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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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