. She had loved flowers. It
- was somehow a satisfaction to Dan to overpay him for this care. But he had
- his moments of remorse, because he was unable to go back there. Once or
- twice he had started East, fully intending to do so, but had weakened at
- the last moment. Perhaps he recognized that while it was possible to
- return to a place, it was not possible to return to an emotion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley fell into the habit of working at the office after the others left
- in the evening. He liked the quiet of the great bare room and the solitude
- of the silent, empty shops. Sometimes Holt remained, too, and discussed
- his matrimonial intentions, or entertained his superior with an account of
- his previous love affairs, for the experiences were far beyond his years.
- He had exhausted the possibilities of Antioch quite early in life. At one
- time or another he had either been engaged, or almost engaged, to every
- pretty girl in the place. He explained his seeming inconsistency, however,
- by saying he was naturally of a very affectionate disposition.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ATE one afternoon,
- as Oakley sat at his desk in the broad streak of yellow light that the sun
- sent in through the west windows, he heard a step on the narrow board-walk
- that ran between the building and the tracks. The last shrill shriek of
- No. 7, as usual, half an hour late, had just died out in the distance, and
- the informal committee of town loafers which met each train was plodding
- up Main Street to the post-office in solemn silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced around as the door into the yards opened, expecting to see
- either Holt or Kerr. Instead he saw a tall, gaunt man of sixty-five, a
- little stoop-shouldered, and carrying his weight heavily and solidly. His
- large head was sunk between broad shoulders. It was covered by a wonderful
- growth of iron-gray hair. The face was clean-shaven and had the look of a
- placid mask. There was a curious repose in the man's attitude as he stood
- with a big hand—the hand of an artisan—resting loosely on the
- knob of the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it you. Dannie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The smile that accompanied the words was at once anxious, hesitating, and
- inquiring. He closed the door with awkward care and coming a step nearer,
- put out his hand. Oakley, breathing hard, rose hastily from his chair, and
- stood leaning against the corner of his desk as if he needed its support.
- He was white to the lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long pause while the two men looked into each other's eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't you know me, Dannie?” wistfully. Dan said nothing, but he extended
- his hand, and his father's fingers closed about it with a mighty pressure.
- Then, quite abruptly, Roger Oakley turned and walked over to the window.
- Once more there was absolute silence in the room, save for the ticking of
- the clock and the buzzing of a solitary fly high up on the ceiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old convict was the first to break the tense stillness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had about made up my mind I should never see you again, Dannie. When
- your mother died and you came West it sort of wiped out the little there
- was between me and the living. In fact, I really didn't know you would
- care to see me, and when Hart told me you wished me to come to you and had
- sent the money, I could hardly believe it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Here the words failed him utterly. He turned slowly and looked into his
- son's face long and lovingly. “I've thought of you as a little boy for all
- these years, Dannie—as no higher than that,” dropping his hand to
- his hip. “And here you are a man grown. But you got your mother's look—I'd
- have known you by it among a thousand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- If Dan had felt any fear of his father it had left him the instant he
- entered the room. Whatever he might have done, whatever he might have
- been, there was no question as to the manner of man he had become. He
- stepped to his son's side and took his hand in one of his own.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You've made a man of yourself. I can see that. What do you do here for a
- living?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan laughed, queerly. “I am the general manager of the railroad, father,”
- nodding towards the station and the yards. “But it's not much to brag
- about. It's only a one-horse line,” he added.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, you don't mean it, Dannie!” And he could see that his father was
- profoundly impressed. He put up his free hand and gently patted Dan's head
- as though he were indeed the little boy he remembered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you have an easy trip West, father?” Oakley asked. “You must be
- tired.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not a bit, Dannie. It was wonderful. I'd been shut off from it all for
- more than twenty years, and each mile was taking me nearer you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The warm yellow light was beginning to fade from the room. It was growing
- late.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess we'd better go up-town to the hotel and have our supper. Where is
- your trunk? At the station?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've got nothing but a bundle. It's at the door.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan locked his desk, and they left the office.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it all yours?” Roger Oakley asked, pausing as they crossed the yards,
- to glance up and down the curving tracks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's part of the property I manage. It belongs to General Cornish, who
- holds most of the stock.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the train I came on, Dannie, who owned that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At Buckhorn Junction, where you changed cars for the last time, you
- caught our local express. It runs through to a place called Harrison—the
- terminus of the line. This is only a branch road, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But the explanation was lost on his father. His son's relation to the road
- was a magnificent fact which he pondered with simple pleasure.
- </p>
- <p>
- After their supper at the hotel they went up-stairs. Roger Oakley had been
- given a room next his son's. It was the same room General Cornish had
- occupied when he was in Antioch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would you like to put away your things now?” asked Dan, as he placed his
- father's bundle, which he had carried up-town from the office, on the bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll do that by and by. There ain't much there—just a few little
- things I've managed to keep, or that have been given me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan pushed two chairs before an open window that overlooked the square.
- His father had taken a huge blackened meerschaum from its case and was
- carefully filling it from a leather pouch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't mind if I light my pipe?” he inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not a bit. I've one in my pocket, but it's not nearly as fine as yours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Our warden gave it to me one Christmas, and I've smoked it ever since. He
- was a very good man, Dannie. It's the old warden I'm speaking of, not
- Kenyon, the new one, though he's a good man, too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan wondered where he had heard the name of Kenyon before; then he
- remembered—it was at the Emorys'.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Try some of my tobacco, Dannie,” passing the pouch.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a time the two men sat in silence, blowing clouds of white smoke out
- into the night. Under the trees, just bursting into leaf, the street-lamps
- flickered in a long, dim perspective, and now and then a stray word
- floated up to them, coming from a group of idlers on the corner below the
- window.
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley hitched his chair nearer his son's, and rested a heavy hand
- on his knee. “I like it here,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you? I am glad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What will be the chances of my finding work? You know I'm a cabinet-maker
- by trade.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's no need of your working; so don't worry about that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I must work, Dannie. I ain't used to sitting still and doing
- nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Oakley, willing to humor him, “there are the car shops.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can you get me in?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh yes, when you are ready to start. I'll have McClintock, the master
- mechanic, find something in your line for you to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll need to get a kit of tools.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess McClintock can arrange that, too. I'll see him about it when you
- are ready.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then that's settled. I'll begin in the morning,” with quiet
- determination.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But don't you want to look around first?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll have my Sundays for that.” And Dan saw that there was no use in
- arguing the point with him. He was bent on having his own way.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old convict filled his lungs with a deep, free breath. “Yes, I'm going
- to like it. I always did like a small town, anyhow. Tell me about
- yourself, Dannie. How do you happen to be here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan roused himself. “I don't know. It's chance, I suppose. After mother's
- death—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Twenty years ago last March,” breaking in upon him, softly; then, nodding
- at the starlit heavens, “She's up yonder now, watching us. Nothing's
- hidden or secret. It's all plain to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you really think that, father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know it, Dannie.” And his tone was one of settled conviction.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan had already discovered that his father was deeply religious. It was a
- faith the like of which had not descended to his own day and generation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I had it rather hard for a while,” going back to his story.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” with keen sympathy. “You were nothing but a little boy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Finally, I was lucky enough to get a place as a newsboy on a train. I
- sold papers until I was sixteen, and then began braking. I wanted to be an
- engineer, but I guess my ability lay in another direction. At any rate,
- they took me off the road and gave me an office position instead. I got to
- be a division superintendent, and then I met General Cornish. He is one of
- the directors of the line I was with at the time. Three months ago he made
- me an offer to take hold here, and so here I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you've never been back home, Dannie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never once. I've wanted to go, but I couldn't.” He hoped his father would
- understand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, there ain't much to take you there but her grave. I wish she might
- have lived, you'd have been a great happiness to her, and she got very
- little happiness for her portion any ways you look at it. We were only
- just married when the war came, and I was gone four years. Then there was
- about eleven years When we were getting on nicely. We had money put by,
- and owned our own home. Can you remember it, Dannie? The old brick place
- on the corner across from the post-office. A new Methodist church stands
- there now. It was sold to get money for my lawyer when the big trouble
- came. Afterwards, when everything was spent, she must have found it very
- hard to make a living for herself and you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She did,” said Dan, gently. “But she managed somehow to keep a roof over
- our heads.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When the law sets out to punish it don't stop with the guilty only. When
- I went to her grave and saw there were flowers growing on it, and that it
- was being cared for, it told me what you were. She was a very brave woman,
- Dannie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” pityingly, “she was.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Few women have had the sorrow she had, and few women could have borne up
- under it as she did. You know that was an awful thing about Sharp.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He put up his hand and wiped the great drops of perspiration from his
- forehead.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan turned towards him quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why do you speak of it? It's all past now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd sort of like to tell you about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long pause, and he continued:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sharp and I had been enemies for a long time. It started back before the
- war, when he wanted to marry your mother. We both enlisted in the same
- regiment, and somehow the trouble kept alive. He was a bit of a bully, and
- I was counted a handy man with my fists, too. The regiment was always
- trying to get us into the ring together, but we knew it was dangerous. We
- had sense enough for that. I won't say he would have done it, but I never
- felt safe when there was a fight on in all those four years. It's easy
- enough to shoot the man in front of you and no one be the wiser. Many a
- score's been settled that way. When we got home again we didn't get along
- any better. He was a drinking man, and had no control over himself when
- liquor got the best of him. I did my share in keeping the feud alive. What
- he said of me and what I said of him generally reached both of us in time,
- as you can fancy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “At last, when I joined the church, I concluded it wasn't right to hate a
- man the way I hated Sharp, for, you see, he'd never really done anything
- to me.
- </p>
- <p>
- “One day I stopped in at the smithy—he was a blacksmith—to
- have a talk with him and see if we couldn't patch it up somehow and be
- friends. It was a Saturday afternoon, and he'd been drinking more than was
- good for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hadn't hardly got the first words out when he came at me with a big
- sledge in his hand, all in a rage, and swearing he'd have my life. I
- pushed him off and started for the door. I saw it was no use to try to
- reason with him, but he came at me again, and this time he struck me with
- his sledge. It did no harm, though it hurt, and I pushed him out of my way
- and backed off towards the door. The lock was caught, and before I could
- open it, he was within striking distance again, and I had to turn to
- defend myself. I snatched up a bar of iron perhaps a foot long. I had kept
- my temper down until then, but the moment I had a weapon in my hand it got
- clean away from me, and in an instant I was fighting—just as he was
- fighting—to kill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley had told the story of the murder in a hard, emotionless
- voice, but Dan saw in the half-light that his face was pale and drawn. Dan
- found it difficult to associate the thought of violence with the man at
- his side, whose whole manner spoke of an unusual restraint and control.
- That he had killed a man, even in self-defence, seemed preposterous and
- inconceivable.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a part of the story Roger Oakley could not tell, and which his
- son had no desire to hear.
- </p>
- <p>
- “People said afterwards that I'd gone there purposely to pick a quarrel
- with Sharp, and his helper, who, it seems, was in the yard back of the
- smithy setting a wagon tire, swore he saw me through a window as I
- entered, and that I struck the first blow. He may have seen only the end
- of it, and really believed I did begin it, but that's a sample of how
- things got twisted. Nobody believed my motive was what I said it was. The
- jury found me guilty of murder, and the judge gave me a life sentence. A
- good deal of a fuss was made over what I did at the fire last winter. Hart
- told me he'd sent you the papers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan nodded, and his father continued:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some ladies who were interested in mission work at the prison took the
- matter up and got me my pardon. It's a fearful and a wicked thing for a
- man to lose his temper, Dannie. At first I was bitter against every one
- who had a hand in sending me to prison, but I've put that all from my
- heart. It was right I should be punished.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He rose from his chair, striking the ashes from his pipe.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ain't it very late, Dannie? I'll just put away my things, and then we can
- go to bed. I didn't mean to keep you up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley watched his precise and orderly arrangement of his few belongings.
- He could see that it was a part of the prison discipline under which he
- had lived for almost a quarter of a century. When the contents of his
- bundle were disposed of to his satisfaction, he put on a pair of
- steel-rimmed spectacles, with large, round glasses, and took up a
- well-thumbed Bible, which he had placed at one side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope you haven't forgotten this book, Dannie,” tapping it softly with a
- heavy forefinger.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">K</span>ERR and Holt were
- at Buckhom Junction with the pay-car, a decrepit caboose that complained
- in every wheel as the engine jerked it over the rails. Holt said that its
- motion was good for Kerr's dyspepsia. He called it the pay-car cure, and
- professed to believe it a subtle manifestation of the general's
- benevolence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Walton was having a holiday. This left Oakley the sole tenant of the
- office.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had returned from Chicago the day before, where he had gone to drum up
- work.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a hot, breathless morning in May. The machinery in the shops droned
- on and on, with the lazy, softened hum of revolving wheels, or the swish
- of swiftly passing belts. A freight was cutting out cars in the yards. It
- was rather noisy and bumped discordantly in and out of the sidings.
- </p>
- <p>
- Beyond the tracks and a narrow field, where the young corn stood in fresh
- green rows, was a line of stately sycamores and vivid willows that
- bordered Billup's Fork. Tradition had it that an early settler by the name
- of Billup had been drowned there—a feat that must have required
- considerable ingenuity on his part, as the stream was nothing but a series
- of shallow riffles, with an occasional deep hole. Once Jeffy, generously
- drunk, had attempted to end his life in the fork. He had waded in above
- his shoe-tops, only to decide that the water was too cold, and had waded
- out again, to the keen disappointment of six small boys on the bank, who
- would have been grateful for any little excitement. He said he wanted to
- live to invent a drink that tasted as good coming up as it did going down;
- there was all kinds of money in such a drink. But the boys felt they had
- been swindled, and threw stones at him. It is sometimes difficult to
- satisfy an audience. Nearer at hand, but invisible, Clarence was
- practising an elusive dance-step in an empty coal-car. He was inspired by
- a lofty ambition to equal—he dared not hope to excel—a
- gentleman he had seen at a recent minstrel performance.
- </p>
- <p>
- McClintock, passing, had inquired sarcastically if it was his busy day,
- but Clarence had ignored the question. He felt that he had nothing in
- common with one who possessed such a slavish respect for mere industry.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently McClintock wandered in from the hot out-of-doors to talk over
- certain repairs he wished undertaken in the shops. He was a typical
- American mechanic, and Oakley liked him, as he always liked the man who
- knew his business and earned his pay.
- </p>
- <p>
- They discussed the repairs, and then Oakley asked, “How's my father
- getting along, Milt?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, all right. He's a little slow, that's all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's he on now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Those blue-line cars that came in last month.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There isn't much in that batch. I had to figure close to get the work.
- Keep the men moving.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are about done. I'll put the painters on the job to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- McClintock went over to the water-cooler in the corner and filled a
- stemless tumbler with ice-water.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We'll be ready to send them up to Buckhorn the last of next week. Is
- there anything else in sight?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He gulped down the water at a single swallow. “No, not at present, but
- there are one or two pretty fair orders coming in next month that I was
- lucky enough to pick up in Chicago. Isn't there any work of our own we can
- go at while things are slack?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lots of it,” wiping his hands on the legs of his greasy overalls. “All
- our day coaches need paint, and some want new upholstery.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We'd better go at that, then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right. I'll take a look at the cars in the yards, and see what I can
- put out in place of those we call in. There's no use talking, Mr. Oakley,
- you've done big things for the shops,” he added.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I am getting some work for them, and while there isn't much profit
- in it, perhaps, it's a great deal better than being idle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just a whole lot,” agreed McClintock.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I can pick up contracts enough to keep us busy through the
- summer. I understand you've always had to shut down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, or half-time,” disgustedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess we can worry through without that; at any rate, I want to,”
- observed Oakley.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll go see how I can manage about our own repairs,” said McClintock.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went out, and from the window Oakley saw him with a bunch of keys in
- his hand going in the direction of a line of battered day coaches on one
- of the sidings. The door opened again almost immediately to admit Griff
- Ryder. This was almost the last person in Antioch from whom Dan was
- expecting a call. The editor's cordiality as he greeted him made him
- instantly suspect that some favor was wanted. Most people who came to the
- office wanted favors. Usually it was either a pass or a concession on
- freight.
- </p>
- <p>
- As a rule, Kerr met all such applicants. His manner fitted him for just
- such interviews, and he had no gift for popularity, which suffered in
- consequence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder pushed a chair over beside Oakley's and seated himself. By sliding
- well down on his spine he managed to reach the low sill of the window with
- his feet. He seemed to admire the effect, for he studied them in silence
- for a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's a little matter I want to speak to you about, Oakley. I've been
- intending to run in for the past week, but I have been so busy I
- couldn't.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley nodded for him to go on.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In the first place, I'd like to feel that you were for Kenyon. You can be
- of a great deal of use to us this election. It's going to be close, and
- Kenyon's a pretty decent sort of a chap to have come out of these parts.
- You ought to take an interest in seeing him re-elected.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley surmised that this was the merest flattery intended to tickle his
- vanity. He answered promptly that he didn't feel the slightest interest in
- politics one way or the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, but one good fellow ought to wish to see another good fellow get
- what he's after, and you can help us if you've a mind to; but this isn't
- what I've come for. It's about Hoadley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What about Hoadley?” quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's got the idea that his days with the Huckleberry are about numbered.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I haven't said so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know you haven't.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then what is he kicking about? When he's to go, he'll hear of it from
- me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, just the same, it's in the air that there's to be a shake-up, and
- that a number of men, and Hoad-ly among them, are going to be laid off.
- Now, he's another good fellow, and he's a friend of mine, and I told him
- I'd come in and fix it up with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't think you can fix it up with me, Mr. Ryder. Just the same, I'd
- like to know how this got out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then there is to be a shake-up?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley bit his lips. “You seem to take it for granted there is to be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess there's something back of the rumor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I may as well tell you why Hoadley's got to go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, he is to go, then? I thought my information was correct.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In the first place, he's not needed, and in the second place, he's a lazy
- loafer. The road must earn its keep. General Cornish is sick of putting
- his hand in his pocket every six months to keep it out of bankruptcy. You
- are enough of a business man to know he won't stand that sort of thing
- forever. Of course I am sorry for Hoadley if he needs the money, but some
- one's got to suffer, and he happens to be the one. I'll take on his work
- myself. I can do it, and that's a salary saved. I haven't any personal
- feeling in the matter. The fact that I don't like him, as it happens, has
- nothing to do with it. If he were my own brother he'd have to get out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't see that one man, more or less, is going to make such a hell of a
- difference, Oakley,” Ryder urged, with what he intended should be an air
- of frank good-fellowship.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can't you?” with chilly dignity. Oakley was slow to anger, but he had
- always fought stubbornly for what he felt was due him, and he wished the
- editor to understand that the management of the B. & A. was distinctly
- not his province.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder's eyes were half closed, and only a narrow slit of color showed
- between the lids.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am very much afraid we won't hit it off. I begin to see we aren't going
- to get on. I want you to keep Hoadley as a personal favor to me. Just wait
- until I finish. If you are going in for reform, I may have it in my power
- to be of some service to you. You will need some backing here, and even a
- country newspaper can manufacture public sentiment. Now if we aren't to be
- friends you will find me on the other side, and working just as hard
- against you as I am willing to work for you if you let Hoadley stay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley jumped up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't allow anybody to talk like that to me. I am running this for
- Cornish. They are his interests, not mine, and you can start in and
- manufacture all the public sentiment you damn please.” Then he cooled down
- a bit and felt ashamed of himself for the outburst.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not going to be unfair to any one if I can help it. But if the
- road's earnings don't meet the operating expenses the general will sell it
- to the M. & W. Do you understand what that means? It will knock
- Antioch higher than a kite, for the shops will be closed. I guess when all
- hands get that through their heads they will take it easier.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's just the point I made. Who is going to enlighten them if it isn't
- me? I don't suppose you will care to go around telling everybody what a
- fine fellow you are, and how thankful they should be that you have stopped
- their wages. We can work double, Oakley. I want Hoadley kept because he's
- promised me his influence for Kenyon if I'd exert myself in his behalf.
- He's of importance up at the Junction. Of course we know he's a drunken
- beast, but that's got nothing to do with it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry, but he's got to go,” said Oakley, doggedly. “A one-horse
- railroad can't carry dead timber.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well.” And Ryder pulled in his legs and rose slowly from his chair.
- “If you can't and won't see it as I do it's your lookout.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley laughed, shortly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess I'll be able to meet the situation, Mr. Ryder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps you will, and perhaps you won't. We'll see about that when the
- time comes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You heard what I said about the M. & W.?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, what about that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You understand what it means—the closing of the shops?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I guess that's a long ways off.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stalked over to the door with his head in the air. He was mad clear
- through. At the door he turned. Hoadley's retention meant more to him than
- he would have admitted. It was not that he cared a rap for Hoadley. On the
- contrary, he detested him, but the fellow was a power in country politics.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you should think better of it—” and he was conscious his manner
- was weak with the weakness of the man who has asked and failed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I sha'n't,” retorted Oakley, laconically.
- </p>
- <p>
- He scouted the idea that Ryder, with his little country newspaper could
- either help or harm him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VIII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">R</span>OGER OAKLEY had
- gone to work in the car-shops the day following his arrival in Antioch.
- Dan had sought to dissuade him, but he was stubbornness itself, and the
- latter realized that the only thing to do was to let him alone, and not
- seek to control him.
- </p>
- <p>
- After all, if he would be happier at work, it was no one's affair but his
- own.
- </p>
- <p>
- It never occurred to the old convict that pride might have to do with the
- stand Dan took in the matter.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was wonderfully gentle and affectionate, with a quaint, unworldly
- simplicity that was rather pathetic. His one anxiety was to please Dan,
- but, in spite of this anxiety, once a conviction took possession of him he
- clung to it with unshaken tenacity in the face of every argument his son
- could bring to bear.
- </p>
- <p>
- Under the inspiration of his newly acquired freedom, he developed in
- unexpected ways. As soon as he felt that his place in the shops was secure
- and that he was not to be interfered with, he joined the Methodist Church.
- Its services occupied most of his spare time. Every Thursday night found
- him at prayer-meeting. Twice each Sunday he went to church, and by missing
- his dinner he managed to take part in the Sunday-school exercises. A
- social threw him into a flutter of pleased expectancy. Not content with
- what his church offered, irrespective of creed, he joined every society in
- the place of a religious or temperance nature, and was a zealous and
- active worker among such of the heathen as flourished in Antioch. There
- was a stern Old Testament flavor to his faith. He would have dragged the
- erring from their peril by main strength, and have regulated their morals
- by legal enactments. Those of the men with whom he came in contact in the
- shops treated him with the utmost respect, partly on his own account, and
- partly because of Dan.
- </p>
- <p>
- McClintock always addressed him as “The Deacon,” and soon ceased to
- overflow with cheerful profanity in his presence. The old man had early
- taken occasion to point out to him the error of his ways and to hint at
- what was probably in store for him unless he curbed the utterances of his
- tongue. He was not the only professing Christian in the car-shops, but he
- was the only one who had ventured to “call down” the master-mechanic.
- </p>
- <p>
- Half of all he earned he gave to the church. The remainder of his slender
- income he divided again into two equal parts. One of these he used for his
- personal needs, the other disappeared mysteriously. He was putting it by
- for “Dannie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a disappointment to him that his son took only the most casual
- interest in religious matters. He comforted himself, however, with the
- remembrance that at his age his own interest had been merely traditional.
- It was only after his great trouble that the awakening came. He was quite
- certain “Dannie” would experience this awakening, too, some day.
- </p>
- <p>
- Finally he undertook the regeneration of Jeffy. Every new-comer in Antioch
- of a philanthropic turn of mind was sure sooner or later to fall foul of
- the outcast, who was usually willing to drop whatever he was doing to be
- reformed. It pleased him and interested him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was firmly grounded in the belief, however, that in his case the
- reformation that would really reform would have to be applied externally,
- and without inconvenience to himself, but until the spiritual genius
- turned up who could work this miracle, he was perfectly willing to be
- experimented upon by any one who had a taste for what he called good
- works.
- </p>
- <p>
- After Mrs. Bentick's funeral he had found the means, derived in part from
- the sale of Turner Joyce's wardrobe, to go on a highly sensational drunk,
- which comprehended what was known in Antioch as “The Snakes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley had unearthed him at the gas-house, a melancholy, tattered
- ruin. He had rented a room for his occupancy, and had conveyed him thither
- under cover of the night. During the week that followed, while Jeffy was
- convalescent, he spent his evenings there reading to him from the Bible.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jeffy would have been glad to escape these attentions. This new moral
- force in the community inspired an emotion akin to awe. Day by day, as he
- recognized the full weight of authority in Roger Oakley's manner towards
- him, this awe increased, until at last it developed into an acute fear. So
- he kept his bed and meditated flight. He even considered going as far away
- as Buckhom or Harrison to be rid of the old man. Then, by degrees, he felt
- himself weaken and succumb to the other's control. His cherished freedom—the
- freedom of the woods and fields, and the drunken spree variously attained,
- seemed only a happy memory. But the last straw was put upon him, and he
- rebelled when his benefactor announced that he was going to find work for
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- At first Jeffy had preferred not to take this seriously. He assumed to
- regard it as a delicate sarcasm on the part of his new friend. He closed
- first one watery eye and then the other. It was such a good joke. But
- Roger Oakley only reiterated his intention with unmistakable seriousness.
- It was no joke, and the outcast promptly sat up in bed, while a look of
- slow horror overspread his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I ain't never worked, Mr. Oakley,” he whined, hoarsely. “I don't feel
- no call to work. The fact is, I am too busy to work. I would be wasting my
- time if I done that. I'd be durn thankful if you could reform me, but I'll
- tell you right now this ain't no way to begin. No, sir, you couldn't make
- a worse start.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's high time you went at something,” said his self-appointed guide and
- monitor, with stony conviction, and he backed his opinion with a quotation
- from the Scriptures.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now to Jeffy, who had been prayerfully brought up by a pious mother, the
- Scriptures were the fountain-head of all earthly wisdom. To invoke a
- citation from the Bible was on a par with calling in the town marshal. It
- closed the incident so far as argument was concerned. He was vaguely aware
- that there was one text which he had heard which seemed to give him
- authority to loaf, but he couldn't remember it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley looked at him rather sternly over the tops of his
- steel-rimmed spectacles, and said, with quiet determination, “I am going
- to make a man of you. You've got it in you. There's hope in every human
- life. You must let drink alone, and you must work. Work's what you need.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it ain't. I never done a day's work in my life. It'd kill me if I had
- to get out and hustle and sweat and bile in the sun. Durnation! of all
- fool ideas! I never seen the beat!” He threw himself back on the bed,
- stiff and rigid, and covered his face with the sheet.
- </p>
- <p>
- For perhaps a minute he lay perfectly still. Then the covers were seen to
- heave tumultuously, while short gasps and sobs were distinctly audible.
- Presently two skinny but expressive legs habited in red flannel were
- thrust from under the covers and kicked violently back and forth.
- </p>
- <p>
- A firm hand plucked the sheet from before the outcast's face, and the
- gaunt form of the old convict bent grimly above him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, come, Jeffy, I didn't expect this of you. I am willing to help you
- in every way I can. I'll get my son to make a place for you at the shops.
- How will you like that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How'll I like it? You ought to know me well enough to know I won't like
- it a little bit!” in tearful and indignant protest. “You just reach me
- them pants of mine off the back of that chair. You mean well, I'll say
- that much for you, but you got the sweatiest sort of a religion; durned if
- it ain't all work! Just reach me them pants, do now,” and he half rose up
- in his bed, only to encounter a strong arm that pushed him back on the
- pillows.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can't have your pants, Jeffy, not now. You must stay here until you
- get well and strong.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How am I going to get well and strong with you hounding me to death? I
- never seen such a man to take up with an idea and stick to it against all
- reason. It just seems as if you'd set to work to break my spirit,”
- plaintively.
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley frowned at him in silence for a moment, then he said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought we'd talked all this over, Jeffy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I just wanted to encourage you. I was mighty thankful to have you take
- hold. I hadn't been reformed for over a year. It about seemed to me that
- everybody had forgotten I needed to be reformed, and I was willing to give
- you a chance. No one can't ever say I ain't stood ready to do that much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, my poor Jeffy, you will have to do more than that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blamed if it don't seem to me as if you was expecting me to do it all!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old convict drew up a chair to the bedside and sat down.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought you told me you wanted to be a man and to be respected?” said
- this philanthropist, with evident displeasure.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jeffy choked down a sob and sat up again. He gestured freely with his arms
- in expostulation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was drunk when I said that. Yes, sir, I was as full as I could stick.
- Now I'm sober, I know rotten well what I want.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you want, Jeffy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I want a lot of things.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, what, for instance?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, sir, it ain't no prayers, and it ain't no Bible talks, and it ain't
- no lousy work. It's coming warm weather. I want to lay up along the
- crick-bank in the sun and do nothing—what I always done. I've had a
- durned hard winter, and I been a-living for the spring.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A look of the keenest disappointment clouded Roger Oakley's face as Jeffy
- voiced his ignoble ambitions. His resentment gave way to sorrow. He
- murmured a prayer that he might be granted strength and patience for his
- task, and as he prayed with half-closed eyes, the outcast plugged his ears
- with his fingers. He was a firm believer in the efficacy of prayer, and he
- felt he couldn't afford to take any chances.
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley turned to him with greater gentleness of manner than he had
- yet shown.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't you want the love and confidence of your neighbors, Jeffy?” he
- asked, pityingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I ain't got no neighbors, except the bums who sleep along of me at the
- gas-house winter nights. I always feel this way when I come off a spree;
- first it seems as if I'd be willing never to touch another drop of licker
- as long as I lived. I just lose interest in everything, and I don't care a
- durn what happens to me. Why, I've joined the Church lots of times when I
- felt that way, but as soon as I begin to get well it's different. I am
- getting well now, and what I told you don't count any more. I got my own
- way of living.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But what a way!” sadly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Maybe it ain't your way, and maybe it ain't the best way, but it suits me
- bully. I can always get enough to eat by going and asking some one for it,
- and you can't beat that. No, sir. You know durn well you can't!” becoming
- argumentative. “It just makes me sick to think of paying for things like
- vittles and clothes. A feller's got to have clothes, anyhow, ain't he? You
- know mighty well he has, or he'll get pinched, and supposing I was to earn
- a lot of money, even as much as a dollar a day, I'd have to spend every
- blamed cent to live. One day I'd work, and then the next I'd swaller what
- I'd worked for. Where's the sense in that? And I'd have all sorts of
- ornery worries for fear I'd lose my job.” A look of wistful yearning
- overspread his face. “Just you give me the hot days that's coming, when a
- feller's warm clean through and sweats in the shade, and I won't ask for
- no money. You can have it all!”
- </p>
- <p>
- That night, when he left him, Roger Oakley carefully locked the door and
- pocketed the key, and the helpless wretch on the bed, despairing and
- miserable, and cut off from all earthly hope, turned his face to the white
- wall and sobbed aloud.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IX
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HEY were standing
- on the street corner before the hotel. Oakley had just come up-town from
- the office. He was full of awkward excuses and apologies, but Mr. Emory
- cut them short.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose I've a right to be angry at the way you've avoided us, but I'm
- not. On the contrary, I'm going to take you home to dinner with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- If Dan find consulted his preferences in the matter, he would have begged
- off, but he felt he couldn't, without giving offence; so he allowed the
- doctor to lead him away, but he didn't appear as pleased or as grateful as
- he should have been at this temporary release from the low diet of the
- American House.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Emory was waiting for her father on the porch. An errand of hers had
- taken him downtown.
- </p>
- <p>
- She seemed surprised to see Oakley, but graciously disposed towards him.
- While he fell short of her standards, he was decidedly superior to the
- local youth with whom she had at first been inclined to class him. Truth
- to tell, the local youth fought rather shy of the doctor's beautiful
- daughter. Mr. Burt Smith, the gentlemanly druggist and acknowledged social
- leader, who was much sought after by the most exclusive circles in such
- centres of fashion as Buckhorn and Harrison, had been so chilled by her
- manner when, meeting her on the street, he had attempted to revive an
- acquaintance which dated back to their childhood, that he was a mental
- wreck for days afterwards, and had hardly dared trust himself to fill even
- the simplest prescription.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the Monday Club and the Social Science Club and the History Club
- hinted that she might garner great sheaves of culture and enlightenment at
- their meetings, Constance merely smiled condescendingly, but held aloof,
- and the ladies of Antioch were intellectual without her abetment. They
- silently agreed with the Emorys' free-born help, who had seen better days,
- that she was “haughty proud” and “stuck up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Many was the informal indignation meeting they held, and many the
- vituperate discussion handed down concerning Miss Emory, but Miss Emory
- went her way with her head held high, apparently serenely unconscious of
- her offence against the peace and quiet of the community.
- </p>
- <p>
- It must not be supposed that she was intentionally unkind or arrogant. It
- was unfortunate, perhaps, but she didn't like the townspeople. She would
- have been perfectly willing to admit they were quite as good as she. The
- whole trouble was that they were different, and the merits of this
- difference had nothing to do with the case. Her stand in the matter
- shocked her mother and amused her father.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Emory excused himself and went into the house. Dan made himself
- comfortable on the steps at Miss Emory's side. In the very nearness there
- was something luxurious and satisfying. He was silent because he feared
- the antagonism of speech.
- </p>
- <p>
- The rest of Antioch had eaten its supper, principally in its
- shirt-sleeves, and was gossiping over front gates, or lounging on front
- steps. When Antioch loafed it did so with great singleness of purpose.
- </p>
- <p>
- Here and there through the town, back yards had been freshly ploughed for
- gardens. In some of these men and boys were burning last year's brush and
- litter. The smoke hung heavy and undispersed in the twilight. Already the
- younger hands from the car-shops had “cleaned up,” and, dressed in their
- best clothes, were hurrying back down-town to hang about the square and
- street corners until it was time to return home and go to bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Off in the distance an occasional shrill whistle told where the ubiquitous
- small boy was calling a comrade out to play, and every now and then, with
- a stealthy patter of bare feet, some coatless urchin would scurry past the
- Emorys' gate.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was calm and restful, but it gave one a feeling of loneliness, too;
- Antioch seemed very remote from the great world where things happened, or
- were done. In spite of his satisfaction, Dan vaguely realized this. To the
- girl at his side, however, the situation was absolutely tragic. The life
- she had known had been so different, but it had been purchased at the
- expense of a good deal of inconvenience and denial on the part of her
- father and mother. It was impossible to ask a continuance of the
- sacrifice, and it was equally impossible to remain in Antioch. She did not
- want to be selfish, but the day was not far off when it would resolve
- itself into a question of simple self-preservation. She had not yet
- reached the point where she could consider marriage as a possible means of
- escape, and, even if she had, it would not have solved the problem, for
- whom was she to marry?
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a tired, fretful look in her eyes. She had lost something of her
- brilliancy and freshness. In her despair she told herself she was losing
- everything.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was with friends of yours this afternoon, Mr. Oakley,” she said, by way
- of starting the conversation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Friends of mine, here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. The Joyces.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must go around and see them. They have been very kind to my father,”
- said Dan, with hearty good-will.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How long is your father to remain in Antioch, Mr. Oakley?” inquired
- Constance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As long as I remain, I suppose. There are only the two of us, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What does he find to do here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh,” laughed Dan, “he finds plenty to do. His energy is something
- dreadful. Then, too, he's employed at the shops; that keeps him pretty
- busy, you see.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Miss Emory hadn't known this before. She elevated her eyebrows in mild
- surprise. She was not sure she understood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't know that he was one of the officers of the road,” with
- deceptive indifference.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's not. He's a cabinet-maker,” explained the literal Oakley, to whom a
- cabinet-maker was quite as respectable as any one else. There was a brief
- pause, while Constance turned this over in her mind. It struck her as very
- singular that Oakley's father should be one of the hands. Perhaps she
- credited him with a sensitiveness of which he was entirely innocent.
- </p>
- <p>
- She rested her chin in her hands and gazed out into the dusty street.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Isn't it infinitely pathetic to think of that poor little man and his
- work?” going back to Joyce. “Do you know, I could have cried? And his
- wife's faith, it is sublime, even if it is mistaken.” She laughed in a
- dreary fashion. “What is to be done for people like that, whose lives are
- quite uncompensated?”
- </p>
- <p>
- To Oakley this opened up a field for future speculation, but he approved
- of her interest in Joyce. It was kindly and sincere, and it was
- unexpected. He had been inclined to view her as a proud young person,
- unduly impressed with the idea of her own beauty and superiority. It
- pleased him to think he had been mistaken.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were joined by the doctor, who had caught a part of what Constance
- said, and divined the rest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see only the pathos. Joyce is just as well off here as he would be
- anywhere else, and perhaps a little better. He makes a decent living with
- his pictures.” As he spoke he crossed the porch and stood at her side,
- with his hand resting affectionately on her shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess there's a larger justice in the world than we conceive,” said
- Oakley.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But not to know, to go on blindly doing something that is really very
- dreadful, and never to know!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned to Oakley. “I am afraid I rather agree with your father. He
- seems happy enough, and he is doing work for which there is a demand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would you be content to live here with no greater opportunity than he
- has?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley laughed and shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. But that's not the same. I'll pull the Huckleberry up and make it
- pay, and then go in for something bigger.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And if you can't make it pay?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I won't bother with it, then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But if you had to remain?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley gave her an incredulous smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That couldn't be possible. I have done all sorts of things but stick in
- what I found to be undesirable berths; but, of course, business is not at
- all the same.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But isn't it? Look at Mr. Ryder. He says that he is buried here in the
- pine-woods, with no hope of ever getting back into the world, and I am
- sure he is able, and journalism is certainly a business, like anything
- else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley made no response to this. He didn't propose to criticise Ryder,
- but, all the same, he doubted his ability.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Griff's frightfully lazy,” remarked the doctor. “He prefers to settle
- down to an effortless sort of an existence rather than make a struggle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't you think Mr. Ryder extremely clever, Mr. Oakley?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know him so slightly, Miss Emory; but no doubt he is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Emory appeared in the doorway, placid and smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Constance, you and Mr. Oakley come on in; dinner's ready.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When Dan went home that night he told himself savagely that he would never
- go to the Emorys' again. The experience had been most unsatisfactory. In
- spite of Constance's evident disposition towards tolerance where he was
- concerned, she exasperated him. Her unconscious condescension was a bitter
- memory of which he could not rid himself. Certainly women must be petty,
- small-souled creatures if she was at all representative of her sex. Yet,
- in spite of his determination to avoid Constance, even at the risk of
- seeming rude, he found it required greater strength of will than he
- possessed to keep away from the Emorys.
- </p>
- <p>
- He realized, in the course of the next few weeks, that a new stage in his
- development had been reached. Inspired by what he felt was a false but
- beautiful confidence in himself, he called often, and, as time wore on,
- the frequency of these calls steadily increased. All this while he thought
- about Miss Emory a great deal, and was sorry for her or admired her,
- according to his mood.
- </p>
- <p>
- In Constance's attitude towards him there was a certain fickleness that he
- resented. Sometimes she was friendly and companionable, and then again she
- seemed to revive all her lingering prejudices and was utterly indifferent
- to him, and her indifference was the most complete thing of its kind he
- had ever encountered.
- </p>
- <p>
- Naturally Dan and Ryder met very frequently, and when they met they
- clashed. It was not especially pleasant, of course, but Ryder was
- persistent and Oakley was dogged. Once he started in pursuit of an object,
- he never gave up or owned that he was beaten. In some form he had
- accomplished everything he set out to do; and if the results had not
- always been just what he had anticipated, he had at least had the
- satisfaction of bringing circumstances under his control. He endured the
- editor's sarcasms, and occasionally retaliated with a vengeance so heavy
- as to leave Griff quivering with the smart of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Emory found it difficult to maintain the peace between them, but she
- admired Dan's mode of warfare. It was so conclusive, and he showed such
- grim strength in his ability to look out for himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Dan felt that he must suffer by any comparison with the editor. He had
- no genius for trifles, but rather a ponderous capacity. He had worked
- hard, with the single determination to win success. He had the practical
- man's contempt, born of his satisfied ignorance for all useless things,
- and to his mind the useless things were those whose value it was
- impossible to reckon in dollars and cents.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been well content with himself, and now he felt that somehow he had
- lost his bearings. Why was it he had not known before that the mere
- strenuous climb, the mere earning of a salary, was not all of life? He
- even felt a sneaking envy of Ryder of which he was heartily ashamed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Men fall in love differently. Some resist and hang back from the
- inevitable, not being sure of themselves, and some go headlong, never
- having any doubts. With characteristic singleness of purpose, Dan went
- headlong; but of course he did not know what the trouble was until long
- after the facts in the case were patent to every one, and Antioch had lost
- interest in its speculations as to whether the doctor's daughter would
- take the editor or the general manager, for, as Mrs. Poppleton, the
- Emorys' nearest neighbor, sagely observed, she was “having her pick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To Oakley Miss Emory seemed to accumulate dignity and reserve in the exact
- proportion that he lost them, but he was determined she should like him if
- she never did more than that.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was just the least bit afraid of him. She knew he was not deficient in
- a proper pride, and that he possessed plenty of self-respect, but for all
- that he was not very dexterous. It amused her to lead him on, and then to
- draw back and leave him to flounder out of some untenable position she had
- beguiled him into assuming.
- </p>
- <p>
- She displayed undeniable skill in these manoeuvres, and Dan was by turns
- savage and penitent. But she never gave him a chance to say what he wanted
- to say.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder made his appeal to her vanity. It was a strong appeal. He was
- essentially presentable and companionable. She understood him, and they
- had much in common, but for all that her heart approved of Oakley. She
- felt his dominance; she realized that he was direct and simple and strong.
- Yet in her judgment of him she was not very generous. She could not
- understand, for instance, how it was that he had been willing to allow his
- father to go to work in the shops like one of the common hands. It seemed
- to her to argue such an awful poverty in the way of ideals.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old convict was another stumbling-block. She had met him at the
- Joyces', and had been quick to recognize that he and Dan were very much
- alike—the difference was merely that of age and youth. Indeed, the
- similarity was little short of painful. There was the same simplicity, the
- same dogged stubbornness, and the same devotion to what she conceived to
- be an almost brutal sense of duty. In the case of the father this idea of
- duty had crystallized in a strangely literal belief in the Deity and
- expressed itself with rampant boastfulness at the very discomforts of a
- faith which, like the worship of Juggernaut, demanded untold sacrifices
- and apparently gave nothing in return.
- </p>
- <p>
- She tried to stifle her growing liking for Oakley and her unwilling
- admiration for his strength and honesty and a certain native refinement.
- Unconsciously, perhaps, she had always associated qualities of this sort
- with position and wealth. She divined his lack of early opportunity, and
- was alive to his many crudities of speech and manner, and he suffered, as
- he knew he must suffer, by comparison with the editor; but, in spite of
- this, Constance Emory knew deep down in her heart that he possessed solid
- and substantial merits of his own.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER X
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">K</span>ENYON came to town
- to remind his Antioch friends and supporters that presently he would be
- needing their votes.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was Ryder's guest for a week, and the <i>Herald</i> recorded his
- movements with painstaking accuracy and with what its editor secretly
- considered metropolitan enterprise. The great man had his official
- headquarters at the <i>Herald</i> office, a ramshackle two-story building
- on the west side of the square. Here he was at home to the local
- politicians, and to such of the general public as wished to meet him. The
- former smoked his cigars and talked incessantly of primaries, nominations,
- and majorities—topics on which they appeared to be profoundly
- versed. Their distinguishing mark was their capacity for strong drink,
- which was far in excess of that of the ordinary citizen who took only a
- casual interest in politics. The <i>Herald's</i> back door opened into an
- alley, and was directly opposite that of the Red Star saloon. At stated
- intervals Mr. Kenyon and Mr. Ryder, followed by the faithful, trailed
- through this back door and across the alley, where they cheerfully exposed
- themselves to such of the gilded allurements of vice as the Red Star had
- to offer.
- </p>
- <p>
- The men of Antioch eschewed front doors as giving undue publicity to the
- state of their thirst, a point on which they must have been very
- sensitive, for though a number of saloons flourished in the town, only a
- few of the most reckless and emancipated spirits were ever seen to enter
- them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Kenyon was a sloppily dressed man of forty-five or thereabouts, who
- preserved an air of rustic shrewdness. He was angular-faced and
- smooth-shaven, and wore his hair rather long in a tangled mop. He was
- generally described in the party papers as “The Picturesque Statesman from
- Old Hanover.” He had served one term in Congress; prior to that, by way of
- apprenticeship, he had done a great deal of hard work and dirty work for
- his party. His fortunes had been built on the fortunes of a bigger and an
- abler man, who, after a fight which was already famous in the history of
- the State for its bitterness, had been elected Governor, and Kenyon,
- having picked the winner, had gone to his reward. Just now he had a shrewd
- idea that the Governor was anxious to unload him, and that the party
- leaders were sharpening their knives for him. Their change of heart grew
- out of the fact that he had “dared to assert his independence,” as he
- said, and had “played the sneak and broken his promises,” as they said, in
- a little transaction which had been left to him to put through.
- </p>
- <p>
- Personally Ryder counted him an unmitigated scamp, but the man's breezy
- vulgarity, his nerve, and his infinite capacity to jolly tickled his
- fancy.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had so far freed himself of his habitual indifference that he was
- displaying an unheard-of energy in promoting Kenyon's interest. Of course
- he expected to derive certain very substantial benefits from the alliance.
- The Congressman had made him endless promises, and Ryder saw, or thought
- he saw, his way clear to leave Antioch in the near future. For two days he
- had been saying, “Mr. Brown, shake hands with Congressman Kenyon,” or,
- “Mr. Jones, I want you to know Congressman Kenyon, the man we must keep at
- Washington.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had marvelled at the speed with which the statesman got down to first
- names. He had also shown a positive instinct as to whom he should invite
- to make the trip across the alley to the Red Star, and whom not. Mr.
- Kenyon said, modestly, when Griff commented on this, that his methods were
- modern—they were certainly vulgar.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess I'm going to give 'em a run for their money, Ryder. I can see I'm
- doing good work here. There's nothing like being on the ground yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was characteristic of him that he should ignore the work Ryder had done
- in his behalf.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are an inspiration, Sam. The people know their leader,” said the
- editor, genially, but with a touch of sarcasm that was lost on Kenyon, who
- took himself quite seriously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir, they'd 'a' done me dirt,” feelingly, “but I am on my own range
- now, and ready to pull off my coat and fight for what's due me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were seated before the open door which looked out upon the square.
- Kenyon was chewing nervously at the end of an unlit cigar, which he held
- between his fingers. “When the nomination is made I guess the other fellow
- will discover I 'ain't been letting the grass grow in my path.” He spat
- out over the door-sill into the street. “What's that you were just telling
- me about the Huckleberry?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This new manager of Cornish's is going to make the road pay, and he's
- going to do it from the pockets of the employés,” said Ryder, with a
- disgruntled air, for the memory of his interview with Dan still rankled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That ain't bad, either. You know the Governor's pretty close to Cornish.
- The general was a big contributor to his campaign fund.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder hitched his chair nearer his companion's.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If there's a cut in wages at the shops—and I suppose that will be
- the next move—there's bound to be a lot of bad feeling.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, don't forget we are for the people.” remarked the Congressman, and
- he winked slyly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder smiled cynically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I sha'n't. I have it in for the manager, anyhow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's wrong with him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, nothing, but a whole lot,” answered Griff, with apparent
- indifference.
- </p>
- <p>
- At this juncture Dr. Emory crossed the square from the post-office and
- paused in front of the <i>Herald</i> building.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How's Dr. Emory?” said Kenyon, by way of greeting.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder had risen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Won't you come in and sit down, doctor?” he inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no. Keep your seat, Griff. I merely strolled over to say how d'ye
- do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Kenyon shot past the doctor a discolored stream. That gentleman moved
- uneasily to one side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't move,” said the statesman, affably. “Plenty of room between you and
- the casing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He left his chair and stood facing the doctor, and unpleasantly close.
- “Say, our young friend here's turned what I intended to be a vacation into
- a very busy time. He's got me down for speeches and all sorts of things,
- and it will be a wonder if I go home to Hanover sober. I won't if he can
- help it, that's dead sure. Won't you come in and have something?—just
- a little appetizer before supper?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I thank you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A cigar, then?” fumbling in his vest-pocket with fingers that were just
- the least bit unsteady.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I must hurry along.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We hope to get up again before Mr. Kenyon leaves town,” said Ryder,
- wishing to head the statesman off. He was all right with such men as Cap
- Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Burrows, but he had failed signally to take the
- doctor's measure. The latter turned away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope you will, Griff,” he said, kindly, his voice dwelling with the
- least perceptible insistence on the last pronoun.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Remember me to the wife and daughter,” called out Kenyon, as the
- physician moved up the street with an unusual alacrity.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was late in the afternoon, and the men from the car-shops were
- beginning to straggle past, going in the direction of their various homes.
- Presently Roger Oakley strode heavily by, with his tin dinner-pail on his
- arm. Otherwise there was nothing, either in his dress or appearance, to
- indicate that he was one of the hands. As he still lived at the hotel with
- Dan, he felt it necessary to exercise a certain care in the matter of
- dress. As he came into view the Congressman swept him with a casual
- scrutiny; then, as the old man plodded on up the street with deliberate
- step, Kenyon rose from his chair and stood in the doorway gazing after
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's the matter, Sam?” asked Ryder, struck by his friend's manner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who was that old man who just went past?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That? Oh, that's the manager's father. Why?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, he looks most awfully like some one else, that's all,” and he
- appeared to lose interest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, he's old man Oakley. He works in the shops.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oakley?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, that's his name. Why?” curiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How long has he been here, anyhow?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A month perhaps, maybe longer. Do you know him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've seen him before. A cousin of mine, John Kenyon, is warden of a
- prison back in Massachusetts. It runs in the blood to hold office. I
- visited him last winter, and while I was there a fire broke out in the
- hospital ward, and that old man had a hand in saving the lives of two or
- three of the patients. The beggars came within an ace of losing their
- lives. I saw afterwards by the papers that the Governor had pardoned him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder jumped up with sudden alacrity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you remember the convict's full name?” Kenyon meditated a moment; then
- he said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Roger Oakley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The editor turned to the files of the <i>Herald</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll just look back and see if it's the same name. I've probably got it
- here among the personals, if I can only find it. What was he imprisoned
- for?” he added.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He was serving a life sentence for murder, I think, John told me, but I
- won't be sure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The devil, you say!” ejaculated Ryder. “Yes, Roger Oakley, the name's the
- same.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew I couldn't be mistaken. I got a pretty good memory for names and
- faces. Curious, ain't it, that he should turn up here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder smiled queerly as he dropped the <i>Herald</i> files back into the
- rack.
- </p>
- <p>
- “His son is manager for Cornish here. He's the fellow I was telling you
- about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Kenyon smiled, too.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess you won't have any more trouble with him. You've got him where
- you can hit him, and hit him hard whenever you like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">R</span>OGER OAKLEY
- carried out his threat to find work for Jeffy. As soon as the outcast was
- able to leave his bed, he took him down to the car-shops, which were
- destined to be the scene of this brief but interesting industrial
- experiment.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was early morning, and they found only Clarence there. He was sweeping
- out the office—a labor he should have performed the night before,
- but, unless he was forcibly detained, he much preferred to let it go over,
- on the principle that everything that is put off till the morrow is just
- so much of a gain, and, in the end, tends to reduce the total of human
- effort, as some task must necessarily be left undone.
- </p>
- <p>
- As Roger Oakley pushed open the door and entered the office in search of
- his son, his charge, who slunk and shuffled after him with legs which bore
- him but uncertainly, cast a long and lingering look back upon the freedom
- he was leaving. The dignity of labor, on which his patron had been
- expatiating as they walked in the shortening shadows under the maples,
- seemed a scanty recompense for all he was losing. A deep, wistful sigh
- escaped his lips. He turned his back on the out-of-doors and peered over
- the old man's shoulder at Clarence with bleary eyes. Of course, he knew
- Clarence. This was a privilege not denied the humblest. Occasionally the
- urchin called him names, more often he pelted him with stones. The
- opportunities for excitement were limited in Antioch, and the juvenile
- population heedfully made the most of those which existed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jeffy was a recognized source of excitement. It was not as if one stole
- fruit or ran away from school. Then there was some one to object, and
- consequences; but if one had fun with Jeffy there was none to object but
- Jeffy, and, of course, he didn't count.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is my son here, Clarence?” asked Roger Oakley.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nope. The whistle ain't blowed yet. I am trying to get the place cleaned
- up before he comes down,” making slaps at the desks and chairs with a
- large wet cloth. “What you going to do with him, Mr. Oakley?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He nodded towards Jeffy, who seemed awed by the unaccustomedness of his
- surroundings, for he kept himself hidden back of the old man, his battered
- and brimless straw hat held nervously in his trembling fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am going to get work for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Him work! Him! Why, he don't want no work, Mr. Oakley. He's too strong to
- work.” And Clarence went off into gales of merriment at the mere idea.
- </p>
- <p>
- For an instant Jeffy gazed in silence at the boy with quickly mounting
- wrath, then he said, in a hoarse <i>tremolo</i>:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You durned little loafer! Don't you give me none of your lip!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Clarence had sufficiently subsided to remark, casually: “The old man'd
- like to know what you got for that horse-blanket and whip you stole from
- our barn. You're a bird, you are! When he was willing to let you sleep in
- the barn because he was sorry for you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You lie, durn you!” fiercely. “I didn't steal no whip or horse-blanket!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, you did, too! The old man found out who you sold 'em to,” smiling
- with exasperating coolness.
- </p>
- <p>
- The outcast turned to Roger Oakley. “Nobody's willing to let by-gones be
- by-gones,” and two large tears slid from his moist eyes. Then his manner
- changed abruptly. He became defiant, and, step-ing from behind his
- protector, shook a long and very dirty forefinger in Clarence's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You just tell Chris Berry this from me—I'm done with him. I don't
- like no sneaks, and you just tell him this—he sha'n't never bury
- me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon he ain't sweatin' to bury any paupers,” hastily interjected the
- grinning Clarence. “The old man ain't in the business for his health.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And if he don't stop slandering me”—his voice shot up out of its
- huskiness—“if he don't stop slandering me, I'll fix him!” He turned
- again to Roger Oakley. “Them Berrys is a low-lived lot! I hope you won't
- never have doings with 'em. They'll smile in your face and then do you
- dirt behind your back; I've done a lot for Chris Berry, but I'm durned if
- I ever lift my hand for him again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps he was too excited to specify the exact nature of the benefits
- which he had conferred upon the undertaker. Clarence ignored the attack
- upon his family. He contented himself with remarking, judiciously:
- “Anybody who can slander you's got a future ahead of him. He's got unusual
- gifts.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Here Roger Oakley saw fit to interfere in behalf of his protégé. He shook
- his head in grave admonition at the grinning youngster. “Jeffy is going to
- make a man of himself. It's not right to remember these things against
- him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They know rotten well that's what I'm always telling 'em. Let by-gones be
- by-gones—that's my motto—but they are so ornery they won't
- never give me a chance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's going to be a great shock to the community when Jeffy starts to
- work, Mr. Oakley,” observed Clarence, politely. “He's never done anything
- harder than wheel smoke from the gas-house. Where you going to put up,
- Jeffy, when you get your wages?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “None of your durn lip!” screamed Jeffy, white with rage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose you'll want to return the horse-blanket and whip. You can leave
- 'em here with me. I'll take 'em home to the old man,” remarked the boy,
- affably. “I wouldn't trust you with ten cents; you know mighty well I
- wouldn't,” retorted Jeffy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good reason why—you ain't never had that much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan Oakley's step was heard approaching the door, and the wordy warfare
- ceased abruptly. Clarence got out of the way as quickly as possible, for
- he feared he might be asked to do something, and he had other plans for
- the morning.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jeffy was handed over to McClintock's tender mercies, who put him to work
- in the yards.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was pay-day in the car-shops, and Oakley posted a number of notices in
- conspicuous places about the works. They announced a ten-per-cent,
- reduction in the wages of the men, the cut to go into effect immediately.
- </p>
- <p>
- By-and-by McClintock came in from the yards. He was hot and perspiring,
- and his check shirt clung moistly to his powerful shoulders. As he crossed
- to the water-cooler, he said to Dan:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, we've lost him already. I guess he wasn't keen for work.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley looked up inquiringly from the letter he was writing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean Jeffy. He stuck to it for a couple of hours, and then Pete saw him
- making a sneak through the cornfield towards the crick. I haven't told
- your father yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought it would be that way. Have you seen the notices?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” nodding.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heard anything from the men yet?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not a word.”
- </p>
- <p>
- McClintock returned to the yards. It was the noon hour, and in the shade
- of one of the sheds he found a number of the hands at lunch, who lived too
- far from the shops to go home to dinner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Say, Milt,” said one of these, “have you tumbled to the notices?—ten
- per cent, all round. You'll be having to go down in your sock for coin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's there all right,” cheerfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew when Cornish came down here there would be something drop shortly.
- I ain't never known it to fail. The old skinflint! I'll bet he ain't
- losing any money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You bet he ain't, not he,” said a second, with a short laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- The first man, Branyon by name, bit carefully into the wedge-shaped piece
- of pie he was holding in his hand. “If I was as rich as Cornish I'm damned
- if I'd be such an infernal stiff! What the hell good is his money doing
- him, anyhow?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What does the boss say, Milt?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That wages will go back as soon as he can put them back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, they will! Like fun!” said Branyon, sarcastically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You're a lot of kickers, you are,” commented McClintock, good-naturedly.
- “You don't believe for one minute, do you, that the Huckleberry or the
- shops ever earned a dollar?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can gamble on it that they ain't ever cost Cornish a red cent,” said
- Branyon, as positively as a mouthful of pie would allow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't be too sure about that,” said the master-mechanic, walking on.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I bet he ain't out none on this,” remarked Branyon, cynically. “If he was
- he wouldn't take it so blamed easy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The men began to straggle back from their various homes and to form in
- little groups about the yards and in the shops. They talked over the cut
- and argued the merits of the case, as men will, made their comments on
- Cornish, who was generally conceded to be as mean in money matters as he
- was fortunate, and then went back to their work when the one-o'clock
- whistle blew, in a state of high good-humor with themselves and their
- critical ability.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day the <i>Herald</i> dealt with the situation at some length.
- The whole tone of the editorial was rancorous and bitter. It spoke of the
- parsimony of the new management, which had been instanced by a number of
- recent dismissals among men who had served the road long and faithfully,
- and who deserved other and more considerate treatment. It declared that
- the cut was but the beginning of the troubles in store for the hands, and
- characterized it as an attempt on the part of the new management to curry
- favor with Cornish, who was notoriously hostile to the best interests of
- labor. It wound up by regretting that the men were not organized, as
- proper organization would have enabled them to meet this move on the part
- of the management.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Oakley read the obnoxious editorial his blood grew hot and his mood
- belligerent. It showed evident and unusual care in the preparation, and he
- guessed correctly that it had been written and put in type in readiness
- for the cut. It was a direct personal attack, too, for the expression “the
- new management,” which was used over and over, could mean but the one
- thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan's first impulse was to hunt Ryder up and give him a sound thrashing,
- but his better sense told him that while this rational mode of expressing
- his indignation would have been excusable enough a few years back, when he
- was only a brakeman, as the manager of the Buckhom and Antioch Railroad it
- was necessary to pursue a more pacific policy.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew he could be made very unpopular if these attacks were persisted
- in. This he did not mind especially, except as it would interfere with the
- carrying out of his plans and increase his difficulties. After thinking it
- over he concluded that he would better see Ryder and have a talk with him.
- It would do no harm, he argued, and it might do some good, provided, of
- course, that he could keep his temper.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went directly to the <i>Herald</i> office, and found Griff in and
- alone. When Dan strode into the office, looking rather warm, the latter
- turned a trifle pale, for he had his doubts about the manager's temper,
- and no doubts at all about his muscular development, which was imposing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I came in to see what you meant by this, Ryder,” his caller said, and he
- held out the paper folded to the insulting article. Ryder assumed to
- examine it carefully, but he knew every word there.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, this? Oh yes! The story of the reduction in wages down at the
- car-shops. There! You can take it from under my nose; I can see quite
- clearly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” repeated Ryder after him, with exasperating composure. The editor
- was no stranger to intrusions of this sort, for his sarcasms were
- frequently personal. His manner varied to suit each individual case. When
- the wronged party stormed into the office, wrathful and loud-lunged, he
- was generally willing to make prompt reparation, especially if his visitor
- had the advantage of physical preponderance on his side. When, however,
- the caller was uncertain and palpably in awe of him, as sometimes
- happened, he got no sort of satisfaction. With Oakley he pursued a middle
- course.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?” he repeated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you mean by this?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think it speaks for itself, don't you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I went into this matter with you, and you know as well as I do why the
- men are cut. This,” striking the paper contemptuously with his open hand,
- “is the worst sort of rubbish, but it may serve to make the men feel that
- they are being wronged, and it is an attack on me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you notice that? I didn't know but it was too subtle for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He couldn't resist the gibe at Oakley's expense.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Disguised, of course, but intended to give the men less confidence in me.
- Now, I'm not going to stand any more of this sort of thing!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was conscious he had brought his remarks to a decidedly lame
- conclusion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I'll tell you one thing, Mr. Oakley, I'm editor of the <i>Herald</i>,
- and I don't allow any man to dictate to me what I shall print. That's a
- point I'll pass on for myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know the situation. You know that the general will dispose of his
- interests here unless they can be made self-sustaining; and, whether you
- like him or not, he stands as a special providence to the town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I only know what you have told me,” sneeringly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley bit his lips. He saw it would have been better to have left Ryder
- alone. He felt his own weakness, and his inability to force him against
- his will to be fair. He gulped down his anger and chagrin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't see what you can gain by stirring up this matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps you don't.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Am I to understand you are hostile to the road?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If that means you—yes. You haven't helped yourself by coming here
- as though you could bully me into your way of thinking. I didn't get much
- satisfaction from my call on you. You let me know you could attend to your
- own affairs, and I can attend to mine just as easily. I hope you
- appreciate that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan turned on his heel and left the office, cursing himself for his
- stupidity in having given the editor an opportunity to get even.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N the course of
- the next few days Dan decided that there was no danger of trouble from the
- hands. Things settled back into their accustomed rut. He was only a little
- less popular, perhaps.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was indebted to Clarence for the first warning he received as to what
- was in store for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- It came about in this way. Clarence had retired to the yards, where,
- secure from observation, he was indulging in a quiet smoke, furtively
- keeping an eye open for McClintock, whose movements were uncertain, as he
- knew from sad experience.
- </p>
- <p>
- A high board fence was in front of him, shutting off the yards from the
- lower end of the town. At his back was a freight car, back of that again
- were the interlacing tracks, and beyond them a cornfield and Billup's
- Fork, with its inviting shade of sycamores and willows and its tempting
- swimming-holes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly he heard a scrambling on the opposite side of the fence, and ten
- brown fingers clutched the tops of the boards, then a battered straw hat
- came on a level with the fingers, at the same instant a bare foot and leg
- were thrown over the fence, and the owner of the battered straw hat swung
- himself into view. All this while a dog whined and yelped; then followed a
- vigorous scratching sound, and presently a small, dilapidated-looking
- yellow cur squeezed itself beneath the fence. Clarence recognized the
- intruders. It was Branyon's boy, Augustus, commonly called “Spide,”
- because of his exceeding slimness and the length of his legs, and his dog
- Pink.
- </p>
- <p>
- As soon as Branyon's boy saw Clarence he balanced himself deftly on the
- top of the fence with one hand and shaded his eyes elaborately with the
- other. An amiable, if toothless, smile curled his lips. When he spoke it
- was with deep facetiousness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hi! come out from behind that roll of paper!”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Clarence said not a word. He puffed away at his cigarette, apparently
- oblivious of everything save the contentment it gave him, and as he puffed
- Spide's mouth worked and watered sympathetically. His secret admiration
- was tremendous. Here was Clarence in actual and undisturbed possession of
- a whole cigarette. He had to purchase his cigarettes in partnership with
- some other boy, and go halves on the smoking of them. It made him feel
- cheap and common.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Say I got one of them coffin-tacks that ain't working?” he inquired.
- Clarence gazed off up the tracks, ignoring the question and the
- questioner. Spide's presence was balm to his soul. But as one of the
- office force of the Buckhom and Antioch he felt a certain lofty reserve to
- be incumbent upon him. Besides, he and Spide had been engaged in a recent
- rivalry for Susie Poppleton's affections. It is true he had achieved a
- brilliant success over his rival, but that a mere school-boy should have
- ventured to oppose him, a salaried man, had struck him as an unpardonable
- piece of impertinence for which there could be no excuse.
- </p>
- <p>
- Spide, however, had taken the matter most philosophically. He had
- recognized that he could not hope to compete with a youth who possessed
- unlimited wealth, which he was willing to lay out on chewing-gum and
- candy, his experience being that the sex was strictly mercenary and
- incapable of a disinterested love. Of course he had much admired Miss
- Poppleton; from the crown of her small dark head, with its tightly braided
- “pig-tails,” down to her trim little foot he had esteemed her as wholly
- adorable; but, after all, his affair of the heart had been an affair of
- the winter only. With the coming of summer he had found more serious
- things to think of. He was learning to swim and to chew tobacco. The
- mastering of these accomplishments pretty well occupied his time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Say!” he repeated, “got another?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Still Clarence blinked at the fierce sunlight which danced on the rails,
- and said nothing. Spide slid skilfully down from his perch, but his manner
- had undergone a change.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who throwed that snipe away, anyhow?” he asked, disdainfully. Clarence
- turned his eyes slowly in his direction.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lookee here. You fellows got to keep out of these yards, or I'll tell
- McClintock. First we know some of you kids will be getting run over, and
- then your folks will set up a lively howl. Get on out! It ain't no place
- for little boys!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He put the cigarette between his lips and took a deep and tantalizing pull
- at it. Spide kept to his own side of the ditch that ran between the fence
- and the tracks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huh!” with infinite scorn. “Who's a kid? You won't be happy till I come
- over there and lick you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “First thing I know you'll be stealing scrap iron!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My gosh! The Huckleberry'd have to stop running if I swiped a
- coupling-pin!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Clarence had recourse to the cigarette, and again Spide was consumed with
- torturing jealousies. “Where did you shoot that snipe, anyhow?” he
- inquired, insultingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Once more Clarence allowed his glance to stray off up the tracks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For half a cent I'd come across and do what I say!” added Spide, stooping
- down to roll up his trousers leg, and then easing an unelastic “gallus”
- that cut his shoulders. This elicited a short and contemptuous grunt from
- Clarence. He was well pleased with himself. He felt Spide's envy. It was
- sweet and satisfying.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Say!” with sudden animation. “You fellers will be going around on your
- uppers in a day or so. I'll bet you'd give a heap to know what I know!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't give a darned cent to know all you know or ever will know!”
- retorted Clarence, promptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some people's easily upset here in the cupola,” tapping his brimless
- covering. “I wouldn't want to give you brain-fever; I don't hate you bad
- enough.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, move on. You ain't wanted around here. It may get me into trouble
- if I'm seen fooling away my time on you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope to hell it will,” remarked Branyon's boy, Augustus, with cordial
- ill-will and fluent profanity. He was not a good little boy. He himself
- would have been the first to spurn the idea of personal sanctity. But he
- was literally bursting with the importance of the facts which he
- possessed, and Clarence's indifference gave him no opening.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What will you bet there ain't a strike?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I ain't betting this morning,” said Clarence, blandly. “But if there is
- one we are ready for it. You bet the hands won't catch us napping. We are
- ready for 'em any time and all the time.” This, delivered with a large
- air, impressed Spide exceedingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you sent for the militia a'ready?” he asked, anxiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's saying,” noting the effect of his words. “I can't go blabbing
- about, telling what the road's up to, but we are awake, and the hands will
- get it in the neck if they tackle the boss. He's got dam little use for
- laboring men, anyhow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To Clarence, Oakley was the most august person he had ever known. He
- religiously believed his position to be only second in point of importance
- and power to that of the President of the United States.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was wont to invest him with purely imaginary attributes, and to lie
- about him at a great rate among his comrades, who were ready to credit any
- report touching a man who was reputed to be able to ride on the cars
- without a ticket. Human grandeur had no limits beyond this.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There was a meeting last night. I bet you didn't know that,” said Spide.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I heard something of it. Was your father at the meeting, Spide?” he
- asked, dropping his tone of hostility for one of gracious familiarity. The
- urchin promptly crossed the ditch and stood at his side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course the old man was. You don't suppose he wouldn't be in it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, well, let 'em kick. You see the boss is ready for 'em,” remarked
- Clarence, indifferently. He wanted to know what Spide knew, but he didn't
- feel that he could afford to show any special interest. “Where you going—swimming?”
- he added.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yep.” But Spide was not ready to drop the fascinating subject of the
- strike. He wished to astonish Clarence, who was altogether too knowing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The meeting was in the room over Jack Britt's saloon,” he volunteered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose you think we didn't know that up at the office. We got our
- spies out. There ain't nothing the hands can do we ain't on to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Spide wrote his initials in the soft bank of the ditch with his big toe,
- while he meditated on what he could tell next.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, sir, you'd 'a' been surprised if you'd 'a' been there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was you there, Spide?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yep.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, come off; you can't stuff me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was, too, there. The old lady sent me down to fetch pap home. She was
- afraid he'd get full. Joe Stokes was there, and Lou Bentick, and a whole
- slew of others, and Griff Ryder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Clarence gasped with astonishment. “Why, he ain't one of the hands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, he's on their side.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What you giving us?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Say, they are going to make a stiff kick on old man Oakley working in the
- shops. They got it in for him good and strong.” He paused to weigh the
- effect of this, and then went on rapidly: “He's done something. Ryder
- knows about it. He told my old man and Joe Stokes. They say he's got to
- get out. What's a convicted criminal, anyhow?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you want to know that for, Spide?” questioned the artful
- Clarence, with great presence of mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that's what old man Oakley is. I heard Ryder say so myself, and pap
- and Joe Stokes just kicked themselves because they hadn't noticed it
- before, I suppose. My! but they were hot! Say, you'll see fun to-morrow. I
- shouldn't be surprised if they sent you all a-kiting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Clarence was swelling with the desire to tell Oakley what he had heard. He
- took the part of a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have one?” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Spide promptly availed himself of his companion's liberality.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, so long,” the latter added. “I got to get back,” and a moment later
- he might have been seen making his way cautiously in the direction of the
- office, while Spide, his battered hat under his arm, and the cigarette
- clutched in one hand, was skipping gayly across the cornfield towards the
- creek followed by Pink. He was bound for the “Slidy,” a swimming-hole his
- mother had charged him on no account to visit. Under these peculiar
- circumstances it was quite impossible for him to consider any other spot.
- Nowhere else was the shade so cool and dense, nowhere else did the wild
- mint scent the summer air with such seductive odors, and nowhere else were
- such social advantages to be found.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were always big boys hanging about the “Slidy” who played cards and
- fished and loafed, but mostly loafed, because it was the easiest, and here
- Mr. Tink Brown, Jeffy's logical successor and unofficial heir apparent,
- held court from the first of June to the last of August. The charm of his
- society no respectable small boy was able to withstand. His glittering
- indecencies made him a sort of hero, and his splendid lawless state was
- counted worthy of emulation.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Spide discovered that the way of the transgressor is sometimes as hard
- as the moralists would have us believe.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the beginning of the season, and a group of boys, in easy undress,
- were clustered on the bank above the swimming-hole. They were “going in”
- as soon as an important question should be decided.
- </p>
- <p>
- The farmer whose fields skirted Billup's Fork at this point usually filled
- in the “Slidy” every spring with bits of rusty barb-wire and osage-orange
- cuttings. The youth of Antioch who were prejudiced maintained that he did
- it to be mean, but the real reason was that he wished to discourage the
- swimmers, who tramped his crops and stole his great yellow pumpkins to
- play with in the water.
- </p>
- <p>
- The time-honored method of determining the condition of the hole was
- beautifully simple. It was to catch a small boy and throw him in, and
- until this rite was performed the big boys used the place but gingerly.
- Mr. Brown and his friends were waiting for this small boy to happen along,
- when the unsuspecting Spide ran down the bank. He was promptly seized by
- the mighty Tink.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Been in yet, Spide?” asked his captor, genially.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nope.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then this is your chance.” Whereat Spide began to cry. He didn't want to
- go in. All at once he remembered he had promised his mother he wouldn't
- and that his father had promised him a licking if he did—two
- excellent reasons why he should stay out—but Tink only pushed him
- towards the water's edge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You're hurting me! Lemme alone, you big loafer! Lemme go, or I'll tell
- the old man on you!” and he scratched and clawed, but Tink merely laughed,
- and the other boys advised him to “chuck the little shaver in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lemme take off my shirt and pants! Lemme take off my pants—just my
- pants, Tink!” he entreated.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he was raised on high and hurled out into the stream where the
- sunlight flashed among the shadows cast by the willows. His hat went one
- way and his cigarette another. Pink was considerately tossed after him,
- and all his earthly possessions were afloat.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a splash, and he disappeared from sight to reappear a second
- later, with streaming hair and dripping face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How is it?” chorussed the big boys, who were already pulling off their
- clothes, as they saw that neither barb-wire nor osage-orange brush
- festooned the swimmer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bully!” ecstatically, and he dived dexterously into the crown of his
- upturned hat, which a puff of wind had sent dancing gayly down-stream.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>AY!” Clarence
- blurted out, “there's going to be a strike!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley glanced up from his writing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's that you are telling me, Clarence?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's going to be a strike, Mr. Oakley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan smiled good-naturedly at the boy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess that has blown over, Clarence,” he said, kindly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it ain't. The men had a meeting last night. It was in the room over
- Jack Britt's saloon. I've just been talking with a fellow who was there;
- he told me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sit down,” said Oakley, pushing a chair towards him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, what is it?” as soon as he was seated. And Clarence, editing his
- reminiscences as he saw fit, gave a tolerably truthful account of his
- conversation with Spide. The source of his information, its general
- incompleteness, and the frequent divergences, occasioned by the boy's
- attempt to incorporate into the narrative a satisfactory reason for his
- own presence in the yards, did not detract from its value in Oakley's
- estimation. The mere fact that the men had held a meeting was in itself
- significant. Such a thing was new to Antioch, as yet unvisited by labor
- troubles.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is that you say about my father?” For he had rather lost track of
- the story and caught at the sudden mention of his father's name.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Spide says they got it in for him. I can't just remember what he did say.
- It was something or other Griff Ryder knows about him. It's funny, but
- it's clean gone out of my head, Mr. Oakley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley started. What could Ryder know about his father? What could any one
- know?
- </p>
- <p>
- He was not left long in doubt. The next morning, shortly after he arrived
- at the office, he heard the heavy shuffling of many feet on the narrow
- platform outside his door, and a deputation from the carpenter-shop, led
- by Joe Stokes and Branyon, entered the room. For a moment or so the men
- stood in abashed silence about the door, and then moved over to his desk.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley pushed back his chair, and, as they approached, came slowly to his
- feet. There was a hint of anger in his eyes. The whole proceeding smacked
- of insolence. The men were in their shirt-sleeves and overalls, and had on
- their hats. Stokes put up his hand and took off his hat. The others
- accepted this as a signal, and one after another removed theirs. Then
- followed a momentary shuffling as they bunched closer. Several, who looked
- as if they would just as soon be somewhere else, breathed deep and hard.
- The office force—Kerr, Holt, and Miss Walton—suspended their
- various tasks and stood up so as not to miss anything that was said of
- done.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, men, what is it?” asked Oakley, sharply—so sharply that
- Clarence, who was at the water-cooler, started. He had never heard the
- manager use that tone before.
- </p>
- <p>
- Stokes took a step forward and cleared his throat, as if to speak. Then he
- looked at his comrades, who looked back their encouragement at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We want a word with you, Mr. Oakley,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What have you to say?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, sir, we got a grievance,” began Stokes, weakly, but Branyon pushed
- him to one side hastily and took his place. He was a stockily built
- Irish-American, with plenty of nerve and a loose tongue. The men nudged
- each other. They knew Mike would have his say.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's just this, Mr. Oakley: There's a man in the carpenter-shop who's got
- to get out. We won't work with him no longer!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's right,” muttered one or two of the men under their breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whom do you mean?” asked Oakley, and his tone was tense and strenuous,
- for he knew. There was an awkward silence. Branyon fingered his hat a
- trifle nervously. At last he said, doggedly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “The man who's got to go is your father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why?” asked Oakley, sinking his voice. He guessed what was coming next,
- but the question seemed dragged from him. He had to ask it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We got nothing against you, Mr. Oakley, but we won't work in the same
- shop with a convicted criminal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's right,” muttered the chorus of men again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley's face flushed scarlet. Then every scrap of color left it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get out of here!” he ordered, hotly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't we get our answer?” demanded Branyon.
- </p>
- <p>
- While the interview was in progress, McClintock had entered, and now stood
- at the opposite end of the room, an attentive listener.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” cried Oakley, hoarsely. “I'll put whom I please to work in the
- shops. Leave the room all of you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The men retreated before his fury, their self-confidence rather dashed by
- it. One by one they backed sheepishly out of the door, Branyon being the
- last to leave. As he quitted the room he called to Dan:
- </p>
- <p>
- “We'll give you until to-morrow to think it over, but the old man's got to
- go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- McClintock promptly followed Branyon, and Clarence darted after him. He
- was in time to witness the uncorking of the master-mechanic's vials of
- wrath, and to hear the hot exchange of words which followed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can count your days with the Huckleberry numbered, Branyon,” he said.
- “I'm damned if I'll have you under me after this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We'll see about that,” retorted Branyon, roughly. “Talk's cheap.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's the old man ever done to you, you infernal loafer?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shut up, Milt, and keep your shirt on!” said Stokes, in what he intended
- should be conciliatory tones. “We only want our rights.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We'll have 'em, too,” said Branyon, shaking his head ominously. “We ain't
- Dagoes or Pollacks. We're American mechanics, and we know our rights.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You're a sneak, Branyon. What's he ever done to you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you go to hell!” ruffling up his shirt-sleeves.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, sir,” said McClintock, his gray eyes flashing, “you needn't be so
- particular about the old man's record. You know as much about the inside
- of a prison as he does.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You're a damn liar!” Nevertheless McClintock spoke only the truth. At
- Branyon's last word he smashed his fist into the middle of the carpenter's
- sour visage with a heavy, sickening thud. No man called him a liar and got
- away with it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gee!” gasped the closely attentive but critical Clarence. “What a
- soaker!” Branyon fell up against the side of the building near which they
- were standing. Otherwise he would have gone his length upon the ground,
- and the hands rushed in between the two men.
- </p>
- <p>
- Stokes and Bentick dragged their friend away by main strength. The affair
- had gone far enough. They didn't want a fight.
- </p>
- <p>
- McClintock marched into the office, crossed to the water-cooler, and
- filled himself a tumbler; then he turned an unruffled front on Oakley.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess we'd better chuck those fellows—fire 'em out bodily, the
- impudent cusses! What do you say, Mr. Oakley?”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Dan was too demoralized to consider or even reply to this. He was
- feeling a burning sense of shame and disgrace. The whole town must know
- his father's history, or some garbled version of it. Worse still,
- Constance Emory must know. The pride of his respectability was gone from
- him. He felt that he had cheated the world of a place to which he had no
- right, and now he was found out. He could not face Kerr, nor Holt, nor
- McClintock. But this was only temporary. He couldn't stand among his
- ruins. Men survive disgrace and outlive shame just as they outlive sorrow
- and suffering. Nothing ever stops. Then he recognized that, since his
- secret had been wrested from him, there was no longer discovery to fear. A
- sense of freedom and relief came when he realized this. The worst had
- happened, and he could still go on. How the men had learned about his
- father he could not understand, but instinct told him he had Ryder to
- thank. Following up the clew Kenyon had given him, he had carefully looked
- into Roger Oakley's record, a matter that simply involved a little
- correspondence.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had told Branyon and Stokes only what he saw fit, and had pledged
- himself to support the men in whatever action they took. He would drive
- Oakley out of Antioch. That was one of his motives; he was also bent on
- cultivating as great a measure of personal popularity as he could. It
- would be useful to Kenyon, and so advantageous to himself. The Congressman
- had large ambitions. If he brought his campaign to a successful issue it
- would make him a power in the State. Counting in this victory, Ryder had
- mapped out his own career. Kenyon had force and courage, but his judgment
- and tact were only of a sort. Ryder aspired to supply the necessary brains
- for his complete success. Needless to say, Kenyon knew nothing of these
- benevolent intentions on the part of his friend. He could not possibly
- have believed that he required anything but votes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley turned to Clarence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Run into the carpenter-shop, and see if you can find my father. If he is
- there, ask him to come here to me at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The boy was absent only a few moments. Roger Oakley had taken off his work
- clothes and had gone up-town before the men left the shop. He had not
- returned.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan closed his desk and put on his hat, “I am going to the hotel,” he said
- to Kerr. “If anybody wants to see me you can tell them I'll be back this
- afternoon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well, Mr. Oakley.” The treasurer was wondering what would be his
- superior's action. Would he resign and leave Antioch, or would he try and
- stick it out?
- </p>
- <p>
- Before he left the room, Dan said to McClintock:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope you won't have any further trouble, Milt Better keep an eye on
- that fellow Branyon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- McClintock laughed shortly, but made no answer, and for the rest of the
- morning Clarence dogged his steps in the hope that the quarrel would be
- continued under more favorable circumstances. In this he was disappointed.
- Branyon had been induced to go home for repairs, and had left the yards
- immediately after the trouble occurred, with a wet handkerchief held
- gingerly to a mashed and bloody nose. His fellows had not shown the
- sympathy he felt they should have shown under the circumstances. They told
- him he had had enough, and that it was well to stop with that.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan hurried up-town to the hotel. He found his father in his room, seated
- before an open window in his shirt-sleeves, and with his Bible in his lap.
- He glanced up from the book as his son pushed open the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Dannie?” he said, and his tones were mild, meditative, and
- inquiring.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was looking for you, father. They told me you'd come up-town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So I did; as soon as I heard there was going to be trouble over my
- working in the shops I left.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did they say anything to you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not a word, Dannie, but I knew what was coming, and quit work.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You shouldn't have done it, daddy,” said Dan, seating himself on the edge
- of the bed near the old man. “I can't let them say who shall work in the
- shops and who not. The whole business was trumped up out of revenge for
- the cut. They want to get even with me for <i>that</i>, you see. If I back
- down and yield this point, there is no telling what they'll ask next—probably
- that the wages be restored to the old figure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke quite cheerfully, for he saw his father was cruelly hurt.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was all a mistake, Dannie—my coming to you, I mean,” Roger
- Oakley said, shutting the book reverently and laying it to one side. “The
- world's a small place, after all, and we should have known we couldn't
- keep our secret. It's right I should bear my own cross, but it's not your
- sin, and now it presses hardest on you. I'm sorry, Dannie—” and his
- voice shook with the emotion he was striving to hide.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no, father. To have you here has been a great happiness to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Has it, Dannie? has it really?” with a quick smile. “I am glad you can
- say so, for it's been a great happiness to me—greater than I
- deserved,” and he laid a big hand caressingly on his son's.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We must go ahead, daddy, as if nothing had happened. If we let this hurt
- us, we'll end by losing all our courage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's been a knock-out blow for me, Dannie,” with a wistful sadness, “and
- I've got to go away. It's best for you I should. I've gone in one
- direction and you've gone another. You can't reconcile opposites. I've
- been thinking of this a good deal. You're young, and got your life ahead
- of you, and you'll do big things before you're done, and people will
- forget I can't drag you down just because I happen to be your father and
- love you. Why, I'm of a different class even, but I can't go on. I'm just
- as I am, and I can't change myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, bless your heart, daddy,” cried Dan, “I wouldn't have you changed.
- You're talking nonsense. I won't let you go away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But the girl, Dannie, the girl—the doctor's daughter! You see I
- hear a lot of gossip in the shop, and even if you haven't told me, I
- know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We may as well count that at an end,” said Dan, quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think of leaving here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. If I began by running, I'd be running all the rest of my life. I
- shall remain until I've accomplished everything I've set out to do, if it
- takes ten years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what about Miss Emory, Dannie? If you are going to stay, why is that
- at an end?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare say she'll marry Mr. Ryder. Anyhow, she won't marry me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I thought you cared for her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do, daddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then why do you give up? You're as good as he is any day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm not her kind, that's all. It has nothing to do with this. It would
- have been the same, anyhow. I'm not her kind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley turned this over slowly in his mind. It was most astonishing.
- He couldn't grasp it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean she thinks she is better than you are?” he asked, curiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Something of that sort, I suppose,” dryly. “I want you to come back into
- the shops, father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't do it, Dannie. I'm sorry if you wish it, but it's impossible. I
- want to keep out of sight. Back East, when they pardoned me, every one
- knew, and I didn't seem to mind, but here it's not the same. I can't face
- it. It may be cowardly, but I can't.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>AKLEY had told his
- father he was going to call at the Emorys'. He wanted to see Constance
- once more. Then it didn't much matter what happened.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he passed up the street he was conscious of an impudent curiosity in
- the covert glances the idlers on the corners shot at him. With hardly an
- exception they turned to gaze after him as he strode by. He realized that
- an unsavory distinction had been thrust upon him. He had become a marked
- man. He set his lips in a grim smile. This was what he would have to meet
- until the silly wonder of it wore off, or a fresh sensation took its
- place, and there would be the men at the shops; their intercourse had
- hitherto been rather pleasant and personal, as he had recognized certain
- responsibilities in the relation which had made him desire to be more than
- a mere task-master. The thought of his theories caused him to smile again.
- His humanitarian-ism had received a jolt from which it would not recover
- in many a long day.
- </p>
- <p>
- The hands already hated him as a tyrant, and probably argued that his
- authority was impaired by the events of the morning, though how they
- arrived at any such conclusion was beyond him, but he had felt something
- of the kind in Branyon's manner. When the opportunity came it would be a
- satisfaction to undeceive them, and he was not above wishing this
- opportunity might come soon, for his mood was bitter and revengeful, when
- he recalled their ignorant and needlessly brutal insolence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Early as he was, he found, as he had anticipated when he started out, that
- Ryder was ahead of him. The editor was lounging on the Emorys' porch with
- the family. He had dined with them.
- </p>
- <p>
- As Dan approached he caught the sound of Constance's voice. There was no
- other voice in Antioch which sounded the same, or possessed the same
- quality of refinement and culture. His heart beat with quickened
- pulsations and his pace slackened. He paused for an instant in the shadow
- of the lilac-bushes that shut off the well-kept lawn from the street. Then
- he forced himself to go on. There was no gain in deferring his sentence;
- better have it over with. Yet when he reached the gate he would gladly
- have passed it without entering had it not been that he never abandoned
- any project simply because it was disagreeable. He had done too many
- disagreeable things not to have outlived this species of cowardice.
- </p>
- <p>
- The instant he saw him, the doctor rose from his seat on the steps and
- came quickly down the walk. There was no mistaking the cordiality he gave
- his greeting, for he intended there should be none. Mrs. Emory, too, took
- pains that he should feel the friendliness of her sentiment towards him.
- Constance, however, appeared embarrassed and ill at ease, and Dan's face
- grew very white. He felt that he had no real appreciation of the changed
- conditions since his father's story had become public property. He saw it
- made a difference in the way his friends viewed him. He had become
- hardened, and it had been impossible for him to foresee just how it would
- affect others, but to these people it was plainly a shock. The very
- kindliness he had experienced at the hands of the doctor and Mrs. Emory
- only served to show how great the shock was. In their gracious, generous
- fashion they had sought to make it easy for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley and the editor did not speak. Civility seemed the rankest hypocrisy
- under the circumstances. A barely perceptible inclination of the head
- sufficed, and then Ryder turned abruptly to Miss Emory and resumed his
- conversation with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan seated himself beside the doctor on the steps. He was completely
- crushed. He hadn't the wit to leave, and he knew that he was a fool for
- staying. What was the good in carrying on the up-hill fight any longer?
- Courage is a fine quality, no doubt, but it is also well for a man to have
- sense enough to know when he is fairly beaten, and he was fairly beaten.
- </p>
- <p>
- He took stock of the situation. Quite independent of his hatred of the
- fellow, he resented Ryder's presence there beside Constance. But what was
- the use of struggling? The sooner he banished all thought of her the
- better it would be for him. His chances had never been worth considering.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stole a glance at the pair, who had drawn a little to one side, and
- were talking in low tones and with the intimacy of long acquaintance. He
- owned they were wonderfully well suited to each other. Ryder was no mean
- rival, had it come to that. The world had given him its rub. He knew
- perfectly the life with which Miss Emory was familiar, his people had been
- the right sort. He was well-born and well-bred, and he showed it.
- </p>
- <p>
- It dawned upon the unwilling Oakley slowly and by degrees that to
- Constance Emory he must be nothing more nor less than the son of a
- murderer. He had never quite looked at it in that light before. He had
- been occupied with the effect rather than the cause, but he was sure that
- if Ryder had told her his father's history he had made the most of his
- opportunity. He wondered how people felt about a thing of this kind. He
- knew now what his portion would be. Disgrace is always vicarious in its
- consequences. The innocent generally suffer indiscriminately along with
- the guilty.
- </p>
- <p>
- The doctor talked a steady stream at Oakley, but he managed to say little
- that made any demand on Dan's attention. He was sorry for the young man.
- He had liked him from the start, and he believed but a small part of what
- he had heard. It is true he had had the particulars from Ryder, but Ryder
- said what he had to say with his usual lazy indifference, as if his
- interest was the slightest, and had vouched for no part of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- He would hardly have dared admit that he himself was the head and front of
- the offending. Dr. Emory would not have understood how it could have been
- any business of his. It would have finished him with the latter. As it was
- he had been quick to resent his glib, sneering tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Dan's manner convinced the doctor that there were some grounds for the
- charges made by the hands when they demanded Roger Oakley's dismissal, or
- else he was terribly hurt by the occurrence. While Dr. Emory was reaching
- this conclusion Dan was cursing himself for his stupidity. It would have
- been much wiser for him to have remained away until Antioch quieted down.
- Perhaps it would have been fairer, too, to his friends, but since he had
- blundered he would try and see Miss Emory again; she should know the
- truth. It was characteristic of him that he should wish the matter put
- straight, even when there was no especial advantage to be gained.
- </p>
- <p>
- Soon afterwards he took his leave. The doctor followed him down to the
- gate. There was a certain constraint in the manner of the two men, now
- that they were alone together. As they paused by the gate, Dr. Emory broke
- silence with:
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God's sake, Oakley, what is this I hear about your father? I'd like
- your assurance that it is all a pack of lies.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A lump came into Dan's throat, and he answered, huskily: “I am sure it is
- not at all as you have heard; I am sure the facts are quite different from
- the account you have had—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I can't deny it outright, much as I'd like to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't mean—Pardon me, for, of course, I have no right to ask.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan turned away his face. “I don't know any one who has a better right to
- ask,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I shouldn't have asked if I'd thought there was a word of truth in
- the story. I had hoped I could deny it for you. That was all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess I didn't appreciate how you would view it. I have lived in the
- shadow of it so long—”
- </p>
- <p>
- The doctor looked aghast at the admission. He had not understood before
- that Dan was acknowledging the murder. Even yet he could not bring himself
- to believe it. Dan moved off a step, as if to go.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean it is true, Oakley?” he asked, detaining him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Substantially, yes. Good-night,” he added, hopelessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait,” hastily. “I don't want you to go just yet.” He put out his hand
- frankly. “It's nothing you have done, anyhow,” he said, as an
- afterthought.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, but I begin to think it might just as well have been.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Emory regarded him earnestly. “My boy, I'm awfully sorry for you, and
- I'm afraid you have gotten in for more than you can manage. It looks as
- though your troubles were all coming in a bunch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan smiled. “My antecedents won't affect the situation down at the shops,
- if that is what you mean. The men may not like me any the better, or
- respect me any the more for knowing of them, but they will discover that
- that will make no difference where our relations are concerned.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure. I only meant that public opinion will be pretty strong
- against you. It somehow has an influence,” ruefully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose it has,” rather sadly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you have to stay and face it? It might be easier, you know—I
- don't mean exactly to run away—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am pledged to put the shops and road on a paying basis for General
- Cornish. He'd about made up his mind to sell to the M. & W. If he
- does, it will mean the closing of the shops, and they will never be opened
- up again. That will wipe Antioch off the map. Not so very long ago I had a
- good deal of sympathy for the people who would be ruined, and I can't
- change simply because they have, can I?” with a look on his face which
- belonged to his father.
- </p>
- <p>
- The doctor stroked his beard meditatively and considered the question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose there is such a thing as duty, but don't you think, under the
- circumstances, your responsibility is really very light?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan laughed softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't imagine you would be the first to advise me to shirk it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't ordinarily, but you don't know Antioch. They can make it very
- unpleasant for you. The town is in a fever of excitement over what has
- happened to-day. It seems the men are not through with you yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I know. My father should have gone back. It looks as if I'd yielded,
- but I couldn't ask him to when I saw how he felt about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see the town lives off the shops and road. It is a personal matter to
- every man, woman, and child in the place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's what makes me so mad at the stupid fools!” said Oakley, with some
- bitterness. “They haven't the brains to see that they have a lot more at
- stake than any one else. If they could gain anything from a fight I'd have
- plenty of patience with them, but they are sure losers. Even if they
- strike, and the shops are closed for the next six months, it won't cost
- Cornish a dollar; indeed, it will be money in his pocket.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't think they'll strike,” said the doctor. “I didn't mean that
- exactly, but they'll try to keep you on a strain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They have done about all they can in that direction. The worst has
- happened. I won't say it didn't bruise me up a bit. Why, I am actually
- sore in every bone and muscle. I was never so battered, but I'm beginning
- to get back, and I'm going to live the whole thing down right here. I
- can't have skeletons that are liable to be unearthed at any moment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took a letter from his pocket, opened it and handed it to the doctor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess you can see to read this if you will step nearer the
- street-lamp.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The letter was an offer from one of the big Eastern lines. While the
- doctor knew very little of railroads, he understood that the offer was a
- fine one, and was impressed accordingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd take it.” he said. “I wouldn't fritter away my time here. Precious
- little thanks you'll ever get.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't honorably break with General Cornish. In fact, I have already
- declined, but I wanted you to see the letter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry for your sake that you did. You are sure to have more
- trouble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So much the more reason why I should stay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am quite frank with you, Oakley. Some strong influence is at work. No,
- it hasn't to do with your father. You can't well be held accountable for
- his acts.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder's laughter reached them as he spoke. Oakley could see him faintly
- outlined in the moonlight, where he sat between Constance Emory and her
- mother. The influence was there. It was probably at work at that very
- moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't be made a martyr through any chivalrous sense of duty,”
- continued the doctor. “I'd look out for myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan laughed again. “You are preaching cowardice at a great rate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, what's the use of sacrificing one's self? You possess a most
- horrible sense of rectitude.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would like to ask a favor of you,” hesitating.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was going to say if there was anything I could do—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you don't mind,” with increasing hesitancy, “will you say to Miss
- Emory for me that I'd like to see her to-morrow afternoon? I'll call about
- three—that is—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I'll tell her for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” gratefully. “Thank you very much. You think she will be at
- home?” awkwardly, for he was afraid the doctor had misunderstood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I fancy so. I can see now, if you wish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, don't. I'll call on the chance of finding her in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just as you prefer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley extended his hand. “I won't keep you standing any longer. Somehow
- our talk has helped me. Good-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The doctor gazed abstractedly after the young man as he moved down the
- street, and he continued to gaze after him until he had passed from sight
- in the shadows that lay beneath the whispering maples.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>ERHAPS it showed
- lack of proper feeling, but Oakley managed to sleep off a good deal of his
- emotional stress, and when he left his hotel the next morning he was quite
- himself again.
- </p>
- <p>
- His attitude towards the world was the decently cheerful one of the man
- who is earning a good salary, and whose personal cares are fax from being
- numerous or pressing. He was still capable of looking out for Cornish's
- interests, and his own, too, if the need arose.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went down to the office alert and vigorous. As he strode along he
- nodded and smiled at the people he met on the street. If the odium of his
- father's crime was to attach itself to him it should be without his help.
- Antioch might count him callous if it liked, but it must not think him
- weak.
- </p>
- <p>
- His first official act was to go for Kerr, who was unusually cantankerous,
- and he gave that frigid gentleman a scare which lasted him for the better
- part of a week. For Kerr, who had convinced himself overnight that Oakley
- must resign, saw himself having full swing with the Huckleberry, and was
- disposed to treat his superior with airy indifference. He had objected to
- hunting up an old order-book Dan wished to see, on the score that he was
- too busy, whereat, as Holt expressed it, the latter “jumped on him with
- both feet.” His second official act was to serve formal notice on Branyon
- that he was dismissed from the shops, the master-mechanic's dismissal not
- having been accepted as final, for Branyon had turned up that morning with
- a black eye as if to go to work. He was even harsh with Miss Walton, and
- took exception to her spelling of a typewritten letter, which he was
- sending off to Cornish in London.
- </p>
- <p>
- He also inspected every department in the shops, and was glad of an excuse
- he discovered to reprimand Joe Stokes, who was stock-keeper in the
- carpenter's room, for the slovenly manner in which the stock was handled.
- Then he returned to the office, and as a matter of discipline kept Kerr
- busy all the rest of the morning hauling dusty order-books from a dark
- closet. He felt that if excitement was what was wanted he was the one to
- furnish it. He had been too easy.
- </p>
- <p>
- He even read Clarence, whom he had long since given up as hopeless, a
- moving lecture on the sin of idleness, and that astonished youth, who had
- fancied himself proof against criticism, actually searched for things to
- do, so impressed and startled was he by the manager's earnestness, and so
- fearful was he lest he should lose his place. If that happened, he knew
- his father would send him to school, and he almost preferred work, so he
- flew around, was under everybody's feet and in everybody's way, and when
- Oakley left the office at half-past two, Holt forcibly ejected him, after
- telling him he was a first-class nuisance, and that if he Stuck his nose
- inside the door again he'd skin him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Feeling deeply his unpopularity, Clarence withdrew to the yards, where he
- sought out Dutch Pete With tears in his eyes he begged the yard boss to
- find some task for him, it made no difference what, just so it was work;
- but Dutch Pete didn't want to be bothered, and sent him away with what
- Clarence felt to be a superfluity of bad words.
- </p>
- <p>
- Naturally the office force gave a deep sigh of satisfaction when Oakley
- closed his desk and announced that he was going up-town and would not
- return. Miss Walton confided to Kerr that she just hoped he would never
- come back.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a little before three o'clock when Dan presented himself at the
- Emorys'. The maid who answered his ring ushered him into the parlor with
- marked trepidation. She was a timid soul. Then she swished from the room,
- but returned almost immediately to say that Miss Emory would be down in a
- moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder what's troubling her,” muttered Oakley, with some exasperation.
- “You'd think she expected me to take her head off.” He guessed that, like
- her betters, she was enjoying to the limit the sensation of which he was
- the innocent victim.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Constance entered the room, he advanced a little uncertainly. She
- extended her hand quite cordially, however. There was no trace of
- embarrassment or constraint in her manner.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he took her hand, Dan said, simply, going straight to the purpose of
- his call: “I have thought a good deal over what I want to tell you, Miss
- Emory.” Miss Emory instantly took the alarm, and was on the defensive. She
- enveloped herself in that species of inscrutable feminine reserve men find
- so difficult to penetrate. She could not imagine what he had to tell her
- that was so pressing. He was certainly very curious and unconventional.
- There was one thing she feared he might want to tell her which she was
- firmly determined not to hear.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley drew forward a chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Won't you sit down?” he asked, gravely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, yes.” It was all so formal they both smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan stood with his back to the fire-place, now filled with ferns, and
- rested an elbow on the mantel. There was an awkward pause. At last he
- said, slowly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems I've been the subject of a lot of talk during the last two days,
- and I have been saddled with a matter for which I am in no way
- responsible, though it appears to reflect on me quite as much as if I
- were.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really, Mr. Oakley”—began Constance, scenting danger ahead. But her
- visitor was in no mood to temporize.
- </p>
- <p>
- “One moment, please,” he said, hastily. “You have heard the story from Mr.
- Ryder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have heard it from others as well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It has influenced you—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I won't say that,” defiantly. She was not accustomed to being
- catechised.
- </p>
- <p>
- “At least it has caused you to seriously doubt the wisdom of an
- acquaintance,” blurted Oakley. “You are very unfair,” rising with latent
- anger.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will greatly oblige me by sitting down again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And Constance, astonished beyond measure at his tone of command, sank back
- into her chair with a little smothered gasp of surprise. No one had ever
- ventured to speak to her like that before. It was a new experience.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We've got to finish this, you know,” explained Dan, with one of his
- frankest smiles, and there was a genial simplicity about his smile which
- was very attractive. Constance, however, was not to be propitiated, but
- she kept her seat. She was apprehensive lest Oakley would do something
- more startling and novel if she attempted to cut short the interview.
- </p>
- <p>
- She stole a glance at him from under her long lashes. He was studying the
- carpet, apparently quite lost to the enormity of his conduct. “You have
- heard their side of the story, Miss Emory. I want you to hear mine. It's
- only fair, isn't it? You have heard that my father is an ex-convict?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” with a tinge of regret.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That he is a murderer?” plunging ahead mercilessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And this is influencing you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose it is,” helplessly. “It would naturally. It was a great shock
- to us all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” agreed Dan, “I can understand, I think, just how you must look at
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are very, very sorry for you, Mr. Oakley. I want to explain my manner
- last night. The whole situation was so excessively awkward. I am sure you
- must have felt it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did,” shortly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, dear, I hope you didn't think me unkind!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No.” Then he added, a trifle wearily, “It's taken me all this time to
- realize my position. I suppose I owe you some sort of an apology. You must
- have thought me fearfully thick-skinned.” He hoped she would say no, but
- he was disappointed. Her conscience had been troubling her, and she was
- perfectly willing to share her remorse with him, since he was so ready to
- assume a part of it. She was as conventional as extreme respectability
- could make her, but she had never liked Oakley half so well. She admired
- his courage. He didn't whine. His very stupidity was in its way admirable,
- but it was certainly too bad he could not see just how impossible he was
- under the circumstances.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan raised his eyes to hers. “Miss Emory, the only time I remember to have
- seen my father until he came here a few weeks ago was through the grating
- of his cell door. My mother took me there as a little boy. When she died I
- came West, where no one knew me. I had already learned that, because of
- him, I was somehow judged and condemned, too. It has always been hanging
- over me. I have always feared exposure. I suppose I can hush it up after a
- while, but there will always be some one to tell it to whoever will
- listen. It is no longer a secret.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was it fair to your friends, Mr. Oakley, that it was a secret?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't see what business it was of theirs. It's nothing I have done,
- and, anyhow, I have never had any friends until now I cared especially
- about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!” and Miss Emory lowered her eyes. So long as he was merely determined
- and stupid he was safe, but should he become sentimental it might be
- embarrassing for them both.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have seen my father. Do you think from what you can judge from
- appearances that he would kill a man in cold blood? It was only after
- years of insult that it came to that, and then the other man was the
- aggressor. What my father did he did in self-defence, but I am pretty sure
- you were not told this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was swayed by a sense of duty towards his father, and a desire to
- vindicate him—he was so passive and enduring. The intimacy of their
- relation had begotten warmth and sympathy. They had been drawn nearer and
- nearer each other. The clannishness of his blood and race asserted itself.
- It was a point of honor with him to stand up for his friends, and to stand
- up for his father most of all. Could he, he would have ground his heel
- into Ryder's face for his part in circulating the garbled version of the
- old convict's history. Some one should suffer as he had been made to
- suffer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, Mr. Ryder did not know what you have told me,” Constance said,
- hastily. She could not have told why, but she had the uneasy feeling that
- Griff required a champion, that he was responsible. “Then you did hear it
- from Mr. Ryder?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not answer, and Oakley, taking her silence for assent, continued:
- “I don't suppose it was told you either that he was pardoned because of an
- act of conspicuous heroism, that, at the risk of his own life, he saved
- the lives of several nurses and patients in the hospital ward of the
- prison where he was confined.” He looked inquiringly at Constance, but she
- was still silent. “Miss Emory, my father came to me to all intents an
- absolute stranger. Why, I even feared him, for I didn't know the kind of
- man he was, but I have come to have a great affection and regard for him.
- I respect him, too, most thoroughly. There is not an hour of the day when
- the remembrance of his crime is not with him. Don't you think it cowardly
- that it should have been ventilated simply to hurt me, when it must
- inevitably hurt him so much more? He has quit work in the shops, and he is
- determined to leave Antioch. I may find him gone when I return to the
- hotel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you blame Mr. Ryder for this?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do. It's part of the debt we'll settle some day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you are unjust. It was Mr. Kenyon. His cousin is warden of the
- prison. He saw your father there and remembered him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And told Mr. Ryder,” with a contemptuous twist of the lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There were others present at the time. They were not alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But Mr. Ryder furnished the men with the facts.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How do you know?” And once more her tone was one of defiance and defence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have been told so, and I have every reason to believe I was correctly
- informed. Why, don't you admit that it was a cowardly piece of business to
- strike at me over my father's shoulder?” demanded Oakley, with palpable
- exasperation. The narrowness of her nature and her evasions galled him.
- Why didn't she show a little generous feeling. He expected she would be
- angry at his words and manner. On the contrary, she replied:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not defending Mr. Ryder, as you seem to think, but I do not believe
- in condemning any one as you would condemn him—unheard.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was unduly conscious, perhaps, that sound morality was on her side in
- this.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let us leave him out of it. After all, it is no odds who told. The harm
- is done.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I shall ask Griff.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan smiled, doubtfully. “That will settle it, if you believe what he tells
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His denial will be quite sufficient for me, Mr. Oakley,” with chilly
- politeness.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long pause, during which Dan looked at the carpet, and Miss
- Emory at nothing in particular. He realized how completely he had
- separated himself from the rest of the world in her eyes. The hopelessness
- of his love goaded him on. He turned to her with sudden gentleness and
- said, penitently: “Won't you forgive me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have nothing to forgive, Mr. Oakley,” with lofty self-denial, and again
- Dan smiled doubtfully. Her saying so did not mean all it should have meant
- to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He swept his hand across his face with a troubled gesture. “I don't know
- what to do,” he observed, ruefully. “The turf seems knocked from under my
- feet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It must have been a dreadful ordeal to pass through alone,” she said. “We
- are so distressed for your sake.” And she seemed so keenly sympathetic
- that Dan's heart gave a great bound in his breast. He put aside his
- mounting bitterness against her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know why I came to see you to-day. I just wanted to, and so I
- came. I don't want to force a friendship.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Emory murmured that no excuse was necessary.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not too sure of that. I must appear bent on exhibiting myself and my
- woes, but I can't go into retirement, and I can't let people see I'm
- hurt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His face took on a strong resolve. He couldn't go without telling her he
- loved her. His courage was suddenly riotous.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Once, not long ago, I dared to believe I might level the differences
- between us. I recognized what they were, but now it is hopeless. There are
- some things a man can't overcome, no matter how hard he tries, and I
- suppose being the son of a murderer is one of these.” He paused, and,
- raising his eyes from the carpet, glanced at her, but her face was
- averted. He went on, desperately: “It's quite hopeless, but I have dared
- to hope, and I wanted you to know. I hate to leave things unfinished.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long silence, then Miss Emory said, softly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am so sorry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Which means you've never cared for me,” dryly.
- </p>
- <p>
- But she did not answer him. She was wondering how she would have felt had
- the confession come forty-eight hours earlier.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose I've been quite weak and foolish,” said Dan.
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked into his face with a slow smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why do you say that? Is it weak and foolish to care for some one?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wasn't it?” with suddenly kindled hope, for he found it hard to give her
- up.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Emory drew herself together with a sigh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never thought of this,” she said, which was hardly true; she had
- thought of it many times.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” admitted Dan, innocently enough, for her lightest word had become
- gospel to him, such was his love and reverence. “You couldn't know.” Poor
- Oakley, his telling of it was the smallest part of the knowledge. “I think
- I see now, perfectly, how great a difference this affair of my father's
- must make. It sort of cuts me off from everything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is very tragic. I wish you hadn't told me just now.” Her lips trembled
- pathetically, and there were tears in her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've wanted to tell you for a long time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course you couldn't know,” he repeated; then he plunged ahead
- recklessly, for he found there was a curious satisfaction in telling her
- of his love, hopeless as it was.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It has been most serious and sacred to me. I shall never forget you—never.
- It has helped me in so many ways just to know you. It has changed so many
- of my ideals. I can't be grateful enough.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Emory approved his attitude. It was as it should be. She was sorry
- for him. She admired his dignity and repression. It made him seem so
- strong and purposeful.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will find your happiness some day, Mr. Oakley. You will find some one
- more worthy than I.” She knew he would be insensible to the triteness of
- her remark.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” generously, “that couldn't be. I'll not find any one. I'll not
- look.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, but you will.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Already, with the selfishness of her sex, and a selfishness which was
- greater than that of her sex, she was regretting that she had allowed him
- to step so easily into the position of a rejected lover.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't want you to think it is going to ruin my life,” he said, quietly,
- “or anything of that sort.”
- </p>
- <p>
- An appeal to her pity seemed weak and contemptible.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have striven to win what I can't have, what is not for me, and I am
- satisfied to have made the effort.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Emory bit her lip. He was going to put her out of his life entirely.
- It was ended, and he would do his best to forget her with what speed he
- might, for he loved her, and was too generous to wish her to suffer. This
- generosity, needless to say, was too altruistic for Constance to fully
- appreciate its beauties. Indeed, she did not regard it as generosity at
- all. She resented it. She realized that probably she would not see him
- again; at least the meeting would not be of his making or choosing. There
- was to be no sentimental aftermath. He was preparing to go, like the
- sensible fellow he was, for good and all, and she rebelled against the
- decree. It seemed brutal and harsh. She was angry, hurt, and offended.
- Perhaps her conscience was troubling her, too. She knew she was mean and
- petty.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't think it could have been very serious to you, Mr. Oakley,” she
- murmured, gazing abstractedly from the window.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know why you think that. I can't say any more than I have said.
- It includes all.” She wanted to tell him he gave up too easily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “At any rate, we are friends,” he added.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you going?” she cried, with a ring of real longing and regret in her
- voice, lifted out of herself for the moment at the thought of losing him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan nodded, and a look of pain came into his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I am going.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you are not going to leave Antioch?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no!”
- </p>
- <p>
- And Miss Emory felt a sense of relief. She rose from her chair. “Then I
- shall see you again?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Probably,” smiling. “We couldn't well avoid seeing each other in a place
- the size of this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He held out his hand frankly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I sha'n't see you here any more?” she asked, softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess not,” a little roughly. The bitterness of his loss stung him. He
- felt something was wrong somewhere. He wondered, too, if she had been
- quite fair to him, if her ability to guard herself was entirely
- commendable, after all. He knew, in the end, his only memory of her would
- be that she was beautiful. He would carry this memory and a haunting sense
- of incompleteness with him wherever he went.
- </p>
- <p>
- She placed her hand in his and looked up into his face with troubled,
- serious eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-bye.” It was almost a whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan crossed the room to the door and flung it open. For an instant he
- wavered on the threshold, but a moment later he was striding down the
- street, with his hat jammed needlessly low over his ears, and his hands
- thrust deep in his trousers pockets.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the window, Constance, with a white, scared face, was watching him from
- between the parted curtains. She hoped he would look back, but he never
- once turned his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>N Thursday the <i>Herald</i>
- published its report of the trouble at the shops. Oakley had looked
- forward to the paper's appearance with considerable eagerness. He hoped to
- glean from it some idea of the tactics the men would adopt, and in this he
- was not disappointed. Ryder served up his sensation, which was still a
- sensation, in spite of the fact that it was common property and two days
- old before it was accorded the dignity of type and ink, in his most
- impressive style:
- </p>
- <p>
- “The situation at the car-shops has assumed a serious phase, and a strike
- is imminent. Matters came to a focus day before yesterday, and may now be
- said to have reached an acute stage. It is expected that the carpenters—of
- whom quite a number are employed on repair work—will be the first to
- go out unless certain demands which they are to make to-day are promptly
- acceded to by General Cornish's local representative.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Both sides maintain the strictest secrecy, but from reliable sources the
- Herald gathers that the men will insist upon Mr. Branyon being taken back
- by the company.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Another grievance of the men, and one in which they should have the
- sympathy of the entire community, is their objection to working with the
- manager's father, who came here recently from the East and has since been
- employed in the shops. It has been learned that he is an ex-convict who
- was sentenced for a long term of imprisonment in June, 1875, for the
- murder of Thomas Sharp, at Burton, Massachusetts.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He was only recently set at liberty, and the men are natural-ly incensed
- and indignant at having to work with him. Still another grievance is the
- new schedule of wages.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A committee representing every department in the shops and possessing the
- fullest authority, met last night at the Odd Fellows' Hall on South Main
- Street, but their deliberations were secret. A well-authenticated rumor
- has it, however, that the most complete harmony prevailed, and that the
- employés are pledged to drastic measures unless they get fair treatment
- from the company.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder tacked a moral to this, and the moral was that labor required a
- champion to protect it from the soulless greed and grinding tyranny of the
- great corporations which had sprung into existence under the fostering
- wing of corrupt legislation. Of course “the Picturesque Statesman from Old
- Hanover” was the Hercules who was prepared to right these wrongs of honest
- industry, and to curb the power of Cornish, whose vampire lusts fattened
- on the sweat of the toiler, and especially the toiler at Antioch.
- </p>
- <p>
- A copy of the paper was evidently sent the “Picturesque Statesman,” who
- had just commenced his canvass, for in its very next issue the <i>Herald</i>
- was able to print a telegram in which he “heartily endorsed the sentiments
- embodied in the <i>Herald's</i> ringing editorial on the situation at
- Antioch,” and declared himself a unit with his fellow-citizens of whatever
- party in their heroic struggle for a fair day's wage for a fair day's
- work. He also expressed himself as honored by their confidence, as,
- indeed, he might well have been.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan digested the <i>Herald's</i> report along with his breakfast. Half an
- hour later, when he reached the office, he found McClintock waiting for
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The men want to see you, Mr. Oakley. They were going to send their
- committee in here, but I told 'em you'd come out to them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right. It's just as well you did.” And Oakley followed him from the
- office.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you read the <i>Herald's</i> yap this morning?” Inquired the
- master-mechanic.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Dan, “I did. It was rather funny, Wasn't it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The town will be owing Ryder a coat of tar and feathers presently. He'll
- make these fools think they've got a reason to be sore on the company.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The men were clustered about the great open door of the works in their
- shirt-sleeves. From behind them, in the silence and the shadow, came the
- pleasant, droning sound of machinery, like the humming of a million bees.
- There was something dogged and reckless in the very way they stood around,
- with folded arms, or slouched nervously to and fro.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan singled out Bentick and Joe Stokes, and three or four others, as the
- committee, and made straight towards them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, men, what do you want?” he asked, briskly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We represent every department in the shops, sir,” said Bentick, civilly,
- “and we consider Branyon's discharge as unjust. We want him taken back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And suppose I won't take him back, what are you going to do about it—eh?”
- asked Dan, good-naturedly, and, not waiting for a reply, with oldtime
- deftness he swung himself up into an empty flat-car which stood close at
- hand and faced his assembled workmen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know why Branyon was dismissed. It was a business none of you have
- much reason to be proud of, but I am willing to let him come back on
- condition he first offers an apology to McClintock and to me. Unless he
- does he can never set his foot inside these doors again while I remain
- here. I agree to this, because I don't wish to make him a scapegoat for
- the rest of you, and I don't wish those dependent on him to suffer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He avoided looking in McClintock's direction. He felt, rather than saw,
- that the latter was shaking his head in strong disapproval of his course.
- The committee and the men exchanged grins. The boss was weakening. They
- had scored twice. First against Roger Oakley, and now for Branyon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess Branyon would as lief be excused from making an apology, if it's
- all the same to Milt,” said Bentick, less civilly than before, and there
- was a ripple of smothered laughter from the crowd.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan set his lips, and said, sternly but quietly, '“That's for him to
- decide.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, we'll tell him what you say, and if he's ready to eat humble-pie
- there won't be no kick coming from us,” remarked Bentick, impartially.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is this all?” asked Oakley.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, we can't see the cut.” And a murmur of approval came from the men.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan looked out over the crowd. Why couldn't they see that the final
- victory was in his hands? “Be guided by me,” he said, earnestly, “and take
- my word for it; the cut is necessary. I'll meet you half-way in the
- Branyon matter; let it go at that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We want our old wages,” insisted Bentick, doggedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is out of the question; the shops are running behind; they are not
- earning any money, they never have, and it's as much to your interests as
- mine, or General Cornish's, to do your full part in making them
- profitable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He pleaded with unmistakable sincerity in his tones, and now he looked at
- McClintock, who nodded his head. This was the stiff talk he liked to hear,
- and had expected from Oakley.
- </p>
- <p>
- The committee turned to the men, and the men sullenly shook their heads.
- Some one whispered, “He'll knuckle. He's got to. We'll make him.” Dan
- caught the sense of what was said, if not the words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wages can't go back until the business in the shops warrants it. If you
- will continue to work under the present arrangement, good and well. If
- not, I see no way to meet your demands. You will have to strike. That,
- however, is an alternative I trust you will carefully weigh before you
- commit yourselves. Once the shops are closed it will not be policy to open
- them until fall, perhaps not until the first of the year. But if you can
- afford to lie idle all summer, it's your own affair. That's exactly what
- it means if you strike.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He jumped down from the car, and would have left them then and there, but
- Bentick stepped in front of him. “Can't we talk it over, Mr. Oakley?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is nothing to talk over, Bentick. Settle it among yourselves.” And
- he marched off up the tracks, with McClintock following in his wake and
- commending the stand he had taken.
- </p>
- <p>
- The first emotion of the men was one of profound and depressing surprise
- at the abruptness with, which Oakley had terminated the interview, and his
- evident willingness to close the shops, a move they had not counted on. It
- dashed their courage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We'll call his bluff,” cried Bentick, and the men gave a faint cheer.
- They were not so sure it was a bluff, after all. It looked real enough.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were those who thought, with a guilty pang, of wives and children at
- home, and no payday—the fortnightly haven of rest towards which,
- they lived. And there were the customarily reckless, souls, who thirsted
- for excitement at any price, and who were willing to see the trouble to a
- finish. These ruled, as they usually do. Not a man returned to work.
- Instead, they hung about the yards and canvassed the situation. Finally
- the theory was advanced that, if the shops were closed, it would serve to
- bring down Cornish's wrath on Oakley, and probably result in his immediate
- dismissal. This theory found instant favor, and straightway became a
- conviction with the majority.
- </p>
- <p>
- At length all agreed to strike, and the whistle in the shops was set
- shrieking its dismal protest. The men swarmed into the building, where
- each got together his kit of tools. They were quite jolly now, and laughed
- and jested a good deal. Presently they were streaming off up-town, with
- their coats over their arms, and the strike was on.
- </p>
- <p>
- An unusual stillness fell on the yards and in the shops. The belts, as
- they swept on and on in endless revolutions, cut this stillness with a
- sharp, incisive hiss. The machinery seemed to hammer at it, as if to beat
- out some lasting echo. Then, gradually, the volume of sound lessened. It
- mumbled to a dotage of decreasing force, and then everything stopped with
- a sudden jar. The shops had shut down.
- </p>
- <p>
- McClintock came from the office and entered the works, pulling the big
- doors to after him. He wanted to see that all was made snug. He cursed
- loudly as he strode through the deserted building. It was the first time
- since he had been with the road that the shops had been closed, and it
- affected him strangely.
- </p>
- <p>
- The place held a dreadful, ghostly inertness. The belts and shafting, with
- its innumerable cogs and connections, reached out like the heavy-knuckled
- tentacles of some great, lifeless monster. The sunlight stole through the
- broken, cobwebbed windows, to fall on heaps of rusty iron and heaps of
- dirty shavings.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the engine-room he discovered Smith Roberts and his assistant, Joe
- Webber, banking the fires, preparatory to leaving. They were the only men
- about the place. Roberts closed a furnace-door with a bang, threw down his
- shovel, and drew a grimy arm across his forehead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you ever see such a lot of lunkheads, Milt? I'll bet they'll be
- kicking themselves good and hard before they get to the wind-up of this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- McClintock looked with singular affection at the swelling girths of iron
- which held the panting lungs of the monster the men had doomed to silence,
- and swore his most elaborate oath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I never did, Smith. You'd think they had money to burn the way they
- chucked their job.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When do you suppose I'll get a chance to build steam again?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oakley says we won't start up before the first of September.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE first weeks of
- the strike slipped by without excitement. Harvest time came and went. A
- rainless August browned the earth and seared the woods with its heat, but
- nothing happened to vary the dull monotony. The shops, a sepulchre of
- sound, stood silent and empty. General Cornish, in the rôle of the
- avenger, did not appear on the scene, to Oakley's discomfiture and to the
- joy of the men. A sullen sadness rested on the town. The women began to
- develop shrewish tempers and a trying conversational habit, while their
- husbands squandered their rapidly dwindling means in the saloons. There
- was large talk and a variety of threats, but no lawlessness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Simultaneously with the inauguration of the strike, Jeffy reappeared
- mysteriously. He hinted darkly at foreign travel under singularly
- favorable auspices, and intimated that he had been sojourning in a
- community where there was always some one to “throw a few whiskeys” into
- him when his “coppers got hot,” and where he had “fed his face” three
- times a day, so bounteous was the charity.
- </p>
- <p>
- At intervals a rumor was given currency that Oakley was on the verge of
- starting up with imported labor, and the men, dividing the watches, met
- each train; but only familiar types, such as the casual commercial
- traveller with his grips, the farmer from up or down the line, with his
- inevitable paper parcels, and the stray wayfarer were seen to step from
- the Huckleberry's battered coaches. Finally it dawned upon the men that
- Dan was bent on starving them into submission.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder had displayed what, for him, was a most <i>unusual</i> activity.
- Almost every day he held conferences with the leaders of the strike, and
- his personal influence went far towards keeping the men in line. Indeed,
- his part in the whole affair was much more important than was generally
- recognized.
- </p>
- <p>
- The political campaign had started, and Kenyon was booked to speak in
- Antioch. It was understood in advance that he would declare for the
- strikers, and his coming caused a welcome flutter of excitement.
- </p>
- <p>
- The statesman arrived on No. 7, and the reception committee met him at the
- station in two carriages. It included Cap Roberts, the Hon. Jeb Barrows,
- Ryder, Joe Stokes, and Bentick. The two last were an inspiration of the
- editor's, and proved a popular success.
- </p>
- <p>
- The brass-band hired for the occasion discoursed patriotic airs, as
- Kenyon, in a long linen duster and a limp, wilted collar, presented
- himself at the door of the smoker. The great man was all blandness and
- suavity—an oily suavity that oozed and trickled from every pore.
- </p>
- <p>
- The crowd on the platform gave a faint, unenthusiastic cheer as it caught
- sight of him. It had been more interested in staring at Bentick and
- Stokes. They looked so excessively uncomfortable.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Kenyon climbed down the steps and shook hands with Mr. Ryder. Then,
- bowing and smiling to the right and left, he crossed the platform, leaning
- on the editor's arm. At the carriages there were more greetings. Stokes
- and Bentick were formally presented, and the Congressman mounted to a
- place beside them, whereat the crowd cheered again, and Stokes and Bentick
- looked, if possible, more miserable than before. They had a sneaking idea
- that a show was being made of them. Ryder took his place in the second
- carriage, with Cap Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Barrows, and the procession
- moved off up-town to the hotel, preceded by the band playing a lively
- two-step out of tune, and followed by a troop of bare-legged urchins.
- </p>
- <p>
- After supper the statesman was serenaded by the band, and a little later
- the members of the Young Men's Kenyon Club, attired in cotton-flannel
- uniforms, marched across from the <i>Herald</i> office to escort him to
- the Rink, where he was to speak. He appeared radiant in a Prince Albert
- and a shiny tile, and a <i>boutonnière</i>, this time leaning on the arm
- of Mr. Stokes, to the huge disgust of that worthy mechanic, who did not
- know that a statesman had to lean on somebody's arm. It is hoary
- tradition, and yet it had a certain significance, too, if it were meant to
- indicate that Kenyon couldn't keep straight unless he was propped.
- </p>
- <p>
- A wave of fitful enthusiasm swept the assembled crowd, and Mr. Stokes's
- youngest son, Samuel, aged six, burst into tears, no one knew why, and was
- led out of the press by an elder brother, who alternately slapped him and
- wiped his nose on his cap.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Kenyon, smiling his unwearied, mirthless smile, seated himself in his
- carriage. Mr. Ryder, slightly bored and wholly cynical, followed his
- example. Mr. Stokes and Mr. Bentick, perspiring and abject, and looking
- for all the world like two criminals, dropped dejectedly into the places
- assigned them. Only Cap Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Barrows seemed entirely
- at ease. They were campaign fixtures. The band emitted a
- harmony-destroying crash, while Mr. Jimmy Smith, the drum-major, performed
- sundry bewildering passes with his gilt staff. The Young Men's Kenyon Club
- fell over its own feet into line, and the procession started for the Rink.
- It was a truly inspiring moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- As soon as the tail of the procession was clear of the curb, it developed
- that Clarence and Spide were marshalling a rival demonstration. Six small
- and exceedingly dirty youngsters, with reeking torches, headed by Clarence
- and his trusty lieutenant, fell gravely in at the rear of the Kenyon Club.
- Clarence was leaning on Spide's arm. Pussy Roberts preceded them, giving a
- highly successful imitation of Mr. Jimmy Smith. He owned the six torches,
- and it was unsafe to suppress him, but the others spoke disparagingly of
- his performance as a side-show.
- </p>
- <p>
- Since an early hour of the evening the people had been gathering at the
- Rink. It was also the Opera-House, where, during the winter months, an
- occasional repertory company appeared in “East Lynn,” the “New Magdalen,”
- or Tom Robertson's “Caste.” The place was two-thirds full at a quarter to
- eight, when a fleet courier arrived with the gratifying news that the
- procession was just leaving the square, and that Kenyon was riding with
- his hat off, and in familiar discourse with Stokes and Bentick.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently out of the distance drifted the first strains of the band. A
- little later Cap. Roberts and the Hon. Jeb Barrows appeared on the
- make-shift stage from the wings. There was an applausive murmur, for the
- Hon. Jeb was a popular character. It was said of him that he always
- carried a map of the United States in tobacco juice on his shirt front. He
- was bottle-nosed and red faced. No man could truthfully say he had ever
- seen him drunk, nor had any one ever seen him sober. He shunned extremes.
- Next, the band filed into the balcony, and was laboriously sweating its
- way through the national anthem, when Kenyon and Ryder appeared, followed
- by the wretched Stokes and Bentick. A burst of applause shook the house.
- When it subsided, the editor stepped to the front of the stage. With words
- that halted, for the experience was a new one, he introduced the guest of
- the evening.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was generally agreed afterwards that it had been a great privilege to
- hear Kenyon. No one knew exactly what it was all about, but that was a
- minor consideration. The Congressman was well on towards the end of his
- speech, and had reached the local situation, which he was handling in what
- the <i>Herald</i> subsequently described as “a masterly fashion, cool,
- logical, and convincing,” when Oakley wandered in, and, unobserved, took a
- seat near the door. He glanced about him glumly. There had been a time
- when these people had been, in their way, his friends. Now those nearest
- him even avoided looking in his direction. At last he became conscious
- that some one far down near the stage, and at the other side of the
- building, was nodding and smiling at him. It was Dr. Emory. Mrs. Emory and
- Constance were with him. Dan caught the fine outline of the latter's
- profile. She was smiling an amused smile. It was her first political
- meeting, and she was finding it quite as funny as Ryder had said it would
- be.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan listened idly, hearing only a word now and then. At length a sentence
- roused him. The speaker was advising the men to stand for their rights. He
- rose hastily, and turned to leave; he had heard enough; but some one cried
- out, “Here's Oakley,” and instantly every one in the place was staring at
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Kenyon took a step nearer the foot-lights. Either he misunderstood or else
- he wished to provoke an argument, for he said, with slippery civility: “I
- shall be very pleased to listen to Mr. Oakley's side of the question. This
- is a free country, and I don't deny him or any man the right to express
- his views. The fact that I am unalterably opposed to the power he
- represents is no bar to the expression here of his opinion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley's face was crimson. He paused irresolutely; he saw the jeer on
- Ryder's lips, and the desire possessed him to tell these people what fools
- they were to listen to the cheap, lungy patriotism of the demagogue on the
- stage.
- </p>
- <p>
- He rested a hand on the back of the chair in front of him, and leaned
- forward with an arm extended at the speaker, but his eyes were fixed on
- Miss Emory's face. She was smiling at him encouragingly, he thought,
- bidding him to speak.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is doubtless your opportunity,” he said, “but I would like to ask
- what earthly interest you have in Antioch beyond the votes it may give
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Kenyon smiled blandly and turned for one fleeting instant to wink at
- Ryder. “And my reply is this: What about the twenty-million-dollar
- specimen of American manhood who is dodging around London on the money
- he's made here in this State—yes, and in this town? He's gone to
- England to break his way into London society, and, incidentally, to marry
- his daughter to a title.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A roar of laughter greeted this sally.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That may be,” retorted Oakley, hotly, “but Antioch has been getting its
- share of his money, too. Don't forget that. There's not a store-keeper in
- this audience whose bank account will not show, in hard American dollars,
- what General Cornish does for Antioch when Antioch is willing to let him
- do for it. But, granted that what you have said is true, who can best
- afford to meet the present situation? General Cornish or these men? On
- whom does the hardship fall heavier, on them or on him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was not the spirit which prevailed at Bunker Hill and Lexington! No,
- thank God! our fathers did not stop to count the cost, and we have our
- battles to-day just as vital to the cause of humanity; and I, for one,
- would rather see the strong arm of labor wither in its socket than submit
- to wrong or injustice!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley choked down his disgust and moved towards the door. There was
- applause and one or two cat-calls. Not heeding them, he made his way from
- the building. He had reached the street when a detaining hand was placed
- upon his arm. He turned savagely, but it proved to be only Turner Joyce,
- who stepped to his side, with a cheerful:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-evening, Mr. Oakley. They seem to be having a very gay time in
- there, don't they?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you been in?” demanded Oakley, grimly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I? Oh, no! I have just been taking a picture home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Oakley, “I have just been making a damned fool of myself. I
- hope that is something you are never guilty of, Mr. Joyce?” Joyce laughed,
- and tucked his hand through his companion's arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Doesn't every one do that occasionally?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan shook off his bitterness. Recently he had been seeing a great deal of
- the little artist and his wife, who were about the only friends he or his
- father had left in Antioch. They walked on in silence Joyce was too
- tactful to ask any questions concerning his friend's affairs, so he
- ventured an impersonal criticism on Kenyon, with the modest diffidence of
- a man who knows he is going counter to public sentiment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Neither Ruth nor I had any curiosity to hear him speak to-night. I heard
- him when he was here last. It may be my bringing up, but I do like things
- that are not altogether rotten, and I'm afraid I count him as sort of
- decayed.” Then he added: “I suppose everybody was at the Rink to-night?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The place was packed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It promises to be a lively campaign, I believe, but I take very little
- interest in politics. My own concerns occupy most of my time. Won't you
- come in, Mr. Oakley?” for they had reached his gate.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the little side porch which opened off the kitchen they found Ruth. She
- rose with a pleased air of animation when she saw who was with her
- husband. Oakley had lived up to his reputation as a patron of the arts. He
- had not forgotten, in spite of his anxieties, the promise made Joyce
- months before, and at that very moment, safely bestowed in Mrs. Joyce's
- possession, were two formidable-looking strips of heavy pink paper, which
- guaranteed the passage of the holder to New York and return.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope this confounded strike is not going to interfere with you, Mr.
- Joyce,” said Oakley, as he seated himself. He had discovered that they
- liked to talk about their own plans and hopes, and the trip East was the
- chief of these. Already he had considered it with them from every
- conceivable point of view.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is aggravating, for, of course, if people haven't money they can't
- very well afford to have pictures painted. But Ruth is managing
- splendidly. I really don't think it will make any special difference.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am determined Turner shall not miss this opportunity. I think, if it
- wasn't for me, Mr. Oakley, he'd give up most everything he wants to do, or
- has set his heart on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's lucky to have you, then. Most men need looking after.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm sure I do,” observed the little artist, with commendable meekness. He
- was keenly alive to his own shortcomings. “I'd never get any sort of
- prices for my work if she didn't take a hand in the bargaining.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some one has to be mercenary,” said Ruth, apologetically. “It's all very
- well to go around with your head in the clouds, but it don't pay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it don't pay,” agreed Dan.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long pause, which a cricket improved to make itself heard
- above the sweep of the night wind through the tree-tops. Then Ruth said:
- “I saw Miss Emory to-day. She asked about you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Joyce and her husband had taken a passionate interest in Oakley's
- love affair, and divined the utter wreck of his hopes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did she? I saw her at the Rink, too, but of course not to speak with.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Turner Joyce trod gently but encouragingly on his wife's foot. He felt
- that Oakley would be none the worse for a little cheer, and he had
- unbounded faith in his wife's delicacy and tact. She was just the person
- for such a message.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She seemed—that is, I gathered from what she said, and it wasn't so
- much what she said as what she didn't say—”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan laughed outright, and Joyce joined in with a panic-stricken chuckle.
- Ruth was making as bad a botch of the business as he could have made.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not at all sensitive,” said Dan, with sudden candor. “I have admired
- her immensely; I do still, for the matter of that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then why don't you go there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't, Mrs. Joyce. You know why.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I think she looks at it differently now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley shook his head. “No, she doesn't. There's just one way she can look
- at it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Women are always changing their minds,” persisted Ruth. It occurred to
- her that Constance had been at her worst in her relation with Oakley. If
- she cared a scrap for him, why hadn't she stood by him when he needed it
- most? The little artist blinked tenderly at his wife. He was lost in
- admiration at her courage. He would not have dared to give their friend
- this comfort.
- </p>
- <p>
- The conversation languished. They heard the strains of the band when the
- meeting at the Rink broke up, and the voices of the people on the street,
- and then there was silence again.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVIII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE hot days
- dragged on. Dan and his father moved down to the shops. Two cots were
- placed in the pattern-room, where they slept, and where Roger Oakley spent
- most of his time reading his Bible or in brooding over the situation.
- Their meals were brought to them from the hotel. It was not that Dan
- suspected the men of any sinister intentions, but he felt it was just as
- well that they should understand the utter futility of any lawlessness,
- and, besides, his father was much happier in the solitude of the empty
- shops than he could have been elsewhere in Antioch. All day long he
- followed McClintock about, helping with such odd jobs as were necessary to
- keep the machinery in perfect order. He was completely crushed and broken
- in spirit He had aged, too.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the office Dan saw only Holt and McClintock. Sick of Kerr's presence,
- and exasperated at his evident sympathy for the strikers—a sympathy
- he was at no pains to conceal—he had laid him off, a step that was
- tantamount to dismissal. Miss Walton was absent on her vacation, which he
- extended from week to week. It was maddening to him to have her around
- with nothing to do, for he and Holt found it difficult to keep decently
- busy themselves, now the shops had closed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Holloway, the vice-president of the road, visited Antioch just once during
- the early days of the strike. He approved—being of an approving
- disposition—of all Oakley had done, and then went back home to
- Chicago, after telling him not to yield a single point in the fight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We've got to starve 'em into submission,” said this genial soul. “There's
- nothing like an empty stomach to sap a man's courage, especially when he's
- got a houseful of hungry, squalling brats. I don't know but what you'd
- better arrange to get in foreigners. Americans are too independent.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Oakley was opposed to this. “The men will be glad enough to accept the
- new scale of wages a little later, and the lesson won't be wasted on
- them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I know, but the question is, do we want 'em? I wish Cornish was
- here. I think he'd advise some radical move. He's all fight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley, however, was devoutly thankful that the general was in England,
- where he hoped he would stay. He had no wish to see the men ruined. A
- wholesome lesson would suffice. He was much relieved when the time arrived
- to escort Holloway to his train.
- </p>
- <p>
- All this while the <i>Herald</i> continued its attacks, but Dan no longer
- minded them. Nothing Ryder could say could augment his unpopularity. It
- had reached its finality. He never guessed that, indirectly at least,
- Constance Emory was responsible for by far the greater part of Ryder's
- present bitterness. She objected to his partisanship of the men, and this
- only served to increase his verbal intemperance. But, in spite of the
- antagonism of their views, they remained friends. Constance was willing to
- endure much from Ryder that she would have resented from any one else. She
- liked him, and she was sorry for him; he seemed unhappy, and she imagined
- he suffered as she herself suffered, and from the same cause. There was
- still another motive for her forbearance, which, perhaps, she did not
- fully realize. The strike and Oakley had become a mania with the editor,
- and from him she was able to learn what Dan was doing.
- </p>
- <p>
- The unpopularity of his son was a source of infinite grief to Roger
- Oakley. The more so as he took the burden of it on his own shoulders. He
- brooded over it until presently he decided that he would have a talk with
- Ryder and explain matters to him, and ask him to discontinue his abuse of
- Dan. There was a streak in the old convict's mind which was hardly sane,
- for no man spends the best years of his life in prison and comes out as
- clear-headed as he goes in.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he pottered about the shops with McClintock, he meditated on his
- project. He was sure, if he could show Ryder where he was wrong and
- unfair, he would hasten to make amends. It never occurred to him that
- Ryder had merely followed in the wake of public opinion, giving it
- definite expression.
- </p>
- <p>
- One evening—and he chose the hour when he knew Antioch would be at
- supper and the streets deserted—he stole from the shops, without
- telling Dan where he was going, as he had a shrewd idea that he would put
- a veto on his scheme did he know of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- With all his courage his pace slackened as he approached the <i>Herald</i>
- office. He possessed unbounded respect for print, and still greater
- respect for the man who spoke in print.
- </p>
- <p>
- The door stood open, and he looked in over the top of his steel-bowed
- spectacles. The office was dark and shadowy, but from an inner room, where
- the presses stood, a light shone. While he hesitated, the half-grown boy
- who was Griff's chief assistant came from the office. Roger Oakley placed
- a hand on his shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is Mr. Ryder in, sonny?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, he's in the back room, where you see the light.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He found Ryder busy making up, by the light of a single dingy lamp, for
- the <i>Herald</i> went to press in the morning. Griff gave a start of
- surprise when he saw who his visitor was; then he said, sharply, “Well,
- sir, what can I do for you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the first time the old convict and the editor had met, and Roger
- Oakley, peering over his spectacles, studied Ryder's face in his usual
- slow fashion. At last he said: “I hope I am not intruding, Mr. Ryder, for
- I'd like to speak with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then be quick about it,” snapped Griff. “Don't you see I'm busy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- With the utmost deliberation the old convict took from his pocket a large
- red-and-yellow bandanna handkerchief. Then he removed his hat and wiped
- his face and neck with elaborate thoroughness. When he finally spoke he
- dropped his voice to an impressive whisper. “I don't think you understand
- Dannie, Mr. Ryder, or the reasons for the trouble down at the shops.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't I? Well, I'll be charmed to hear your explanation.” And he put down
- the rule with which he had been measuring one of the printed columns on
- the table before him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Without being asked Roger Oakley seated himself in a chair by the door. He
- placed his hat and handkerchief on a corner of the table, and took off his
- spectacles, which he put into their case. Ryder watched him with curious
- interest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew we could settle this, Mr. Ryder,” said he, with friendly
- simplicity. “You've been unfair to my son. That was because you did not
- understand. When you do, I am certain you will do what you can to make
- right the wrong you have done him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A vicious, sinister smile wreathed Ryder's lips. He nodded. “Go on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dannie's done nothing to you to make you wish to hurt him—for you
- are hurting him. He don't admit it, but I know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope so,” said Ryder, tersely. “I should hate to think my energy had
- been entirely wasted.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A look of pained surprise crossed Roger Oakley's face. He was quite
- shocked at the unchristian feeling Griff was displaying. “No, you don't
- mean that!” he made haste to say. “You can't mean it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can't I?” cynically.
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley stole a glance from under his thick, bushy eyebrows at the
- editor. He wondered if an apt quotation from the Scriptures would be of
- any assistance. The moral logic with which he had intended to overwhelm
- him had somehow gone astray-He presented the singular spectacle of a man
- who was in the wrong, and who knew he was in the wrong and was yet
- determined to persist in it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's something I'll tell you that I haven't told any one else.” He
- glanced again at Ryder to see the effect of the proposed confidence, and
- again the latter nodded for him to go on.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am going away. I haven't told my son yet, but I've got it all planned,
- and when I am gone you won't have any reason to hate Dannie, will you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's an admirable idea, Mr. Oakley, and if Dannie, as you call him, has
- half your good-sense he'll follow your example.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; he can't leave. He must stay. He's the manager of the road,” with
- evident pride. “He's got to stay, but I'll go. Won't that do just as
- well?” a little anxiously, for he could not fathom the look on Ryder's
- dark face. Ryder only gave him a smile in answer, and he continued,
- hurriedly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see, the trouble's been about me and my working in the shops. If I
- hadn't come here there'd have been no strike. As for Dannie, he's made a
- man of himself. You don't know, and I don't know, how hard he's worked and
- how faithful he's been. What I've done mustn't reflect on him. It all
- happened when he was a little boy—so high,” extending his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Oakley,” said Ryder, coldly and insultingly, “I propose, if I can, to
- make this town too hot to hold your son, and I am grateful to you for the
- unconscious compliment you have paid me by this visit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dannie don't know I came,” quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I don't suppose he does. I take it it was an inspiration of your
- own.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley had risen from his seat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's Dannie ever done to you?” he asked, with just the least
- perceptible tremor in his tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder shrugged his shoulders. “We don't need him in Antioch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man mastered his wrath, and said, gently:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can't afford to be unfair, Mr. Ryder. No one can afford to be unfair.
- You are too young a man to persevere in what you know to be wrong.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To maintain his composure required a great effort. In the riotous days of
- his youth he had concluded most arguments in which he had become involved
- with his fists. Aged and broken, his religion overlay his still vigorous
- physical strength but thinly, as a veneer. He squared his massive
- shoulders and stood erect, like a man in his prime, and glowered heavily
- on the editor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I trust you have always been able to make right your guiding star,”
- retorted Ryder, jeeringly. The anger instantly faded from the old
- convict's face. He was recalled to himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ordinarily, that is, in the presence of others, Ryder would have felt
- bound to treat Roger Oakley with the deference due to his years. Alone, as
- they were, he was restrained by no such obligation. He was in an ugly
- mood, and he proceeded to give it rein.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish to hell you'd mind your own business,” he said, suddenly. “What do
- you mean by coming here to tell me what I ought to do? If you want to
- know, I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I am going to hound you and that
- precious son of yours out of this part of the country.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man straightened up again as Ryder spoke. The restraint of years
- dropped from him in a twinkling. He told him he was a scoundrel, and he
- prefaced it with an oath—a slip he did not notice in his excitement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hey! What's that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You're a damned scoundrel!” repeated Roger Oakley, white with rage. He
- took a step around the table and came nearer the editor. “I don't know but
- what I ought to break every bone in your body! You are trying to ruin my
- son!” He hit the table a mighty blow with his clinched fist, and,
- thrusting his head forward, glared into Ryder's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have turned his friends against him. Why, he ain't got none left any
- more. They have all gone over to the other side; and you done it, you done
- it, and it's got to stop!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder had been taken aback for the moment by Roger Oakley's fierce anger,
- which vibrated in his voice and flashed in his dark, sunken eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get out of here,” he shouted, losing control of himself. “Get out or,
- damn you, I'll kick you out!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I'm ready to go I'll leave,” retorted the old man, calmly, “and that
- will be when I've said my say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You'll go now,” and he shoved him in the direction of the door. The shove
- was almost a blow, and as it fell on his broad chest Roger Oakley gave a
- hoarse, inarticulate cry and struck out with his heavy hand. Ryder
- staggered back, caught at the end of the table as he plunged past it, and
- fell his length upon the floor. The breath whistled sharply from the old
- man's lips. “There,” he muttered, “you'll keep your hands off!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ryder did not speak nor move. All was hushed and still in the room.
- Suddenly a nervous chill seized the old convict. He shook from head to
- heel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't mean to hit you,” he said, speaking to the prostrate figure at
- his feet. “Here, let me help you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stooped and felt around on the floor until he found Ryder's hand. He
- released it instantly to take the lamp from the table. Then he knelt
- beside the editor. In the corner where the latter lay stood a rusty
- wood-stove. In his fall Griff's head had struck against it.
- </p>
- <p>
- The lamp shook in Roger Oakley's hand like a leaf in a gale. Ryder's eyes
- were open and seemed to look into his own with a mute reproach. For the
- rest he lay quite limp, his head twisted to one side. The old man felt of
- his heart. One or two minutes elapsed. His bearing was one of feverish
- intensity. He heard three men loiter by on the street, and the sound of
- their footfalls die off in the distance, but Ryder's heart had ceased to
- beat. Fully convinced of this, he returned the lamp to the table and,
- sitting down in the chair by the door, covered his face with his hands and
- sobbed aloud.
- </p>
- <p>
- Over and over he murmured: “I've killed him, I've killed him! Poor boy!
- poor boy! I didn't goto do it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently he got up and made a second examination. The man was dead past
- every doubt. His first impulse was to surrender himself to the town
- marshal, as he had done once before under similar circumstances.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he thought of Dan.
- </p>
- <p>
- No, he must escape, and perhaps it would never be known who had killed
- Ryder. His death might even be attributed to an accident. In his
- excitement he forgot the boy he had met at the door. That incident had
- passed entirely from his mind, and he did not remember the meeting until
- days afterwards.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been utterly indifferent to his own danger, but now he extinguished
- the lamp and made his way cautiously into the outer room and peered into
- the street. As he crouched in the darkness by the door he heard the town
- bell strike the hour. He counted the strokes. It was eight o'clock. An
- instant later and he was hurrying down the street, fleeing from the
- ghastly horror of the white, upturned face, and the eyes, with their look
- of mute reproach.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he reached the railroad track at the foot of Main Street, he paused
- irresolutely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I could see Dannie once more, just once more!” he muttered, under his
- breath; but he crossed the tracks with a single, longing look turned
- towards the shops, a black blur in the night a thousand yards distant.
- </p>
- <p>
- Main Street became a dusty country road south of the tracks. He left it at
- this point and skirted a cornfield, going in the direction of the creek.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the shops Dan had waited supper for his father until half-past seven,
- when he decided he must have gone up-town, probably to the Joyces'. So he
- had eaten his supper alone. Then he drew his chair in front of an open
- window and lighted his pipe. It was very hot in the office, and by-and-by
- he carried his lamp into the pattern-room, where he and his father slept.
- He arranged their two cots, blew out the light, which seemed to add to the
- heat, partly undressed, and lay down. He heard the town bell strike eight,
- and then the half-hour. Shortly after this he must have fallen asleep, for
- all at once he awoke with a start. From off in the night a confusion of
- sounds reached him. The town bell was ringing the alarm. At first he
- thought it was a fire, but there was no light in the sky, and the bell
- rang on and on.
- </p>
- <p>
- He got up and put on his coat and hat and started out.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was six blocks to the <i>Herald</i> office, and as he neared it he
- could distinguish a group of excited, half-dressed men and women where
- they clustered on the sidewalk before the building. A carriage was
- standing in the street.
- </p>
- <p>
- He elbowed into the crowd unnoticed and unrecognized. A small boy, who had
- climbed into the low boughs of a maple-tree, now shouted in a perfect
- frenzy of excitement: “Hi! They are bringing him out! Jimmy Smith's got
- him by the legs!”
- </p>
- <p>
- At the same moment Chris. Berry appeared in the doorway. The crowd stood
- on tiptoe, breathless, tense, and waiting.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Drive up a little closter, Tom,” Berry called to the man in the carriage.
- Then he stepped to one side, and two men pushed past him carrying the body
- of Ryder between them. The crowd gave a groan.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIX
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">R</span>YDER'S murder
- furnished Antioch with a sensation the like of which it had not known in
- many a day. It was one long, breathless shudder, ramified with contingent
- horrors.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dippy Ellsworth remembered that when he drove up in his cart on the night
- of the tragedy to light the street lamp which stood on the corner by the
- <i>Herald</i> office his horse had balked and refused to go near the curb.
- It was generally conceded that the sagacious brute smelled blood. Dippy
- himself said he would not sell that horse for a thousand dollars, and it
- was admitted on all sides that such an animal possessed a value hard to
- reckon in mere dollars and cents.
- </p>
- <p>
- Three men recalled that they had passed the <i>Herald</i> office and
- noticed that the door stood open. Within twenty-four hours they were
- hearing groans, and within a week, cries for help, but they were not
- encouraged.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course the real hero was Bob Bennett, Ryder's assistant, who had
- discovered the body when he went back to the office at half-past eight to
- close the forms. His account of the finding of Ryder dead on the floor was
- an exceedingly grizzly narrative, delightfully conducive of the shivers.
- He had been the quietest of youths, but two weeks after the murder he left
- for Chicago. He said there might be those who could stand it, but Antioch
- was too slow for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Not less remarkable was Ryder's posthumous fame. Men who had never known
- him in life now spoke of him with trembling voices and every outward
- evidence of the sincerest sorrow. It was as if they had sustained a
- personal loss, for his championship of the strike had given him a great
- popularity, and his murder, growing out of this championship, as all
- preferred to believe, made his death seem a species of martyrdom.
- </p>
- <p>
- Indeed, the mere fact that he had been murdered would have been sufficient
- to make him popular at any time. He had supplied Antioch with a glorious
- sensation. It was something to talk over and discuss and shudder at, and
- the town was grateful and happy, with the deep, calm joy of a perfect
- emotion.
- </p>
- <p>
- It determined to give him a funeral which should be creditable alike to
- the cause for which he had died and to the manner of his death. So
- widespread was the feeling that none should be denied a share in this
- universal expression of respect and grief that Jeffy found it easy to
- borrow five pairs of trousers, four coats, and a white vest to wear to the
- funeral; but, in spite of these unusual preparations, he was unable to be
- present.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile Dan had been arrested, examined, and set at liberty again, in
- the face of the prevailing sentiment that he should be held. No one
- doubted—he himself least of all—that Roger Oakley had killed
- Ryder. Bob Bennett recalled their meeting as he left the office to go home
- for supper on the night of the murder, and a red-and-yellow bandanna
- handkerchief was found under the table which Dan identified as having
- belonged to his father.
- </p>
- <p>
- Kenyon came to Antioch and made his re-election almost certain by the
- offer of a reward of five hundred dollars for the arrest and conviction of
- the murderer. This stimulated a wonderful measure of activity. Parties of
- men and boys were soon scouring the woods and fields in quest of the old
- convict.
- </p>
- <p>
- The day preceding that of the funeral a dusty countryman, on a hard-ridden
- plough-horse, dashed into town with the news that a man who answered
- perfectly to the description of Roger Oakley had been seen the night
- before twenty-six miles north of Antioch, at a place called Barrow's Saw
- Mills, where he had stopped at a store and made a number of purchases.
- Then he had struck off through the woods. It was also learned that he had
- eaten his breakfast the morning after the murder at a farmhouse midway
- between Antioch and Barrow's Saw Mills. The farmer's wife had, at his
- request, put up a lunch for him. Later in the day a man at work in a field
- had seen and spoken with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was neither railroad, telegraph, nor telephone at Barrow's Saw
- Mills, and the fugitive had evidently considered it safe to venture into
- the place, trusting that he was ahead of the news of his crime. It was on
- the edge of a sparsely settled district, and to the north of it was the
- unbroken wilderness stretching away to the lakes and the Wisconsin line.
- </p>
- <p>
- The morning of the funeral an extra edition of the <i>Herald</i> was
- issued, which contained a glowing account of Ryder's life and
- achievements. It was an open secret that it was from the gifted pen of
- Kenyon. This notable enterprise was one of the wonders of the day.
- Everybody wanted a <i>Herald</i> as a souvenir of the occasion, and nearly
- five hundred copies were sold.
- </p>
- <p>
- All that morning the country people, in unheard-of numbers, flocked into
- town. As Clarence remarked to Spide, it was just like a circus day. The
- noon train from Buckhom Junction arrived crowded to the doors, as did the
- one-o'clock train from Harrison. Antioch had never known anything like it.
- </p>
- <p>
- The funeral was at two o'clock from the little white frame Methodist
- church, but long before the appointed hour it was crowded to the verge of
- suffocation, and the anxious, waiting throng overflowed into the yard and
- street, with never a hope of wedging into the building, much less securing
- seats.
- </p>
- <p>
- A delegation of the strikers, the Young Men's Kenyon Club, of which Ryder
- was a member, and a representative body of citizens escorted the remains
- to the church. These were the people he had jeered at, whose simple joys
- he had ridiculed, and whose griefs he had made light of, but they would
- gladly have forgiven him his sarcasms even had they known of them. He had
- become a hero and a martyr.
- </p>
- <p>
- Chris Berry and Cap Roberts were in charge of the arrangements. On the
- night of the murder the former had beaten his rival to the <i>Herald</i>
- office by exactly three minutes, and had never left Ryder until he lay in
- the most costly casket in his shop.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was admitted afterwards by thoughtful men, who were accustomed to weigh
- their opinions carefully, that Mr. Williamson, the minister, had never
- delivered so moving an address, nor one that contained so obvious a moral.
- The drift of his remarks was that the death of their brilliant and
- distinguished fellow-townsman should serve as a warning to all that there
- was no time like the present in which to prepare for the life everlasting.
- He assured his audience that each hour of existence should be devoted to
- consecration and silent testimony; otherwise, what did it avail? It was
- not enough that Ryder had thrown the weight of his personal influence and
- exceptional talents on the side of sound morality and civic usefulness.
- And as he soared on from point to point, his hearers soared with him, and
- when he rounded in on each well-tried climax, they rounded in with him. He
- never failed them once. They always knew what he was going to say before
- it was said, and were ready for the thrill when the thrill was due. It
- might have seemed that Mr. Williamson was paid a salary merely to make an
- uncertain hereafter yet more uncomfortable and uncertain, but Antioch took
- its religion hot, with a shiver and a threat of blue flame.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Mr. Williamson sat down Mr. Kenyon rose. As a layman he could be
- entirely eulogistic. He was sure of the faith which through life had been
- the guiding star of the departed. He had seen it instanced by numerous
- acts of eminently Christian benevolence, and on those rare occasions when
- he had spoken of his hopes and fears he had, in spite of his shrinking
- modesty, shown that his standards of Christian duty were both lofty and
- consistent.
- </p>
- <p>
- Here the Hon. Jeb Barrows, who had been dozing peacefully, awoke with a
- start, and gazed with wide, bulging eyes at the speaker. He followed Mr.
- Kenyon, and, though he tried hard, he couldn't recall any expression of
- Ryder's, at the Red Star bar or elsewhere, which indicated that there was
- any spiritual uplift to his nature which he fed at secret altars; so he
- pictured the friend and citizen, and the dead fared well at his hands,
- perhaps better than he was conscious of, for he said no more than he
- believed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then came the prayer and hymn, to be succeeded by a heavy, solemn pause,
- and Mr. Williamson stepped to the front of the platform-.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All those who care to view the remains—and I presume there are many
- here who will wish to look upon the face of our dead friend before it is
- conveyed to its final resting-place—will please form in line at the
- rear of the edifice and advance quietly up the right aisle, passing across
- the church as quickly as possible and thence down the left aisle and on
- out through the door. This will prevent confusion and make it much
- pleasanter for all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a rustle of skirts and the awkward shuffling of many feet as the
- congregation formed in line; then it filed slowly up the aisle to where
- Chris Berry stood, weazened and dry, with a vulture look on his face and a
- vulture touch to his hands that now and again picked at the flowers which
- were banked about the coffin.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Emorys, partly out of regard for public sentiment, had attended the
- funeral, for, as the doctor said, they were the only real friends Griff
- had in the town. They had known and liked him when the rest of Antioch was
- dubiously critical of the new-comer, whose ways were not its ways.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the congregation thronged up the aisle, Constance, who had endured
- the long service, which to her was unspeakably grotesque and horrible, in
- shocked if silent rebellion slipped her hand into her mother's. “Take me
- away,” she whispered, brokenly, “or I shall cry out! Take me away!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Emory hesitated. It seemed a desertion of a trust to go and leave
- Griff to these strangers, who had been brought there by morbid curiosity.
- Constance guessed what was passing in her mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Papa will remain if it is necessary.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Emory touched the doctor on the shoulder. “We're going home, John;
- Constance doesn't feel well; but you stay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When they reached the street the last vestige of Constance's self-control
- vanished utterly. “Wasn't it awful!” she sobbed, “and his life had only
- just begun! And to be snuffed out like this, when there was everything to
- live for!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Emory, surprised at the sudden show of feeling, looked into her
- daughter's face. Constance understood the look.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no! He was only a friend! He could never have been more than that.
- Poor, poor Griff!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad for your sake, dearie,” said Mrs. Emory, gently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wasn't very kind to him at the last, but I couldn't know—I
- couldn't know,” she moaned.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was not much given to these confidences, even with her mother. Usually
- she never questioned the wisdom or righteousness of her own acts, and it
- was not her habit to put them to the test of a less generous judgment. But
- she was remembering her last meeting with Ryder. It had been the day
- before his death; he had told her that he loved her, and she had flared
- up, furious and resentful, with the dull, accusing ache of many days in
- her heart, and a cruel readiness to make him suffer. She had tried to
- convince herself afterwards that it was only his vanity that was hurt.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she thought of Oakley. She had been thinking of him all day,
- wondering where he was, if he had left Antioch, and not daring to ask.
- They were going up the path now towards the house, and she turned to her
- mother again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do they say of Mr. Oakley—I mean Mr. Dan Oakley? I don't know
- why, but I'm more sorry for him than I am for Griff; he has so much to
- bear!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I heard your father say he was still here. I suppose he has to remain. He
- can't choose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What will be done with his father if he is captured? Will they—”
- She could not bring herself to finish the sentence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Goodness knows! I wouldn't worry about him,” said Mrs. Emory, in a tone
- of considerable asperity. “He's made all the trouble, and I haven't a
- particle of patience with him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XX
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>Y three o'clock
- the saloons and stores, which had closed at noon, opened their doors, and
- Antioch emerged from the shadow of its funeral gloom.
- </p>
- <p>
- By four o'clock a long procession of carriages and wagons was rumbling out
- of town. Those who had come from a distance were going home, but many
- lingered in the hope that the excitement was not all past.
- </p>
- <p>
- An hour later a rumor reached Antioch that Roger Oakley had been captured.
- It spread about the streets like wildfire and penetrated to the stores and
- saloons. At first it was not believed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Just who was responsible for the rumor no one knew, and no one cared, but
- soon the additional facts were being vouched for by a score of excited men
- that a search-party from Barrow's Saw Mills, which had been trailing the
- fugitive for two days, had effected his capture after a desperate fight in
- the northern woods, and were bringing him to Antioch for identification.
- It was generally understood that if the prisoner proved to be Roger Oakley
- he would be spared the uncertainty of a trial. The threat was made openly
- that he would be strung up to the first convenient lamp-post. As Mr. Britt
- remarked to a customer from Harrison, for whom he was mixing a cocktail:
- </p>
- <p>
- “It'd be a pity to keep a man of his years waiting; and what's the use of
- spending thousands of dollars for a conviction, anyhow, when everybody
- knows he done it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this juncture Jim Brown, the sheriff, and Joe Weaver, the town marshal,
- were seen to cross the square with an air of importance and preoccupation.
- It was noted casually that the right-hand coat-pocket of each sagged
- suggestively. They disappeared into McElroy's livery-stable. Fifty men and
- boys rushed precipitately in pursuit, and were just in time to see the two
- officers pass out at the back of the stable and jump into a light
- road-cart that stood in the alley. A moment later and they were whirling
- off up-town.
- </p>
- <p>
- All previous doubt vanished instantly. It was agreed on all sides that
- they were probably acting on private information, and had gone to bring in
- the prisoner. So strong was this conviction that a number of young men,
- whose teams were hitched about the square, promptly followed, and soon an
- anxious cavalcade emptied itself into the dusty country road.
- </p>
- <p>
- Just beyond the corporation line the North Street, as it was called,
- forked. Mr. Brown and his companion had taken the road which bore to the
- west and led straight to Barrow's Saw Mills. Those who were first to reach
- the forks could still see the road-cart a black dot in the distance.
- </p>
- <p>
- The afternoon passed, and the dusk of evening came. Those of the
- townspeople who were still hanging about the square went home to supper.
- Unless a man could hire or borrow a horse there was not much temptation to
- start off on a wild-goose chase, which, after all, might end only at
- Barrow's Saw Mills.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fortunately for him, Dan Oakley had gone to Chicago that morning,
- intending to see Holloway and resign. In view of what had happened it was
- impossible for him to remain in Antioch, nor could General Cornish expect
- him to.
- </p>
- <p>
- Milton McClintock was at supper with his family, when Mrs. Stapleton, who
- lived next door, broke in upon them without ceremony, crying, excitedly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “They've got him, and they're going to lynch him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she as suddenly disappeared. McClintock, from where he sat, holding a
- piece of bread within an inch of his lips, and his mouth wide open to
- receive it, could see her through the window, her gray hair dishevelled
- and tossed about her face, running from house to house, a gaunt rumor in
- flapping calico skirts.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sprang to his feet when he saw her vanish around the corner of Lou
- Bentick's house across the way. “You keep the children in, Mary,” he said,
- sharply. “Don't let them into the street.” And, snatching up his hat and
- coat, he made for the door, but his wife was there ahead of him and threw
- her arms about his neck.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God's sake, Milt, stay with the boys and me!” she ejaculated. “You
- don't know what may happen!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Outside they heard the trampling of many feet coming nearer and nearer.
- They listened breathlessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't know what may happen!” she repeated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I do, and they mustn't do it!” unclasping her hands. “Jim will be
- needing help.” The sheriff was his wife's brother. “He's promised me he'd
- hang the old man himself, or no one else should.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was silence now in the street. The crowd had swept past the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But the town's full of strangers. You can't do anything, and Jim can't!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We can try. Look out for the children!”
- </p>
- <p>
- And he was gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. McClintock turned to the boys, who were still at the table. “Go
- up-stairs to your room and stay there until I tell you to come down,” she
- commanded, peremptorily. “There, don't bother me with questions!” For Joe,
- the youngest boy, was already whimpering. The other two, with white,
- scared faces, sat bolt upright in their chairs. Some danger threatened;
- they didn't know what this danger was, and their very ignorance added to
- their terror.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do what I say!” she cried. At this they left the table and marched
- towards the stairs. Joe found courage to say: “Ain't you coming, too?
- George's afraid.” But his mother did not hear him. She was at the window
- closing the shutters. In the next yard she saw old Mrs. Smith, Mrs.
- Stapleton's mother, carrying her potted plants into the house and scolding
- in a shrill, querulous voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- McClintock, pulling on his coat as he ran, hurried up the street past the
- little white frame Methodist church. The crowd had the start of him, and
- the town seemed deserted, except for the women and children, who were
- everywhere, at open doors and windows, some pallid and pitying, some ugly
- with the brutal excitement they had caught from brothers or husbands.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he passed the Emorys', he heard his name called. He glanced around, and
- saw the doctor standing on the porch with Mrs. Emory and Constance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you go with me, McClintock?” the physician cried. At the same moment
- the boy drove his team to the door. McClintock took the fence at a bound
- and ran up the drive.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's no time to lose,” he panted. “But,” with a sudden, sickening
- sense of helplessness, “I don't know that we can stop them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At least he will not be alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Constance who spoke. She was thinking of Oakley as struggling
- single-handed to save his father from the howling, cursing rabble which
- had rushed up the street ten minutes before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, he won't be alone,” said McClintock, not understanding whom it was
- she meant. He climbed in beside the doctor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You haven't seen him?” the latter asked, as he took the reins from the
- boy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Seen who?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dan Oakley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's on his way to Chicago. Went this morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank God for that!” and he pulled in his horses to call back to
- Constance that Oakley had left Antioch. A look of instant relief came into
- her face. He turned again to McClintock.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is a bad business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we don't want no lynching, but it's lucky Oakley isn't here. I
- hadn't thought of what he'd do if he was.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a pity he ever sent for his father! but who could have foreseen
- this?” said the doctor, sadly. McClintock shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't believe the old man killed Ryder in cold blood. Why, he's as
- gentle as a lamb.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As they left the town, off to the right in a field they saw a bareheaded
- woman racing after her two runaway sons, and then the distant shouts of
- men, mingled with the shrill cries of boys, reached their ears. The doctor
- shook out his reins and plied his whip.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What if we are too late!” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- For answer McClintock swore. He was fearing that himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Two minutes later and they were up with the rear of the mob, where it
- straggled along on foot, sweating and dusty and hoarsely articulate. A
- little farther on and it was lost to sight in a thicketed dip of the road.
- Out of this black shadow buggy after buggy flashed to show in the red dusk
- that lay on the treeless hill-side beyond. On the mob's either flank, but
- keeping well out of the reach of their elders, slunk and skulked the
- village urchins.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Looks as if all Antioch was here to-night,” commented McClintock, grimly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So much the better for us; surely they are not all gone mad,” answered
- the doctor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't give a button for his chances.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The doctor drove recklessly into the crowd, which scattered to the right
- and left.
- </p>
- <p>
- McClintock, bending low, scanned the faces which were raised towards them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The whole township's here. I don't know one in ten,” he said,
- straightening up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish I could manage to run over a few,” muttered the doctor, savagely.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they neared the forks of the road Dr. Emory pulled in his horses. A
- heavy farm-wagon blocked the way, and the driver was stolidly indifferent
- alike to his entreaties and to McClintock's threat to break his head for
- him if he didn't move on. They were still shouting at him, when a savage
- cry swelled up from the throats of those in advance. The murderer was
- being brought in from the east road.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The brutes!” muttered the doctor, and he turned helplessly to McClintock.
- “What are we going to do? What can we do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- By way of answer McClintock stood up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish I could see Jim.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Jim had taken the west road three hours be-fore, and was driving
- towards Barrow's Saw Mills as fast as McElroy's best team could take him.
- When he reached there it was enough to make one's blood run cold to hear
- the good man curse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You wait here, doctor,” cried McClintock. “You can't get past, and they
- seem to be coming this way now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look out for yourself, Milt!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never fear for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He jumped down into the dusty, trampled road, and foot by foot fought his
- way forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he had said, those in front were turning back. The result was a
- horrible jam, for those behind were still struggling to get within sight
- of the murderer. A drunken man at McClintock's elbow was shouting, “Lynch
- him!” at the top of his lungs.
- </p>
- <p>
- The master-mechanic wrenched an arm free and struck at him with the flat
- of his hand. The man appeared surprised, but not at all angry. He merely
- wiped the blood from his lips and asked, in an injured tone, which
- conveyed a mild reproof, “What did you want to do that for? I don't know
- you,” and as he sought to maintain his place at McClintock's side he kept
- repeating, “Say, neighbor, I don't know you. You certainly got the
- advantage of me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Soon McClintock was in the very thick of the mob, and then he saw the
- captive. His hands were bound and he was tied with ropes to the front seat
- of a buckboard drawn by two jaded horses. His captors were three
- iron-jawed, hard-faced countrymen. They were armed with shot-guns, and
- were enjoying their splendid triumph to the full.
- </p>
- <p>
- McClintock gave only one look at the prisoner. An agony of fear was on
- him. The collar of his shirt was stiff with blood from a wounded face. His
- hat was gone, and his coat was torn. Scared and wondering, his eyes
- shifted uneasily over the crowd.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the one look sufficed McClintock, and he lost all interest in the
- scene.
- </p>
- <p>
- There would be no lynching that night, for the man was not Roger Oakley.
- Further than that, he was gray-haired and burly; he was as unlike the old
- convict as one man could well be unlike another.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly the cry was raised, “It ain't him. You fellows got the wrong
- man!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The cry was taken up and bandied back down the road. The mob drew a great,
- free breath of rejoicing. It became good-natured with a noisy hilarity.
- The iron-jawed countrymen glanced around sheepishly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are sure about that?” one inquired. “He answers the description all
- right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was hard to have to abandon the idea of the rewards. “What have you
- been doing to him?” asked half a dozen voices in chorus They felt a
- friendly interest in the poor bound wretch in the buckboard; perhaps, too,
- they were grateful to him because he was the wrong man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, nothing much,” uneasily, “only he put up a hell of a fight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course he did. He didn't want to be hanged!” And there was a
- good-natured roar from the crowd. Already those nearest the prisoner were
- reaching up to throw off the ropes that bound him. His captors looked on
- in stupid surprise, but did not seek to interfere.
- </p>
- <p>
- The prisoner himself, now that he saw he was surrounded by well-wishers,
- and being in a somewhat surly temper, which was pardonable enough under
- the circumstances, fell to complaining bitterly and loudly of the
- treatment he had received. Presently the mob began to disperse, some to
- slink back into town, rather ashamed of their fury, while the
- ever-lengthening procession which had followed the four men in the
- buckboard since early in the day faced about and drove off into the night.
- </p>
- <p>
- An hour afterwards and the prisoner was airing his grievances in sagacious
- Mr. Britt's saloon, whither he had been conveyed by the latter gentleman,
- who had been quick to recognize that, temporarily, at least, he possessed
- great drawing-powers. He was only a battered vagabond on his way East from
- the harvests in the Dakota wheat-fields, and he knew that he had looked
- into the very eyes of death. As he limped about the place, not disdaining
- to drink with whoever offered to pay for his refreshment, he nursed a
- bruised and blackened ear, where some enthusiast had planted his fist.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just suppose they hadn't seen I was the wrong man! Gosh damn 'em! they'd
- a strung me up to the nearest sapling. I'd like to meet the cuss that
- punched me in the ear!” The crowd smiled tolerantly and benevolently upon
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How did they come to get you?” asked one of his auditors.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was doing a flit across the State on foot looking for work, and camping
- in the woods nights. How the bloody blazes was I to know you'd had a
- murder in your jay town? They jumped on me while I was asleep, that's what
- they done. Three of 'em, and when I says, 'What the hell you want of me?'
- one of 'em yells, 'We know you. Surrender!' and jabs the butt of his gun
- into my jaw, and over I go. Then another one yells, 'He's feeling for his
- knife!' and he rushes in and lets drive with his fist and fetches me a
- soaker in the neck.”
- </p>
- <p>
- About the same hour two small figures brushed past Chris Berry as he came
- up Main Street, and he heard a familiar voice say: “My, wasn't it a close
- call, Spide? He was just saved by the skin of his teeth!”
- </p>
- <p>
- A hand was extended, and the speaker felt himself seized by the ear, and,
- glancing up, looked into his father's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You come along home with me, son,” said the undertaker. “Your ma 'll have
- a word to say to you. She's been wanting to lay her hands on you all day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “See you later, Spide,” Clarence managed to gasp, and then he moved off
- with a certain jaunty buoyancy, as though he trod on air.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN Roger Oakley
- fled from Antioch on the night of the murder he was resolved that, happen
- what might, he would not be taken.
- </p>
- <p>
- For half an hour he traversed back alleys and grass-grown “side streets,”
- seeing no one and unseen, and presently found himself to the north of the
- town.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he sat down to rest and consider the situation.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was on the smooth, round top of a hill-side. At his back were woods and
- fields, while down in the hollow below him, beyond a middle space that was
- neither town nor country, he saw the lights of Antioch twinkling among the
- trees. Dannie was there somewhere, wondering why he did not return. Nearer
- at hand, across a narrow lane, where the rag-weed and jimson and pokeberry
- flourished rankly, was the cemetery.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the first peaceful month of his stay in Antioch he had walked out there
- almost every Sunday afternoon to smoke his pipe and meditate. He had liked
- to hear the blackbirds calling overhead in the dark pines, and he had a
- more than passing fondness for tombstone literature. Next to the Bible it
- seemed about the soundest kind of reading. He would seat himself beside a
- grave whose tenant had been singularly pre-eminent as possessing all the
- virtues, and, in friendly fellowship with the dead, watch the shadows
- marshalled by the distant woodlands grow from short to long, or listen to
- the noisy cawing of the crows off in the cornfields.
- </p>
- <p>
- The night was profoundly still, until suddenly the town bell rang the
- alarm. The old convict's face blanched at the sound, and he came slowly to
- his feet. The bell rang on. The lights among the trees grew in number,
- dogs barked, there was the murmur of voices. He clapped his hands to his
- ears and plunged into the woods.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had no clear idea of where he was going, but all night long he plodded
- steadily forward, his one thought to be as far from Antioch as possible by
- morning. When at last morning came, with its song of half-awakened birds
- and its level streaks of light piercing the gray dawn, he remembered that
- he was hungry, and that he had eaten nothing since noon the day before. He
- stopped at the first farmhouse he came to for breakfast, and at his
- request the farmer's wife put up a lunch for him to carry away.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was night again when he reached Barrow's Saw Mills. He ventured boldly
- into the one general store and made a number of purchases. The storekeeper
- was frankly curious to learn what he was doing and where he was going, but
- the old convict met his questions with surly reserve.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he left the store he took the one road out of the place, and half a
- mile farther on forsook the road for the woods.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was nearly midnight when he went into camp. He built a fire and toasted
- some thin strips of bacon. He made his supper of these and a few crackers.
- He realized that he must harbor his slender stock of provisions.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had told himself over and over that he was not fit to live among men.
- He would have to dwell alone like a dangerous animal, shunning his
- fellows. The solitude and the loneliness suited him. He would make a
- permanent camp somewhere close to the lakes, in the wildest spot he could
- find, and end his days there.
- </p>
- <p>
- He carried in his pocket a small railroad map of the State, and in the
- morning, after a careful study of it, marked out his course. That day, and
- for several days following, he plodded on and on in a tireless, patient
- fashion, and with but the briefest stops at noon for his meagre lunch.
- Each morning he was up and on his way with the first glimmer of light, and
- he kept his even pace until the glow faded from the sky in the west.
- </p>
- <p>
- Beyond Barrow's Saw Mills the pine-woods stretched away to the north in
- one unbroken wilderness. At long intervals he passed loggers' camps, and
- more rarely a farm in the forest; but he avoided these. Instinct told him
- that the news of Ryder's murder had travelled far and wide. In all that
- range of country there was no inhabited spot where he dare show his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now that he had evolved a definite purpose he was quite cheerful and
- happy, save for occasional spells of depression and bitter
- self-accusation, but the excitement of his flight buoyed him up amazingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had distanced and outwitted pursuit, and his old pride in his physical
- strength and superiority returned. The woods never ceased to interest him.
- There was a mighty freedom about them, a freedom he shared and joyed in.
- He felt he could tramp on forever, with the scent of the pines filling his
- nostrils and the sweep of the wind in his ears. His muscles seemed of
- iron. There was cunning and craft, too, in the life he was living.
- </p>
- <p>
- The days were sultry August days. No rain had fallen in weeks, and the
- earth was a dead, dry brown. A hot haze quivered under the great trees.
- Off in the north, against which his face was set, a long, low, black cloud
- lay on the horizon. Sometimes the wind lifted it higher, and it sifted
- down dark threads of color against the softer blue of the summer sky.
- Presently the wind brought the odor of smoke. At first it was almost
- imperceptible—a suggestion merely, but by-and-by it was in every
- breath he drew. The forest was on fire ahead of him. He judged that the
- tide of devastation was rolling nearer, and he veered to the west. Then
- one evening he saw what he had not seen before—a dull red light that
- shone sullenly above the pines. The next day the smoke was thick in the
- woods; the wind, blowing strongly from the north, floated little wisps and
- wreaths of it down upon him. It rested like a heavy mist above the cool
- surface of the lake, on the shores of which he had made his camp the night
- previous, while some thickly grown depressions he crossed were sour with
- the stale, rancid odor that clung to his clothes and rendered breathing
- difficult. There was a powdering of fine white ashes everywhere. At first
- it resembled a hoar-frost, and then a scanty fall of snow.
- </p>
- <p>
- By five o'clock he gained the summit of a low ridge. From its top he was
- able to secure an extended view of the fire. A red line—as red as
- the reddest sunset—stretched away to the north as far as the eye
- could see. He was profoundly impressed by the spectacle. The conflagration
- was on a scale so gigantic that it fairly staggered him. He knew millions
- of feet of timber must be blazing.
- </p>
- <p>
- He decided to remain on the ridge and study the course of the fire, so he
- lay down to rest. Sleep came over him, for the day had been a fatiguing
- one, but at midnight he awoke. A dull, roaring sound was surging through
- the forest, and the air was stifling. The fire had burned closer while he
- slept. It had reached the ridge opposite, which was nearly parallel to the
- one he was on, and was burning along its northern base. The ridge
- flattened perceptibly to the west, and already at this point a single lone
- line of fire had surmounted the blunt crest, and was creeping down into
- the valley which intervened. Presently tongues, of fire shot upwards. The
- dark, nearer side of the ridge showed clearly in the fierce light, and
- soon the fire rolled over its entire length, a long, ruddy cataract of
- flame. As it gained the summit it seemed to fall forward and catch fresh
- timber, then it raced down the slope towards the valley, forming a great
- red avalanche that roared and hissed and crackled and sent up vast clouds
- of smoke into the night.
- </p>
- <p>
- Clearly any attempt to go farther north would be but a waste of time and
- strength. The fire shut him off completely in that quarter. He must
- retrace his steps until he was well to the south again. Then he could go
- either to the east or west, and perhaps work around into the burned
- district. The risk he ran of capture did not worry him. Indeed, he
- scarcely considered it. He felt certain the pursuit, if pursuit there
- were, had been abandoned days before. He had a shrewd idea that the fire
- would give people something else to think of. His only fear was that his
- provisions would be exhausted. When they went he knew the chances were
- that he would starve, but he put this fear resolutely aside whenever it
- obtruded itself. With care his supplies could be made to last many days.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not sleep any more that night, but watched the fire eat its way
- across the valley. When it reached the slope at his feet he shouldered his
- pack and started south. It was noon when he made his first halt. He rested
- for two hours and then resumed his march. He was now well beyond the
- immediate range of the conflagration. There was only an occasional faint
- odor of smoke in the woods. He had crossed several small streams, and he
- knew they would be an obstacle in the path of the fire unless the wind,
- which was from the north, should freshen.
- </p>
- <p>
- Night fell. He lighted a camp-fire and scraped together his bed of
- pine-needles, and lay down to sleep with the comforting thought that he
- had put a sufficient distance between himself and the burning forest. He
- would turn to the west when morning came. He trusted to a long day's
- journey to carry him out of the menaced territory. It would be easier
- travelling, too, for the ridges which cut the face of the country ran east
- and west. The sun was in the boughs of the hemlocks when he awoke. There
- had been a light rain during the night, and the forest world had taken on
- new beauty. But it grew hot and oppressive as the hours passed. The smoke
- thickened once more. At first he tried to believe it was only his fancy.
- Then the wind shifted into the east, and the woods became noticeably
- clearer. He pushed ahead with renewed hope. This change in the wind was a
- good sign. If it ever got into the south it would drive the fire back on
- itself.
- </p>
- <p>
- He tramped for half the night and threw himself down and slept heavily—the
- sleep of utter exhaustion and weariness. It was broad day when he opened
- his eyes. The first sound he heard was the dull roar of the flames. He
- turned with a hunted, fugitive look towards the west. A bright light shone
- through the trees. The fire was creeping around and already encircled him
- on two sides. His feeling was one of bitter disappointment, fear, too,
- mingled with it. In the south were Ryder's friends—Dannie's enemies
- and his. Of the east he had a horror which the study of his map did not
- tend to allay; there were towns there, and settlements, thickly scattered.
- Finally he concluded he would go forward and examine the line of fire.
- There might be some means by which he could make his way through it.
- </p>
- <p>
- A journey of two miles brought him to a small watercourse. The fire was
- burning along the opposite bank. It blazed among the scrub and underbrush
- and leaped from tree to tree; first to shrivel their foliage to a dead,
- dry brown, and then envelop them in sheets of flame. The crackling was
- like the report of musketry.
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley was awed by the sight. In spite of the smoke and heat he sat
- down on the trunk of a fallen pine to rest. Some birds fluttered out of
- the rolling masses of smoke above his head and flew south with shrill
- cries of alarm. A deer crossed the stream, not two hundred yards from
- where he sat, at a single bound. Next, two large timber wolves entered the
- water. They landed within a stone's throw of him, and trotted leisurely
- off. The heat soon drove him from his position, and he, too, sought refuge
- in the south. The wall of flame cut him off from the north and west, and
- to the east he would not go.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something tragic in this blocking of his way. He wondered if it
- was not the Lord's wish, after all, that he should be taken. This thought
- had been troubling him for some time. Then he remembered Dannie. Dannie,
- to whom he had brought only shame and sorrow. He set his lips with grim
- determination. Right or wrong, the Lord's vengeance would have to wait.
- Perhaps He would understand the situation. He prayed that He might.
- </p>
- <p>
- Twenty-four hours later and he had turned westward, with the desperate
- hope that he could cross out of the path of the fire, but the hope proved
- futile. There was no help for it. To the east he must go if he would
- escape.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the towns and settlements he feared most, and the people; perhaps
- they still continued the search. When he left the wilderness the one
- precaution he could take would be to travel only by night. This plan, when
- it was firmly fixed in his mind, greatly encouraged him. But at the end of
- ten hours of steady tramping he discovered that the fire surrounded him on
- three sides. Still he did not despair. For two days he dodged from east to
- west, and each day the wall of flame and smoke drew closer about him, and
- the distances in which he moved became less and less. And now a great fear
- of Antioch possessed him. The railroad ran nearly due east and west from
- Buckhom Junction to Harrison, a distance of ninety-five miles. Beyond the
- road the country was well settled. There were thriving farms and villages.
- To pass through such a country without being seen was next to impossible.
- He felt a measure of his strength fail him, and with it went his courage.
- It was only the thought of Dannie that kept him on the alert. Happen what
- might, he would not be taken. It should go hard with the man or men who
- made the attempt. He told himself this, not boastfully, but with quiet
- conviction. In so far as he could, as the fire crowded him back, he
- avoided the vicinity of Antioch and inclined towards Buckhorn Junction.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was need of constant vigilance now, as he was in a sparsely settled
- section. One night some men passed quite near to the fringe of tamarack
- swamp where he was camped. Luckily the undergrowth was dense, and his fire
- had burned to a few red embers. On another occasion, just at dusk, he
- stumbled into a small clearing, and within plain view of the windows of a
- log-cabin. As he leaped back into the woods a man with a cob-pipe in his
- mouth came to the door of the cabin.
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley, with the hickory staff which he had cut that day held firmly
- in his hands, and a fierce, wild look on his face, watched him from his
- cover. Presently the man turned back into the house, closing the door
- after him.
- </p>
- <p>
- These experiences startled and alarmed him. He grew gaunt and haggard; a
- terrible weariness oppressed him; his mind became confused, and a sort of
- panic seized him. His provisions had failed him, but an occasional
- cultivated field furnished corn and potatoes, in spite of the serious
- misgivings he felt concerning the moral aspect of these nightly
- depredations. When he raided a spring-house, and carried off eggs and
- butter and milk, he was able to leave money behind. He conducted these
- transactions with scrupulous honesty.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been living in the wilderness three weeks, when at last the fire
- drove him from cover at Buck-horn Junction. As a town the Junction was
- largely a fiction. There was a railroad crossing, a freight-shed, and the
- depot, and perhaps a score of houses scattered along a sandy stretch of
- country road.
- </p>
- <p>
- The B. & A. had its connection with the M. & W. at this point. It
- was also the beginning of a rich agricultural district, and the woods gave
- place to cultivated fields and farm-lands.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was late afternoon as Roger Oakley approached Buckhorn. When it was
- dark he would cross the railroad and take his chance there. He judged from
- the light in the sky that the fire had already burned in between Buckhom
- and Antioch. This gave him a certain sense of security. Indeed, the fire
- surrounded Buckhorn in every quarter except the south. Where there was no
- timber or brush it crept along the rail-fences, or ran with tiny spurts of
- flame through the dry weeds and dead stubble which covered much of the
- cleared land.
- </p>
- <p>
- He could see a number of people moving about, a quarter of a mile west of
- the depot. They were tearing down a burning fence that was in perilous
- proximity to some straw-stacks and a barn.
- </p>
- <p>
- He heard and saw the 6.50 on the M. & W. pull in. This was the Chicago
- express; and the Huckleberry's local, which was due at Antioch at
- midnight, connected with it. This connection involved a wait of three
- hours at Buckhom. Only one passenger left the train. He disappeared into
- the depot.
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley waited until it was quite dark, and then, leaving the strip
- of woods just back of the depot, where he had been hiding, stole
- cautiously down to the track. He had noticed that there was an engine and
- some freight cars on one of the sidings. He moved among them, keeping well
- in the shadow. Suddenly he paused. Two men emerged from the depot. They
- came down the platform in the direction of the cars. They were talking
- earnestly together. One swung himself up into the engine and lighted a
- torch.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wondered what they were doing, and stole nearer.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were standing on the platform now, and the man who held the torch had
- his back to him. His companion was saying something about the wires being
- down.
- </p>
- <p>
- He listened intently.
- </p>
- <p>
- Antioch was in danger, and if Antioch was in danger—Dannie—
- </p>
- <p>
- All at once the man with the torch turned and its light Suffused his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Dan Oakley.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>AN OAKLEY went to
- Chicago, intending to see Holloway and resign, but he found that the
- Huckleberry's vice-president was in New York on business, and no one in
- his office seemed to know when he would return, so he sat down and wrote a
- letter, telling him of the condition of affairs at Antioch, and explaining
- the utter futility, in view of what had happened, of his trying to cope
- with the situation.
- </p>
- <p>
- He waited five days for a reply, and, none coming, wired to learn if his
- letter had been received. This produced results. Holloway wired back that
- he had the letter under consideration, and requested Oakley to remain in
- Chicago until he returned, but he did not say whether or not his
- resignation would be accepted. Since there was nothing to be done but
- await Holloway's pleasure in the matter, Dan employed his enforced leisure
- in looking about for another position. He desired a connection which would
- take him out of the country, for the farther away from Antioch and
- Constance Emory he could get the better he would be satisfied. He fancied
- he would like to go to South America. He was willing to accept almost any
- kind of a post—salary was no longer a consideration with him. What
- he required was a radical change, with plenty of hard work.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not to be wondered at that his judgment of the case was an extreme
- one, or that he told himself he must make a fresh start, as his record was
- very much against him and his ability at a discount. While he could not
- fairly be held responsible for the miscarriage of his plans at Antioch, he
- felt their failure keenly, so keenly that could he have seen the glimmer
- of a hope ahead he could have gone back and taken up the struggle, but the
- killing of Ryder by his father made this impossible. There was nothing he
- could do, and his mere presence outraged the whole town. No understanding
- would ever be reached with the hands if he continued in control, while a
- new man in his place would probably have little or no difficulty in coming
- to an agreement with them. No doubt they were quite as sick as he had been
- of the fight, and if he left they would be content to count his going a
- victory, and waive the question of wages. It was part of the irony of the
- condition that the new man would find enough work contracted for to keep
- the shop open and running full time for the next eight or ten months. But
- his successor was welcome to the glory of it when he had hidden himself in
- some God-forsaken corner of the globe along with the other waifs and
- strays—the men who have left home because of their health or their
- accounts, and who hang around dingy seaport towns and read month-old
- newspapers and try to believe that the game has been worth the candle.
- </p>
- <p>
- By far his greatest anxiety was his father. He watched the papers closely,
- expecting each day to read that he had been captured and sent back to
- Antioch, but the days slipped past, and there was no mention of him. Holt,
- with whom he was in constant correspondence, reported that interest in his
- capture had considerably abated, while the organized pursuit had entirely
- ceased.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan had the feeling that he should never see him again, and the pathos of
- his age and dependence tore his heart. In a manner, too, he blamed himself
- for the tragedy. It might have been averted had he said less about Ryder
- in his father's hearing. He should have known better than to discuss the
- strike with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- One morning, as he left Holloway's office, he chanced to meet an
- acquaintance by the name of Curtice. They had been together in Denver
- years before, and he had known him as a rather talkative young fellow,
- with large hopes and a thrifty eye to the main chance. But he was the one
- man he would have preferred to meet, for he had been in South America and
- knew the field there. Apparently Curtice was equally glad to see him. He
- insisted upon carrying him off to his club to lunch, where it developed he
- was in a state of happy enthusiasm over his connection with a road that
- had just gone into the hands of a receiver, and a new baby, which he
- assured Oakley on the spur of the moment he was going to name after him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see, Oakley,” he explained, as they settled themselves, “I was
- married after you left to a girl who had come to Denver with a consumptive
- brother. They boarded at the same place I did.” His companion was properly
- interested. “Look here, how long are you going to be in the city? I want
- you to come and see us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan avoided committing himself by saying his stay in Chicago was most
- uncertain. He might have to leave very soon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, you must drop in at my office. I wish you'd make it your
- headquarters while you are here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What about the road you are with?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, the road! We are putting it in shape.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley smiled a trifle skeptically. He recalled that even as a very young
- man filling a very subordinate position, Curtice had clung to the “we.”
- Curtice saw the smile and remembered too.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, see here, I'm giving it to you straight. I really am the whole
- thing. I've got a greenhorn for a boss, whose ignorance of the business is
- only equalled by his confidence in me. If you want to be nasty you can say
- his ignorance is responsible for much of his confidence. I've been told
- that before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I'll wait. I may be able to think of something better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are times when I wonder if he really knows the difference between
- an engine's head-light and a coupling-pin. He's giving me all the rope I
- want, and we'll have a great passenger service when I get done. That's
- what I am working on now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But where are you going to get the funds for it? A good service costs
- money,” said Dan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, the road's always made money. That was the trouble.” Oakley looked
- dense. He had heard of such things, but they had been outside of his own
- experience.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The directors were a superstitious lot; they didn't believe in paying
- dividends, and as they had to get rid of the money somehow, they put it
- all out in salaries. The president's idea of the value of his own services
- would have been exorbitant if the road had been operating five thousand
- miles of track instead of five hundred. I am told a directors' meeting
- looked like a family reunion, and they had a most ungodly lot of nephews—nephews
- were everywhere. The purchasing agent was a nephew, so were two of the
- division superintendents. Why, the president even had a third cousin of
- his wife's braking on a way freight. We've kept him as a sort of
- curiosity, and because he was the only one in the bunch who was earning
- his pay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No wonder the stockholders went to law,” said Oakley, laughing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, when the road was taken into court its affairs were seen to be
- in such rotten shape that a receiver was appointed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley's business instinct asserted itself. He had forgotten for the time
- being that his services still belonged to Cornish. Now he said: “See here,
- haven't you cars you intend to rebuild?”
- </p>
- <p>
- '“We've precious few that don't need carpenter-work or paint or
- upholstering.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then send them to me at Antioch. I'll make you a price you can't get
- inside of, I don't care where you go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Curtice meditated, then he asked: “How are you fixed to handle a big
- contract? It 'll be mostly for paint and upholstery or woodwork. We have
- been considering equipping works of our own, but I am afraid they are not
- going to materialize.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We can handle anything,” and from sheer force of habit he was all
- enthusiasm. He had pleasant visions of the shops running over-time, and
- everybody satisfied and happy. It made no difference to him that he would
- not be there to share in the general prosperity. With the start he had
- given it, the future of the Huckleberry would be assured. He decided he
- had better say nothing to Curtice about South America.
- </p>
- <p>
- The upshot of this meeting was that he stuck to Curtice with a genial
- devotion that made him wax in his hands. They spent two days together,
- inspecting paintless and tattered day coaches, and on the third day Dan
- strolled from his friend's office buttoning his coat on a contract that
- would mean many thousands of dollars for Antioch. It was altogether his
- most brilliant achievement. He felt that there only remained for him to
- turn the Huckleberry over to Holloway and leave the country. He had done
- well by it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan had been in Chicago about three weeks, when at last Holloway returned,
- and he proved as limp as Cornish had said he would be in a crisis. He was
- inclined to be critical, too, and seemed astonished that Oakley had been
- waiting in Chicago to see him. He experienced a convenient lapse of memory
- when the latter mentioned his telegram.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't accept your resignation,” he said, fussing nervously among the
- papers on his desk. “I didn't put you at Antioch; that was General
- Cornish's own idea, and I don't know what he'll think.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It has gotten past the point where I care what he thinks,” retorted Dan,
- curtly. “You must send some one else there to take hold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why didn't you cable him instead of writing me?” fretfully. “I don't know
- what he will want, only it's pretty certain to be the very thing I sha'n't
- think of.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would have cabled him if I had considered it necessary, but it never
- occurred to me that my resignation would not be agreed to on the spot, as
- my presence in Antioch only widens the breach and increases the difficulty
- of a settlement with the men.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whom did you leave in charge?” inquired Holloway.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Holt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who's he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's Kerr's assistant,” Dan explained.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why didn't you leave Kerr in charge?” demanded the vice-president.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I laid him off,” said Dan, in a tone of exasperation, and then he added,
- to forestall more questions: “He was in sympathy with the men, and he
- hadn't the sense to keep it to himself. I couldn't be bothered with him,
- so I got rid of him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I must say you have made a frightful mess of the whole business,
- Oakley, but I told General Cornish from the first that you hadn't the
- training for the position.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan turned very red in the face at this, but he let it pass.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's too bad,” murmured Holloway, still fingering the letters on the
- desk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Since you are in doubt, why don't you cable General Cornish for
- instructions, or, if there is a reason why you don't care to, it is not
- too late for me to cable,” said Dan.
- </p>
- <p>
- This proposal did not please Holloway at all, but he was unwilling to
- admit that he feared Cornish's displeasure, which, where he was concerned,
- usually took the form of present silence and a subsequent sarcasm that
- dealt with the faulty quality of his judgment. The sarcasm might come six
- months after it had been inspired, but it was certain to come sooner or
- later, and to be followed by a bad half-hour, which Cornish devoted to
- past mistakes. Indeed, Cornish's attitude towards him had become, through
- long association, one of chronic criticism, and he was certain to be
- unpleasantly affected both by what he did and by what he left undone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why don't you wait until the general returns from England? That's not far
- off now. Under the circumstances he'll accept your resignation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He will have to,” said Oakley, briefly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't worry; he'll probably demand it,” remarked the vice-president,
- disagreeably.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you are so sure of this, why don't you accept it?” retorted Dan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have no one to appoint in your place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's wrong with Holt? He'll do temporarily.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I couldn't feel positive of his being satisfactory to General Cornish.
- He's a very young man, ain't he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I suppose you'd call him a young man, but he has been with the road
- for a long time, and has a pretty level head. I have found him very
- trustworthy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would have much greater confidence in Kerr. He's quiet and
- conservative, and he's had an excellent training with us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, you can get him. He is doing nothing, and will be glad to
- come.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you have probably succeeded in antagonizing him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope so,” with sudden cheerfulness. “It was a hardship not to be able
- to give him a sound thrashing. That's what he deserved.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Holloway looked shocked. The young man was displaying a recklessness of
- temper which was most unseemly and entirely unexpected.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess it will be well for you to think it over, Oakley, before you
- conclude to break with General Cornish. To go now will be rather shabby of
- you, and you owe him fair treatment. Just remember it was those reforms of
- yours that started the strike, in the first place. I know—I know.
- What you did you did with his approval The men are peaceable enough, ain't
- they?” and he glared at Oakley with mingled disfavor and weariness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anybody can handle them but me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It won't be long until they are begging you to open the shops. They will
- be mighty sick of the trouble they've shouldered when their money is all
- gone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They will never come to me for that, Mr. Holloway,” said Dan. “I think
- they would, one and all, rather starve than recognize my position.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They'll have to. We'll make them. We mustn't let them think we are
- weakening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't appreciate the feeling of intense hostility they have for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course the murder of that man—what was his name?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ryder, you mean.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was unfortunate. I don't wonder you have some feeling about going back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan smiled sadly.
- </p>
- <p>
- The vice-president was wonderfully moderate in his choice of words. He
- added: “But it is really best for the interest of those concerned that you
- should go and do what you can to bring about a settlement.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be the sheerest idiocy for me to attempt it. The town may go
- hungry from now till the end of its days, but it won't have me at any
- price.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I always told Cornish he should sell the road the first opportunity he
- got. He had the chance once and you talked him out of it. Now you don't
- want to stand by the situation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do,” said Oakley, rising. “I want to see an understanding reached with
- the men, and I am going to do what I can to help along. You will please to
- consider that I have resigned. I don't for the life of me see how you can
- expect me to show my face in Antioch,” and with that he stalked from the
- place. He was thoroughly angry. He heard Holloway call after him:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I won't accept your resignation. You'll have to wait until you see
- Cornish!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan strode out into the street, not knowing what he would do. He was
- disheartened and exasperated at the stand Holloway had taken.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently his anger moderated and his pace slackened. He had been quite
- oblivious to what was passing about him, and now for the first time, above
- the rattle of carts and trucks, he heard the newsboys shrilly calling an
- extra. He caught the words, “All about the big forest fire!” repeated over
- and over again.
- </p>
- <p>
- He bought a paper and opened it idly, but a double-leaded head-line
- arrested his attention. It was a brief special from Buckhom Junction. He
- read it with feverish interest. Antioch was threatened with complete
- destruction by the forest fires.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll take the first train for Antioch. Have you seen this?” and he held
- out the crumpled page he had just torn from his newspaper.
- </p>
- <p>
- Holloway glanced up in astonishment at this unlooked-for change of heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought you'd conclude it was no way to treat General Cornish,” he
- said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hang Cornish! It's not on his account I'm going. The town is in a fair
- way to be wiped off the map. Here, read.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And he thrust the paper into Holloway's hands. “The woods to the north and
- west of Antioch have been blazing for two days. They have sent out call
- after call for help, and apparently nobody has responded yet. That's why I
- am going back, and for no other reason.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>T Buckhorn
- Junction, Joe Durks, who combined the duties of telegraph operator with
- those of baggage-master and ticket-agent, was at his table receiving a
- message when Dan Oakley walked into the office. He had just stepped from
- the Chicago express.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's the latest word from Antioch, Joe?” he asked, hurriedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How are you, Mr. Oakley? I got Antioch now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do they say?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are asking help.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The metallic clicking of the instrument before him ceased abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's wrong, anyhow?” He pushed back his chair and came slowly to his
- feet His finger was still on the key. He tried again to call up Antioch.
- “They are cut off. I guess the wire is down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The two men stared at each other in silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan's face was white in the murky, smoky twilight that filled the room.
- Durks looked anxious—the limit of his emotional capacity. He was a
- lank, colorless youth, with pale yellow tobacco stains about the corners
- of his mouth, and a large nose, which was superior to its surroundings.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley broke silence with:
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's gone through to-day, Joe?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing's gone through on the B. & A. There's nothing to send from
- this end of the line,” the operator answered, nervously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What went through yesterday?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing yesterday, either.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where is No. 7?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's down at Harrison, Mr. Oakley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And No. 9?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's at Harrison, too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know what they are doing at Harrison?” demanded Oakley, angrily.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed criminal negligence that no apparent effort had as yet been made
- to reach Antioch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't,” said Durks, laconically, biting his nails. “I suppose they are
- waiting for the fire to burn out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why don't you know?” persisted Dan, tartly. His displeasure moved the
- operator to a fuller explanation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was cut off yesterday morning. The last word I got was that No. 7 was
- on a siding there, and that No. 9, which started at 8.15 for Antioch, had
- had to push back. The fire was in between Antioch and Harrison, on both
- sides of the track, and blazing to beat hell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Having reached this verbal height, he relapsed into comparative
- indifference.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where's the freight?” questioned Oakley.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The last I heard it was trying to make Parker's Run.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When was that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was yesterday morning, too. It had come up that far from Antioch the
- day before to haul out four carloads of ties. Holt gave the order. It is
- still there, for all I know—that is, if it ain't burned or ditched.
- I sent down the extra men from the yards here to help finish loading the
- cars. I had Holt's order for it, and supposed he knew what was wanted.
- They ain't come back, but they got there ahead of the freight all right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley felt this care for a few hundred dollars' worth of property to have
- been unnecessary, in view of the graver peril that threatened Antioch.
- Still, it was not Durks's fault. It was Holt who was to blame. He had
- probably lost his head in the general alarm and excitement.
- </p>
- <p>
- While Harrison might be menaced by the fire, it was in a measure protected
- by the very nature of its surroundings. But with Antioch, where there was
- nothing to stay the progress of the flames, the case was different. With a
- north wind blowing, they could sweep over the town unhindered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yesterday the wind shifted a bit to the west, and for a while they
- thought Antioch was out of danger,” said Durks, who saw what was in
- Oakley's mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What have you heard from the other towns?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They're deserted. Everybody's gone to Antioch or Harrison. There was
- plenty of time for that, and when No. 7 made her last run, I wired ahead
- that it was the only train we could send out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How did you get the extra men to Parker's Rim?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Baker took 'em there on the switch engine. I sent him down again this
- morning to see what was the matter with the freight, but he only went to
- the ten-mile fill and come back. He said he couldn't go any farther. I
- guess he wasn't so very keen to try. He said he hadn't the money put by
- for his funeral expenses.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They told me up above that the M. & W. had hauled a relief train for
- Antioch. What has been done with it? Have you made an effort to get it
- through?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Durks looked distressed. Within the last three days flights of inspiration
- and judgment had been demanded of him such as he hoped would never be
- required again. And for forty-eight hours he had been comforting himself
- with the thought that about everything on wheels owned by the Huckleberry
- was at the western terminus of the road.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It ain't much of a relief train, Mr. Oakley. Two cars, loaded with
- fire-engines and a lot of old hose. They are on the siding now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Were any men sent here with the relief train?” questioned Oakley.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; Antioch just wanted hose and engines. The water's played out, and
- they got to depend on the river if the fire strikes the town. They're in
- pretty bad shape, with nothing but one old hand-engine. You see, their
- water-mains are about empty and their hose-carts ain't worth a damn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley turned on his heel and strode from the office. The operator
- followed him. As they gained the platform Dan paused. The very air was
- heavy with smoke. The sun was sinking behind a blue film. Its dull disk
- was the color of copper. He wondered if the same sombre darkness was
- settling down on Antioch. The element of danger seemed very real and
- present. To Dan this danger centred about Constance Emory. He quite
- overlooked the fact that there were several thousand other people in
- Antioch. Durks, at his side, rubbed the sandy bristles on his chin with
- the back of his hand, and tried to believe he had thought of everything
- and had done everything there was to do.
- </p>
- <p>
- The woods were on fire all about the Junction, but the town itself was in
- no especial danger, as cultivated fields intervened to shut away the
- flames. In these fields Dan could see men and women busy at work tearing
- down fences. On a hillside a mile off a barn was blazing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There goes Warrick's barn,” remarked the operator.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What was the last word from Antioch? Do you remember exactly what was
- said?” asked Dan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The message was that a strong north wind was blowing, and that the town
- was pretty certain to burn unless the engines and hose reached there
- tonight; but they have been saying that for two days, and the wind's
- always changed at the right moment and driven the fire back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan glanced along the track, and saw the relief train, consisting of an
- engine, tender, and two flatcars, loaded with hose and fire-engines, on
- one of the sidings. He turned on Durks with an angry scowl.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why haven't you tried to start that train through? It's ready.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No one is here to go with it, Mr. Oakley. I was sort of counting on the
- freight crew for the job.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where's Baker?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He went home on the 6. 10. He lives up at Car-son, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was the first stop on the M. & W. east of Buckhom.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why did you let him leave? Great God, man! Do you mean to say that he's
- been loafing around here all day with his hands in his pockets? He'll
- never pull another throttle for the Huckleberry!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Durks did not attempt to reply to this explosion of wrath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who made up the train?” demanded Dan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Baker did. Him and his fireman. I didn't know but the freight might come
- up from Parker's Run, and I wanted to be fixed for 'em. I couldn't do a
- thing with Baker. I told him his orders were to try and reach Antioch with
- the relief train, but he said he didn't care a damn who gave the order, he
- wasn't going to risk his life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Dan had lost interest in Baker.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look here,” he cried. “You must get a fireman for me, and I'll take out
- the train myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wondered why he had not thought of this before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess I'll manage to reach Antioch,” he added, as he ran across to the
- siding and swung himself into the cab.
- </p>
- <p>
- A faded blue blouse and a pair of greasy overalls were lying on the seat
- in the cab. He removed his coat and vest and put them on. Durks, who had
- followed him, climbed up on the steps.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You'll have to run slow, Mr. Oakley, because it's likely the heat has
- spread the rails, if it ain't twisted them loose from the ties,” he
- volunteered. For answer Oakley thrust a shovel into his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here, throw in some coal,” he ordered, opening the furnace door.
- </p>
- <p>
- Durks turned a sickly, mottled white.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't leave,” he gasped.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You idiot. You don't suppose I'd take you from your post. What I want you
- to do is to help me get up steam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The operator attacked the coal on the tender vigorously. He felt an
- immense sense of comfort.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan's railroad experience covered nearly every branch. So it chanced that
- he had fired for a year prior to taking an office position. Indeed, his
- first ambition had been to be an engineer. It was now quite dark, and, the
- fires being raked down, he lit a torch and inspected his engine with a
- comprehensive eye. Next he probed a two-foot oiler into the rods and
- bearings and filled the cups. He found a certain pleasure in the fact that
- the lore of the craft to which he had once aspired was still fresh in his
- mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Baker keeps her in apple-pie order, Joe,” he observed, approvingly. The
- operator nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's always tinkering.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, he's done tinkering for us, unless I land in a ditch to-night, with
- the tender on top of me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A purring sound issued from the squat throat of the engine. It was sending
- aloft wreaths of light gray smoke and softly spitting red-hot cinders.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan climbed upon the tender and inspected the tank. Last of all he went
- forward and lit the headlight, and his preparations were complete. He
- jumped down from the cab, and stood beside Joe on the platform.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now,” he said, cheerfully, “where's that fireman, Joe?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's gone home, Mr. Oakley. He lives at Car-son, too, same as Baker,”
- faltered the operator.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then there's another man whose services we won't require in future. We'll
- have to find some one else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't think you can,” ventured Durks, reluctantly. Instinct told him
- that this opinion would not tend to increase his popularity with Oakley.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They just won't want to go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean to tell me that they will allow Antioch to burn and not lift
- a hand to save the town?” he demanded, sternly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He couldn't believe it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you see, there won't any one here want to get killed; and they will
- think they got enough trouble of their own to keep them home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We can go up-town and see if we can't find a man who thinks of more than
- his own skin,” said Dan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, we can try,” agreed Durks, apathetically, but his tone implied
- an unshaken conviction that the search would prove a fruitless one.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can't you think of any one who would like to make the trip?” Durks was
- thoughtful. He thanked his lucky stars that the M. & W. paid half his
- salary. At last he said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I can't, Mr. Oakley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a sound like the crunching of cinders underfoot on the other
- side of the freight car near where they were standing, but neither Durks
- nor Oakley heard it. The operator's jaws worked steadily in quiet animal
- enjoyment of their task. He was still canvassing the Junction's adult male
- population for the individual to whom life had become sufficiently
- burdensome for Oakley's purpose. Dan was gazing down the track at the red
- blur in the sky. Back of that ruddy glow, in the path of the flames, lay
- Antioch. The wind was in the north. He was thinking, as he had many times
- in the last hour, of Constance and the Emorys. In the face of the danger
- that threatened he even had a friendly feeling for the rest of Antioch. It
- had been decent and kindly in its fashion until Ryder set to work to ruin
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew he might ride into Antioch on his engine none the worse for the
- trip, except for a few bums, but there was the possibility of a more
- tragic ending. Still, whatever the result, he would have done his full
- part.
- </p>
- <p>
- He faced Durks again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Any man who knows enough to shovel coal will do,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But no one will want to take such long chances, Mr. Oakley. Baker said it
- was just plain suicide.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hell!” and Dan swore like a brakeman out of temper, in the bad,
- thoughtless manner of his youth.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the same moment a heavy, slouching figure emerged from the shadow at
- the opposite end of the freight car, and came hesitatingly towards the two
- men. Then a voice said, in gentle admonition:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't swear so, Dannie. It ain't right. I'll go with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was his father.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>NTIOCH had grown
- indifferent to forest fires, They were of almost annual recurrence, and
- the town had come to expect them each fall. As the Hon. Jeb Barrows
- remarked, with cheerful optimism, voicing a popular belief, if it was
- intended Antioch should go that way it would have gone long ago.
- </p>
- <p>
- But this summer the drought had been of longer duration than usual. The
- woods were like tinder, and the inevitable wadding from some careless
- hunter's gun, or the scattered embers from some camp-fire far up in the
- northern part of the State, had started a conflagration that was licking
- up miles of timber and moving steadily south behind a vast curtain of
- smoke that darkened half the State. It was only when the burned-out
- settlers from the north began to straggle in that Antioch awoke to a
- proper sense of its danger.
- </p>
- <p>
- Quick upon the heels of these fugitives came the news that the half-dozen
- families at Barrow's Saw Mills had been forced to flee from their homes.
- The fire had encircled the mills in a single night, and one old man, a
- trapper and hunter, who lived alone in a cabin in a small clearing on the
- outskirts of the settlement, had been burned to death in his bunk before
- he could be warned of his danger or help reach him.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was then that Antioch sent out its first call for help. It needed
- fire-engines and hose, and it needed them badly, especially the hose, for
- the little reservoir from which the town drew its water supply was almost
- empty.
- </p>
- <p>
- Antioch forgot the murder of Ryder. It forgot Roger Oakley, the strike,
- and all lesser affairs. A common danger threatened its homes, perhaps the
- lives of its citizens.
- </p>
- <p>
- A score of angry men were stamping up and down the long platform across
- from the shops, or pushing in and out of the ugly little depot, which had
- taken on years in apparent age and decay in the two days during which no
- trains had been running.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were abusing Holt, the railroad, and every one connected with it. For
- the thousandth time they demanded to know where the promised relief train
- was—if it had started from Buckhorn Junction, and, if it <i>hadn't</i>
- started, the reason of the delay.
- </p>
- <p>
- The harried assistant-treasurer answered these questions as best he could.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you going to let the town burn without making a move to save it?”
- demanded an excited citizen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't think I am any more anxious to see it go than you are?”
- retorted Holt, angrily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then why don't your damn road do something to prevent it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The road's doing all it can, gentlemen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's a whole lot, ain't it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are cut off,” said Holt, helplessly. “Everything's tied up tight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can wire, can't you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I can wire; I have wired.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, where's the relief train, then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's at the Junction.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's going to do us a lot of good there, ain't it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They'll send it as soon as they can get together a crew.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stir them up again, Holt Tell 'em we got to have that hose and those
- engines, or the town's gone. It's a matter of life and death.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Holt turned back into the depot, and the crowd dispersed.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the ticket-office he found McClintock, who had just come in from
- up-town. The master mechanic's face was unusually grave.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have been investigating the water supply with the city engineer. Things
- are in awful shape. The mains are about empty, and there isn't pressure
- enough from the stand-pipe to throw a thirty-five foot stream.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish Oakley was here,” muttered Holt.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So do I. Somehow he had a knack at keeping things moving. I don't mean
- but what you've done your level best, Byron,” he added, kindly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They've laid down on me at the Junction,” said the younger man, bitterly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stepped to the door, mopping his face with his handkerchief, and stood
- looking down the track in the direction of Buckhorn.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They made it so Oakley couldn't stay, and now they wonder why the relief
- train is hung up. All Durks says is that he can't get a crew. I tell you
- if Oakley was here he'd <i>have</i> to get one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was a mistake to send the yard engine up to Parker's Run. If we had it
- here now—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How in hell was <i>I</i> to know we'd need it? I had to try to save those
- ties, and we thought the wind was shifting into the south,” in fierce
- justification of his course.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's so, all right,” said McClintock. “We did think the danger was
- past; only we shouldn't have taken any chances.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this point they were joined by Dr. Emory.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anything new from Buckhorn?” he inquired, anxiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it's the same old story. Durks ain't got anybody to send.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Damn his indifference!” muttered McClintock.
- </p>
- <p>
- The doctor, like Holt, fell to mopping his face with his handkerchief.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't he know our danger? Don't he know we can't fight the fire without
- engines and hose?—that our water supply is about exhausted, and that
- we'll have to depend on the river?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Holt nodded wearily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It looks as though we were to be left to face this situation as best we
- can, without help from the outside,” said the doctor, uneasily.
- </p>
- <p>
- Holt turned to McClintock.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Isn't there some method of back-firing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's too late to try that, and, with this wind blowing, it would have
- been too big a risk.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced moodily across the town to the north, where the black cloud
- hung low in the sky. He added:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have told my wife to keep the young ones in, no matter what happens.
- But Lord! they will be about as well off one place as another, when it
- comes to the pinch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose so,” agreed the doctor. “I am at a loss to know what
- precautions to take to insure the safety of Mrs. Emory and my daughter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was only four o'clock, but it was already quite dark in the town—a
- strange half-light that twisted the accustomed shape of things. The air
- was close, stifling; and the wind, which blew in heavy gusts, was like the
- breath from a furnace. The sombre twilight carried with it a horrible
- sense of depression. Every sound in nature was stilled; silence reigned
- supreme. It was the expectant hush of each living thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- The three men stepped out on the platform. Holt and the doctor were still
- mopping their faces with their limp handkerchiefs. McClintock was fanning
- himself with his straw hat. When they spoke they unconsciously dropped
- their voices to a whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Those families in the North End should move out of their homes,” said the
- doctor. “If they wait until the fire gets here, they will save nothing but
- what they have on their backs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, and the houses ought to come down,” added McClintock. “There's where
- the fire will get its first grip on the town, and then Heaven help us!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Night came, and so imminent seemed the danger that Antioch was roused to
- something like activity.
- </p>
- <p>
- A crowd, composed almost exclusively of men, gathered early on the square
- before the court-house.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had by common consent given up all hope that the relief train would
- be sent from Buckhom Junction. The light in the sky told them that they
- were completely cut off from the outside world. The town and the woods
- immediately adjacent formed an island in the centre of an unbroken sea of
- fire. The ragged red line had crept around to the east, west, and south,
- but the principal danger would be from the north, where the wind drove the
- flames forward with resistless fury. To the south and east Billup's Fork
- interposed as a barrier to the progress of the fire, and on the west was a
- wide area of cultivated fields.
- </p>
- <p>
- At regular intervals waves of light flooded the square, as the freshening
- gusts fanned the conflagration or whirled across the town great patches of
- black smoke. In the intervals of light a number of dark figures could be
- seen moving about on the roof of the court-house. Like the square below,
- it was crowded with anxious watchers.
- </p>
- <p>
- The crowd jostled to and fro on the square, restless and excited, and
- incapable of physical quiet. Then suddenly a voice was raised and made
- itself heard above the tramp of feet. “Those houses in the North End must
- come down!” this voice said.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was silence, and then a many-tongued murmur. Each man present knew
- that the residents of the North End had sworn that they would not
- sacrifice their homes to the public good. If their homes must go, they
- much preferred to have them burn, for then the insurance companies would
- have to bear the loss.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Those houses must come down!” the voice repeated.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was McClintock who had spoken.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who's going to pull them down?” another voice asked. “They are ready to
- fight for them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And we ought to be just as ready to fight, if it comes to that,” answered
- the master mechanic. “It's for the common good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The crowd was seized with a noisy agitation. Its pent-up feelings found
- vent in bitter denunciation of the North End. A man—it was the Hon.
- Jeb Barrows—had mounted the court-house steps, and was vainly
- endeavoring to make himself heard. He was counselling delay, but no one
- listened to him. The houses must be torn down whether their owners wanted
- it or not. McClintock turned up the street.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fall in!” he shouted, and at least a hundred men fell in behind him,
- marching two abreast. Here and there, as they moved along, a man would
- forsake the line to disappear into his own gate. When he rejoined his
- neighbors he invariably carried an axe, pick, or crowbar.
- </p>
- <p>
- From the square they turned into Main Street, and from Main Street into
- the north road, and presently the head of the procession halted before a
- cluster of small frame houses resting in a hollow to their right.
- </p>
- <p>
- “These must come down first,” said McClintock. “Now we want no noise, men.
- We'll pass out their stuff as quietly as we can, and take it back to the
- square.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He swung open a gate as he spoke. “Williams keeps a team. A couple of you
- fellows run around to the barn and hook up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Just then the front door opened, and Williams himself appeared on the
- threshold. A dog barked, other doors opened, lights gleamed in a score of
- windows, and the North End threw off its cloak of silence and darkness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Keep quiet, and let me do the talking,” said McClintock over his
- shoulder. Then to the figure in the doorway:
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have come to help you move, John. I take it you will be wanting to
- leave here shortly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The hell you have!” responded Williams, roughly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We'll give you a hand!” and the master mechanic pushed through the gate
- and took a step down the path.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hold on!” cried Williams, swinging out an arm. “I got something to say
- about that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a sound as of the clicking, of a lock, and he presented the
- muzzle of a shot-gun.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, say,” said McClintock, gently; “you had better not try to use that.
- It will only make matters worse. Your house has got to come down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The hell it has!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said McClintock, still gently. “We got to save what we can of the
- town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Williams made no answer to this, but McClintock saw him draw the butt of
- the gun up towards his shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- The men at his back were perfectly still. They filled the street, and,
- breathing hard, pressed heavily against the picket fence, which bent
- beneath the weight of their bodies.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You'd better be reasonable. We are losing precious time,” urged
- McClintock.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The hell you are!”
- </p>
- <p>
- It occurred to McClintock afterwards that there had been no great variety
- to Williams's remarks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In an hour or two this place will be on fire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've got no kick coming if it burns, but it sha'n't be pulled down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Put up your gun, and we'll give you a lift at getting your stuff out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, you won't.”
- </p>
- <p>
- McClintock kept his eyes on the muzzle of the shotgun.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It ain't the property loss we are thinking of—it's the possible
- loss of life,” he said, mildly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll chance it,” retorted Williams, briefly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, we won't.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Williams made no reply; he merely fingered the lock of his gun.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Put down that gun, John!” commanded McClintock, sternly.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the same moment he reached around and took an axe from the hands of the
- nearest man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Put it down,” he repeated, as he stepped quickly towards Williams.
- </p>
- <p>
- The listening men pressed heavily against the fence in their feverish
- anxiety to miss nothing that was said or done. The posts snapped, and they
- poured precipitously into the yard. At the same moment the gun exploded,
- and a charge of buckshot rattled harmlessly along the pavement at
- McClintock's feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then succeeded a sudden pause, deep, breathless, and intense, and then the
- crowd gave a cry—a cry that was in answer to a hoarse cheer that had
- reached them from the square.
- </p>
- <p>
- An instant later the trampled front yard was deserted by all save Williams
- in the doorway. He still held the smoking gun to his shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN Roger Oakley
- appeared on the platform at Buckhom Junction, Durks started violently,
- while Dan took a quick step forward and placed a warning hand on the old
- convict's arm. He feared what he might say. Then he said to the operator:
- “He'll do. Go see if you can get Antioch. Try just once more. If you
- succeed, tell them the engines and hose will be there within an hour, or
- they need not look for them. Do you understand?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, Mr. Oakley.” And Durks moved up the platform with alacrity. He
- was relieved of one irksome responsibility. He had his own theories as to
- who the stranger was, but he told himself it was none of his business.
- </p>
- <p>
- As soon as he was out of hearing, Dan turned to his father, and said,
- earnestly: “Look here, daddy, I can't allow you to do it. We are neither
- of us popular. It's bad enough for me to have to go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why can't you allow it, Dannie?” And his son recognized the same cheerful
- tone with which he had always met and overruled his objections.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will end in your arrest, and we don't want that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's more than likely I'll be arrested sooner or later, anyhow,” he said,
- with a suggestion of weariness, as if this were a matter it was a waste of
- time to consider. “The Lord has set His face against me. It's His wish I
- should return. I've been stubborn and headstrong and wouldn't see it, but
- look there,” and he nodded towards the red western sky. “It's a summons. I
- got to obey, whether I want to or not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It won't be safe. No telling what they will do with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That ain't the question, Dannie; that ain't at all the question. It's not
- what they'll do to me,” and he softly patted the hand that rested on his
- arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan saw that his clothes hung loosely to his mighty frame. They were torn
- and stained. He had the appearance of a man who had endured hardship,
- privation, and toil. His glance was fugitive and anxious. “Where have you
- been all this while?” he asked. “Not here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I have been living in the woods, trying to escape from the country,
- and the fires wouldn't let me. Wherever I went, they were there ahead of
- me, driving me back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why did you kill him? How did it happen?” Dan added. “Or is it all a
- mistake? Did you do it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The smile faded from the old convict's lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was a sort of accident, and it was sort of carelessness, Dannie,” he
- explained, with a touch of sullenness. “I hit him—not hard, mind
- you. I know I shouldn't have done it, but he was in the wrong, and he
- wouldn't listen to reason. I don't know when I ever seen a man so set in
- his wickedness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now you want to go back. Do you know what it means if you are
- arrested? Have you thought of that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley waved the query aside as though it concerned him not at all.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to be with you,” he said, wistfully. “You may not get through
- alive, and I want to be with you. You'll need me. There's no one you can
- trust as you can me, for I won't fail you, no matter what the danger is.
- And there's the girl, Dannie. Have you thought of her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan set his lips. “My God, I can't think of anything else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a moment's silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here,” said Dan, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “I am going to
- give you what money I have. It isn't much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What for, Dannie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are sure to be seen and recognized if you stay about here. Your
- description has been telegraphed all over the State. For that reason I'll
- take you with me part way. Then I'll slow up, and you can hide again. It's
- your only chance. I am sorry I can't do more for you. I wish I could; but
- perhaps we can arrange to meet afterwards.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His father smiled with the unconscious superiority of the man who firmly
- believes he is controlled by an intelligence infinitely wise and beyond
- all human conception. No amount of argument could have convinced him that
- Providence was not burning millions of feet of standing timber and an
- occasional town solely for his guidance. In his simple seriousness he saw
- nothing absurd nor preposterous in the idea. He said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've wanted to escape, Dannie, for your sake, not for mine. But when I
- seen you to-night I knew the Lord intended we should keep together. He
- didn't bring us here for nothing. That ain't His way. There's no one to go
- with you but me, and you can't go alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can—I will!” And Dan swore under his breath. He realized that no
- word of his could move his father. He would carry his point, just as he
- always had.
- </p>
- <p>
- Durks came running along the platform from the dépôt.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's no use,” shaking his head. “The wire's down. Say, you want to keep
- your eyes open for the freight. It may be on the siding at Parker's Run,
- and it may be on the main track.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan made a last appeal to his father.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Won't you listen to what I say?” sinking his voice to a hoarse whisper.
- “They'll hang you—do you hear? If ever they lay hands on you they
- will show no mercy!” It did not occur to him that his father would be
- returning under circumstances so exceptional that public sentiment might
- well undergo a radical change in his favor.
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley merely smiled as he answered, with gentle composure: “I don't
- think we need to worry about that. We are in His hands, Dannie,” and he
- raised his face to the heavens.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan groaned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, then,” he said aloud.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll throw the switch for you!” and the operator ran down the track. He
- was quite positive he should never see Oakley again, and he felt something
- akin to enthusiasm at the willing sacrifice of his life which he conceived
- him to be making.
- </p>
- <p>
- Father and son stepped to the engine. The old convict mounted heavily to
- his post, and Dan sprang after him, his hand groping for the throttle
- lever. There was the hiss of steam, and Joe cried from the darkness:
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, come ahead!” And the engine, with its tender and two cars,
- began its hazardous journey.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they slipped past him, the operator yelled his good-bye, and Dan pushed
- open the cab window and waved his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley, on the narrow iron shelf between the engine and the tender,
- was already throwing coal into the furnace. His face wore a satisfied
- expression. Apparently he was utterly unmoved by the excitement of the
- moment, for he bent to his work as if it were the most usual of tasks, and
- the occasion the most commonplace. He had taken off his coat and vest and
- had tossed them up on the tender out of his way. Dan, looking over the
- boiler's end, could see his broad shoulders and the top of his head. He
- leaned back with his hand on the throttle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father!” he called.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old convict straightened up instantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Dannie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are going with me? You are determined?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought we settled that, Dannie, before we started,” he said,
- pleasantly, but there was a shrewd, kindly droop to the corners of his
- mouth, for he appreciated his victory.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to know, because if I am to slow up for you I'll have to do it
- soon, or I'll be leaving you in worse shape than I found you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To this his father made no direct reply. Instead he asked, “Do you think
- we'll reach Antioch in time to do them any good?” Dan faced about.
- </p>
- <p>
- They slid into a straight stretch of road beyond the Junction, and the
- track shone yellow far ahead, where the engine looked down upon it with
- its single eye. Each minute their speed increased. A steady jarring and
- pounding had begun that grew into a dull and ponderous roar as the engine
- rushed forward. Dan kept a sharp watch for the freight.
- </p>
- <p>
- As Durks had said, it might be on the siding at Parker's Rim, and it might
- not. In the latter event, his and his father's troubles would soon be at
- an end.
- </p>
- <p>
- He rose from his seat and went to the door of the cab.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We'll take it easy for the first ten miles or so, then we'll be in the
- fire, and that will be our time to hit her up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley nodded his acquiescence. In what he conceived to be worldly
- matters he was quite willing to abide by Dan's judgment, for which he had
- profound respect.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How fast are we going?” he asked. Dan steadied himself and listened, with
- a finger on his pulse, until he caught the rhythmic swing of the engine,
- as it jarred from one rail to another. Then he said: “Twenty-five miles an
- hour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It ain't very fast, is it, Dannie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was evidently disappointed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We'll do twice that presently.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old convict looked relieved. They were running now with a strip of
- forest on one side of the track and cultivated fields on the other, but
- with each rod they covered they were edging in nearer the flames. At
- Parker's Rim the road crossed a little stream which doubled back in the
- direction of Buckhorn Junction. There was nothing after that to stay the
- progress of the fire, and the rest of their way lay through the blazing
- pine-woods.
- </p>
- <p>
- Just before they reached the ten-mile fill they came to the strip of
- burned timber that had sent Baker back to Buckhorn earlier in the day.
- Here and there a tree was still blazing, but for the most part the fire
- had spent its strength.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they swung past Parker's Run a little farther on, Dan saw the freight,
- or, rather, what was left of it, on the siding. It had been cutting out
- four flat-cars loaded with ties, and he understood the difficulty at a
- glance. On the main track a brick-and-stone culvert spanned the Run, but
- the siding crossed it on a flimsy wooden bridge. This bridge had probably
- been burning as the freight backed in for the flatcars, and when it
- attempted to pull out the weakened structure had collapsed and the engine
- had gone through into the cut. It rested on its forward end, jammed
- between the steep banks, with its big drivers in the air. Of the cars
- there remained only the trucks and iron work. Near by a tool-shed had
- formerly stood, but that was gone, too. The wheels and gearing of a
- hand-car in the midst of a heap of ashes marked the spot.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan turned to his father. “Are you all right, daddy?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Dannie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mind your footing. It will be pretty shaky back there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were still in the burned district, where a change in the wind that
- afternoon had driven the fire back on itself. It had made a clean sweep of
- everything inflammable. Luckily the road had been freshly ballasted, and
- the track was in fair condition to resist the flames. But an occasional
- tie smouldered, and from these the rushing train thrashed showers of
- sparks.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan kept his eyes fastened on the rails, which showed plainly in the jerky
- glare of the headlight It was well to be careful while care was possible.
- By-and-by he would have to throw aside all caution and trust to chance.
- Now he increased his speed, and the insistent thud of the wheels drowned
- every other sound, even the far-off roar of the flames. At his back, at
- intervals, a ruddy glow shot upward into the night, when Roger Oakley
- threw open the furnace door to pass in coal. Save for this it was still
- quite dark in the cab, where Dan sat with his hand on the throttle lever
- and watched the yellow streak that ran along the rails in advance of the
- engine. Suddenly the wall of light ahead brightened visibly, and its glare
- filled the cab. They were nearing the fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan jammed the little window at his elbow open and put out his head. A hot
- blast roared past him, and the heat of the fire was in his face. He drew
- the window shut. It was light as day in the cab now.
- </p>
- <p>
- He leaned across the boiler's end, and, with a hand to his lips, called to
- his father, “Are you all right?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man drew himself erect and crept nearer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's that you say, Dannie?” he asked. His face was black with coal-dust
- and grime.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you all right? Can you bear the heat?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am doing very nicely, but this ain't a patch on what it's going to be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it will be much worse, though this is had enough.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But we can stand it. We must think of those poor people at Antioch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We'll stick to the engine as long as the engine sticks to the rails,”
- said Dan, grimly. “Hadn't you better come into the cab with me? You'll be
- frightfully exposed when we get into the thick of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not yet, Dannie? I'll give you steam, and you drive her as hard as you
- can.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned away, shovel in hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, all in a second, and they were in the burning woods, rushing beneath
- trees that were blazing to their very summits. The track seemed to shake
- and tremble in the fierce light and fiercer heat. Burning leaves and
- branches were caught up to be whirled in fiery eddies back down the rails
- as the train tore along, for Dan was hitting her up.
- </p>
- <p>
- Tongues of fire struck across at the two men. Smoke and fine white ashes
- filled their mouths and nostrils. Their bodies seemed to bake. They had
- been streaming wet with perspiration a moment before.
- </p>
- <p>
- Off in the forest it was possible to see for miles. Every tree and bush
- stood forth distinct and separate.
- </p>
- <p>
- Roger Oakley put down his shovel for an instant to fill a bucket with
- water from the tank on the tender. He plunged his head and arms in it and
- splashed the rest over his clothes. Dan turned to him for the last time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It isn't far now,” he panted. “Just around the next curve and we'll see
- the town, if it's still there, off in the valley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old convict did not catch more than the half of what he said, but he
- smiled and nodded his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they swung around the curve a dead sycamore, which the fire had girdled
- at the base, crashed across the track. The engine plunged into its top,
- rolled it over once and tossed it aside. There was the smashing of glass
- and the ripping of leather as the sycamore's limbs raked the cab, and
- Roger Oakley uttered a hoarse cry, a cry Dan did not hear, but he turned,
- spitting dust and cinders from his lips, and saw the old convict still
- standing, shovel in hand, in the narrow gangway that separated the engine
- and tender.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had set the whistle shrieking, and it cut high above the roar of the
- flames, for, off in the distance, under a canopy of smoke, he saw the
- lights of Antioch shining among the trees.
- </p>
- <p>
- Two minutes later and they were running smoothly through the yards, with
- the brakes on and the hiss of escaping steam. As they slowed up beside the
- depot, Dan sank down on the seat in the cab, limp and exhausted. He was
- vaguely conscious that the platform was crowded with people, and that they
- were yelling at him excitedly and waving their hats, but he heard their
- cries only indifferently well. His ears were dead to everything except the
- noise of his engine, which still echoed in his tired brain.
- </p>
- <p>
- He staggered to his feet, and was about to descend from the cab, when he
- saw that his father was lying face down on the iron shelf between the
- engine and tender. He stooped and raised him gently in his arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old convict opened his eyes and looked up into his face, his lips
- parted as if he were about to speak, but no sound came from them.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>ONSTANCE EMORY and
- her mother, waiting quietly in their own home, heard the cheers when the
- noise from Dan's shrieking engine reached the crowd of desperate men on
- the square. Then presently they heard the rattle and clash of the
- fire-engines as they were dragged through the street, and were aware that
- the relief train had arrived, but it was not until the doctor came in some
- time long after midnight that they knew who had been the savior of the
- town.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's all over, dear. The fire is under control,” he said, cheerfully,
- addressing his wife. “I guess we can go to bed now and feel pretty sure we
- won't be burned out before morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Constance put down the book she had been trying to read, and rose tiredly
- and stiffly from her chair beside the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then the train did come, after all?” she said. “Yes, but not a moment too
- soon. I tell you we can't be grateful enough. I've been with Oakley and
- his father; that's what kept me,” he explained.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oakley!” Constance cried, in amazement. “You don't mean—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. Didn't you know that it was Oakley and his father who brought the
- relief train? The old man is dead. He was killed on the way. It's a
- miracle that either of them got through alive. Hadn't you heard?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Constance put out her hands blindly, for a sudden mist had come before her
- eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father, you don't mean that Mr. Oakley has returned to Antioch—that
- he is here now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it seems no one else would come. Oakley was in Chicago when he first
- heard of the fire, and started immediately for Buckhorn, where he found
- the relief train. Oddly enough, he found his father there, too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then there was something to the old man, after all,” said Mrs. Emory,
- whose sympathies were as generous as they were easily aroused.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A good deal, I should say. He must have known that he was coming back to
- arrest and almost certain conviction.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Constance's glance searched her father's face. She wanted to hear more of
- Oakley. Her heart was hungering for news of this man who had risked his
- life to save them. All her lingering tenderness—the unwilling growth
- of many days—was sweeping away the barriers of her pride. “Mr.
- Oakley was not hurt?” she questioned, breathlessly, pale to the lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is pretty badly shaken up, and no wonder, but he will be all right in
- the morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where is he now?” she asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her father turned to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oakley—You look tired out, Constance. Do go to bed. I'll tell you
- all about it in the morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where is he now, papa?” she questioned, going to his side and clasping
- her hands about his arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Down at the shop. They carried his father there from the train.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why didn't you have them bring him here?” said Mrs. Emory, quickly.
- “After this I won't listen to a word against either of them. I would like
- to show the town just how we feel in the matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suggested it, but Oakley wouldn't hear to it. But don't worry about the
- town. It's gone wild. You should have seen the crowd on the platform when
- it saw Oakley in the engine-cab. It went stark mad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again Constance's eyes swam with tears. The strike, the murder of Ryder,
- the fire, had each seemed in turn a part of the tragedy of her life at
- Antioch, but Oakley's return was wholly glorious.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her father added, “I shall see Oakley in the morning, and learn if we can
- be of any service to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A little later, when Constance went to her own room, she drew forward a
- chair and seated herself by the window. Across the town, on the edge of
- the “flats,” she saw dimly the long, dark outline of the railroad shop,
- with its single tall chimney. She thought of Oakley as alone there keeping
- watch at the side of the grim old murderer, who had so splendidly redeemed
- himself by this last sacrifice.
- </p>
- <p>
- Great clouds of black smoke were still rolling over the town, and the
- woods were still blazing fiercely in the distance. Beyond her window she
- heard the call of frightened birds, as they fluttered to and fro in the
- dull red light, and farther off, in the North End, the muffled throbbing
- of the fire-engines.
- </p>
- <p>
- If she had had any doubts as to her feeling for Oakley, these doubts were
- now a thing of the past. She knew that she loved him. She had been petty
- and vain; she had put the small things of life against the great, and this
- was her punishment. She tried to comfort herself with the thought that she
- should see him in the morning; then she could tell him all. But what could
- she tell him? The time had gone by when she could tell him anything.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was almost morning when she undressed and threw herself down on her
- bed. She was disconsolate and miserable, and the future seemed quite
- barren of hope or happiness. Love had come to her, and she had not known
- its presence. Yes, she would tell Oakley that she had been little and
- narrow and utterly unworthy. He had cared for her, and perhaps he would
- understand. She fell asleep thinking this, and did not waken until her
- mother called her for breakfast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am waiting for your father. He has gone down to see Mr. Oakley,” Mrs.
- Emory said when she entered the dining-room. Constance glanced at the
- table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is he going to bring Mr. Oakley back with him?” she asked, nervously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He expected to. I declare, Constance, you look worn out. Didn't you sleep
- well?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, not very. I wonder if they are coming?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You might go look,” said her mother, and Constance hurried into the
- parlor. She was just in time to see her father enter the gate. He was
- alone. Constance flew to the front door and threw it open.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He wouldn't come?” she cried, breathlessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's gone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gone?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, a train was made up early this morning, and he has returned to
- Buckhorn—Why, what's the matter, Constance?”
- </p>
- <p>
- For Constance, with a little gasp of dismay, had slipped down into a
- chair, with her hands before her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is it, dear?” he questioned, anxiously. But she gave him no answer.
- She was crying softly, unrestrainedly. It was all over. Oakley was gone,
- and with him went her only hope of happiness. Yet more keen than her sense
- of pain and personal loss was her regret that he would never understand
- that she respected and admired him as he deserved.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry, Constance, but I didn't know that you especially wanted to
- see him,” said the doctor, awkwardly, but with a dawning comprehension of
- what it all meant. She made no answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is it, dear?” he repeated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, nothing. I wanted to tell him about something; that is all. It
- doesn't matter now.” She glanced up into his face with a sudden doubt.
- “You didn't see him—you are quite sure he went away without your
- seeing him—you are not deceiving me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, of course, Constance, but he'll come back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, he won't, papa,” shaking her head sadly. “He's gone, and he will
- never come back. I know him better than you do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And then she fled promptly up-stairs to her own room.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was the nearest Constance came to betraying her love for Oakley. She
- was not much given to confidences, and the ideals that had sustained her
- in her pride now seemed so childish and unworthy that she had no wish to
- dwell upon them, but whenever Dan's name was mentioned in her presence she
- looked frightened and guilty and avoided meeting her father's glance.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed, indeed, that. Oakley had taken final leave of Antioch. A new
- manager appeared and took formal charge of the destinies of the road.
- Under his direction work was resumed in the shops, for the strike had died
- a natural death. None of the hands were disposed to question the
- ten-per-cent cut, and before the winter was over the scale of wages that
- had been in force before the strike was inaugurated was voluntarily
- restored. The town had no criticisms to make of Johnson, the new manager,
- a quiet, competent official; the most any one said was that he was not
- Oakley. That was enough. For Dan had come into his own.
- </p>
- <p>
- Early in October there was a flutter of excitement when Turner Joyce and
- his wife left for the East to be Oakley's guests. When they returned, some
- weeks later, they had a good deal to say about him that Antioch was
- frankly curious to hear.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had taken his father to Burton, where his mother was buried. Afterwards
- he had joined General Cornish in New York.
- </p>
- <p>
- While abroad, the financier had effected a combination of interests which
- grouped a number of roads under one management, and Dan had been made
- general superintendent of the consolidated lines, with his headquarters in
- New York City. The Joyces were but vaguely informed as to where these
- lines were, but they did full justice to their magnitude, as well as to
- the importance of Oakley's new connection.
- </p>
- <p>
- The dull monotony of those fall days in Antioch was never forgotten by
- Constance Emory. She was listless and restless by turns. She had hoped
- that she might hear from Oakley. She even thought the Joyces might bring
- her some message, but none had come. Dan had taken her at her word.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had made no friends, and, with Ryder dead and Oakley gone, she saw. no
- one, and finally settled down into an apathy that alarmed the doctor. He,
- after some deliberation, suddenly announced his intention of going East to
- attend a medical convention.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall you see Mr. Oakley?” Constance asked, with quick interest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Probably, if he's in New York when I get there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Constance gave him a scared look and dropped her eyes. But when the time
- drew near for his departure, she followed him about as if there were
- something on her mind which she wished to tell him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The day he started, she found courage to ask, “Won't you take me with you,
- papa?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not this time, dear,” he answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was quiet for a moment, and then said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Papa, you are not going to tell him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell who, Constance? What?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Oakley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What about Oakley, dear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him from under her long lashes while the color slowly
- mounted to her cheeks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are not going to tell him what you think you know?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The doctor smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish you would grant me the possession of ordinary sense, Constance. I
- am not quite a fool.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a precious,” she said, kissing him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you. What message shall I give Oakley for you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “None.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “None?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He won't want to hear from me,” shyly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because he just won't, papa. Besides, I expect he has forgotten that such
- a person ever lived.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't be too sure of that. What was the trouble, Constance? You'd
- better tell me, or I may say something I shouldn't.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you must not say anything,” in alarm. “You must promise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Constance, what did Oakley say to you that last day he was here at the
- house?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Constance's glance wandered meditatively from her father's face to the
- window and back again, while her color came and went. There was a faraway,
- wistful look in her eyes, and a sad little smile on her lips. At last she
- said, softly, “Oh, he said a number of things. I can't remember now all he
- did say.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did Oakley tell you he cared for you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Constance hesitated a moment, then, reluctantly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, yes, he did. And I let him go, thinking I didn't care for him,”
- miserably, and with a pathetic droop of her lips, from which the smile had
- fled. “I didn't know, and I have been so unhappy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Constance left the room abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he reached New York, the first thing the doctor did was to look up
- Oakley. He was quick to notice a certain constraint in the young man's
- manner as they shook hands, but this soon passed off.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am awfully glad to see you,” he had said. “I have thought of you again
- and again, and I have been on the point of writing you a score of times. I
- haven't forgotten your kindness to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nonsense, Oakley. I liked you, and it was a pleasure to me to be able to
- show my regard,” responded the doctor, with hearty good-will.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How is Mrs. Emory—and Miss Emory?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are both very well. They were just a little hurt that you ran off
- without so much as a goodbye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley gave him a quick glance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is—Miss Emory is still in Antioch?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The doctor nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't know but what she might be in the city with you,” Dan explained,
- with evident disappointment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Aren't we ever going to see you in Antioch again?” inquired the doctor.
- He put the question with studied indifference. Dan eagerly scanned his
- face. The doctor fidgeted awkwardly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do <i>you</i> think I'd better go back?” he asked, with a perceptible
- dwelling on the “you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The doctor's face became a trifle red. He seemed to weigh the matter
- carefully; then he said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I think you'd better. Antioch would like mightily to lay hands on
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan laughed happily. “You don't suppose a fellow could dodge all that, do
- you? You see, I was going west to Chicago in a day or so, and I had
- thought to take a run on to Antioch. As a matter of fact, Cornish wants me
- to keep an eye on the shops. They are doing well, you know, and we don't
- want any falling off. But, you understand, I don't want to get let in for
- any fool hysterics,” he added, impatiently.
- </p>
- <p>
- Notwithstanding the supposed confidence in which telegrams are
- transmitted, Brown, the day man at Antioch, generally used his own
- discretion in giving publicity to any facts of local interest that came
- under his notice. But when he wrote off Dr. Emory's message, announcing
- that he and Oakley were in Chicago, and would arrive in Antioch the last
- of the week, he held it for several hours, not quite knowing what to do.
- Finally he delivered it in person, a sacrifice of official dignity that
- only the exigencies of the occasion condoned in his eyes. As he handed it
- to Mrs. Emory, he said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's from the doctor. You needn't be afraid to open it; he's all right.
- He'll be back Saturday night, and he's bringing Mr. Oakley with him. I
- came up to see if you had any objection to my letting the town know?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Emory saw no reason why the knowledge of Oakley's return should be
- withheld, and in less than half an hour Antioch, with bated breath, was
- discussing the news on street corners and over back fences.
- </p>
- <p>
- That night the town council met in secret session to consider the weighty
- matter of his reception, for by common consent it was agreed that the town
- must take official action. It was suggested that he be given the freedom
- of the city. This sounded large, and met with instant favor, but when the
- question arose as to how the freedom of the city was conferred, the
- president turned, with a slightly embarrassed air, to the member who had
- made the motion. The member explained, with some reserve, that he believed
- the most striking feature had to do with the handing over of the city keys
- to the guest of honor. But, unfortunately, Antioch had no city keys to
- deliver. The only keys that, by any stretch of the imagination, could be
- so called, were those of the court-house, and they were lost. Here an
- appeal was made to the Hon. Jeb Barrows, who was usually called in to
- straighten out any parliamentary tangles in which the council became
- involved. That eminent statesman was leaning dreamily against a pillar at
- the end of the council-chamber. On one of his cards he had already
- pencilled the brief suggestion: “Feed him, and have out the band.” He
- handed the card to the president, and the council heaved a sigh of relief.
- The momentous question of Oakley's official reception was settled.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Dan and Dr. Emory stepped from No. 7 Saturday night the station
- platform was crowded with men and boys. The brass-band, which Antioch
- loved with a love that stifled criticism, perspiring and in dire haste,
- was turning the street corner half a block distant. Across the tracks at
- the railroad shops a steam-whistle shrieked an ecstatic welcome.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan glanced at the doctor with a slightly puzzled air. “What do you
- suppose is the matter?” he asked, unsuspiciously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, man, don't you understand? It's <i>you!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no need for him to say more, for the crowd had caught sight of
- Dan, and a hundred voices cried:
- </p>
- <p>
- “There he is! There's Oakley!”
- </p>
- <p>
- And in an instant Antioch, giving way to wild enthusiasm, was cheering
- itself black in the face, while above the sound of cheers and the crash of
- music, the steam-whistle at the shops shrieked and pealed.
- </p>
- <p>
- The blood left Oakley's face. He looked down at the crowd and saw Turner
- Joyce. He saw McClintock and Holt and the men from the shops, who were, if
- possible, the noisiest of all. He turned helplessly to the doctor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let's get out of this,” he said between his teeth. The crowd and the
- noise and the excitement recalled that other night when he had ridden into
- Antioch. As he spoke he swung himself down from the steps of the coach,
- and the crowd closed about him with a glad shout of welcome.
- </p>
- <p>
- The doctor followed more slowly. As he gained the platform, the Hon. Jeb
- Barrows hurried to his side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where is he to go, Doc?” he panted. “To your house, or to the hotel?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To my house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, then. The crowd's spoiling the whole business. I've got an
- address of welcome in my pocket that I was to have delivered, and there's
- to be a supper at the Rink to-night. Don't let him get away from you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile, Dan had succeeded in extricating himself from the clutches of
- his friends, and was struggling towards a closed carriage at the end of
- the platform that he recognized as the Emorys'.
- </p>
- <p>
- In his haste and the dusk of the dull October twilight, he supposed the
- figure he saw in the carriage to be the doctor, who had preceded him, and
- called to the man on the box to drive home.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he settled himself, he said, reproachfully:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope you hadn't anything to do with this?”
- </p>
- <p>
- A slim, gloved hand was placed in his own, and a laughing voice said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “How do you do, Mr. Oakley?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced up quickly, and found himself face to face with Constance
- Emory.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a moment's silence, and then Dan said, the courage that had
- brought him all the way to Antioch suddenly deserting him: “It's too bad,
- isn't it? I had hoped I could slip in and out of town without any one
- being the wiser.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you can't,” with a little air of triumph. “Antioch is going to
- entertain you. It's been in a perfect furor of excitement ever since it
- knew you were coming back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I suppose there is no help for it,” resignedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where is my father, Mr. Oakley?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess we left him behind,” with sudden cheerfulness. He leaned forward
- so that he could look into her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Constance, I have returned because I couldn't stay away any longer. I
- tried to forget, but it was no use.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had withdrawn her hand, but he had found it again, and now his fingers
- closed over it and held it fast He was feeling a sense of ownership.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you come to meet me?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I came to meet papa.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you knew I was coming, too?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh no.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was too dark for him to see the color that was slowly mounting to her
- face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Constance, I don't believe you,” he cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was not sure you were coming,” Constance said, weakly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You might have known that I'd come back—that I couldn't stay away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't you think you have been a long time in making that discovery?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, yes, but when I saw your father—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What did papa say to you?” with keen suspicion in her tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mustn't blame him, Constance. It was not so much what he said as what
- he didn't say. I never knew any one to be quite so ostentatious about what
- was left unsaid.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Constance freed her hand, and, shrinking into a corner, covered her face.
- She had a painful realization of the direction those confidences must have
- taken, between her father, who only desired her happiness, and the candid
- Oakley, who only desired her love.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was there any use in my coming? You must be fair with me now. It's too
- serious a matter for you not to be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You think I was not fair once?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't mean that, but you have changed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For the better, Mr. Oakley?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Infinitely,” with blunt simplicity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You haven't changed a scrap. You are just as rude as you ever were.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dan cast a hurried glance from the window. “Constance, we won't have much
- more time to ourselves; we are almost home. Won't you tell me what I have
- come to hear—that you do care for me, and will be my wife? You know
- that I love you. But you mustn't send me from you a second time without
- hope.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shouldn't think you would care about me now. I wouldn't care about you
- if you had been as unworthy as I have been,” her voice faltered. “I might
- have shown you that I, too, could be brave, but I let the opportunity
- pass, and now, when everyone is proud—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I <i>do</i> care. I care a great deal, for I love you just as I have
- loved you from the very first.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She put out both her hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you had only looked back when you left the house that day you told me
- you cared—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, Constance?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was at the window. I thought you'd surely look back, and then you would
- have known—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My darling!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The carriage had drawn up to the Emorys' gate. Dan jumped out and gave
- Constance his hand. Off in the distance they heard the band. Constance
- paused and rested her hand gently on Oakley's arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hark! Do you hear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish they'd stop their confounded nonsense,” said Dan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, you can't stop them,” delightedly. “Antioch feels a sense of
- proprietorship. But do you hear the music, Dan?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, dear. It's the band.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course it's the band. But do you know what it is <i>playing?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- Oakley shook his head dubiously. She gave his arm a little pat and laughed
- softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It might be difficult to recognize it, but it's the bridal-march from
- 'Lohengrin.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If they stick to that, I don't care, Constance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And side by side they went slowly and silently up the path to the house.
- </p>
- <h3>
- THE END
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
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