diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/63184-0.txt | 11014 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/63184-0.zip | bin | 197984 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/63184-h.zip | bin | 427872 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/63184-h/63184-h.htm | 11016 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/63184-h/images/colophon.jpg | bin | 11384 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/63184-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 255566 -> 0 bytes |
9 files changed, 17 insertions, 22030 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b45f3a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #63184 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63184) diff --git a/old/63184-0.txt b/old/63184-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 822298d..0000000 --- a/old/63184-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11014 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Thrifty Stock and other Stories, by Ben Ames Williams - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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/license - - -Title: Thrifty Stock and other Stories - -Author: Ben Ames Williams - -Release Date: September 12, 2020 [EBook #63184] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THRIFTY STOCK AND OTHER STORIES *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - THRIFTY STOCK - AND OTHER STORIES - - - - - BY THE SAME AUTHOR - - - EVERED - - THE STORY OF THE FAMOUS RED BULL - - “I read this through from first page to last without leaving my chair. - It is a powerful story.”--_William Lyon Phelps._ - - - BLACK PAWL - - “Ben Ames Williams has chosen a theme such as might have appealed to one - of the old Greek dramatists, and has handled it with a skill that - entitles him to high rank among the novelists of today.”--_The New York - Times._ - - - E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY - - - - - THRIFTY STOCK - - AND OTHER STORIES - - BY - - BEN AMES WILLIAMS - - AUTHOR OF “EVERED,” “BLACK PAWL,” ETC. - - [Illustration: colophon] - - NEW YORK - E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY - 681 FIFTH AVENUE - - - Copyright, 1923 - By E. P. Dutton & Company - - _All Rights Reserved_ - - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED - STATES OF AMERICA - - To - - ROBERT H. DAVIS - - - - - ACKNOWLEDGMENTS - - -The following stories of this collection have been previously published: -“Old Tantrybogus” and “One Crowded Hour,” in _The Saturday Evening -Post_; “They Grind Exceeding Small,” in _The Saturday Evening Post_ and -_Current Opinion_, and in one of the O. Henry Memorial Volumes; “Mine -Enemy’s Dog,” “Not a Drum was Heard,” “Success” (under the title of “So -My Luck Began”) and “Sheener,” in _Collier’s Weekly_; “His Honor,” “The -Coward” and “The Man Who Looked Like Edison,” in _Cosmopolitan -Magazine_; “Jeshurun Waxed Fat,” in _The Century Magazine_; “The Field -of Honor,” in _The American Magazine;_ “Thrifty Stock,” in _McCall’s -Magazine_; and “The Right Whale’s Flukes,” in _The Bellman_. To the -editors of these magazines the author makes the customary -acknowledgement. - - - - -PREFACE - - -The first seven stories in this volume have either locale or characters -in common. The village called Fraternity is an actual one; and the -surrounding countryside has a beauty which grows with long acquaintance. -It is perhaps unnecessary to say that the characters are--with one -exception--fictitious. The exception is Mr. A. L. McCorrison, better -known as Bert McCorrison, who introduced me to the trout brooks and the -woodcock covers thereabouts. To him I here make affectionate -acknowledgment for all that introduction has meant to me. He appears in -some of the stories, under the name of Chet McAusland. - -The third story in the book, “Old Tantrybogus,” is--so far as the dog is -concerned--a true story. I never saw old Job, but Bert has told me many -things about him, and his exploits are well attested. For the excessive -length of this story, an ancient fondness for dogs is my only apology. - -The last two stories in the Fraternity group, “Jeshurun Waxed Fat” and -“Epitome,” together with the succeeding seven, are each less than four -thousand words in length. These stories represent successive attempts to -combine brevity with other and more elusive attributes. - -It is, perhaps, unnecessary to say that “The Field of Honor” and “The -Unconquered” were written during the summer of 1918. - -Two of the stories in this book have not been published in any magazine. -The two are “Epitome” and the allegory, “A Dream.” In each case, the -story has been rejected by numerous editors; the fact that the author -has still a stubborn faith in them is his only excuse for including them -in this volume. - - B. A. W. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - -THRIFTY STOCK 1 - -THEY GRIND EXCEEDING SMALL 21 - -OLD TANTRYBOGUS 39 - -ONE CROWDED HOUR 74 - -MINE ENEMY’S DOG 113 - -“JESHURUN WAXED FAT” 145 - -EPITOME 158 - -A DREAM 169 - -HIS HONOR 185 - -THE COWARD 199 - -NOT A DRUM WAS HEARD 211 - -THE MAN WHO LOOKED LIKE EDISON 226 - -SUCCESS 239 - -SHEENER 254 - -THE FIELD OF HONOR 268 - -THE UNCONQUERED 293 - -THE RIGHT WHALE’S FLUKES 319 - -NOTE 346 - - - - -THRIFTY STOCK -AND OTHER STORIES - - - - -THRIFTY STOCK - - -I - -The girl, stormful and rebellious, had come out of the old farmhouse -above Fraternity, and without much caring in which direction she turned, -walked across the stubble of the freshly cut meadow toward the edge of -the woods at the crest of the hill. This meadow was really a high -plateau; it was fringed with bushes which grew along the crumbling stone -wall which bordered it, and with birch and wild cherry trees here and -there along its edge. Between these trees she could look abroad across a -wooded valley, down whose middle meandered the dead water of the -George’s River, backed up by the mill dam at the village. There had been -a light shower at dawn, scarce sufficient to settle the dust; and the -air, thus clarified, lent lovely colors to the countryside. Deep green -of hemlock and spruce and pine, straggling tracery of hackmatack, -lighter green of the birch tops almost yellow in the heart of the woods; -the blue of distant hillsides; the blue of the sky; the yellow glory of -sunlight drenching everything. In an uncut strip of meadow white daisies -bloomed. There were birds about. But to all these matters, Lucia Moore -was oblivious. She knew only that her father was stubborn and -unreasonable, her mother supine, the world at an ill turn. Drops of -water on the stubble wet her ankles; dust and water combined to muddy -her impracticable shoes; an occasional bramble tore at her silken -stockings. She came to the stone wall at the brink of the hill and chose -a large boulder half-shaded by an apple tree that was all run to -suckers, and sat down on it, her feet propped upon a stone below, her -elbows on her knees, her chin cupped in her hands. The girl’s eyes were -sulky, and her lips pouted. There was a hint of color not their own upon -these lips of hers, and her eyebrows were plucked to a thin line, their -smooth arch distorted by the frown she wore. Her gingham dress was -short, and her present posture revealed her thin, unformed legs, which -confirmed the almost emaciated slimness of her figure. She stared -unseeingly across the lovely land. - -Down the slope below her and to the right, Johnny Dree was dusting his -orchard. His well-trained team knew their work; they drew the sledge on -which he had secured the dusting machine up and down between the -wide-spaced rows; and Johnny himself controlled and directed the blast -of dust which smothered the trees, depositing itself on every leaf and -twig. Now and then, at the turnings, he called a command to the horses; -or ran ahead to tug at their reins. He was doing two men’s work, and -doing it with very little effort. His voice, pitched musically, carried -far across the still hillside on this quiet morning; and the whir of the -duster carried further. The spouting clouds of heavy dust rose above the -trees, to settle swiftly down again. Lucia Moore heard his voice, heard -the duster’s purring, punctuated by the bark of the exhaust; she looked -in his direction and saw the violently spouting dust, and wondered who -he was and what he was doing. She had an uncontrolled curiosity, and -after a few moments her awakened interest brought her down the hill. She -entered the orchard at the side where the Wolf Rivers were planted, a -hundred trees of them, the fruit already filling and coloring. Johnny’s -father had set out this small orchard with discretion; a hundred Wolf -Rivers, a hundred Starks, a hundred Ben Davises. Hardy apples, easily -tended, easily handled, easily marketed. Wolf Rivers for fancy trade, -for the great city hotels to bake and to serve, crisply browned, with -rich cream; Starks and Ben Davises for keeping through the winter. -Johnny was in the middle of the Starks when he saw Lucia coming toward -him among the trees. After the fashion of the countryside, he looked at -her with frank curiosity. He had seen her, at some distance, once or -twice before, since Walter Moore bought the run-down farm on the hilltop -above his orchard. Had summarized his impressions of rouge, plucked -brows, short dresses in a single phrase, “A city girl.” There was no -malice in the appellation; it was simply a classification. Her approach -now did not embarrass him; there is a self respect in such men, not -easily disturbed. She had paused between two trees at a point he was -approaching, and when he came near where she stood, he stopped the -horses and waited for her to speak her errand. - -Lucia looked at him curiously. She was just twenty years old, but he was -only two or three years older, and she was used to boys. His overalls -were patched and faded from much washing; his blue shirt seemed fresh -and clean; she thought him nice looking, and when she was sure of this, -smiled most dazzlingly. Johnny tugged off his cap at that smile, and -Lucia said precisely: - -“How do you do?” - -“Howdo, Miss Moore,” Johnny replied. - -Her eyes widened in a pretty affectation. “Oh, how did you know my -name?” - -His lips were inscrutable, but his eyes were amused. “I guess everybody -around here knows you.” - -She pouted a little. “That doesn’t sound nice.” - -“It don’t do any harm,” he said equably; and she was a little -disappointed, had expected flattery. She pointed to the machine, whose -engine still racketed. - -“What’s that?” - -“A duster,” he told her. “Kills the bugs on the trees.” - -She made a grimace. “I should think it would. But what a nasty way to -do. Smother them with that dust.” - -He did smile this time. “The dust’s poison,” he explained. “It sticks to -the leaves, and they eat it with the leaves, and it kills them.” - -“Why?” she asked. - -He understood that she was interested not in the process but the reason -for it. “So they won’t hurt the trees; so the trees will bear better,” -he told her. - -“Papa doesn’t do that to our trees,” she said. - -He turned away, and she thought he smiled. “That’s right,” he agreed. - -She looked around her. “And there are lots more apples on your trees -than on ours, too.” - -“That’s because I dust ’em and spray ’em and take care of them,” he -said. “You’ve got to treat an apple tree right if you want it to bear -right.” - -She came gingerly to his side and inspected the duster and asked -questions about it, wrinkling her nose at the smell of the dust; and he -answered her questions, warming a little at her interest in that which -was dear to him. She perceived that she pleased him, and pretended even -greater interest, and smiled at him in her most charming fashion. Turned -from the machine to the trees about them, plucked an apple and bit into -it and threw it away with a grimace. His engine still coughed and -barked; he showed no disposition to shut off its ignition and give his -time to her. She discovered a waxy bandage upon one of the trees and -asked what it was and he told her it was a graft, and would have added -some explanation, but her attention flitted elsewhere. - -“Where do you live?” she asked presently. “That house up there?” - -“Yes.” - -“Is it your house?” - -“My mother’s and mine,” he replied. - -She turned the full battery of her eyes upon him. “Why haven’t you come -up to see a fellow?” she asked. “I’ve been awfully lonesome here.” - -He was not at all disconcerted, as she had expected him to be. “I hadn’t -thought of it,” he said. “I’m pretty busy.” - -“You’ll think of it now, won’t you?” she begged prettily. She was, this -morning, in a reckless mood; she had been, was still, a spoiled child. - -“I might,” he assented, and she thought again there was a smile deep -hidden in his eyes. - -“I’m used to having boys crazy to come and see me,” she said wistfully; -and he did smile; and she was satisfied with this much of victory, and -turned and ran away. She ran prettily, and she knew her skirts were none -too long. From the border of the orchard, she looked back and lifted her -hand to him. He touched his hat in a restrained fashion by way of -response; and she ascended the hill, at peace with the world again. - -And this was the first encounter between the tender of trees and Lucia -Moore. - - -II - -Her father had bought the farm during the winter from Dan Howe, who -moved away to Augusta. Dan, Fraternity said, made a good thing out of -it. He had paid eighteen hundred, two years before, and had sold off -three hundred dollars’ worth of hard wood for ship timbers, carted to -Camden. The price Moore paid him was thirty-three hundred dollars. Moore -had thought the figure high; but there was in the man a hunger for -contact with the soil. His father had been a farm boy, had harked back -to his youthful days in reminiscence during his later years. His death -left Moore some fifty-two hundred dollars, and made it possible for him -to escape from the small store he had run for years in Somerville, at a -yearly profit less than he might have earned as salary. He and his wife -had perceived, by that time, that Lucia--they had christened her -Lucy--was a problem in need of solving. Lucia liked moving pictures, and -dancing, and boys, and she was not strong. Country life, they thought, -would be good for her; and Moore did not cavil at Dan Howe’s price. Save -for a few hundred dollars, he put the remainder of his legacy, and his -own savings, into a newly organized automobile company which seemed to -him promising, and came to the hills above Fraternity. - -Since then, he had been learning by experience that a horse which can be -bought for seventy dollars is probably not worth it, and that pigs -cannot profitably be raised with no milk to feed them, and that the -directions in printed manuals of the art of farming are not so complete -and so reliable as they seem. He was not a practical man. Even the -automobile investment had turned out badly; the company was now quietly -defunct, without even the formality of a receiver. And he owed a -mounting bill at Will Bissell’s store. If it had been possible, he would -have escaped from the farm and returned to bondage; but no one would buy -the place, and his debts anchored him. - -It was Lucia--she had, it appeared, some grain of sense in her--who -suggested one day that he might raise apples. “Johnny Dree does,” she -explained. This was in early fall, and she had seen Johnny once or twice -since that first encounter--at her instance, and not at his. Also she -had asked questions, surprisingly shrewd. - -Her father nodded. “He’s got a good orchard,” he agreed. - -“He’s been picking Wolf Rivers right along,” said Lucia wisely. “He says -you can pick the big ones, and the others will grow to make up for it, -and he’s going to have hundreds of barrels to sell next month.” - -“I’ve looked at our trees,” her father told her. “The apples aren’t good -for anything but cider. Full of worms and things.” - -“Johnny Dree says you’ve got to take care of a tree,” she insisted -impatiently. “But he says--” She hesitated, seeking to remember the word -he had used. “He says your trees are good, thrifty stock.” - -“It takes years to make an orchard, Lucy,” he said wearily. “You’re -talking about impossible things.” - -The swift temper which sometimes possessed the girl flamed up at him. -“You make me sick!” she cried. “You just sit back and let the world walk -over you. You’ve stuck yourself with this damned farm, and now you’re -going to sit still and let it smother you. Why don’t you try to do -something, anyway? Johnny says you’ve got good orchard land as there is. -But you just look wise and think you know it all, and won’t do -anything.” - -Her mother said wearily: “Lucy, you oughtn’t to swear at your father.” - -“Well, he makes me mad!” the girl cried, furiously defiant. “He’s such a -damned stubborn fool!” - -Moore wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and smiled weakly. “I -guess I’m a failure, all right, Lucia,” he agreed. “You’re right to -swear at a father like me.” - -At his humility, her revulsion was as swift as her anger had been; -tenderness swept her. She pressed against him, where he sat beside the -table, and with her thin arm drew his head against her fleshless bosom. -“You’re not, either, papa!” she cried passionately. “You’re always so -patient with me. But I do wish you’d talk to Johnny Dree!” - -He reached up to touch her cheek caressingly. “That’s all right, honey,” -he said. - -“But you will talk to Johnny?” - -The man nodded, at last. “All right, Lucy. Yes, I’ll talk to him.” - - -III - -Johnny Dree found a little time, even during the busy weeks of the apple -picking, to go with Moore through his orchard, and to search out the -trees scattered along the stone walls. He began the work of pruning and -trimming them, showed Moore, and showed Lucy, how to continue it. Bade -Moore plow under the thick sod around the base of each tree. “Nothing -like grass to steal the water an apple tree needs,” he explained. “Grass -is worse than weeds.” Before the snow came, much had been done. Moore -said once, diffidently: - -“I’d like to hire you to help me along with this, Dree!” - -But Johnny shook his head. “You don’t want to hire help only when you -have to,” he said. “I just come up when I’m not busy at home. You can -help me with haying and things, some time.” - -The seasons marched monotonously on. The crisp sunshine of fall days, -with frost tingling in the air, gave way to bleaker weather, and then to -the full rigors of harsh cold, when snow lay thick across the hills, -blanketing everything. The routine of little tasks laid itself upon -Moore, and upon his wife. Even Lucia, in greater and greater degree, -submitted to it. But revolt was always very near the surface in the -girl. One day she met Johnny Dree upon the road, and he asked in a -friendly way: “Well, you getting to like it here?” - -She was in ill humor that morning, and she flamed at him. “Oh, I hate -it! I hate it!” she cried. “I wish to God I’d never seen this damned -hole. But papa’s got us into it, and we can’t get out, and there’s -nothing to do but work and work. Sometimes I wish I were dead.” - -He had never heard her swear before; and he looked at her in some -astonishment. She was, he thought, so small, and so serenely sweet to -look upon that there was something incongruous in her profanity. But he -did not speak of his thought at that time; said merely: - -“Why, that’s too bad. I thought you were getting to like it, maybe.” And -so passed on, leaving her curiously chastened by his very mildness. - -There was an interminable sameness in the days. To rise early, to do the -morning chores, and cook, and eat, and wash dishes, and dust, and cook, -and eat, and wash dishes, and sew, and cook, and eat, and wash dishes, -and read the paper, and go fumingly to bed. This was Lucia’s bitter -life. But because it is impossible to hold indignation always at its -highest pitch, there were hours when she forgot to be unhappy; there -were hours when she found something like pleasure in this ordered -simplicity of life. Now and then Johnny came in of an evening, and sat -in the dining room with them all and talked with her father about apple -trees; and Lucia liked, at first, to practice her small cajoleries upon -him. He quickly began to call her Lucia, then Lucy as her father and -mother did. She preferred the simpler name, upon his simple lips. When -the snow thinned and disappeared, and new grass pushed greenly up -through the brown that clothed the fields, she was stronger than she had -ever been. Her arms were rounding, her figure assuming the proportions -for which it was designed; and her color no longer required external -application. When Johnny took Moore into his own orchards and showed him -how to apply the dormant spray, and how to search out the borers in the -base of the trees and kill them with a bit of wire, or with a plug of -poisoned cotton, and all the other mysteries of orchardry, Lucy liked to -go along, and learned to do these tasks as well as Johnny, and better -than her father did. The trees, fed with well-rotted manure which Johnny -preferred to any chemical preparation, and freed from the competition of -the grass and weeds which had surrounded them and blanketed their -thirsty roots, throve and put out a great burst of bloom, and all the -hillside was aglow with color. Lucy began to see hope of release from -this long bondage here. When the apples were sold, if the market was -good, Johnny thought they might make five or six hundred dollars in a -year.... - -Then one midnight she awoke shivering in a sharp blast from her open -window, and drew fresh blankets over her; and in the morning there was -white frost on the ground, and Johnny came up the hill with a -philosophic smile upon his face. Moore met him at the kitchen door. - -“Well,” said Johnny slowly. “We won’t do well this year. This frost has -nipped them. I guess not bearing will give your trees a chance to get a -better start.” - -Moore accepted the calamity with mild protest. Said blankly: “No apples. -Why, I’ve got to have something....” - -But Lucy was not so mild. From the kitchen behind her father she pushed -past him and out upon the porch, her eyes ablaze. “No apples!” she -cried, in a voice like a scream. “Why not?” - -“This frost has killed them,” said Johnny, his eyes hardening. - -She almost sprang at him, beat on his broad chest with her fists, and -tears streamed down her face. “You fool! You damned fool!” she cried. -“There’ve got to be apples. There’ve got to be! You said there would be! -You said if we worked, there would be! If we sprayed the damned trees! -Oh, you make me sick, with your lies! Oh, I hate this farm! I hate the -damned trees....” - -Johnny surprised her. He took her by the shoulders, gripping them till -she winced. “Stop it, Lucy,” he commanded. - -“I won’t!” she cried. “Let go of me....” - -“Be still your noise,” he said, no more loudly than before. But the -insistence in his voice constrained her, and she began to weep bitterly, -and slumped against him, shaken and half fainting. “You can’t talk that -way,” he told her. “It’s no way to talk. You got to be a sport. It’s a -part of the business, Lucy. Now you go in the house and wash your face -and help with breakfast. I want to talk to your father. Go along.” - -Her father watched her; and his face was white with surprise and -consternation. But Lucy turned and went obediently into the house, and -he looked after her, and looked at Johnny Dree; and Johnny grinned, a -little sheepishly. - -“You see,” he said, ignoring what had happened. “Thing is, you can raise -some garden stuff, and some chickens and things, and get along. We’re -due for a good year next year.” - -Walter Moore nodded. “That’s all right,” he assented, and looked again -at the door through which Lucy had gone. “But I’d like to shake hands -with you, Dree. I’d like to shake your hand.” - - -IV - -The stoic patience of the farmer, who serves a capricious master and -finds his most treasured works casually destroyed by that master’s -slightest whim, takes time to learn, but is a mighty armor, when it has -been put on. It was Johnny Dree’s heritage; it was, in remoter line, the -heritage also of Walter Moore. It bore them through that summer, and -through the frost-hued glory of the fall. There is a pleasure in a task -well done, regardless of reward; and when Moore surveyed his trees, he -found this pleasure. Johnny Dree confirmed it. “They’re like money in -the bank, Mr. Moore,” he said. “You can’t lose it, and it pays you -interest right along. We’re due for a good apple year, next year.” - -Moore nodded. “I’m beginning to like it here,” he assented. “It was -tough, at first. But I’m no worse in debt than I was last year, and I -ought to pull out when the trees begin to bear.” - -“Aye,” said Johnny Dree. “You’ve got something to build on, now. It’ll -go easier, from now on.” - -Moore had learned many things, in these months that had gone; and so had -Lucy. And so had Johnny Dree. Lucy was teaching him a thing he had never -had time to learn; she was teaching him to play. When snow came, he -brought her, one day, snow-shoes; and thereafter they occasionally -tramped the woods together, following the meandering trails of the small -creatures of the forest, marking where a partridge had left a delicate -tracery of footprints in the snow, exploring the great swamp below the -hill where the cedars had been stripped of browse by the moose that -wintered there. He found where deer were yarded, and took her to the -place, and once they caught glimpses of the startled creatures, bounding -away through the cumbering snow. There was a deepening understanding -between these two; when they were together she talked almost constantly, -and he scarce at all; but she could read his silences, and he understood -her fountain-like loquacity. Through a keener understanding, she found -matters to love in these hills and woods which were his world; she was, -by slow degrees, forgetting the more obvious pleasures of her life -before she came to Fraternity to dwell. They were, for the most part, as -much isolated as though they lived upon an island in the sea; for, save -for the nightly gatherings at Will Bissell’s store, Fraternity folk are -not overly social in their inclinations. Once he took her to a grange -dance, and she found him surprisingly adequate in this new rôle, found -an unsuspected pleasure in the rustic merry-making she would, two years -before, have scorned. Johnny did not smoke, and she asked him why; he -said he didn’t want to waste the money. Yet once when he went to East -Harbor, he brought her a flower, in a pot; and when she asked him if -that wasn’t wasting money, he smiled a little and said he did not think -it was. One day, to torment him, she cried: “I’d give a lot for a -cigarette. I haven’t had one for days. Will you get me some, next time -you’re at the store. I don’t dare buy them there.” - -Johnny merely smiled at her and replied: “I guess if you ever did smoke -them, you don’t any more.” - -One day her snow-shoe caught on a broken stub and threw her forward into -the snow. She said: “Oh, damn!” More in jest than in anger. Lifting her -to her feet, he commented: - -“I shouldn’t think a girl would swear much.” - -“I like to,” she insisted. “It makes me feel good when I’m mad.” - -“I never could see it helped me any,” he rejoined, mildly enough. But -she thereafter guarded her tongue, until the necessity for restraint -had disappeared. Self discipline was one of the things she learned from -Johnny. - -You could hardly say they had a romance. They grew together, as -naturally as stock and scion grafted by his skilful hands. They had this -great community of interest in the trees which were his work, which she -had come to love. Their forward looking eyes were centered on the -harvest time, now a scant year away, when the fruition of their labors -could be expected; and their anticipations were tranquil and serene. - -They talked, sometimes, of what he meant to make of his life. “You won’t -always be a farmer, will you?” she asked. - -“I guess I will,” he told her. - -“Slaving away here!” - -He smiled a little. “There’s a man up in Winterport,” he said. “He -planted some apple trees twenty years ago, and more and more since, and -he’s got ten thousand trees, now. I went up there two years ago on the -orchard tour the Farm Bureau runs. He cleared over twenty thousand -dollars, that year, on his apples. Ten thousand trees. I’ve only got -four hundred; but I’m putting in two hundred more next spring, and more -when I can, and my land is better than his, and there’s more around me I -can buy. It’s clean work. You can learn a lot from an apple tree, and -eating apples never did anybody much harm. And you’ve time for thinking, -while you work on the trees....” - -She slipped her hand through his arm in understanding, as they tramped -along. - -In December his mother, who had suffered for half a dozen years from a -mysterious weakness of the heart, was taken sick with what at first -seemed a slight cold. In early January, she died. Walter Moore and his -wife and Lucy were among those who followed the little cortege to the -receiving tomb where--because the frost had fortified the earth against -the digging of a grave--his mother’s body would lie till spring. Lucy -was mysteriously moved by the pity of this; that a woman should die, and -yet be kept waiting for her final sweet repose in the bosom of earth. -After supper that evening, she drew on coat and heavy overshoes and -muffled her head against the bitter wind that blew. “I’m going down to -cheer up Johnny, mama,” she said. - -Moore and his wife, when the door had closed behind her, looked at each -other with deep understanding. “Well,” he said, “I guess Lucy’s gone.” - -But his wife smiled through misty eyes. “She’s come back to us these -last two years,” she said. “No matter what happens, she can’t really go -away again.” - - -V - -Down at Johnny’s house, Lucy knocked at the kitchen door and Johnny let -her in. He was washing dishes and putting them away. “I’ve finished -supper, just finished supper,” he said awkwardly. - -“I wanted to comfort you, Johnny,” Lucy told him. - -He looked at her, rubbing his plate in his hands with the cloth. -“That’s--mighty nice,” he said. - -“You mustn’t be unhappy. I don’t want you to be unhappy,” she -explained, still standing just within the door. She was plucking away -her wraps, laid her coat aside. - -“You’re a mighty sweet girl,” Johnny told her, rubbing his plate as -though the motion of his hands had hypnotized him. - -“I want to take care of you,” said Lucy. - -Johnny considered, and saw that she had come a little nearer where he -stood. “I guess it would be nice if we got married,” he suggested. -“Wouldn’t it?” - -Lucy suddenly smiled, tenderly amused at him. Her eyes, full of tears, -were dancing. “I think it would be nice, Johnny,” she agreed. And moved -a little nearer still. She did not have to go all the way. - -The plate, unbroken by its fall, rolled across the floor toward the -stove, and tilted over there, and whirled to rest like a dying top, -oscillating to and fro on its rim with a sound faintly like the sound of -bells. - - -VI - -They were married in March; and as though upon a signal, winter drew -back from the land, taking with it the snow; and in due time the grass -burst up through the sod, and the buds swelled more swiftly, it seemed -to these two, than they had ever swelled before. Yet it was not too -warm; the blossoms in the orchards came in their season, and not before. -And the air was full of the hum of the bees as they went to and fro upon -their mysterious mating of the trees. The color of the blossoms, faintly -glowing, was in Lucy’s cheeks; the wonder of the springtime in her eyes -while she walked here and there with Johnny about his tasks. When the -petals fluttered down, it became at once apparent that the apples had -set in great profusion; and through the summer they watched the fruit -swell and take form and color, and now and then they pared the skin away -from an apple to see the white, sweet meat inside. - -Johnny began to pick Wolf Rivers early, choosing the largest and reddest -fruit; yet it seemed he had no sooner picked one apple than another -swelled to take the place of two. Toward the summer’s end, they knew -that the crop would be enormous. And this was one of those years when -elsewhere the orchards had failed, so that prices were enhanced and -buyers were eager. - -One day in early October, one Sunday afternoon, when Johnny and Lucy had -gone up the hill to have dinner with the older folk, Johnny and Walter -Moore walked into the orchard and surveyed the trees. - -“A big year,” Johnny said. “The biggest I ever saw. Your apples will -bring you close to seven hundred dollars.” - -Moore nodded. “It makes me--kind of humble,” he said. “It doesn’t seem -possible. And--it’s so different from what my life has been. So great a -change, these last two years....” - -Johnny looked up at him. “You’ve told me,” he assented. And he smiled a -little. “You know, I’ve said to Lucy some times, you can learn a lot -from an apple tree. If it’s got grass and weeds around its roots, they -starve it for water; and the scale and the aphis and the borer hurt it; -and the suckers waste its strength. You were kind of like that, when you -came up here. You’d been crowded in with a lot of other folks--grass and -weeds around you, cutting off the air and the good things you needed. -And the way you lived, there were all sorts of things hurting you; no -exercise, and no time to yourself, and Lucy’s dancing all night, and -smoking, and your inside work and all, the way the bugs hurt a tree.” He -smiled apologetically. “And things like that automobile stock of yours, -sucking your money the way suckers drain a tree....” - -“That’s right,” Moore agreed. “I couldn’t see it then; but I felt it, -even then. And I couldn’t believe these trees would come back, any more -than I expected to be so different, myself, up here. I feel new, and -strong, now. Like the trees. The suckers and the bugs and all the -wasteful things trimmed out of our lives. Mrs. Moore was never so well. -And Lucy ... I have to thank you for Lucy, Dree. She used to worry me. -She doesn’t, now.” - -Johnny, looking off across the orchard, saw his wife and her mother -coming toward them. Mrs. Moore erect where she had drooped, laughing -where she had been sad; and Lucy, full with the promise of the greatest -fruition of all. “Aye,” he said, with the reverent honesty of a man who -sees beauty in all the growth of life. “Aye, Lucy’s like the trees. -She’s come to bearing now.” - - - - -THEY GRIND EXCEEDING SMALL - -I - - -I telephoned down the hill to Hazen Kinch. “Hazen,” I asked, “are you -going to town today?” - -“Yes, yes,” he said abruptly in his quick, harsh fashion. “Of course I’m -going to town.” - -“I’ve a matter of business,” I suggested. - -“Come along,” he invited brusquely. “Come along.” - -There was not another man within forty miles to whom he would have given -that invitation. - -“I’ll be down in ten minutes,” I promised him; and I went to pull on my -Pontiacs and heavy half boots over them and started downhill through the -sandy snow. It was bitterly cold; it had been a cold winter. The bay--I -could see it from my window--was frozen over for a dozen miles east and -west and thirty north and south; and that had not happened in close to a -score of years. Men were freighting across to the islands with heavy -teams. Automobiles had beaten a rough road along the course the steamers -took in summer. A man who had ventured to stock one of the lower islands -with foxes for the sake of their fur, counting on the water to hold them -prisoners, had gone bankrupt when his stock in trade escaped across the -ice. Bitterly cold and steadily cold, and deep snow lay upon the hills, -blue-white in the distance. The evergreens were blue-black blotches on -this whiteness. The birches, almost indistinguishable, were like trees -in camouflage. To me the hills about Fraternity are never so grand as in -this winter coat they wear. It is easy to believe that a brooding God -dwells upon them. I wondered as I plowed my way down to Hazen Kinch’s -farm whether God did indeed dwell among these hills; and I wondered what -He thought of Hazen Kinch. - -This was no new matter of thought with me. I had given some thought to -Hazen in the past. I was interested in the man and in that which should -come to him. He was, it seemed to me, a problem in fundamental ethics; -he was, as matters stood, a demonstration of the essential uprightness -of things as they are. The biologist would have called him a sport, a -deviation from type, a violation of all the proper laws of life. That -such a man should live and grow great and prosper was not fitting; in a -well-regulated world it could not be. Yet Hazen Kinch did live; he had -grown--in his small way--great; and by our lights he had prospered. -Therefore I watched him. There was about the man the fascination which -clothes a tight-rope walker above Niagara, an aeronaut in the midst of -the nose dive. The spectator stares with half-caught breath, afraid to -see and afraid to miss seeing the ultimate catastrophe. Sometimes I -wondered whether Hazen Kinch suspected this attitude on my part. It was -not impossible. There was a cynical courage in the man; it might have -amused him. Certainly I was the only man who had in any degree his -confidence. I have said there was not another within forty miles whom he -would have given a lift to town; I doubt if there was another man -anywhere for whom he would have done this small favor. He seemed to find -a mocking sort of pleasure in my company. - -When I came to his house he was in the barn harnessing his mare to the -sleigh. The mare was a good animal, fast and strong. She feared and she -hated Hazen. I could see her roll her eyes backward at him as he -adjusted the traces. He called to me without turning: - -“Shut the door! Shut the door! Damn the cold!” - -I slid the door shut behind me. There was within the barn the curious -chill warmth which housed animals generate to protect themselves against -our winters. - -“It will snow,” I told Hazen. “I was not sure you would go.” - -He laughed crookedly, jerking at the trace. - -“Snow!” he exclaimed. “A man would think you were personal manager of -the weather. Why do you say it will snow?” - -“The drift of the clouds--and it’s warmer,” I told him. - -“I’ll not have it snowing,” he said, and looked at me and cackled. He -was a little, thin, old man with meager whiskers and a curious precision -of speech; and I think he got some enjoyment out of watching my -expression at such remarks as this. He elaborated his assumption that -the universe was conducted for his benefit, in order to see my silent -revolt at the suggestion. “I’ll not have it snowing,” he said. “Open the -door.” - -He led the mare out and stopped by the kitchen door. - -“Come in,” he said. “A hot drink.” - -I went with him into the kitchen. His wife was there, and their child. -The woman was lean and frail; and she was afraid of him. The countryside -said he had taken her in payment of a bad debt. Her father had owed him -money which he could not pay. - -“I decided it was time I had a wife,” Hazen used to say to me. - -The child was on the floor. The woman had a drink of milk and egg and -rum, hot and ready for us. We drank, and Hazen knelt beside the child. A -boy baby, not yet two years old. It is an ugly thing to say, but I hated -this child. There was an evil malevolence in his baby eyes. I have -sometimes thought the gray devils must have left just such hate-bred -babes as this in France. Also, he was deformed--a twisted leg. The women -of the neighborhood sometimes said he would be better dead. But Hazen -Kinch loved him. He lifted him in his arms now with a curious passion in -his movement, and the child stared at him sullenly. When the mother came -near, the baby squalled at her, and Hazen said roughly: - -“Stand away! Leave him alone!” - -She moved back furtively; and Hazen asked me, displaying the child: “A -fine boy, eh?” - -I said nothing, and in his cracked old voice he mumbled endearments to -the baby. I had often wondered whether his love for the child redeemed -the man; or merely made him vulnerable. Certainly any harm that might -come to the baby would be a crushing blow to Hazen. - -He put the baby down on the floor again and said to the woman curtly: -“Tend him well.” She nodded. There was a dumb submission in her eyes; -but through this blank veil I had seen now and then a blaze of pain. - -Hazen went out of the door without further word to her, and I followed -him. We got into the sleigh, bundling ourselves into the robes for the -six-mile drive along the drifted road to East Harbor. There was a -feeling of storm in the air. I looked at the sky and so did Hazen Kinch. -He guessed what I would have said and he answered me before I could -speak. - -“I’ll not have it snowing,” he said, and leered at me. - -Nevertheless, I knew the storm would come. The mare turned out of the -barnyard and plowed through a drift and struck hard-packed road. Her -hoofs beat a swift tattoo; our runners sang beneath us. We dropped to -the little bridge and across and began the mile-long climb to the top of -Rayborn Hill. The road from Hazen’s house to town is compounded of such -ups and downs. - -At the top of the hill we paused for a moment to breathe the mare; -paused just in front of the big old Rayborn house, that has stood there -for more years than most of us remember. It was closed and shuttered and -deserted; and Hazen dipped his whip toward it and said meanly: - -“An ugly, improvident lot, the Rayborns were.” - -I had known only one of them--the eldest son. A fine man, I had thought -him. Picking apples in his orchard, he fell one October and broke his -neck. His widow tried to make a go of the place, but she borrowed of -Hazen and he had evicted her this three months back. It was one of the -lesser evils he had done. I looked at the house and at him, and he -clucked to the mare and we dipped down into the steep valley below the -hill. - -The wind had a sweep in that valley and there was a drift of snow across -it and across the road. This drift was well packed by the wind, but when -we drove over its top our left-hand runner broke through the coaming and -we tumbled into the snow, Hazen and I. We were well entangled in the -rugs. The mare gave a frightened start, but Hazen had held the reins and -the whip so that she could not break away. We got up together, he and I, -and we righted the sleigh and set it upon the road again. I remember -that it was becoming bitter cold and the sun was no longer shining. -There was a steel-grey veil drawn across the bay. - -When the sleigh was upright Hazen went forward and stood beside the -mare. Some men, blaming the beast without reason, would have beaten her. -They would have cursed, cried out upon her. That was not the cut of -Hazen Kinch, But I could see that he was angry and I was not surprised -when he reached up and gripped the horse’s ear. He pulled the mare’s -head down and twisted the ear viciously. All in a silence that was -deadly. - -The mare snorted and tried to rear back and Hazen clapped the butt of -his whip across her knees. She stood still, quivering, and he wrenched -at her ear again. - -“Now,” he said softly, “keep the road.” - -And he returned and climbed to his place beside me in the sleigh. I said -nothing. I might have interfered, but something had always impelled me -to keep back my hand from Hazen Kinch. - -We drove on and the mare was lame. Though Hazen pushed her, we were slow -in coming to town and before we reached Hazen’s office the snow was -whirling down--a pressure of driving, swirling flakes like a heavy white -hand. - -I left Hazen at the stair that led to his office and I went about my -business of the day. He said as I turned away: - -“Be here at three.” - -I nodded. But I did not think we should drive home that afternoon. I had -some knowledge of storms. - - -II - -That which had brought me to town was not engrossing. I found time to go -to the stable and see Hazen’s mare. There was an ugly welt across her -knees and some blood had flowed. The stablemen had tended the welt, and -cursed Hazen in my hearing. It was still snowing, and the stable boss, -looking out at the driving flakes, spat upon the ground and said to me: - -“Them legs’ll go stiff. That mare won’t go home to-night.” - -“I think you are right,” I agreed. - -“The white-whiskered skunk!” he said, and I knew he spoke of Hazen. - -At a quarter of three I took myself to Hazen Kinch’s office. It was not -much of an office; not that Hazen could not have afforded a better. But -it was up two flights--an attic room ill lighted. A small air-tight -stove kept the room stifling hot. The room was also air-tight. Hazen had -a table and two chairs, and an iron safe in the corner. He put a -pathetic trust in that safe. I believe I could have opened it with a -screwdriver. I met him as I climbed the stairs. He said harshly: - -“I’m going to telephone. They say the road’s impassable.” - -He had no telephone in his office; he used one in the store below. A -small economy fairly typical of Hazen. - -“I’ll wait in the office,” I told him. - -“Go ahead,” he agreed, halfway down the stairs. - -I went up to his office and closed the drafts of the stove--it was -red-hot--and tried to open the one window, but it was nailed fast. Then -Hazen came back up the stairs grumbling. - -“Damn the snow!” he said. “The wire is down.” - -“Where to?” I asked. - -“My house, man! To my house!” - -“You wanted to telephone home that you--” - -“I can’t get home to-night. You’ll have to go to the hotel.” - -I nodded good-naturedly. - -“All right. You, too, I suppose.” - -“I’ll sleep here,” he said. - -I looked round. There was no bed, no cot, nothing but the two stiff -chairs. He saw my glance and said angrily: “I’ve slept on the floor -before.” - -I was always interested in the man’s mental processes. - -“You wanted to telephone Mrs. Kinch not to worry?” I suggested. - -“Pshaw, let her fret!” said Hazen. “I wanted to ask after my boy.” His -eyes expanded, he rubbed his hands a little, cackling. “A fine boy, sir! -A fine boy!” - -It was then we heard Doan Marshey coming up the stairs. We heard his -stumbling steps as he began the last flight and Hazen seemed to cock his -ears as he listened. Then he sat still and watched the door. The steps -climbed nearer; they stopped in the dim little hall outside the door and -someone fumbled with the knob. When the door opened we saw who it was. I -knew Marshey. He lived a little beyond Hazen on the same road. Lived in -a two-room cabin--it was little more--with his wife and his five -children; lived meanly and pitiably, groveling in the soil for daily -bread, sweating life out of the earth--life and no more. A thin man, -racking thin; a forward-thrusting neck and a bony face and a sad and -drooping mustache about his mouth. His eyes were meek and weary. - -He stood in the doorway blinking at us; and with his gloved hands--they -were stiff and awkward with the cold--he unwound the ragged muffler that -was about his neck and brushed weakly at the snow upon his head and his -shoulders. Hazen said angrily: - -“Come in! Do you want my stove to heat the town?” - -Doan shuffled in and he shut the door behind him. He said: “Howdy, Mr. -Kinch.” And he smiled in a humble and placating way. - -Hazen said: “What’s your business? Your interest is due.” - -Doan nodded. - -“Yeah. I know, Mr. Kinch. I cain’t pay it all.” - -Kinch exclaimed impatiently: “An old story! How much can you pay?” - -“Eleven dollars and fifty cents,” said Doan. - -“You owe twenty.” - -“I aim to pay it when the hens begin to lay.” - -Hazen laughed scornfully. - -“You aim to pay! Damn you, Marshey, if your old farm was worth taking -I’d have you out in this snow, you old scamp!” - -Doan pleaded dully: “Don’t you do that, Mr. Kinch! I aim to pay.” - -Hazen clapped his hand on the table. - -“Rats! Come! Give me what you’ve got! And Marshey, you’ll have to get -the rest. I’m sick of waiting on you.” - -Marshey came shuffling toward the table. Hazen was sitting with the -table between him and the man, and I was a little behind Hazen at one -side. Marshey blinked as he came nearer, and his weak nearsighted eyes -turned from Hazen to me. I could see that the man was stiff with the -cold. - -When he came to the table in front of Hazen he took off his thick -gloves. His hands were blue. He laid the gloves on the table and reached -into an inner pocket of his torn coat and drew out a little cloth pouch -and he fumbled into this and I heard the clink of coins. He drew out two -quarters and laid them on the table before Hazen, and Hazen picked them -up. I saw that Marshey’s fingers moved stiffly; I could almost hear them -creak with the cold. Then he reached into the pouch again. - -Something dropped out of the mouth of the little cloth bag and fell -soundlessly on the table. It looked to me like a bill, a piece of paper -currency. I was about to speak, but Hazen without an instant’s -hesitation had dropped his hand on the thing and drawn it -unostentatiously toward him. When he lifted his hand the money--if it -was money--was gone. - -Marshey drew out a little roll of worn bills. Hazen took them out of his -hand and counted them swiftly. - -“All right,” he said. “Eleven-fifty. I’ll give you a receipt. But you -mind me, Doan Marshey, you get the rest before the month’s out. I’ve -been too slack with you.” - -Marshey, his dull eyes watching Hazen write the receipt, was folding the -little pouch and putting it away. Hazen tore off the bit of paper and -gave it to him. Doan took it and he said humbly: “Thank’e, sir.” - -Hazen nodded. - -“Mind now,” he exclaimed, and Marshey said: “I’ll do my best, Mr. -Kinch.” - -Then he turned and shuffled across the room and out into the hall and we -heard him descending the stairs. - -When he was gone I asked Hazen casually: “What was it that he dropped -upon the table?” - -“A dollar,” said Hazen promptly. “A dollar bill. The miserable fool!” - -Hazen’s mental processes were always of interest to me. - -“You mean to give it back to him?” I asked. - -He stared at me and laughed. “No! If he can’t take care of his own -money--that’s why he is what he is.” - -“Still, it is his money.” - -“He owes me more than that.” - -“Going to give him credit for it?” - -“Am I a fool!” Hazen asked me. “Do I look like so much of a fool?” - -“He may charge you with finding it?” - -“He loses a dollar; I find one. Can he prove ownership? Pshaw!” Hazen -laughed again. - -“If there is any spine in him he will lay the thing to you as a theft,” -I suggested. I was not afraid of angering Hazen. He allowed me open -speech; he seemed to find a grim pleasure in my distaste for him and for -his way of life. - -“If there were any backbone in the man he would not be paying me eighty -dollars a year on a five-hundred-dollar loan--discounted.” - -Hazen grinned at me triumphantly. - -“I wonder if he will come back,” I said. - -“Besides,” Hazen continued, “he lied to me. He told me the eleven-fifty -was all he had.” - -“Yes,” I agreed. “There is no doubt he lied to you.” - -Hazen had a letter to write and he bent to it. I sat by the stove and -watched him and considered. He had not yet finished the letter when we -heard Marshey returning. His dragging feet on the stair were -unmistakable. At the sound of his weary feet some tide of indignation -surged up in me. I was minded to do violence to Hazen Kinch. But again a -deeper impulse held my hand from the man. - -Marshey came in and his weary eyes wandered about the room. They -inspected the floor; they inspected me; they inspected Hazen Kinch’s -table, and they rose at last humbly to Hazen Kinch. - -“Well?” said Hazen. - -“I lost a dollar,” Marshey told him. “I ’lowed I might have dropped it -here.” - -Hazen frowned. - -“You told me eleven-fifty was all you had.” - -“This here dollar wa’n’t mine.” - -The money-lender laughed. - -“Likely! Who would give you a dollar? You lied to me; or you’re lying -now. I don’t believe you lost a dollar.” - -Marshey reiterated weakly: “I lost a dollar.” - -“Well,” said Hazen, “there’s no dollar of yours here.” - -“It was to git medicine,” Marshey said. “It wa’n’t mine.” - -Hazen Kinch exclaimed: “By God, I believe you’re accusing me!” - -Marshey lifted both hands placatingly. - -“No, Mr. Kinch. No, sir.” His eyes once more wandered about the room. -“Mebbe I dropped it in the snow,” he said. - -He turned to the door. Even in his slow shuffle there was a hint of -trembling eagerness to escape. He went out and down the stairs. Hazen -looked at me, his old face wrinkling mirthfully. - -“You see?” he said. - -I left him a little later and went out into the street. On the way to -the hotel I stopped for a cigar at the drug store. Marshey was there, -talking with the druggist. - -I heard the druggist say: “No, Marshey, I’m sorry. I’ve been stung too -often.” - -Marshey nodded, humbly. - -“I didn’t ’low you’d figure to trust me,” he agreed. “It’s all right. I -didn’t ’low you would.” - -It was my impulse to give him the dollar he needed, but I did not do it. -An overpowering compulsion bade me keep my hands off in this matter. I -did not know what I expected but I felt the imminence of the fates. When -I went out into the snow it seemed to me the groan of the gale was like -the slow grind of millstones, one upon the other. - -I thought long upon the matter of Hazen Kinch before sleep came that -night. - - -III - -Toward morning the snow must have stopped; and the wind increased and -carved the drifts till sunrise, then abruptly died. I met Hazen at the -post office at ten and he said: “I’m starting home.” - -I asked: “Can you get through?” - -He laughed. - -“I will get through,” he told me. - -“You’re in haste.” - -“I want to see that boy of mine,” said Hazen Kinch. “A fine boy, man! A -fine boy!” - -“I’m ready,” I said. - -When we took the road the mare was limping. But she seemed to work out -the stiffness in her knees and after a mile or so of the hard going she -was moving smoothly enough. We made good time. - -The day, as often happens after a storm, was full of blinding sunlight. -The glare of the sun upon the snow was almost unbearable. I kept my eyes -all but closed, but there was so much beauty abroad in the land that I -could not bear to close them altogether. The snow clung to twigs and to -fences and to wires, and a thousand flames glinted from every crystal -when the sun struck down upon the drifts. The pine wood upon the eastern -slope of Rayborn Hill was a checkerboard of rich color. Green and blue -and black and white, indescribably brilliant. When we crossed the bridge -at the foot of the hill we could hear the brook playing beneath the ice -that sheathed it. On the white pages of the snow wild things had writ -here and there the fine-traced tale of their morning’s adventuring. We -saw once where a fox had pinned a big snowshoe rabbit in a drift. - -Hazen talked much of that child of his on the homeward way. I said -little. From the top of the Rayborn Hill we sighted his house and he -laid the whip along the mare and we went down that last long descent at -a speed that left me breathless. I shut my eyes and huddled low in the -robes for protection against the bitter wind, and I did not open them -again till we turned into Hazen’s barnyard, plowing through the unpacked -snow. - -When we stopped Hazen laughed. - -“Ha!” he said. “Now, come in, man, and warm yourself and see the baby! A -fine boy!” - -He was ahead of me at the door; I went in upon his heels. We came into -the kitchen together. - -Hazen’s kitchen was also living room and bedroom in the cold of winter. -The arrangement saved firewood. There was a bed against the wall -opposite the door. As we came in a woman got up stiffly from this bed -and I saw that this woman was Hazen’s wife. But there was a change in -her. She was bleak as cold iron and she was somehow strong. - -Hazen rasped at this woman impatiently: “Well, I’m home! Where is the -boy?” - -She looked at him and her lips moved soundlessly. She closed them, -opened them again. This time she was able to speak. - -“The boy?” she said to Hazen. “The boy is dead!” - -The dim-lit kitchen was very quiet for a little time. I felt myself -breathe deeply, almost with relief. The thing for which I had waited--it -had come. And I looked at Hazen Kinch. - -He had always been a little thin man. He was shrunken now and very white -and very still. Only his face twitched. A muscle in one cheek jerked and -jerked and jerked at his mouth. It was as though he controlled a desire -to smile. That jerking, suppressed smile upon his white and tortured -countenance was terrible. I could see the blood drain down from his -forehead, down from his cheeks. He became white as death itself. - -After a little he tried to speak. I do not know what he meant to say. -But what he did was to repeat--as though he had not heard her -words--the question which he had flung at her in the beginning. He said -huskily: “Where is the boy?” - -She looked toward the bed and Hazen looked that way; and then he went -across to the bed with uncertain little steps. I followed him. I saw the -little twisted body there. The woman had been keeping it warm, with her -own body. It must have been in her arms when we came in. The tumbled -coverings, the crushed pillows spoke mutely of a ferocious intensity of -grief. - -Hazen looked down at the little body. He made no move to touch it, but I -heard him whisper to himself: “Fine boy.” - -After a while he looked at the woman. She seemed to feel an accusation -in his eyes. She said: “I did all I could.” - -He asked: “What was it?” - -I had it in me--though I had reason enough to despise the little man--to -pity Hazen Kinch. - -“He coughed,” said the woman. “I knew it was croup. You know I asked you -to get the medicine--ipecac. You said no matter--no need--and you had -gone.” - -She looked out of the window. - -“I went for help--to Anne Marshey. Her babies had had it. Her husband -was going to town and she said he would get the medicine for me. She did -not tell him it was for me. He would not have done it for you. He did -not know. So I gave her a dollar to give him--to bring it out to me. - -“He came home in the snow last night. Baby was bad by that time, so I -was watching for Doan. I stopped him in the road and I asked for the -medicine. When he understood, he told me. He had not brought it.” - -The woman was speaking dully, without emotion. - -“It would have been in time, even then,” she said. “But after a while, -after that, baby died.” - -I understood in that moment the working of the mills. And when I looked -at Hazen Kinch I saw that he, too, was beginning to understand. There is -a just mercilessness in an aroused God. Hazen Kinch was driven to -questions. - -“Why--didn’t Marshey fetch it?” he asked. - -She said slowly: “They would not trust him--at the store.” - -His mouth twitched, he raised his hands. - -“The money!” he cried. “The money! What did he do with that?” - -“He said,” the woman answered, “that he lost it--in your office; lost -the money there.” - -After a little the old money-lender leaned far back like a man wrenched -with agony. His body was contorted, his face was terrible. His dry mouth -opened wide. - -He screamed! - - -IV - -Halfway up the hill to my house I stopped to look back and all round. -The vast hills in their snowy garments looked down upon the land, upon -the house of Hazen Kinch. Still and silent and inscrutable. - -I knew now that a just and brooding God dwelt among these hills. - - - - -OLD TANTRYBOGUS - - -I - -To this day, when Chet McAusland tells the tale his voice becomes husky -and his eyes are likely to fill--and, “It was murder,” he will say when -he is done. “I felt like a murderer and that’s what I was. But it was -too late then.” Sometimes his listeners are silent, appearing to agree -with him. More often, those to whom he speaks seek to reassure him, for -it is plain to any man that there is no murder in Chet, nor any malice -nor anything but a very human large-heartedness toward every man and -beast. - -In Tantry’s time Chet was a bachelor living alone at his farm above -Fraternity, cooking and caring for himself, managing well enough. He had -been a granite cutter, a fisherman upon the Banks, a keeper of bees. Now -he farmed his rocky hillside farm. He was a man of middle age--a small -man with a firm jaw and a pair of bushy eyebrows and deep-set piercing -eyes. When he laughed he had a way of setting his head firmly back upon -his neck, his chin pressed down, and his laughter was robust and free -and fine. I have spoken of his occupations; he had also avocations. All -his life he had fished, had hunted, had traversed the forests far and -wide. A man who loved the open, loved the woods, loved the very imprint -of a deer’s hoof in the mud along the river. A good companion, -open-hearted, with never an evil word for any man. - -He was, as has been said, a bachelor; but this was not of Chet’s own -choosing, as at least one person in Fraternity well knew. Old -Tantrybogus knew also--knew even in the days when he was called young -Job. He knew his mistress as well as he knew his master; knew her as -truly as though she dwelt already at the farm upon the hill. Between her -and Chet was his allegiance divided. None other shared it ever, even to -the end. - -Chet as a bachelor kept open house at his farm upon the hill and this -was especially true when there was fishing or gunning to be had. A -Rockland man came one October for the woodcock shooting. He and Chet -found sport together and found--each in the other--a friend. The -Rockland man had fetched with him a she dog of marvelous craft and from -her next litter he sent a pup to Chet. In honor of the giver Chet called -the dog Job. And Job--Old Tantrybogus that was to be--learned that the -farm upon the hill was his world and his home. - -Chet’s farm, numbering some eighty acres, included meadows that cut -thirty or forty tons of hay; it included ample pasturage for a dozen -cows; and it ran down to the George’s River behind the barn, through a -patch of hardwood growth that furnished Chet with firewood for the -cutting--a farm fairly typical of Fraternity. No man might grow rich -upon its fruits, but any man with a fair measure of industry could draw -a pleasant living from it and find time for venturing along the brooks -for trout or through the alder runs after woodcock or into the swamps -for deer, according to the season. From the wall that bounds the orchard -you may look down to where the little village lies along the river. A -dozen or so of houses, each scrupulously neat and scrupulously painted; -a white church with its white spire rising above the trees; the mill -straddling the river just below the bridge, and a store or two. Will -Bissell’s store is just above the bridge, serving as market place and -forum. The post office is there, and there after supper the year round -Fraternity foregathers. - -In Fraternity most men own dogs; not the cross-bred and worthless brutes -characteristic of small towns in less favored countrysides, but setters -of ancient stock or hounds used to the trail of fox or rabbit. Now and -then you will see a collie or a pointer, though these breeds are rare. -Utilitarian dogs--dogs which have tasks to do and know their tasks and -do them. - -Most men in Fraternity own or have owned some single wonderful dog of -which they love to tell--a dog above all other dogs for them, a dog -whose exploits they lovingly recount. And it was to come to pass that -Job, better known as Old Tantrybogus, should be such a dog to Chet -McAusland. - - -II - -Your true setter is born, not made. The instincts of his craft are a -part of his birthright. Nevertheless they must be guided and cultivated -and developed. There are men whose profession it is to train bird dogs, -or as the phrase goes, to break them. With some of these men it is a -breaking indeed, for they carry a lash into the field, nor spare to use -it. Others work more gently to a better end. But any man may make his -dog what he will if he have patience coupled with the gift of teaching -the dog to understand his wishes. - -Chet decided to train Job himself. He set about it when the pup was some -six months old, at a season when winter was settling down upon the farm -and there were idle hours on his hands. He had kept as trophies of the -gunning season just past the head and the wings of a woodcock. These he -bound into a ball of soft and woolly yarn and on a certain day he called -Job to his knee and made him sniff and smell this ball until the puppy -knew the scent of it. Job wished to tear and rend the pleasantly soft -and yielding plaything, but Chet forbade this by stern word, backed by -restraining hand, till the pup seemed to understand. - -Then he looped about the dog’s neck a stout cord and he held this cord -in his hand, the pup at his feet, while he tossed the woolen ball across -the kitchen floor. The pup turned and leaped after the ball. - -Before he could make a second jump Chet said sharply, “Whoa!” - -And he snubbed the cord he held so that Job was brought up short in a -tumbling heap, his toe nails scratching on the floor. - -Chet got up and crossed and picked up the ball; he returned to his -chair, called the pup to his knee, tossed the ball again. Again Job -darted after it and again Chet said, “Whoa,” and checked Job with the -cord. At which the puppy, with the utmost singleness of purpose, caught -the cord in his mouth, squatted on the floor and set about gnawing his -bonds in two. Chet laughed at him, called him in, fetched the ball, and -tried again. - -After Chet had checked him half a dozen times with voice and string the -pup sat on its small haunches, looked at Chet with his head on one side -and wrinkled its furry brow in thought. And Chet repeated slowly over -and over: - -“Whoa, Job! Whoa! Whoa!” - -The lesson was not learned on the first day or the second or the third. -But before the week was gone Job had learned this much: That when Chet -said “Whoa” he must stop, or be stopped painfully. Being a creature of -intelligence, Job thereafter stopped; and when he was sure the pup -understood, Chet applauded him and fed him and made much of him. - -One day in the middle of the second week, Job having checked at the word -of command, Chet waited for a moment and then said, “Go on!” - -Job looked round at Chet, and the man motioned with his hand and -repeated, “Go on, Job!” - -The pup a little doubtfully moved toward where lay the woolly ball. When -he was within a yard of it Chet said again, “Whoa!” - -When he stopped this time he did not look back at Chet but watched the -ball, and Chet after a single glance threw back his head and laughed -aloud and cried to himself, “Now ain’t that comical?” - -For Job, a six-months’ puppy, was on his first point. Head low and -flattened, nose on a line toward the ball, legs stiff, tail straight out -behind with faintly drooping tip, the pup was motionless as a graven -dog--a true setter in every line. - -And Chet laughed aloud. - -This laughter was a mistake, for at the sound the pup leaped forward, -the cord slipped through Chet’s fingers and the dog caught the woolly -ball and began to worry it. Chet, still laughing, took the ball from -him, caressed him, praised him and ended the lesson for that day. And by -so doing he permitted the birth in Job of one fault which he would never -be able to overcome. The pup supposed he had been applauded for -capturing the woolly ball and that notion would never altogether die in -his dog brain. Job would break shot, as the gunners say, till the end of -his days. - - -III - -By October of his second year Job was sufficiently educated to be called -a good working dog. He would stop at the word of command; he would -swerve to right or left at a hand gesture; he would come to heel; he -would point and hold his point as long as the bird would lie. He was a -natural retriever, though Chet had to correct a tendency to chop the -object that was retrieved. The man did this by thrusting through and -through the woolen teaching ball a dozen long darning needles. When the -dog, retrieving this ball, closed his jaws too harshly these needles -pricked his tender mouth. He learned to lift the ball as lightly as a -feather; he developed a mouth as soft as a woman’s hand; and even in -his second year he would at command retrieve an egg which Chet rolled -across the kitchen floor and never chip the shell. - -His one fault, his trick of breaking shot, was buttressed and built into -the dog’s very soul by an incident which occurred in his first year’s -hunting. He and Chet left the farmhouse one afternoon and started down -through the fringe of woodland toward the river. It was near sunset. -Chet had his gun, and as he expected, they found game; Chet had ample -warning when he saw Job stiffen at half point, his tail twitching. He -watched until the dog began to move forward with slow steps, and he said -to himself, “He’s roding a pa’tridge. I knew there’d be one here.” - -Job’s head was high, evidence in itself that he had located partridge -rather than woodcock. Chet skirted the fringe in the open land, studying -the ground well ahead of the dog, alert for the burst of drumming wings. -He moved quietly and Job moved among the trees, his feet stirring the -leaves. The dog was tense; so was the man. And presently the dog froze -again, this time in true point, tail rigid as an iron bar. - -Chet knew that meant the partridge had squatted, would run no more. -Forced to move now, the bird would fly. He waited for a long half -minute, but the partridge waited also. So Chet, rather than walk in -among the trees and spoil his chance for a shot, stooped to pick up a -stone, intending to toss it in and frighten the bird to wing. - -When he stooped, out of position to shoot, he heard the drum of pinions -and saw rise not one partridge but two. They swept across the open below -him, unbelievably swift, and Chet whipped up his gun and fired once and -then again. And never a feather fell. The birds on set wings glided out -of his sight into the edge of an evergreen growth down the hill where it -would be hopeless to try for a shot at them again. - -And Job pursued them. As the birds rose the dog had raced forward. As -they disappeared among the tops of the low hemlocks the dog went out of -sight after them. Ejecting the empty shells from his gun, Chet swore at -himself for his poor shooting and swore at Job for breaking shot and -loudly commanded the dog to return. Job did not do so; did not even -respond when Chet put his whistle to his lips and blew. So the man -started after the dog, whose bell he could faintly hear, and promised to -find Job and teach him a thing he needed to know. He started toward the -cover, whistling and shouting for Job to come to heel. - -When he was half way across the open Job did emerge from the shelter of -the evergreens, and he came toward Chet at a swift trot, head held high. -Chet started to abuse him. And then when the dog was still half a dozen -rods away he saw that Job carried a cock partridge in his mouth. The -bird, wounded unto death, had flown to the last wing beat far into the -wood. And Job pursuing had found the game and was fetching it in. - -For consistency’s sake and for the dog’s sake Chet should still have -punished Job--should still have made him understand that to break shot -was iniquity. But--Chet was human and much too warm-hearted to be a -disciplinarian. Perhaps he is not to be blamed for praising Job after -all. Certainly the man did praise the dog, so that Job’s dog brain was -given again to understand that if he chased a bird and caught it he -would be applauded. The fault dwelt in him thereafter. - -“I tried to break him all his life,” Chet will say. “I put a rope on him -and a choke collar and I shook him up--everything I knew. It wan’t no -good. But it was my fault in the beginning. I never really blamed Old -Tantry--never could.” - - -IV - -This is not properly the story of Job’s youth or of his life, but of his -aging and the death of him. Nevertheless there was much in his life that -was worth the telling. His reputation rests not on Chet’s word -alone--the village knew him and was proud of him. His renown began in -his third year in deep winter when Chet and Jim Saladine went fishing -one day through the ice on Sebacook Pond. Chet and Saladine became -separated, one on either side of the lower end of the pond, and Jim had -the pail of bait. Chet made Job go after the pail clear across the pond -and fetch it to him and take it back to Saladine again. The dog’s -sagacity and understanding, evidenced then and chronicled by Saladine at -Bissell’s store that night, were to wax thereafter for half a dozen -years; and even when the dog grew old his understanding never waned. - -It was in his ninth year that Job had his greatest day--a day into which -he crowded epic deeds enough to make heroes of half a dozen dogs. And -the tale of that day may perhaps be worth the telling. - -Chet had taken Job out the night before to try for a partridge in the -fringes of the wood below the farm. They were late in starting, but -within fifteen minutes Job was marking game and just at sunset the bird -rose and wheeled toward the thickets of the wood. Chet had a snap shot; -he took it and he saw the bird’s legs drop and dangle before it -disappeared. He knew what that meant. A body wound, a deadly wound. The -bird would fly so long as its wings would function, then set its pinions -and glide in a long slant to earth, and when it struck ground it would -be dead. - -He sent Job into the wood, himself followed the dog, and he was in -haste, for dark was already coming down. He hunted till he could no -longer see--found nothing. In the end he called Job in, and the dog -reluctantly abandoned the search at Chet’s command and followed his -master back to the farm. - -Two Rockland men telephoned that evening asking if they might come to -the farm next day and try for birds; and Chet, who can always find time -for a day’s gunning, bade them come. Doctor Gunther, who was -telephoning, said: “Hayes and I’ll be there by half past eight. Mind if -we bring our dogs?” - -“Mind? No,” said Chet. “Sure!” - -“They’re wild,” said the doctor, “but I’d like to have them work with -Job--do them good.” - -“Best thing in the world for them,” Chet agreed. “Let them back him on a -few points and it’ll steady them. I’ll look for you.” - -In the morning he rose early and busied himself with his chores so that -he might be ready when the hunters came. It was not an ideal hunting -day. The morning was lowery and overcast and warm and there was a wind -from the east that promised fog or rain. With an eye on the clouds Chet -worked swiftly. He fed Job in the shed where the dog usually slept and -it chanced that he left the door latched so that Job was a prisoner -until the others arrived. They were a little ahead of time and Chet -asked them to wait a little. He had been picking apples in the orchard -behind the shed and he took them out there to see the full barrels of -firm fruit. Job went out into the orchard with them and no one of the -men noticed that the dog slipped away beyond the barn toward the woods. - -When a little later they were ready to start Chet missed the dog. He is -a profane man, and he swore and whistled and called. Hayes, the man who -had come with Gunther, winked at the doctor and asked Chet: “Is he a -self-hunter? Has he gone off on his own?” - -“Never did before,” Chet said hotly. His heat was for Job, not for -Hayes. “I’ll teach him something!” - -He went out behind the barn, still whistling and calling, and the others -followed him. Their dogs were in the car in which they had come from -Rockland. The three men walked across the garden to the brow of the hill -above the river and Chet blew his whistle till he was purple of -countenance. The other two were secretly amused, as men are apt to be -amused when they find that an idol has feet of clay. For Job was a -famous dog. - -Hayes it was who caught first sight of him and said, “There he comes -now.” - -They all looked and saw Job loping heavily up the slope through an open -fringe of birches. But it was not till he scrambled over the wall that -they saw he bore something in his mouth. - -Hayes said, “He’s got a woodchuck.” - -Chet, with keener eyes, stared for a moment, then exclaimed exultantly: -“He’s got that partridge I killed down there last night! I knew that -bird was dead.” - -They were still incredulous, even after he told them how he had shot the -bird the night before. - -They were incredulous until Job came near enough for them all to see, -came trotting to Chet and proudly dropped the splendid bird at his -master’s feet. When they could no longer doubt they exclaimed. For such -a feat is alone enough to found a dog reputation on. - -As for Chet, though he was swelled with pride, he made light of the -matter. - -“You’ll see him work to-day though,” he said. “The scent lies on a day -like this. But it’ll rain by noon--we want to get started.” - -They did get started and without more delay. They went in the car, and -after a mile or so stopped on a rocky ledge beside the road at what -Chet was used to call the Dummy Cover--an expanse of half a dozen acres -tangled with alders and birches and thorn and dotted with wild apple -trees here and there. Two or three low knolls lifted their heads above -the muck of the lower land--an ideal place for woodcock when the flight -was on. - -The men got out and belled their dogs and old Job stood quietly at -Chet’s heel while Chet filled his pockets with shells. The other dogs -were racing and plunging, breaking across the wall, returning -impatiently at command, racing away again. When they were ready the -three men went through the bars, and with a gesture Chet sent Job into -an alder run to the right. The great dog began his systematic zigzagging -progress, designed to cover every foot of the ground, while the younger -dogs circled and scuffled and darted about him, nosing here and there, -wild with the excitement of the hunt. - -Such dogs flush many birds and one of these dogs flushed a woodcock now -fifty yards ahead of where old Job was working. The bird started to -circle back, saw the men and veered away again. Though the range was -never less than forty yards, Chet, who had a heavy far-shooting gun, -took a snap shot through the alder tops as the bird turned in flight and -he saw it jump slightly in the air as though the sound of the gun had -startled it. Chet knew what that little break in its flight had meant -and he watched the bird as long as he could see it and marked where it -scaled to earth at last in the deeps of the cover ahead of them. - -It was while his attention was thus distracted that Job disappeared. -When Chet had reloaded he looked round for the dog and Job was gone. He -listened and heard no sound of Job’s bell. He blew his whistle and blew -again. The other two dogs came galloping to their masters, heads up, -eyes questioning, but Job did not appear. - -The man Hayes said: “He’s gone off alone. I wouldn’t have a dog I -couldn’t keep in.” - -Chet looked at him with a flare of his native temper in his eyes. - -“He’s got a bird,” said Chet. “He’s right here somewhere and he’s got a -bird.” - -He turned and began to push his way into the alders and the other two -men kept pace with him, one on either side. It was hard going; they -could see only a little way. Now and then Chet whistled again, but for -the most part they went quietly. Woodcock may not be found in open -stubble like the obliging quail. You will come upon them singly or by -twos in wet alder runs or upon birch-clad knolls or even in the shelter -of a clump of evergreens--in thick cover almost always, where it is -difficult for a man to shoot; and the bird must usually be killed before -it has gone twenty yards in flight or it goes scot-free. - -In such a cover as this the men were now hunting for Job; and at the end -of fifteen minutes, in which they had worked back and forth and to and -fro without discovering the dog, Hayes and the doctor were ready to give -up. - -“Call him in,” Hayes told Chet. “Maybe we’ll see the bird get up. We -can’t find him and we’re wasting time.” - -Chet hesitated, then he said: “I’ll shoot. Maybe that’ll scare up the -bird.” - -On the last word his gun roared and through its very echoes each of the -three men heard the tinkle of a bell, and Chet, who was nearest, cried: -“There he is! Careful! The bird’s moving.” - -The dog was in the very center of the cover they had traversed--in a -little depression where he chanced to be well hidden. They had passed -within twenty feet of him, yet had he held his point. Hayes was the -first to do homage. - -“By gad,” he cried, “that is some dog, McAusland!” - -“You be ready to shoot,” Chet retorted. “I’ll walk up the bird.” - -They said they were ready; he moved in to one side of Job and the -woodcock got up on whistling wings. Hayes’ first shot knocked him down. - -Job found another bird a little farther on and Chet killed it before it -topped the alders. Then they approached the spot where he had marked -down that first woodcock, the one which had been flushed by the -too-rangy dogs. He called Job, pointed, said briefly: “Find dead bird, -Job.” - -The dog went in, began to work. When the other men came up Chet said: “I -think I hurt that first bird. He dropped in here. Job will find him.” - -“Let’s send the other dogs in, too,” Hayes suggested. “Mine hasn’t -learned retrieving yet.” - -Chet nodded and the other two dogs plunged into the cover to one side of -Job and began to circle, loping noisily. Job looked toward them with an -air of almost human disgust at such incompetency, then went on with his -business of finding the bird. - -The men, watching, saw then a curious thing: they saw old Job freeze in -a point and as he did so the other dogs charged toward him. One, -Gunther’s, caught the scent ten feet away and froze. The other -hesitated, then came on--and Job growled, a warning deadly growl. The -other dog stopped still. - -Chet exclaimed: “Now ain’t that comical? Hear old Job tell him to -freeze?” - -Hayes nodded and the three stood for a moment, watching the motionless -dogs, silent. Then the young dog stirred again and Job moved forward two -paces and flattened his head so low it almost touched the ground -and--growled again. - -Chet laughed. - -“All right, Job,” he called. “Dead bird! Fetch it in!” - -Job did not move, and Hayes said: “Maybe it’s not dead. - -“I’ll walk in,” Chet told him. “I won’t shoot. You do the shooting.” - -They nodded and he began to work in through the alders toward where Job -stood. The others waited in vantage points outside. Chet came abreast of -Job and stopped. But the dog stood still, and this surprised Chet, for -Job was accustomed to rush forward, flushing up the bird as soon as he -knew that Chet was near at hand. So the man studied the ground ahead of -Job’s nose, trying to locate the bird; and he moved forward a step or -two cautiously and at last began to beat to and fro, expecting every -minute to hear the whistle of the woodcock’s wings as it rose. - -Nothing happened. The two younger dogs broke point with a careless air -as though to say they had not been pointing at all; that they had merely -been considering the matter. They began to move about in the alders. And -at last Chet, half convinced that Job was on a false point, turned to -his dog and said harshly: “There’s nothing here, Job. Come out of it. -Come along. Come in.” - -Job watched Chet, but did not move. His lower jaw was fairly resting on -the ground, and Chet exclaimed impatiently and stooped and caught his -collar to drag him away. When he did this he saw the bird--saw its -spreading wing beneath Job’s very jaw--and he reached down and lifted -it, stone dead, from where it lay. Not till Chet had taken up the -woodcock did Job stir, but when he saw it safe in his master’s hand he -shook himself, looked at the other dogs with a triumphant cock of his -ears and turned and trotted on down the run. - -They left that cover presently, put in an hour in the Fuller pasture, -where a partridge and two woodcock fell to their guns, and then drove -back to the farm. It was beginning to rain--the thick brush soaked them. -Chet bade them come and have dinner at the farm and wait on the chance -that the afternoon would see a clearing sky. So they had a dinner of -Chet’s cooking, and afterward they sat upon the side veranda watching -the rain, smoking. - -Chet McAusland is an extravagantly generous man. If you go fishing with -him you take home both your fish and his own. He will not have it -otherwise. Likewise if you go into the covers the birds are yours. - -“Sho, I can get woodcock any time! You take them,” he will say. “Go on -now.” - -And it is so obvious that he is happier in giving than in keeping that -he usually has his way. - -After dinner he brought out the birds that had been killed in the -morning and laid them on an empty chair beside him and began to tie -their legs together so that they could be conveniently handled. Job was -on the floor a yard away, apparently asleep. The men were talking. And -Job growled. - -Chet looked down, saw there were kittens about--there were always -kittens at the farm--and reproved Job for growling at the kits. He was a -little surprised, for Job usually paid no attention to them, even -permitted them to eat from his plate. He said good-naturedly: “What are -you doing, Job? Scaring that little kitten? Ain’t you ashamed!” - -Job was so far from being ashamed that he barked loudly and Chet bent to -cuff him into silence. Then he saw and laughed aloud. “Now ain’t that -comical!” he demanded. “Look a-there!” - -One of the kittens under Chet’s very chair was laboring heavily, trying -to drag away a woodcock that seemed twice as large as itself. The other -men laughed; Chet rescued the woodcock; the kitten fled and Job beamed -with satisfaction and slapped his tail upon the floor. - -Hayes cried: “By gad, McAusland, that dog has sense! I’d like to buy -him.” - -“You don’t want to buy him. He’s getting old. He won’t be able to hunt -much longer.” - -“Is he for sale?” - -“Oh, you don’t want him,” Chet said uncomfortably. He hated to refuse -any man anything. - -“I’ll give you three hundred for him,” said Hayes. - -Now three hundred dollars was as much cash as Chet was like to see in a -year’s time, but--Job was Job. He hesitated, not because the offer -attracted him but because he did not wish to refuse Hayes. He hesitated, -but in the end he said, “You don’t want old Job.” - -Gunther touched Hayes’ arm, caught his eye, shook his head; and Hayes -forbore to push the matter. But he could not refrain from praising Job. - -“I never saw as good a dog!” he declared. - -“He is a good dog,” Chet agreed. “He’ll break shot, but that’s his only -out. He’s staunch, he’ll mind, he works close in and he’s the best -retriever in the County.” - -“You don’t lose many birds with him,” Hayes agreed. - -“I can throw a pebble from here right over the barn and he’ll fetch it -in,” said Chet. “There’s nothing he won’t bring--if I tell him to.” - -Gunther laughed. - -“You’re taking in a good deal of territory, Chet.” - -“I could tell you some things he’s done that would surprise you,” Chet -declared. - -Hayes chuckled. - -“Let’s try him out,” he suggested. - -“All right.” - -Hayes pointed toward the barn. The great doors were open and a yellow -and black cat was coming through the barn toward them. As Hayes pointed -her out she sat down in the doorway and began to lick her breast fur -down. - -“Have him fetch the cat,” said Hayes. - -Chet laughed. He stooped and touched the dog’s head. - -“Job,” he said, “come here.” - -Job got up and stood at Chet’s knee, looking up into his master’s face, -tail wagging slowly to and fro. Chet waved his hand toward the barn. - -“Go fetch the cat,” he said. “Go fetch the cat, Job.” The dog looked -toward the barn, looked up at Chet again. Chet repeated, “Fetch the cat, -Job.” - -And the dog, a little doubtfully, left them and walked toward the barn. -The cat saw Job coming, but was not afraid. They were old friends. All -creatures were friends on Chet’s farm. It rose as Job approached and -rubbed against his legs. Job stood still, uncertain; he looked back at -Chet, looked down at the cat, looked back at Chet. - -“Fetch, Job!” Chet called. - -Then the dog in a matter of fact way that delighted the three men on the -porch closed his jaws over the cat’s back, at the shoulder. The cat may -have been astonished, but it is cat instinct to hang quietly when lifted -in this wise. It made no more than a muffled protest; it hung in a -furry ball, head drawn up, paws close against its body. - -Job brought the cat gravely to Chet’s knee, and Chet took it from his -mouth and soothed it and applauded Job. - -“I’ll give you five hundred for that dog,” said Hayes. - -“You don’t want to buy him,” Chet replied slowly, and the two men saw -that there was a fierce pride in his eyes. - - -V - -A dog does not live as long as a man and this natural law is the fount -of many tears. If boy and puppy might grow to manhood and doghood -together, and together grow old, and so in due course die, full many a -heartache might be avoided. But the world is not so ordered, and dogs -will die and men will weep for them so long as there are dogs and men. - -A setter may live a dozen years--may live fifteen. Job lived fourteen -years. But the years of his prime were only seven, less than his share, -for in his sixth year he had distemper and hunted not at all then or the -year thereafter. For months through his long convalescence he was too -weak to walk and Chet used to go in the morning and lift the dog from -his bed in the barn into a wheelbarrow; and he would wheel Job around -into the sun where he might lie quietly the long day through. But in his -eighth year he was himself again--and in his ninth and tenth he hunted. - -When he was eleven years old his eyes failed him. The eye is the first -target of old age in a setter. It fails while the nose is still keen. In -August of Job’s eleventh year he went into the fields with Chet one day -when Chet was haying, and because the day was fine the dog was full of -life, went at a gallop to and fro across the field. - -Chet had begun to fear that Job was aging; he watched the dog now, -somewhat reassured; and he said to Jim Saladine, who was helping him, -“There’s life in the old dog yet.” - -“Look at that!” said Saladine. - -But Chet had seen. Job going full tilt across the field had run headlong -into a bowlder as big as a barrel, which rose three feet above the -stubble. He should have seen it clear across the field; he had not seen -it at all. They heard his yelp of pain at the blow upon his tender nose -and saw him get up and totter in aimless circles. Chet ran toward him, -comforted him. - -The dog was not stone blind, but his sight was almost gone. It must have -gone suddenly, though Chet looking backward could see that he should -have guessed before. Job was half stunned by the blow he had received -and he followed Chet to the barn and lay down on a litter of hay there -and seemed glad to rest. Chet, his eyes opened by what had happened, -seemed to see the marks of age very plain upon the old dog of a sudden. - -He took him into the covers that fall once or twice and Job’s nose -functioned as marvelously as ever. But Chet could not bear to see the -old dog blundering here and there, colliding with every obstacle that -offered itself. After the third trial he gave up and hunted no more -that fall. He even refused to go out with others when they brought their -dogs. - -“My old Job can’t hunt any more,” he would say. “I don’t seem to enjoy -it any more myself. I guess I’ll not go out to-day.” - -Hayes was one of those who tried to persuade Chet to take the field. An -abiding friendship had grown up between these two. And late in October -Hayes brought another puppy to the farm. - -“He’ll never be the dog Job was,” he told Chet. “But he’s a well-blooded -dog.” - -“There won’t ever be another Job,” Chet agreed. “But--I’m obliged for -the puppy--and he’ll be company for Job.” - -He called the new dog Mac and he set about Mac’s training that winter, -but his heart was not in it. That Job should grow old made Chet feel his -own years heavy upon him. He was still in middle life, as hale as any -man of twenty. But--Job was growing old and Chet’s heart was heavy. - -Mary Thurman in the village--it was she whom Job called his -mistress--saw the sorrow in Chet. She was full of sympathetic -understanding of the man. They were as truly one as though they had been -married these dozen years. - -Annie Bissell, Will Bissell’s wife, said to her once: “Why don’t you -marry him, Mary? Land knows, you’ve loved him long enough.” - -Mary Thurman told her: “He don’t need me. He’s always lived alone and -been comfortable enough and never known the need of a woman. I’ll marry -no man that don’t know he needs me and tells me so.” - -“Land knows, he needs someone to rid up that house of his. It’s a mess,” -the other woman said. - -“Chet don’t need me,” Mary insisted. “When he needs me I reckon I’ll go -to him.” - -She saw now the sorrow in Chet’s eyes and she tried to talk him out of -it and to some extent succeeded. - -Chet laughed a little, rubbed Job’s head, said slowly: “I hate to see -the old dog get old, that’s all.” - -“Sho,” said Mary, “he’s just beginning to enjoy living. Don’t have to -work any more.” - -In the end she did bring some measure of comfort to Chet. And it was she -who christened Job anew. He and Chet came down one evening, stopped on -their way for the mail, and she greeted Chet and to the dog said, -“Hello, Old Tantrybogus.” - -Chet looked at her, asked what she meant. - -“Nothing,” Mary told him. “He just looks like an old tantrybogus, that’s -all.” - -“What is a tantrybogus?” Chet asked. “I don’t believe there’s any such -thing.” - -“Well, if there was he’d look like one,” said Mary. - -The name took hold. Mary always used it; Chet himself took it up. By the -time Job was twelve years old he was seldom called anything else. - -Chet had expected that Mac, the young dog, would prove a companion for -Job, but at first it seemed he would be disappointed. To begin with, -Job was jealous; he sulked when Chet paid Mac attention and was a -scornful spectator at Mac’s training sessions. This early jealousy came -to a head about the time Mac got his full stature--in a fight over a -field mouse. It happened in the orchard, where Chet was piling hay round -his trees. Mac dug the mouse out of the grass, Old Tantrybogus stole it -and Mac went for him. - -Tantry was old, but strength was still in him, and some measure of -craft. He got a neck hold and it is probable he would have killed Mac -then and there if Chet had not interfered. As it was, Chet broke the -hold, punished both dogs and chained them up for days till by every -language a dog can muster they promised him to behave themselves. They -never fought again. Mac had for Tantry a deep respect; Job had for -Mac--having established his ascendancy--a mild and elderly affection. - -In Tantry’s thirteenth year during the haying Mac caught a mouse one day -and brought it and gave it to the older dog; and Chet, who saw the -incident, slapped his knee and cried, “Now ain’t that comical?” - -About his twelfth year old Tantry’s bark had begun to change. Little by -little it lost the deeper notes of the years of his prime; it lost the -certainty and decision which were always a part of the dog. It began to -crack, as an old man’s voice quavers and cracks. A shrill querulous note -was born in it. Before he was thirteen his bark had an inhuman sound and -Chet could hardly bear to hear it. On gunning days while Chet was -preparing to take the field with Mac, Old Tantrybogus would dance -unsteadily round him, barking this hoarse, shrill, delighted bark. - -It was like seeing an old man gamboling; it was age aping youth. There -was something pitiful in it, and Chet used to swear and chain Tantry to -his kennel and bid him--abusively--be still. - -The chain always silenced Tantry. He would lie in the kennel, head on -his paws in the doorway, and watch Chet and Mac start away, with never a -sound. And at night when they came home Chet would show him the birds -and Tantry would snuffle at them eagerly, then hide his longing under a -mask of condescension as though to say that woodcock had been of better -quality in his day. - -In his thirteenth year age overpowered Tantry. His coat by this time was -long; it hung in fringes from his thin flanks, through which the arched -ribs showed. His head drooped, his tail dragged; his long hair was -clotted into tangles here and there, because he was grown too old to -keep himself in order. The joints of his legs were weak and he was -splayfooted, his feet spreading out like braces on either side of him. -When he walked he weaved like a drunken man; when he ran he collided -with anything from a fence post to the barn itself. His eyes were -rheumy. And he was pathetically affectionate, pushing his nose along -Chet’s knee, smearing Chet’s trousers with his long white hairs. In his -prime he had been a proud dog, caring little for caresses. This senile -craving for the touch of Chet’s hand made Chet cry--and swear. It was -at this time that Mary Thurman told Chet he ought to put Tantrybogus -away. - -“He’s too old for his own good,” she said--“half sick, and sore and -uncomfortable. He ain’t happy, Chet.” - -Chet told her that he would--some day. But the day did not come, and -Mary knew it would not come. Nevertheless she urged Chet more than once -to do the thing. - -“You ought to. He’d be happier,” she said--“and so would you. You ain’t -happy with him around.” - -Chet laughed at her. - -“I guess Old Tantry won’t bother me long as he wants to live,” he said. - -“He makes you feel like an old man, Chet McAusland, just to look at -him,” she protested. But Chet shook his head. - -“I won’t feel old long as I can see you,” he told her. - -So Old Tantry lived on and grew more decrepit. One day in the winter of -his thirteenth year he followed Chet down into the wood lot and hunted -him out there--and was so weary from his own exertions that Chet had to -carry the dog up the hill and home and put him to bed in the barn. - -“I ought to put you away, Tantry,” he said to himself as he gave the -weary old creature a plate of supper. “It’s time you were going, old -dog. But I can’t--I can’t.” - -His fourteenth year saw Tantrybogus dragging out a weary life. Till then -there had been nothing the matter with him save old age, but in his -fourteenth summer a lump appeared on his right side against the ribs, -and it was as large as a nut before Chet one day discovered it. -Thereafter it grew. And at times when the old dog lay down on that side -he would yelp with pain and get up hurriedly and lie down on the other -side. By September the lump was half as large as an apple. And when Chet -touched it Tantry whined and licked Chet’s hand in a pitiful appeal. -Even then Chet would not do that which Mary wished him to do. - -“He’ll go away some day and I’ll never see him again,” he told her. “But -as long as he wants to stay--he’ll stay.” - -“It’s cruel to the dog,” Mary told him. “You keep him, but you won’t let -him do what he wants to do. I’m ashamed of you, Chet McAusland.” - -Chet laughed uncomfortably. - -“I can’t help it, Mary,” he said. - - -VI - -October came--the month of birds, the month when a dog scents the air -and feels a quickening in his blood and watches to see his master oil -the gun and break out a box of shells and fetch down the bell from the -attic. And on the third day of the season, a crisp day, frost upon the -ground and the sun bright in the sky, Chet decided to go down toward the -river and try to find a bird. - -When the bell tinkled Mac came from the barn at a gallop and danced on -tiptoe round his master so that Chet had difficulty in making him stand -quietly for as long as it took to adjust the bell on his collar. Old -Tantrybogus had been asleep in the barn, and he was as near deaf as he -was blind by this time, so that he heard nothing. But the stir of Mac’s -rush past him roused the old dog and he climbed unsteadily to his feet -and came weaving like a drunken man to where Chet stood. And he barked -his shrill, senile, pitiful bark and he tried in his poor old way to -dance as Mac was dancing. - -Chet looked down at the old dog and because there were tears in his eyes -he spoke harshly. - -“Tantry, you old fool,” he said, “go lie down. You’re not going. You -couldn’t walk from here to the woods. Go lie down and rest, Tantry.” - -Tantry paid not the least attention; he barked more shrilly than ever. -He pretended that it was a matter of course that Chet would bell him and -take him along. This is one of the favorite ruses of the dog--to pretend -to be sure of the treat in store for him until his master must have a -heart of iron to deny him. - -Tantry continued to dance until Chet walked to the kennel and pointed in -and said sternly, “Get in there, Tantry!” - -Then and only then the old dog obeyed. He did not sulk; he went in with -a certain dignity, and once inside he turned and lay with his head in -the door, watching Chet and Mac prepare to go. Chet did not chain him. -There was no need, he thought. Tantry could scarce walk at all, much -less follow him to the fringe of woodland down the hill. - -When he was ready he and Mac went through the barn and across the -garden into the meadow and across this meadow and the wall beyond till -the hill dropped steeply toward the river. Repeated commands kept Mac to -heel, though the dog was fretting with impatience. Not till they were at -the edge of the wood did Chet wave his hand and bid the dog go on. - -“Now find a bird, Mac,” Chet commanded. “Go find a bird.” - -And Mac responded, moving into the cover at a trot, nosing to and fro. -They began to work along the fringe down toward the river, where in an -alder run or two Chet hoped to find a woodcock. Neither of them looked -back toward the farm and so it was that neither of them saw Old -Tantrybogus like a shadow of white slip through the barn and come -lumbering unsteadily along their trail. That was a hard journey for -Tantry. He was old and weak and he could not see and the lump upon his -side was more painful than it had ever been before. He passed through -the barn without mishap, for that was familiar ground. Between the barn -and the garden he brushed an apple tree that his old eyes saw too late. -In the garden he blundered among the dead tops of the carrots and -turnips, which Chet had not yet harvested. He was traveling by scent -alone, his nose to the ground, picking out Chet’s footsteps. He had not -been so far away from the farm for months; it was an adventure and a -stiff one. The wall between the garden and the meadow seemed intolerably -high and a rock rolled under him so that he fell painfully. The old dog -only whimpered a little and tried again and passed the wall and started -along Chet’s trail across the meadow. - -Midway of this open his strength failed him so that he fell forward and -lay still for a considerable time, tongue out, panting heavily. But when -he was rested he climbed to his feet again--it was a terrible effort, -even this--and took up his progress. - -The second wall, which inclosed Chet’s pasture, was higher and there was -a single strand of barbed wire atop it. Tantry failed twice in his -effort to leap to the top of the unsteady rank of stones and after that -he turned aside and moved along the wall looking for an easier passage. -He came to a bowlder that helped him, scrambled to the top, cut his nose -on the barbed wire, slid under it and half jumped, half fell to the -ground. He was across the wall. - -Even in the trembling elation of this victory the old dog’s sagacity did -not fail him. Another dog might have blundered down into the wood on a -blind search for his master. Tantrybogus did not do this. He worked back -along the wall until he picked up the trail, then followed it as -painstakingly as before. He was increasingly weary, however, and more -than once he stopped to rest. But always when a thin trickle of strength -flowed back into his legs he rose and followed on. - -Chet and Mac had found no partridges in the fringe of the woods, so at -the river they turned to the right, pushed through some evergreens and -came into a little alder run where woodcock were accustomed to nest and -where Chet expected to find birds lying on this day. Almost at once Mac -began to mark game, standing motionless for seconds on end, moving -forward with care, making little side casts to and fro. Chet’s attention -was all on the dog; his gun was ready; he was alert for the whistle of -the woodcock’s wings, every nerve strung in readiness to fling up his -gun and pull. - -If Mac had not found game in this run, if Chet and the dog had kept up -their swift hunter’s gait, Old Tantrybogus would never have overtaken -them, for the old dog’s strength was almost utterly gone. But Chet -halted for perhaps five minutes in the little run, following slowly as -Mac worked uphill, and this halt gave Old Tantry time to come up with -them. He lumbered out of the cover of the evergreens and saw Chet, and -the old dog barked aloud with joy and scrambled and tottered to where -Chet stood. He was so manifestly exhausted that Chet’s eyes filled with -frank tears--they flowed down his cheeks. He had not the heart to scold -Tantry for breaking orders and following them. - -He reached down and patted the grizzled old head and said huskily: “You -damned old fool, Tantry! What are you doing down here?” - -Tantry looked up at him and barked again and again and there was a -rending ring of triumph in the old dog’s cackling voice. - -Chet said gently: “There now, be still. You’ll scare the birds, Tantry. -Behave yourself. Mac’s got a bird here somewhere. Be still--you’ll scare -the birds.” - -For answer, as though his deaf old ears had caught the familiar word -and read it as an order, Tantry shuffled past his master and worked in -among the alders toward where Mac was casting slowly to and fro. Chet -watched him for a minute through eyes so blurred he could hardly see and -he brushed his tears away with the back of his hand. - -“The poor old fool,” he said. “Hell, let him have his fun!” - -He took one step forward to follow the dogs--and stopped. For old -Tantrybogus, a dog of dogs in his day, had proved that he was not yet -too old to know his craft. Unerringly, where Mac had blundered for a -minute or more, he had located the woodcock--he was on point. And Mac, -turning, saw him and stiffened to back the other dog. - -Tantrybogus’ last point was not beautiful; it would have taken no prize -in field trials. His splayfeet were spread, the better to support his -body on his tottering legs. His tail drooped to the ground instead of -being stiffened out behind. His head was on one side, cocked knowingly, -and it was still as still. When Chet, frankly weeping, worked in behind -him he saw that the old dog was trembling like a leaf and he knew this -was no tremor of weakness but a shivering ecstacy of joy in finding game -again. - -Chet came up close behind Old Tantry and stopped and looked down at the -dog. He paid no heed to Mac. Mac was young, unproved. But he and Tantry, -they were old friends and tried; they knew each the other. - -“You’re happier now than you’ve been for a long time, Tantry,” said -Chet softly, as much to himself as to the dog. “Happy old boy! It’s a -shame to make you stay at home.” - -And of a sudden, without thought or plan but on the unconsidered impulse -of the moment, Chet dropped his gun till the muzzle was just behind Old -Tantry’s head. At the roar of it a woodcock rose on shrilling -wings--rose and flew swiftly up the run with never a charge of shot -pursuing. Chet had not even seen it go. - -The man was on his knees, cradling the old dog in his arms, crying out -as though Tantry still could hear: “Tantry! Tantry! Why did I have to go -and--I’m a murderer, Tantry! Plain murderer! That’s what I am, old dog!” - -He sat back on his heels, laid the white body down and folded his arms -across his face as a boy does, weeping. In the still crisp air a sound -seemed still ringing--the sound of a dog’s bark--the bark of Old -Tantrybogus, yet strangely different too. Stronger, richer, with a new -and youthful timbre in its tones; like the bark of a young strong dog -setting forth on an eternal hunt with a well-loved master through alder -runs where woodcock were as thick as autumn leaves. - - -VII - -Half an hour after that Will Bissell chanced by Chet’s farm and saw Chet -fetching pick and shovel from the shed, and something in the other’s -bearing made him ask: “What’s the matter, Chet? Something wrong?” - -Chet looked at him slowly, said in a hoarse voice: “I’ve killed Old -Tantrybogus. I’m going down to put him away.” - -And he went through the barn and left Will standing there, down into the -wood to a spot where the partridges love to come in the late fall for -feed, and made a bed there and lined it thick with boughs and so at last -laid Old Tantry to sleep. - -His supper that night was solitary and cheerless and dreary and alone. -But--Will Bissell must have spread the news, for while Chet was washing -the dishes someone knocked, and when he turned Mary Thurman opened the -door and came in. - -Chet could not bear to look at her. He turned awkwardly and sat down at -the kitchen table and buried his head in his arms. And Mary, smiling -though her eyes were wet, came toward him. There was the mother light in -her eyes, the mother radiance in Mary Thurman’s face. And she took -Chet’s lonely head in her arms. - -“There, Chet, there!” she whispered softly. “I reckon you need me now.” - - - - -ONE CROWDED HOUR - - -I - -Jeff Ranney lived on the road from East Harbor to Fraternity, some eight -miles from the bay. He was, at the period of which I write, a man -fifty-seven years old, and his life had been as completely uneventful as -life can be. He had never had an adventure, had never suffered a -catastrophe, had never achieved any great thing, had never even been -called upon to endure a particularly poignant grief. He was born in the -house where he still lived and save for one trip to Portland had never -crossed the county line. He married the daughter of a man whose farm lay -on the other side of Fraternity. She was not particularly pretty at any -time; and he had never any passion for her, though he had always liked -her well enough, and had always been kind. His father and mother lived -till he was in his forties, then died peaceably in their beds. He had -been a child of their later years, and before they died they had become -almost completely helpless, so that he felt it was time for them to go. -He and his wife had three children, all of whom grew to maturity. The -oldest, a girl, married an East Harbor boy who later moved to Augusta; -the other two, boys, went to Augusta to work in a factory there, -preferring the ordered hours of confined toil to the long and irregular -tasks upon the farm. - -Now and then Jeff’s wife departed to visit her daughter, leaving him to -keep bachelor hall alone. He managed comfortably enough; his life, then -as always, followed a well-ordered and familiar routine. He rose at -daylight, cared for his stock, made his own breakfast, did whatever -tasks lay before him for the day, finished his chores before cooking -supper at night, washed the dishes, read the evening paper till he fell -asleep in his chair, and then went to bed. Now and then in the spring -and summer months he found time to catch a mess of trout; now and then -in the fall or winter he shot a partridge or a rabbit. When there was a -circus in East Harbor, or a fair, he went to town for the day. When -there was a dance in the Grange Hall he and his wife had used to go; but -they had long since ceased these frivolities. - -Jeff’s farm was well kept; he had a profitable orchard, his cows were of -good stock. When the price of feed made the enterprise worth while he -raised a few pigs. There was no mortgage on the farm, his taxes were -paid, he owed no bills, his buildings were in good condition, he owned a -secondhand automobile and a piano, and he had some few hundred dollars -in the bank. It is fair to say that by the standards of the community in -which he lived he was a prosperous man. He was also a just man, and he -had a native sense and wit which his neighbors respected. - -One November day, some years before this time of which I propose to -write, he woke early and looked from his kitchen window and saw a deer -feeding on the windfalls in his orchard. He shot the animal through the -open window; and the spike horns, still attached to a fragment of the -skull, were kept on the marble-topped table in the parlor of the -farmhouse. The shooting of this deer was the most exciting, the most -interesting thing that had ever happened to Jeff until that series of -incidents in which romance and drama were so absorbingly mingled, and -which is to be here set down. - -It was a day in October. He had planned to go down into his woodlot and -manufacture stove wood, to be stored for use during the winter that was -still twelve months away. But when he awoke in the morning a cold rain -was lashing his window, and a glance at the sky assured him the rain -would continue all that day. He decided to postpone the outdoor task. A -few errands in town wanted doing, so he put before his animals -sufficient water for their needs till night, threw a thing or two into -the tonneau of his car, secured the curtains, cranked the engine and -started for East Harbor. Since the road was muddy and somewhat rutted, -and he had no chains, it was necessary for him to drive slowly; and his -late start made it almost noon when he slid down the steep and muddy -hill into the town. He parked his car at an angle in the middle of the -street and went to the restaurant presided over by Bob Bumpass for his -midday meal. Eating at a restaurant on his trips to town was one of the -things Jeff accounted luxuries. - -Bob, fat and amiable as a Mine Host out of Dickens, asked Jeff what he -wanted; and Jeff ordered Regular Dinner Number Three: Vegetable soup, -fried haddock, pie and coffee; thirty-five cents. Not till he had given -his order did Jeff perceive that a certain excitement was in the air. - -There were two other customers having lunch near where he sat. One was -Dolph Bullen, whose haberdashery was among the most prosperous of East -Harbor mercantile establishments; the other was the chief of police, Sam -Gallop, a wordy man. Bob Bumpass, having taken Jeff’s order and served -his soup, leaned against the counter to talk with these two men. Jeff -perceived that Sam was telling over again a story that had evidently -been told before. - -“Yes, sir,” said Sam, “he came right along when I took a hold of him. -And he had the necklace in a kind of a leather case in his pocket the -whole time.” - -“You took him right off the Boston boat, didn’t you?” Dolph asked. - -“Yep,” said Sam. “Right out of his stateroom. He had his suitcase open -on the bunk when I knocked on the door. I didn’t wait for him to let me -in. Just opened her right up and went in; and he looked at me kind of -impudent; and he says, ‘Hullo,’ he says. ‘What’s the matter?’ Cool as -you want.” - -“He come in here one day this summer, when the yacht was in here,” Bob -commented. “I kind of liked his looks.” - -Sam shook his head ponderously. “Them’s the worst kind. But he didn’t -fool me.” - -“Name’s Gardner, isn’t it?” Dolph asked. - -Bob nodded. “Frank Gardner. He’s worked for old Viles for six-seven -years, he said.” - -The chief of police was not willing that his part in the affair should -be forgotten. He was a round-faced, bald, easy-going man; but he knew -his rights, knew that in this drama which had been played he had a -leading rôle. - -“I says to him, ‘Matter enough,’” he continued importantly. “‘I got a -warrant for you,’ I says. And he asked me what for; and I told him for -stealing Mrs. Viles’ jewels. He got red enough at that, and mad looking, -I’ll tell you. And he started to say something. But I shut him up. ‘You -can tell that to someone else,’ I says. ‘My job’s to take you up to -jail.’ Then he asked who swore out the warrant; and I told him old Viles -did; and at that he shut up like a clam, and snapped his suitcase shut, -and came along. I found the things when I went through his clothes, up’t -the jail.” - -He had more to tell, and when Bob Bumpass had brought Jeff his fried -haddock and resumed his place as auditor Sam took up the telling. How -Leander Viles had come to him, demanding the arrest of his secretary; -how he had insisted that the millionaire swear out a warrant; how -incensed Viles had become at this insistence. - -“I’ll tell you,” said Sam emphatically, “he got right purple, till I -thought the man’d burst; and he sort of fell down in a chair, grabbing -at his chest; and then he got white as can be.” - -Dolph nodded. “Men like him, big and fat, and full of whisky all the -time--they go that way. He’s got a temper too. Some day when he’s good -and mad that heart of his will crack on him.” - -Their talk continued, and Jeff continued to listen. In any issue it is -instinctive for mankind to take sides. Dolph and Bob Bumpass were -inclined to think a mistake had been made. “I don’t believe he aimed to -steal that necklace at all,” said Bob; and Jeff found himself agreeing -with the restaurant man. The three were still discussing the matter when -Jeff finished his pie, paid his score and went his way. - -His errands kept him busy all that afternoon. An ax handle, two or three -pounds of nails, four feet of strap iron and a box of shells from the -hardware store; a pair of overalls from Dolph Bullen; oatmeal, coffee, -sugar and salt from the grocer; a bag of feed from the hay and grain -market at the foot of the street. These errands were attended with much -casual conversation, chiefly concerned with the arrest of the jewel -thief. Late in the afternoon Jeff sought out Ed Whalen, who dealt in -coal and wood, and made a deal by which Ed would buy from him a dozen -cords of stove wood, to be delivered while snow was on the ground. Ed’s -office was near the water front; and when Jeff came out he perceived the -Viles yacht at her anchorage a little above the steamboat wharf. Jeff -studied the craft for a while admiringly, and he wondered how much she -had cost. “As much as my whole farm,” he guessed. “Or mebbe more.” - -Night was coming swiftly; the lights aboard the yacht were turned on -while he stood there, and her portholes appeared like round and luminous -eyes. He could dimly see a sailor or two, in oilskins, under the deck -lamps. Rain was still falling, cold and implacable. “Guess the folks -that live on her are keeping dry, inside,” he hazarded. He tried to -picture to himself their manner of life, so different from his own, as -he went back up the hill toward where he had left his car. - -A farmer from Winterport, whom he had not seen for years, halted him on -the corner above Dolph’s store, and they talked together for a space in -the shelter of the entrance to the bank. A whistle down the harbor -announced the coming of the Boston boat; and before they separated -another whistle told of her departure. Then Jeff had trouble cranking -his car. He had forgotten to cover the hood, and the ignition wires and -plugs were wet. One cylinder caught at last; and then another; and -finally all four. He had already loaded in his purchases on the floor -and seat of the tonneau. The bag of feed lay along the seat. - -The Winterport man had reported that the steamship line would make a new -rate for apples by the barrel to Boston that fall; and Jeff decided to -go down to the wharf and make inquiries. He parked his car on the edge -of the wharf, in the lee of the freight sheds, and this time threw an -old rubber blanket over the hood to keep the plugs dry, before turning -toward the office. With the departure of the boat, business hereabouts -was done for the day; and save for a light in the office, and another -on the pier toward shore, the wharf was dark. Jeff’s errand occupied -some ten minutes’ time; and while he was inside a fiercer squall of rain -burst over the harbor. He could hear the water drumming on the roof. - -When the squall had passed he returned to his car and took the blanket -off the hood and threw it into the dark cavern of the tonneau, then -cranked the engine and turned around and started home. His lights, run -from the magneto, were dim and uncertain; his attention was all upon the -road. The car skidded and slid and slued and bumped; but it came to no -disaster. He drove into his own barn toward seven o’clock in the -evening, and left his purchases untouched while he went into the house -to change into overalls, so that he might do his chores. - -When he came back into the barn he saw someone standing motionless -beside the machine. He lifted the lantern which he carried, so that its -light flooded the still figure, and perceived that the person who stood -there, facing him, was a woman. - - -II - -This woman, in these surroundings, was an amazing apparition. Against -the background of his old hayrick, still half full of hay, Jeff saw her -outlined. She wore a sailor’s oilskin coat, buttoned about her throat; -and beneath the skirts of the draggled coat he glimpsed slim silk-clad -ankles and badly soiled white satin pumps. She wore no hat; her hair -was wet and all awry; and there was a thin streak of blood from a -scratch upon her temple that had trickled down across the bridge of her -nose in a slanting direction. Yet in spite of these difficulties he -perceived that she was very beautiful. - -At sight of her Jeff had stopped in his tracks and still stood -motionless with surprise, the lantern in his lifted hand. The woman’s -white fingers fumbled nervously at the fastenings of the oilskin coat -she wore; she waited for a moment in silence; but when he did not speak -she nodded in an uneasy little way and stammeringly said to him, “Good -evening!” Her voice was full and throaty and pleasantly modulated. - -Jeff replied, “Howdo!” - -She began to speak very rapidly. - -“You’re probably wondering how I came here. I was in your car. On the -floor of the back seat. Almost crushed. That big bag fell off the seat -on top of me when you hit that terrible bump. It banged my head down on -a piece of iron. I’m afraid it has bled a little. I was almost -smothered. The road was so rough.” - -She was panting as though she had run a race; and Jeff watched her -steadfastly for a moment, and then, for sheer relief from his -astonishment, gripped the commonplace with both hands. - -“You better come in the house and wash up,” he told her slowly, “and get -warm. I guess you’re kind of wet.” - -She nodded. “Yes. I’d like that. I’d like to do that.” - -He perceived that she was fighting for self-control, putting down the -revolt of jangling nerves. - -“Come through here, ma’am,” he bade her, and led the way through the -woodshed and into the kitchen. There he set his lantern on the table and -brought fresh water from the pump. “I’ve been away since morning,” he -explained. “The water in the tank is cold. You want to wait till I heat -some up?” - -She shook her head. “This will do finely.” - -He went through into the bedroom and returned with a heavy porcelain -bowl, which he set in the sink, removing the granite-ware wash-basin. -The woman had sunk down limply in a chair beside the table. Jeff, -careful not to distress her by his scrutiny, unwrapped a fresh bar of -soap, brought out a clean towel. Then with half a dozen motions he threw -shavings and bits of kindling into the stove, touched a match to them, -laid a stick or two of hardwood atop. “That’ll warm the kitchen up -pretty quick,” he told her. He understood that she wished to be alone, -yet was not sure what he should do. At last he said awkwardly, “I’ll be -doing the chores,” and lighted a lamp for her, then took the lantern and -departed through the shed again. - -When he had gone only a few steps he stopped, considered, then returned -and knocked upon the door through which he had come out. She bade him -enter; and when he did so he found her on her feet, unfastening the long -black coat. - -“You could go into the bedroom,” he said tentatively. - -She shook her head, smiling gratefully. “I’m sure this is fine. But I -would like a comb.” - -“I’ll get my wife’s for you,” he replied; and brought it to her. Mrs. -Ranney was a good housekeeper; the comb was as clean as new. “Would -there be anything else?” he asked when she had thanked him for it. - -“No. But you’re very kind to me.” - -“I’ll get the chores done,” he replied uncomfortably, and this time -departed in good earnest to the barn. - -When he had fed and watered the stock, finding a relief in the familiar -routine, he removed his purchases from the car. Saw where the woman had -crouched on the floor. The rubber blanket which he had thrown in at the -wharf must have fallen across her back; the heavy sack of feed might -well have crushed her. “Lucky she wa’n’t worse hurt,” he told himself. -He was full of speculations, full of questions, half dazed with wonder. -Women of such a sort as this were as though they lived in another world. -Yet she was in his kitchen now. - -It was necessary for him to go back to the house to get the milking -pails. Again he knocked upon the door, and the woman bade him come in. -She had laid aside the oilskins; he was not able at once to understand -just what it was she wore. A dress, but of a sort unfamiliar to his -eyes. He had seen magazine pictures of such things. An evening gown, -décolletté. Her hair was loose in a warm cloud about her smooth -shoulders, and she was leaning above the stove. - -“I’m sorry,” she apologized, flushing with some confusion. “I’m trying -to get it dry.” - -He would have backed out of the kitchen. “I’m not in a hurry, ma’am.” - -But she cried warmly, “No, no, it’s all right. Come in.” - -“I come to get the milk pails,” he explained. “I scalded them out this -morning.” He took them from the draining board at one end of the sink. -“I’ll go milk now.” - -She asked diffidently, “Can’t I be starting supper while you’re doing -that?” - -Jeff smiled faintly. “I’m used to cooking. I know where the things are.” - -“I can cook,” she assured him. “What are we going to have for supper?” -She was beginning to see some humor in the situation. - -“Why I just figured to scramble some eggs, and make coffee,” Jeff -confessed. “The things are in the pantry, in through the dining room,” -he added. - -“I’ll have supper all ready when you come back,” she promised. - -He said reluctantly, “Well, all right,” and left her there. - -When he returned, half an hour later, he found her, her hair in a loose -braid, wearing one of his wife’s aprons, busy about the kitchen table. -“I’ve everything ready,” she told him, “but I waited, so that things -would be nice and hot.” - -“I got to separate the milk first,” he explained. - -She nodded and, while he performed that operation, busied herself with -egg beater and mixing bowl. He took the cream down cellar, set the skim -milk in the shed for his hogs. When he had washed his hands and face she -summoned him to supper in the dining room. She had made an omelet and -toast, and her coffee was better than his. He ate with the silent -intentness of a hungry man. Afterward she insisted on washing the -dishes, while he read, fitfully enough, yet with an appearance of -absorption, the paper that had been left that afternoon in the mail box -before the door. There was something grotesquely domestic in the -situation, and Jeff’s pulses were pounding with wonder at it all. - -He had asked the woman no single question. There were a thousand -questions he desired to ask, but an innate delicacy restrained him. The -glamour of the hour had dazed this man; his senses were confused. There -was an unreality about the whole experience. The dishes, rattling in the -sink, sounded no differently than when his wife washed them. The -illusion that it was his wife who had come home in this guise had for a -moment dominion over him. The lines of newsprint staggered and swam -before his inattentive eyes. He wondered, wondered, wondered. But he -asked no question of his guest. - -When she had finished her self-appointed task and come into the dining -room where he was sitting she seemed to expect a catechism; but Jeff -kept his eyes upon his paper, as a man clings to a safe anchorage, till -at last she was forced to speak. - -“I’ve been expecting you to question me,” she said uncertainly. - -Jeff looked up at her and then found some reassurance in the fact that -the silence was thus broken. “I’ve been expecting you’d tell me without -asking,” he said, smiling faintly at her. - -“I ought to,” she nodded. “But there’s so much to tell; and it must -sound so incredible to you. I hid in your car at the wharf, blindly, not -knowing who you were. I had to get away; wanted to get away. Anywhere. -To hide. For a little while. I can pay you.” She spoke uncertainly, -unwilling to give offense. - -Jeff shook his head good-humoredly. “I don’t run a boarding house, -ma’am.” - -“I have to find some place where I can stay.” - -He was thoughtfully silent for a little, then asked, “How long?” - -“I don’t know. Perhaps only a little while.” - -“I guess you can stay here a while,” he said. - -“You spoke of your wife?” she suggested. - -“She’s visiting my daughter, over in Augusta,” Jeff explained. “Won’t be -back for a week anyways. I reckon it’d be easier for you if she was -here; but you’re welcome anyways.” - -She looked down helplessly at the gown she wore. “It was a mad thing to -do,” she whispered, half to herself. Jeff guessed what she was thinking. - -“I reckon you could wear some of my wife’s things,” he suggested. - -“Have you room for me?” - -There were two bedrooms on the ground floor of the farmhouse; but he -thought she would prefer a measure of isolation. “I can make the bed in -the room upstairs,” he replied. - -“Won’t your neighbors be surprised that I am here?” - -Jeff considered that for a long time in silence, till she began to be -afraid the obstacle was insuperable. Then his eyes lighted with -recollection, and he said slowly, “My brother moved to California and -married there, and his girl has been talking about coming to see us. We -can let on you’re her.” - -She cried with sudden friendly warmth in her tones, “You’re ever so kind -to me. I appreciate it. Your taking me in so unquestioningly.” - -“That’s all right,” he told her. - -“I’m going to take you at your word,” she exclaimed. “I’m going to -stay.” - - -III - -Jeff Ranney was a man habituated to routine; he fell naturally into a -regular way of doing even irregular things. The next morning his life -was on the surface as it had always been. He rose to his chores, -returned to his breakfast, went into the woodlot and set about the task -he had postponed the day before. The woman cooked breakfast and did the -work about the kitchen that his wife might have done. It would have been -easy for any outsider to accept as fact her pretended status as Jeff’s -niece from California. - -But Jeff was not deceived by the apparent normality of this new -existence. The man was immensely curious about her, absorbed in the -mystery which she personified. His thoughts all that day were full of -conjectures, full of hypotheses, formed and as quickly thrown away. One -guess he clung to as probable fact. It seemed to him certain she had -come ashore from that yacht which he had seen lying in East Harbor the -night before; had come ashore as one who flees. But to the questions who -she might be and why she had fled, he found a thousand answers and -accepted none of them. - -The question of her identity was solved that night, for on the first -page of his Boston paper a headline caught his eye. It read thus: - - MILLIONAIRE VILES’ - WIFE IS A SUICIDE - -His eyes moved down the closely printed column, intent on each word. -Save for journalistic padding the first paragraph told the story: - - EAST HARBOR, ME., Oct. 18--Lucia Viles, wife of Leander Viles, the - millionaire banker, committed suicide here last night by drowning. - She left the Viles’ yacht, which is anchored in the harbor, in a - small rowboat, at a moment when a heavy squall of rain had driven - the crew to shelter; and it is presumed that she threw herself into - the water as soon as she had reached a sufficient distance so that - she would not be seen. The tide was running out; and the rowboat - was picked up by an incoming fisherman early this morning, down - below the bell buoy, three miles from the yacht’s anchorage. The - body has not been recovered. Mr. Viles, millionaire husband of the - dead woman, said to-day that she had been subject to fits of - melancholy for some time. - -Jeff read this while his guest was washing the dishes after supper. She -had thrown herself zealously into these household tasks, as though her -overstrained nerves found relief in them. When she came into the dining -room afterward he laid the paper down in such a manner that she must see -the headline which had caught his eye. - -She did see it, caught up the paper, read hurriedly, looked up when she -was done, to find him watching her. - -“You’ve read it?” she asked. He nodded. “I didn’t think they’d have it -in the papers,” she cried, as though appalled at what she had done. - -“Guess you didn’t make your boat fast when you landed,” Jeff suggested. - -She shook her head. “No. I pushed it off. I hoped they would think -this.” - -He studied her, surprised and thoughtful. “Won’t your husband be kind of -worried about you?” he suggested mildly, and was startled at the fierce -anger behind her reply. - -“I want him to be worried! Oh, I want him to be tortured!” she cried, -and became absorbed once more in that which was printed on the page -before her. “The body has not been recovered,” she read aloud after a -moment; and with a quick change of mood laughed at him, shuddering -faintly. “It does give me a creepy feeling,” she said. - -“I should think it might,” Jeff assented mildly. “Yes, I should think it -would.” - -She was wearing a gingham dress belonging to his wife, which he had -found at her request. Now, sitting across the table from him, she began -to tremble and to laugh in nervous bursts of sound. - -Jeff asked, “What’s the matter! What you laughing at?” - -“I can’t stop,” she told him helplessly. “It just strikes me as funny. I -can’t help laughing. If I didn’t laugh I should cry. They think I’m -dead. Dead!” The word was high pitched, almost like a scream. - -Jeff had seen feminine hysteria before; he said sternly, “You got to -stop. Now you be still.” - -The woman controlled herself at once, nodding reassuringly. “Yes, I’ll -be still. I will be still,” she promised. “You won’t let them find me -here, will you? You won’t let them know I’m here?” - -“Andy Wattles stopped here this morning, in the truck,” Jeff answered. -“I told him you’d come. He’d heard me say you was thinking of coming. It -was safest to tell him.” - -“But I wasn’t thinking of coming!” she cried, appalled. - -“My brother’s girl from California was,” he reminded her; and she nodded -over and over, as a child nods, to show her understanding and her -acquiescence. Her trembling had ceased; her fright was passing. She went -to bed at last, somewhat reassured. - -But the paper next day, in even larger headlines, announced that doubt -was cast upon the theory that she was a suicide. - -“Mr. Viles,” the reporter wrote, “said to-day he thought it possible his -wife might have become temporarily insane; that she was subject to hours -of extreme nervous depression. It is known that she took a considerable -sum of money from a safe in her cabin before she left the yacht. It is -possible that she went ashore upon some errand and was assaulted and -robbed. The three possibilities which the police of East Harbor are -considering are suicide, robbery and murder, or an insane flight.” Jeff -smiled at the picture of Sam Gallop, the “police of East Harbor,” -considering anything. “In order to enlist every possible helper in the -search for the missing woman,” the reporter added, “Mr. Viles has -offered a reward of a thousand dollars for her body or of ten thousand -for information that will lead to her discovery alive.” - -The woman, when she read this, shivered with dread. “They will find me,” -she told Jeff wearily. “Oh, I hoped they would believe me dead.” - -“I dunno as they’ll find you,” Jeff argued. “They’re not apt to look out -this way. They’re more likely to think you headed for Boston or -somewheres.” - -“It’s hopeless,” she insisted. “I think you’d better go tell them where -I am, and get the money. The ten thousand dollars. Some good will come -out of it, that way. I’d like you to have the money. You’ve been kind to -me.” - -The man laughed reassuringly. “Shucks, ma’am,” he said. “What would I do -with a lot of money like that? It’s no good except to buy things with, -and I’ve got more things than I can take care of now. Don’t you fret -yourself. They ain’t going to find you, ma’am.” - -“Everyone knows I’m here. Those women who came to-day--” She moved her -hands drearily. “Someone will tell.” - -Jeff shook his head. “No, they won’t. That was Will Bissell’s wife and -Mrs. McAusland. They heard from the store that you was here; and they’d -heard my wife say you was coming.” - -“Oh, they must have seen that I was--” She paused, unwilling to hurt -him. - -“Different from us folks?” he asked, smiling at her understandingly. -“Well, California folks are different from people around here. They’d -have thought it was funny if you was like us.” - -“And my wearing your wife’s dress.” - -“I told ’em your trunk was lost. You had to have something to work -around the house in.” - -She was, in the end, unwillingly persuaded to a more hopeful point of -view. But when she had gone up the stairs to her room Jeff sat for a -long time, turning the newspaper in his hands, reading over and over -that which was written there. She was so beautiful, so much more -beautiful than anyone he had ever seen; and the gown she wore when she -came to the farm had stamped itself upon his visual memory as a part of -her beauty. That a reward of ten thousand dollars should have been -offered for her discovery did not surprise Jeff; though it added to the -glamour which cloaked her in his eyes. - -“She’s worth more,” he told himself softly. “If she was mine I’d give a -hundred times that much to get her back again.” And he thought of this -husband of hers, whom she wished to torture, and wondered what he had -done to her, and hated this man he had never seen because the woman -hated him. “He’s not going to get her back,” Jeff swore in his thoughts. -“If I can help her keep away from him he’ll not get her again.” There -was nothing possessive in the feeling which was awakening in him. His -devotion to her was a completely unselfish force. - -It was also the most powerful emotion Jeff had felt in all his -fifty-seven years. - - -IV - -Will Belter stopped at the farm next morning, and lingered, talking with -Jeff, watching furtively for a glimpse of the woman; asked at last, -point-blank, if it was true that Jeff’s niece had come to visit him. He -and Jeff were on the porch, outside the kitchen door; and Jeff nodded -and, raising his voice, called to the woman, who was inside. He called -her by his niece’s name. - -“Mary!” - -She came slowly to the door, dreading this contact with a stranger. - -“This here’s Will Belter, one of our neighbors,” Jeff said by way of -introduction. “He lives up on the ridge beyond the village.” - -Will, greedy eyes upon her, said, “Howdo, ma’am!” - -The woman watched him through the screen door, and answered, “How do you -do!” - -He said no more, and after a moment she turned back into the obscurity -of the kitchen. - -Will told Jeff, “She’s older than I figured she’d be.” - -“She looks older,” Jeff agreed. “That long train trip was pretty hard; -and she was kind of sick.” - -“Ain’t but twenty-two or three, is she? I’d think she was thirty, -anyway.” - -“Twenty-four,” Jeff told him. - -When Will presently went on his way Jeff watched his disappearing figure -with stern eyes, and there was trouble in his countenance when he turned -and saw the woman standing inside the screen door and also watching. - -“Who was that?” - -“I’d as soon he hadn’t come here,” Jeff confessed. “He’s a mean hound. A -natural-born talebearer. Maybe we fooled him though.” - -She made no comment, but both understood that her desire to remain -hidden was imperiled by this man’s appearance. The shadow hung over them -all that day. In the evening they read the paper together, found in it -little that was new. - -Afterwards the woman sat for a long time, thoughtfully silent, and at -last said abruptly, “I think I’d better tell you why I ran away.” - -Jeff looked across at her in surprise, hesitated. Then: “You needn’t, -’less you’re a mind to,” he assured her. “It don’t matter a bit in the -world to me.” - -“It is your right to know,” she decided. “And--I’d like to be able to -talk about it with you. It would be a relief, I believe.” - -Jeff nodded. “I expect that’s so,” he assented. - -She took the paper from him, opened it to an inner page and pointed to a -paragraph under a separate headline, beneath the story of her own -disappearance. - -“You saw this about Mr. Viles’ secretary being arrested?” she asked. - -Jeff looked at the paper. The paragraph recited the fact that after a -preliminary hearing Franklin Gardner, secretary to Leander Viles, had -been held for the grand jury on a charge of stealing gems belonging to -the missing woman. - -Ranney nodded. “I heard about his being arrested, in town that day,” he -told her. - -“That was why I had to run away!” she cried, a sudden passion in her -tones. “That was why I had to get away. Because it was I who saw him -take them, and if they made me tell he would have to go to jail.” - -She was leaning across the table, resting on her elbows, her fingers -twisting together; and she watched Jeff anxiously, hungrily, as though -to be sure he understood. - -Jeff considered what she had said for a moment, and at length asked -slowly, “Saw him steal them?” - -“It’s a necklace,” she explained desperately. “Pearls, and a pendant set -with diamonds, very beautifully. Mr. Viles used to boast how much he -paid for it. He was ever so proud of it, you see. He wanted to show it -to a man who is on the yacht with him, and that’s why he asked me to go -down to the cabin and get it from the safe.” - -Jeff was trying to fill out the gaps in her story. “That’s when you -found out the necklace was gone, eh?” he inquired. - -She nodded. Her words came in a rush: - -“I saw Mr. Gardner come out of my cabin door, with the leather case in -his hand. He dodged away; and I suppose he thought I had not seen him. -And when I opened the little safe in my cabin the necklace was gone.” - -Jeff grinned a little at that. “So your husband didn’t get to show it -off, and brag about it, after all?” - -His antipathy toward this husband of hers was increasing. - -The woman shook her head. “I had to go back and tell him it was gone,” -she assented. “And he went into one of his terrible rages. I was -frightened. The doctors have warned him. So I tried to reassure him, -told him that Mr. Gardner had the necklace.” Her hands were tightly -clasped, the knuckles white. “Oh, I shouldn’t have let him know!” she -cried wearily. “But I thought he must have asked Mr. Gardner to get it, -must have given him the combination of the safe. Only he and I had it.” - -Memories silenced her; and Jeff had to prompt her with a question: “But -he hadn’t done that?” - -“He hadn’t! He hadn’t!” she assented in a voice like a wail. “And when -we tried to find Mr. Gardner he was gone. Gone off the yacht. Had run -away. So then Mr. Viles went ashore himself, and by and by he came back, -very well pleased, and said they had caught Mr. Gardner on the boat and -had the necklace back again.” - -“Did you run away right then?” he asked, when he saw she had forgotten -to go on. - -She hesitated, as though choosing her words. - -“No,” she told him. “That was the day before. I was very unhappy even -then. But until the next day I did not realize. Mr. Viles made me see. -It was just before dinner, and I met him in the main cabin. He was very -expansive and very good-humored and triumphant. He spoke of Mr. Gardner. -And he said this to me.” - -She repeated the words in a curious, parrot-like tone, as though they -were engraved upon her memory. “He said: ‘It’s lucky you saw him, Lucia. -If you hadn’t actually seen him come out of your cabin with the necklace -in his hands we probably couldn’t send him to jail, even now!’” - -Jeff was watching her attentively, waiting. - -“I hadn’t really understood, before, that they would send him to jail,” -the woman cried. “I asked Mr. Viles if he meant to do that, and begged -him not to; and he just laughed at me. He said: ‘He’ll do ten years for -this little piece of work, Lucia. And you’ll be the one whose testimony -will send him up. That ought to be a satisfaction to you.’” - -She added, with a movement of her hands as though everything were -explained, “So I ran away. There was a sailor who helped me and gave me -his coat, and I ran away, and got in your car because it was raining so -hard and that was the first place I saw where I could hide and be -sheltered from the rain.” - -She broke off abruptly; and neither of them spoke for a period, while -Jeff considered that which she had told him. - -At length he asked gently, “You didn’t want to see this here Gardner in -jail?” - -The woman cried passionately, “No! No! Oh, he was wrong to steal. If I -had not seen him I would never have believed--But I didn’t want to put -him in jail!” - -“I guess you liked him pretty well,” Jeff said. His tone was -sympathetic, not inquisitive. - -“Yes,” she nodded sadly, as though she spoke of one who were dead. “Yes, -I did.” With a sudden confidence she added, “Why, he was my best friend. -We knew each other so well. It was through him I met Mr. Viles. And then -Frank had to go to Europe on business for Mr. Viles, and he was away so -long, and I did not hear from him. I used to work, you know. I was a -buyer in one of the New York stores. And Mr. Viles was ever so good to -me, and I was tired, and he begged me so. That was how I came to marry -him.” - -“I don’t figure you ever loved him very much,” Jeff suggested after an -interval. - -“He was good to me at first,” she protested. “I think he meant to be -good to me.” - -Silence fell upon them both once more, and this time it persisted. By -and by Jeff rose from his chair, passed behind hers and touched her -shoulder roughly with his heavy hand. - -“I wouldn’t worry too much,” he said cheerfully. “I wouldn’t worry too -much if I was you.” - -She looked up at him and smiled through sudden tears. “You’re good to -me,” she told him. - -“You run along to bed,” Jeff bade her. “Just forget your bothers and run -along to bed.” - -But when she had gone upstairs the man remained for a long time in his -chair beside the warm lamp, thinking over what she had told him, -supplying for himself the things she had not told. Jeff had a shrewd -common sense; he was able to fill in many of the gaps, to see the truths -to which even Lucia was blind. And as he thought, his eyes clouded with -slow anger and his brows drew somewhat together; and when he got up at -last to turn toward his bedroom there was a ferocity in his expression -that no one had ever seen on Jeff Ranney’s face in all his fifty-seven -years. He spoke slowly, half aloud, addressing no one at all. - -“Damn the man,” he muttered. “I’d like to bust him a good one. It’d do -him good.” - -Upon this wish, which had a solemnity about it almost like a prayer, -Jeff went to bed. - - -V - -Next morning, when Andy Wattles drove by the farm with Will Bissell’s -truck on his way to East Harbor, Jeff saw that Andy had a passenger. -Will Belter was riding to town with Andy. They hailed him as they passed -the barn, and Andy waved a hand in greeting as they disappeared. Jeff’s -perceptions were quick; it was no more than half a dozen seconds before -he understood that there was menace in this move on Belter’s part. His -first thought was to stop the man and bring him back, but the truck was -already far away along the townward road. He shook his head; there was -nothing he could do. If Belter meant harm the harm was done. - -But the incident put Jeff on his guard, so that he made it his business -to stay about the house that day; and when, in the early afternoon, an -automobile stopped in the road before the farm he saw it and was ready. -He had given the woman no warning, but she heard the machine, and came -to his side in the dining room and looked out through the window. -Themselves hidden, they could see the car. Three men were in it--the -chauffeur, Will Belter and another. Jeff knew this other man; it needed -not the woman’s exclamation to inform him. Her husband had found her -hiding place. - -When Lucia saw him she sank weakly in a chair beside the table, said in -a voice like a moan, “He’s found me! He’s found me!” - -But for this crisis of his adventure Jeff was ready; he rose to meet the -moment, gripped her shoulder. - -“Just mind this,” he told her swiftly. “Keep your head, ma’am, and mind -what I say. You don’t have to go back with him unless you want. He can’t -make you, ha’n’t no legal way to make you; and if you don’t want to go -you don’t have to go. I’ll see he don’t take you unless you say the -word.” - -She looked up at him in swift gratitude; and he smiled at her and asked, -“Now can’t you take a little heart from that, ma’am?” - -“He’s coming,” she whispered. - -And Jeff looked through the window again and saw that Viles had left -Belter and the chauffeur in the car he had hired in East Harbor. He -himself came steadily toward the kitchen door, while the two other men -watched him from the road. Jeff and the woman heard his loud knock upon -the door. - -At this summons Jeff left her where she sat, her strength returning. He -opened the kitchen door and faced the man he had learned to hate so -blindingly that the passion intoxicated him. Yet his countenance was -calm, his features all composed. - -Viles was a large man without being fat; one of those men who have about -them the apparent solidity of flesh which is the attribute of such dogs -as Boston terriers. He may have been six feet tall, but he was inches -broader across the shoulders than most men of his height. His -countenance was peculiarly pink, as though rich blood coursed too near -the surface of his skin. Jeff marked that he was subject to a certain -shortness of breath, that his eyes were too small, and that even now a -little pulse was beating in the man’s throat. - -Yet Viles spoke in a smooth and pleasant voice, said a jovial good -afternoon and asked if this was Jeff Ranney’s farm. Jeff said it was. - -Viles asked, “Are you Ranney?” - -“I’m Ranney,” Jeff assented. He had not asked the other to come in; the -screen door still separated them. - -“Ah,” said Viles. “I am told your niece from California is visiting you. -I have a rather important bit of business to transact with her.” - -Jeff shook his head. “She ain’t my niece,” he answered frankly. “She’s -your wife, that had to run away from you.” - -His voice was stony; but at his words Viles moved backward a step, as -though under the impact of a blow, and Jeff saw the swift rage mount his -cheeks in a purple flood. Then the rich man laid his hand upon the -screen door, opened it. - -Jeff did not move to one side, and Viles said hoarsely, “Get out of my -way, you impudent fool!” - -Jeff shook his head. “Listen, mister,” he said softly. “This is my -house. You can’t come in here on your own say-so. I’m not fooling with -you either. If you want to come in, you ask.” - -Viles lifted one clenched hand as though to sweep the other aside; and -Jeff added, “I’ve heard enough about you so I’d like right well to mix -it up with you a little bit--if you want to try anything like that. Do -you?” - -“I want to come in,” said Viles hoarsely. - -Jeff considered this for a moment, then he spoke to the woman, over his -shoulder. “Do you want to see him?” he asked her. - -“I suppose so,” she told him wearily. - -Jeff nodded. “All right, mister,” he said to Viles. “Come in and take a -chair.” - -Viles had somewhat recovered himself. He followed Jeff’s indifferent -back into the dining room. The woman did not rise. Jeff set a chair -across the table from her, and Viles sat down in it while Jeff himself -crossed to shut the door that led into the parlor, then came back and -leaned against the kitchen door, watching this husband and wife, waiting -for what they would say. - -Viles had drawn a velvet glove over the iron hand. He asked the woman -gently, “Are you all right, my dear?” She nodded. “You are well?” - -“Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, I am well.” - -He looked toward Jeff. “Mrs. Viles is unfortunately subject to moments -of great depression,” he explained courteously. “In these moments--” He -stopped, arched his eyebrows meaningly, as though Jeff must understand. - -“You mean she has crazy spells?” Jeff asked bluntly. Viles protested -wordlessly. “She don’t act crazy to me,” Jeff commented. “But you may be -right. She married you.” - -He was seeking quite deliberately to goad the other man into violence, -but Viles controlled himself, said across the table to his wife, “We -have been greatly concerned, my dear.” - -“I’m sorry,” she said unconvincingly. - -“It is a relief to know that you have not suffered. That scratch across -your temple--” - -Lucia touched with her fingers the slight wound. “It is nothing.” - -“You must have a good rest in bed when we get back to the yacht,” he -told her. There was an elephantine sportiveness in the man’s demeanor. -“I’m going to enjoy taking care of you.” - -She was silent for a moment, then slowly shook her head. “I don’t think -I’ll go back,” she told him. “I don’t think I’ll go back at all.” - -He tried to laugh easily. “You’re fancying things, Lucia. It is your -home. You belong there.” - -She faced him with a moment of decision. “If you withdraw the charge -against Frank I’ll go back with you, Leander.” - -“Withdraw it?” he asked in pretended astonishment. - -“I can’t bear to have him go to jail,” she cried softly. - -“But, my dear, the man’s a thief; has betrayed the trust I reposed in -him.” - -“I can’t help it. I can’t help it. I don’t want him to go to jail.” - -Viles dropped his eyes to the oilcloth that covered the table and -drummed upon it with his fingers for a moment, then turned to Jeff. - -“I’d be obliged for a few moments’ talk with my wife alone,” he said, a -sardonic note in his tone. - -Jeff held his eyes for a minute, then looked toward the woman. “What -shall I do, ma’am?” he asked, as though it were a matter of course that -he should defer to her. - -She made a weary gesture. “He has a right to that,” she said. - -Jeff nodded. “I’ll come back in fifteen minutes, mister,” he told Viles -menacingly. - -But Viles smiled in affable assent. “That will do finely,” he agreed. - -Jeff went out through the kitchen into the shed. When he was gone Viles -rose and crossed to listen at the door, and heard Jeff go on into the -barn. He returned to the dining room and stood above his wife, and when -she did not move he gripped her chin harshly and turned her face up to -his. No velvet glove upon the iron hand now. She winced a little with -the pain, but made no sound. There was triumph and malice in his grin. - -“Thought you could get away with it, did you, Lucia?” he asked. She said -nothing. “Thought I wouldn’t find you?” Still she made no sound. -“Where’d you pick up this rural squire of yours?” - -His tone was insult, and her continued silence seemed to anger him; he -loosed her chin with a gesture as though he flung her aside; rounded the -table again and sat down facing her and lighted a cigar, watching his -wife through the smoke. For a long minute neither of them moved or -spoke; then she lifted her head, very slowly, and met his eyes. - -After an instant he laughed at her mockingly and leaned forward, -gesturing with the cigar, dropping flecks of ash upon the oilcloth. - -“Lucia, my dear,” he said, “you haven’t played fair with me. You and -that tame cat of yours. And now I’m going to even the score. If you -loved him you shouldn’t have married me. Or having married me you should -have ceased to love him. Isn’t that a fair statement of the ethics of -the case?” - -“I didn’t know, Leander,” she said pitifully. “He had been so long -away.” - -“I sent him away,” the man admitted harshly. “I wanted a clear field, -and got it and got you. Thought I was getting the whole of you. But when -he came back I saw within six months’ time that it was only the husk of -you I had won.” - -“You’re unfair!” she cried. “Frank never spoke to me--there was never -anything--” - -“What do I care?” Viles demanded. “Don’t you suppose I know that? Don’t -you suppose I’ve seen to it that you were both pretty closely looked -after? But you loved him, and he loved you. A blind man could see that -whenever you were together.” - -“I played fair with you,” his wife pleaded. “And he did too.” - -“That’s because you were afraid to do anything else,” he assured her -scornfully. “That’s because you’re weaklings. I’m not a weakling, my -dear. In his place I’d have you. In my place I’ve evened the -score--against both of you.” - -She began to sense that there was something more, something she did not -know. “What?” she asked faintly. “What have you done to him?” - -He puffed at his cigar, relishing it, relishing the situation. “You two -blind fools! Did you think I was also blind?” - -She shook her head helplessly. “What are you trying to say?” - -The man swung around for a moment to look toward the road and make sure -the two men who had come with him were still in the car, then leaned -across the table toward her, speaking softly. - -“I gave Frank the combination of your safe,” he told her, grinning with -delight in this moment of his triumph. “I told him to get the necklace, -and take it to Boston. To have it restrung; a surprise for you. Told him -not to let you see him, not to let you know. The poor fool believed me.” - -She was staring at him, half understanding. “He didn’t steal it? He -didn’t steal it, then?” - -“And the pretty part of it was the way I rang you in,” her husband -assured her mockingly. “Sending you down to the cabin at a moment when I -knew he would be there. So that you might catch him in the very doing of -it. So that your own testimony, my dear, might send this sweetheart of -yours to jail.” Her eyes widened, she was white as snow; and he threw -back his head and laughed aloud. “Ah, you see it now?” - -Lucia came swiftly to her feet. “He didn’t steal it? He didn’t steal -it?” she cried. “Oh, he won’t have to go to jail!” - -Her husband chuckled, watching her narrowly. “Not so quick on the -trigger, Lucia. Not so fast. He’ll go to jail, right enough. Don’t worry -about that. And you’ll send him there.” - -“But he didn’t do it, Leander?” she urged pleadingly. “He’s not a thief -at all!” - -“Of course he isn’t,” Viles assented. “That’s the beauty of the little -trap I laid.” - -Flames were burning in her cheeks now; her head was high. “I won’t -testify against him,” she said swiftly. “You can’t do it without me, and -I won’t--” - -“That was why you ran away?” he asked casually. “To avoid testifying? I -thought as much.” - -“I won’t go back!” she cried. “I’ll go away again!” - -He smiled. “There were others who saw,” he told her mildly. “Do you -suppose I would be content with so loose a plan? They saw him, as well -as you. Saw you also.” He leaned toward her ferociously. “You’ll -testify, and you’ll tell the truth, or I’ll convict you of perjury on -your own lie, my dear. He’ll go to jail certainly; and you also if you -choose.” - -The woman was very intent, her thoughts racing. And suddenly she laughed -in his face. “And I’ll tell what you’ve just told me,” she reminded him. -“How long will your scheme stand then?” - -He shook his head. “Oh, no, you won’t, my dear.” - -“I will.” - -“There is,” he said equably, “a little provision in the law of evidence -which will prevent you. A wife cannot testify to any private -conversation between herself and her husband. Did you suppose I would be -so mad as to let you slip out of this trap so easily? The judge himself -will forbid your saying one word as to what I have told you here.” - -She was trembling with despair. “I won’t obey him!” she cried. “I’ll -tell anyway. The jurymen will believe me.” - -“If you blurt out such a thing against the order of the court you will -be jailed for contempt, and the jury will be forbidden to believe you, -will be told to forget what you have said.” He shook his head mockingly. -“No, Lucia, my dear, there’s no way out. I have told you this simply in -order that you might appreciate the pains I have taken.” He laughed a -little. “What a thoughtful husband you have!” - -He was still sitting, watching her with a cruel satisfaction; but she -was trembling, broken, her knees yielding beneath her. By littles she -sank into her chair, and put her head down upon her arms and wept -bitterly. - -Her husband watched her from across the table and puffed at his cigar. - -Then Jeff Ranney opened the parlor door and came into the room. Viles, -at the sound of the opening door, looked up in surprise, looked toward -the kitchen through which Jeff had disappeared, looked at Jeff again. - -“What were you doing there?” he demanded, coming to his feet in sudden -anger. - -“Listening to you talk,” said Jeff equably. - -“Listening? How long?” - -“Oh, I came right around the house and in the front door, soon as I went -out the back. Heard all you said, I guess.” - -Lucia had stopped crying; she lifted her head and dried her eyes and -looked at Jeff. He looked down at her and smiled, a reassuring smile -that gave her somehow comfort. - -Viles swung toward him, cried aloud, “You dog! I’ll teach you manners!” - -“Yes, sir,” said Jeff slowly. “I’d like right well to mix it up with -you.” - -Viles stopped in his tracks; the man was convulsed and shaking with his -own ferocious rage. “But it ain’t fair to pick on you,” Jeff decided; -“you’re such a fool.” - -Lucia came to her feet, turned to Jeff appealingly. “You heard what he -said?” - -“Yes, ma’am.” - -“Is it true? Can he do this? Is the law that way?” - -Viles reached toward his wife, would have taken her arm. “Lucia!” he -cried. “Come away from here. Come away from here with me.” - -But Jeff put an arm between them, swept the big man back against the -table. For an instant no one of them moved. Then Jeff said slowly, “I -had a lawsuit once, so I happen to know. What he says is all right. On -private conversations. But you see, this wa’n’t private. I heard.” - -“You heard?” she whispered, not understanding. - -Jeff nodded. “Sure. And I can tell anything I heard; and I guess--not -sure, but it don’t matter much, anyhow--I guess you can tell it, too, if -I heard what he said.” - -He was looking down at her, had for the moment forgotten her husband. -But Lucia had not forgotten, and it was Lucia’s cry that warned Jeff. -Viles was tugging a pistol from his pocket. - -Jeff swung his right leg upward, kicked cunningly at the big man’s hand. -The pistol flew across the room; and Viles, roaring with pain, swung in -at Jeff to grapple him. They came breast to breast, stood thus for an -instant, each straining terribly, exerting utmost strength. - -Then Viles’ big head drooped with a little snapping jerk as all his body -let go; and he slid limply through Jeff’s arms to the floor. Jeff’s one -great hour was done. - -An hour later Jeff drove Lucia back to town. He would send a man who -made such matters his profession, to care for what was left of Leander -Viles. - - -VI - -A day or two later Mrs. Ranney came home from Augusta. By that time Jeff -had settled into the old routine once more. His life had become again as -uneventful as any life can be. Save for one or two echoes of his great -adventure--when Lucia wrote that she and Gardner were to wed, and when -their first baby was born--his existence continued in its old accustomed -way. He lived some dozen years or so on his farm eight miles out of East -Harbor. Last winter, while working in his woodlot, he became overheated -and then chilled with the coming of night; and a few days later he -died. - - - - -MINE ENEMY’S DOG - - -I - -Fraternity has not changed in a hundred years; yet is there always some -new thing in Fraternity. It may be only that Lee Motley’s sow has killed -her pigs, or that choleric Old Man Varney has larruped his -thirty-year-old son with an ax helve, or that Jean Bubier has bought six -yearling steers. But there is always some word of news, for the nightly -interchange in Will Bissell’s store, before the stage comes in with the -mail. You may see the men gather there, a little after milking time, -coming from the clean, white houses that are strung like beads along the -five roads which lead into the village. A muscular, competent lot of men -in their comfortable, homely garments. And they sit about the stove, and -talk, and smoke, and spit, and laugh at the tales that are told. - -Fraternity lies in a country of little towns and villages, with curious -names something more than a century old. Liberty is west of Fraternity, -Union is to the southward, Freedom lies northwest. Well enough named, -these villages, too. Life in them flows easily; there is no great -striving after more things than one man can use. The men are content to -get their gardening quickly done so that they may trail the brooks for -trout; they hurry with their winter’s wood to find free time for -woodcock and partridge; and when the snow lies, they go into the woods -with trap for mink or hound for fox. - -Thirty years ago there were farms around Fraternity, and the land was -clear; but young men have gone, and old men have died, and the birches -and the alders and the pines have taken back the land. There are moose -and deer in the swamps, and a wildcat or two, and up in Freedom a man -killed a bear a year ago.... - -The hills brood over these villages, blue and deeper blue from range to -farther range. There is a bold loveliness about the land. The forests, -blotched darkly with evergreens, or lightly splattered with the gay tops -of the birches, clothe the ridges in garments of somber beauty. Toward -sunset a man may stand upon these hilltops and look westward into the -purple of the hills and the crimson of the sky until his eyes are drunk -with looking. Or in the dark shadows down along the river he may listen -to the trembling silences until he hears his pulses pound. And now and -then, with a sense of unreality, you will come upon a deer along some -old wood road; or a rabbit will fluster from some bush and rise on -haunches, twenty yards away. - -The talk in Will Bissell’s store turns, night by night, upon these -creatures of the woods that lie about the town; and by the same token -the talk is filled with speech concerning dogs. The cult of the dog is -strong in Fraternity. Every man has one dog, some have two. These, you -will understand, are real dogs. No mongrels here; no sneaking, hungry, -yapping curs. Predominant, the English setter, gentlest and kindest and -best-natured of all breeds; and, in second place, the lop-eared hounds. -A rabbit hound here and there; but not many of these. Foxhounds more -often. Awkward, low-bodied, heavy dogs that will nevertheless nose out a -fox and push him hard for mile on mile. These are not such fox-hounds as -run in packs for the sport of red-coated men. These are utilitarian -dogs; their function is to keep the fox moving until the hunter can post -himself for a shot. A fox skin is worth money; and cash money is scarce -in Fraternity, as in all such little towns, and very hard to come by. - -There are few sheep in Fraternity, so the dogs are free of that -temptation; but there are deer. The deer is sacrosanct, to be taken only -with rifle and ball, and by a woodcraft that bests the wild thing at its -own game. No dog may justly chase a deer; and a dog so pursuing is -outlawed and may legally be shot by any man. Men without conscience and -dogs without honor will thus pursue the deer, in season and out; -nevertheless, deer running is for the dogs of Fraternity the black and -shameful crime. - -They were talking dogs, on a certain night in late September, in Will -Bissell’s store. A dozen men were there; most of them from the village -itself, two or three from outlying farms. Jim and Bert Saladine, both -keen hunters of the deer, who killed their legal quota year by year, -leaned side by side against the candy counter, and Andy Wattles sold -them licorice sticks. Lee Motley had driven down from his farm above -the Whitcher Swamp; and Jean Bubier had come in from the head of the -Pond; and there was Gay Hunt; and there was George Freeland, and two or -three besides. Proutt was one of these others, Proutt of South -Fraternity, a farmer, a fox hunter, and a trainer of setter dogs. -Finally, Nick Westley, a North Fraternity man, appointed within six -months’ time to be game warden for the district; a gentle man, well -liked in spite of his thankless job; a man with a sense of humor, a -steady and persistent courage, and a kindly tongue. - -This night, as it happened, was to be the beginning of the enmity -between Proutt and Westley. One-sided at first, this ill feeling. -Two-sided at the last, and bitter enough on either side. A strange -thing, dramatic enough in its development, fit to be numbered among the -old men’s tales that were told around the stove.... - -Proutt, the dog breaker, was a man who knew dogs. None denied him that. -“Yes,” they would say; “Proutt’ll break a dog for you. And when he gits -done with your dog, your dog’ll mind.” If you scented some reservation -in word or tone, and asked a question, you got no explanation. But your -informant might say casually: “Hepperton’s a good man with a dog, too. -Over in Liberty. Gentles ’em.” - -Persistent inquiry might have brought out the fact that Hepperton never -whipped a dog; that Proutt knew no other method. Lee Motley, who loved -dogs, used to tell an incident. “Went out with Proutt once,” he would -explain. “After woodcock, we was. He was breaking a two-year-old. Nice -a dog as I ever see. First bird, she took a nice point; but she broke -shot. He had him a rawhide strap; and he called her in and I never see a -dog hurt worse. And after that he, couldn’t get her out from under his -legs. Ain’t been out with him since. Not me.” - -Proutt was not liked. He was a morose man, and severe, and known to -nurse a grudge. But he turned out dogs which knew their business, and -none denied him this. So had he his measure of respect; and his -neighbors minded their own affairs and kept out of the man’s harsh path. - -Curiously enough, though he trained setters, Proutt did not like them. -He preferred the hound; and his own dog--a lop-eared brown-and-white -named Dan--was his particular pride. This pride was like the pride of a -new father; it showed itself in much talk of Dan’s deeds and Dan’s -virtues, so that Fraternity’s ears were wearied with the name of Dan, -and it was the fashion to grin in one’s sleeve at Proutt’s tales and to -discredit them. - -Proutt spoke, this night, of a day’s hunting of the winter before. How, -coursing the woods, he had heard a hound’s bay far below him, and had -taken post upon a ledge across which he thought the fox would come. “Dan -’uz with me,” he said, in his hoarse loud voice. “I says to Dan: ‘Set’ -and he set on his ha’nches, right aside me, cocking his nose down where -t’other dog was baying, waiting, wise as an owl. - -“I had my old gun, with Number Threes in both bar’ls; and me and Dan -stayed there, awaiting; and the baying come nearer all the time, till I -see the fox would come acrost that ledge, sure. - -“Cold it was. Wind ablowing, and the snow acutting past my ears. Not -much snow on the ground; but it was froze hard as sand. I figured Dan’d -get uneasy; but he never stirred. Set where I’d told him to set; and us -awaiting. - -“Time come, I see the fox, sneaking up the ledge at that long, easy lope -o’ theirs. Dan see him too. His ears lifted and he looked my way. I -says: ‘Set.’ And he let his ears down again, and stayed still. Fox come -along, ’bout five rods below us. Crossed over there. So fur away I -knowed I couldn’t drop him. Never pulled; and he never saw me; and old -Dan set where he was. Never moved a mite. - -“After a spell, Will Belter’s hound come past; and then come Will -himself, cutting down from where he’d been waiting. Says: ‘See a fox go -by?’ And I told him I did. He ast why I didn’t shoot; and I says the fox -was too fur off. And he says: ‘Where was your dog?’ So I told him Dan -was setting right by me.” - -Proutt laughed harshly, and slapped a triumphant hand upon his knee. -“Will wouldn’t believe me,” he declared, “till I showed him tracks, -where he wuz, and where the fox went by.” - -He looked around for their admiration; but no one spoke at all. Only one -or two glanced sidewise at each other, and slowly grinned. The tale was -all right, except for a thing or two. In the first place, Proutt was no -man to let a fox go by, no matter how long the shot; and, in the second -place, Dan was known to be a surly dog, not overly obedient, unruly as -his master. And, in the third place, this incident, thoroughly -authenticated, had happened two years before to another man and another -dog, as everyone in the store knew. Proutt had borrowed his tale from a -source too close home.... - -So they knew he lied; but no one cared to tell him so. Only, after a -little silence, Nick Westley, the game warden, said with a slow twinkle -in his eye: “Proutt, that reminds me of a story my father used to tell.” - -Proutt grunted something or other, disgusted with their lack of -appreciation; and Westley took it for encouragement, and began to -whittle slow, fine shavings from a sliver of pine which he held in hand, -and told the tale. - - * * * * * - -“It was when he was younger,” he explained, “before he was married, -while he still lived at home. But I’ve heard him tell the story many a -time. - -“My Uncle Jim was living then; and he and my father had a hound. Good -dog he was, too. Good as Dan, I think, Proutt. - -“Well, one winter morning, with six or eight inches of loose snow on the -ground, they were working up some old wood in the shed; and they saw the -old hound drift off into the pasture and up the hill. And after a spell -they heard him yelling down by the river. - -“Jim said to my father: ‘He’s got a fox.’ And father said: ‘Jim, let’s -go get that fox.’ So they dropped their axes, and went in and got their -guns, and they worked up through the pasture and over the hill till -they located the dog’s noise, and they figured the fox would come up -around the hill by a certain way; and so they posted themselves there, -one on either side of the path they thought he would take. And set to -waiting. And it was cold as could be, and cold waiting, and they stamped -their feet a little, but they couldn’t move much for fear the fox would -see them. - -“So they were both well pleased when they saw the fox coming; and they -both shot when he came in range, because they were cold and in a hurry -and anxious to be done. - -“Well, they shot into each other. Jim yelled: ‘Damn it, my legs are full -of shot!’ And my father said: ‘Mine too, you clumsy coot!’ So they made -remarks to each other for a spell; and then Jim said: ‘Well, anyway, -there’s the fox; and I’m full of your shot, and I’m half froze. Let’s -skin the darn critter and get home.’ - -“So father agreed; and they went at it. The old dog had come up by then, -and was sitting there with an eye on the fox, as a dog will. And father -took the front legs and Jim took the hind legs, and they worked fast. -And they kept cussing their hurts, and the cold, and each other. But -they slit the legs down, and skinned out the tail, and trimmed up the -ears and all, knives flying. And when they got about done, Jim, he said: - -“‘Look ahere, there’s not a bullet in this fox.’ - -“Well, they looked, and they couldn’t find a hole. Only there was a blue -streak across the fox’s head where a bullet had gone. And that was queer -enough, but father said: ‘I don’t give a hoot. There’s bullets enough -in me. Skin out his nose and let’s go.’ - -“So they cussed each other some more, and finished it up; and Jim, he -heaved the carcass out into the brush, and father slung the skin over -his shoulder, and they turned around to start home. - -“Well, just about then the old dog let out behind them, and they whirled -around. And father always used to say that, mad as they were at each -other, they forgot all about it then; and they bust out laughing. He -said you couldn’t blame them. He said you never saw anything funnier. - -“You see, that fox was just stunned. The cold snow must have revived -him. Because when my father and Uncle Jim looked around, that skinless -fox was going up over the hill like a cat up a tree--and the old dog hot -on his heels.” - - * * * * * - -The store rocked with their mirth as Westley stopped. Lee Motley roared, -and the Saladines laughed in their silent fashion, and Will Bissell -chuckled discreetly behind Proutt’s back. Westley himself displayed such -surprise at their mirth that they laughed the more; and fat little Jean -Bubier shook a finger at Proutt and cried: - -“And that will put the bee to your Dan, M’sieu Proutt. That will hold -your Dan for one leetle while, I t’ink.” - -Proutt himself was brick-red with fury; and his eyes were black on -Westley; but he pulled himself together, and he laughed ... shortly. - -His eyes did not leave Westley’s face. And Lee Motley found a chance to -warn the warden a little later. “It was a good joke,” he said. “You -handed it to him right. But look out for the man, Westley. He’s mad.” - -Westley, still smiling, was nevertheless faintly troubled. “I’m sorry,” -he said. “I did it for a joke.” - -“He can’t take a joke,” said Motley. - -The warden nodded, considering. “I’ll tell you,” he told Motley. “I’ll -square it with him.” - -“If it was me,” Motley agreed, “I would.” - -Westley did not like to make enemies. And there had been only the -friendliest malice in his jest. He took his measures to soothe Proutt -before they left the store that night. - -Westley had a dog, a setter, clean-blooded, from one of the country’s -finest kennels. A New York man who had shot woodcock with the warden the -year before had sent the dog as a friendly gift, and Westley accepted it -in the same spirit. In its second year and still untrained, it had -nevertheless won Westley and won his wife and his children. They all -loved the dog, as they loved each other.... - -Originally this dog had been called Rex. The Westleys changed this name -to Reck, which may be short for Reckless, or may be a name by itself. At -any rate, it pleased them, and it pleased the dog.... - - * * * * * - -The dog was untrained, and Westley had no time for the arduous work of -training. He had meant to send Reck, this fall, to Hepperton, in -Liberty; but, to make his amends to Proutt, he took the latter aside -this night and asked Proutt to take the training of the dog. - -On longer consideration, he might not have done this; but Westley was a -man of impulse and, as has been said, he was anxious to keep Proutt as a -friend. Nevertheless, he had no sooner asked Proutt to take the dog than -he regretted it, and hoped Proutt would refuse. But the dog trainer only -gave a moment to slow consideration, with downcast eyes. - -Then he said huskily: “I charge fifty dollars.” - -“Sure,” said Westley. - -“He’s a well-blooded dog,” said Proutt. “I’ll come to-morrow and fetch -him.” - -And with no further word--they were outside the store--he drove away. -Westley, watching him go, was filled with vague disquiet. He wished he -might withdraw; he wished Proutt would change his mind; he wished the -trainer might not come next day.... - -But Proutt did come, and Westley himself bade Reck into the trainer’s -buggy and watched the dog ride away with wistful eyes turned backward. - -Westley’s wife was more concerned than he; and he forgot his own anxiety -in reassuring her. - - -II - -There are a thousand methods for the training of a bird dog, and each -man prefers his own. There are some dogs which need much training; there -are others which require little or none. - -Reck was so nobly blooded that the instincts of his craft were deeply -bedded in him. On his first day in the alder swamps with Proutt he -proved himself to the full. Proutt was a dog beater, as all men know, -but he did not beat dogs which obeyed him, and he did not beat Reck. -This first day he was merely trying the dog. - -Reck found a bird, and took stanch point, steady as a rock. It was not -yet October, the season was not yet open; and so Proutt had no right to -shoot. Nevertheless he did walk up this bird, and flushed it from where -it lay six feet before Reck’s nose, and knocked it over before it topped -the alders. - -Reck stood at point till the bird rose; when its whistling wings lifted -it, his nose followed it upward, followed its fall.... But he did not -stir, did not break shot; and Proutt, watching, knew that this was -indeed a dog. - -When the bird had fallen, Proutt said softly: “Reck! Fetch dead bird.” - -Now, this is in some measure the test of a setter. There are many -setters which take a natural point and hold it; there are some few which -are also natural retrievers, without training. Reck had been taught by -Westley’s children to fetch sticks or rocks at command. He knew the -word. - -He went swiftly forward and brought the woodcock, scarce ruffled, and -laid it in Proutt’s hand. And Proutt took the bird, and stood still, -looking down at Reck with a darkly brooding face. Considering, -weighing.... After a little he began to curse softly, under his breath; -and he turned and stamped out of the alder run, and bade Reck to heel, -and went home. And Reck trotted at his heels, tongue out, panting -happily.... - -There are many ways by which the Devil may come at a man. One of them is -through hatred, and another way is to put a helpless thing in that man’s -hands. If the good in him outweighs the bad, well enough; but if the -evil has ascendancy, then that man is utterly lost and damned. - -Proutt hated Westley; Proutt had in his hands Reck, a dog by Westley -well-beloved. And Reck was pliant in Proutt’s hands, both because Proutt -knew dogs and because Reck was by nature tractable, eager to please, -anxious to do that which he was asked to do. The combination presented -itself to Proutt full clearly, as he walked his homeward way that day, -and it is to be supposed that he fought out what fight there was within -himself, during that long walk, and through the evening that followed. - -That Proutt had some battle with himself cannot be denied. No man sets -out to destroy a soul without first overcoming the scruples which bind -him; and there were scruples in Proutt. There must have been. He loved -dogs, loved fine dogs, and Reck was fine. Yet the destruction of Reck’s -honor and reputation and life--these were the ends which Proutt set -himself to bring about--at what pain to his own heart no man may fully -guess. It can only be known that in the end his hatred outweighed all -else--that he threw himself into the thing he meant to do. - - * * * * * - -Reck, as has been shown, needed no training for his appointed work. Yet -Proutt kept him, labored with him daily, for close to four long weeks, -as all Fraternity men knew. None saw that training. It was known that -Proutt took Reck far over the Sheepscot Ridge, where farms were all -deserted, and no man was like to come upon him. But he had done that -with dogs before, for woodcock lay thick in Sheepscot Valley. Once or -twice men heard the barking of a dog in that valley; and there was a -measure of pain in the notes. And three times men met Proutt driving -homeward, with Reck lying weary and subdued upon the floor of the buggy, -scarce fit to lift his head. It was remarked that Proutt was more dour -and morose than ever; and Lee Motley thought the man was aging.... - - * * * * * - -One man only, and that man Jim Saladine, caught some inkling of that -which was afoot. Jim was a deer hunter; and toward mid-October, with a -shotgun under his arm for luck’s sake, but never a buckshot in his -cartridge pocket, he went one day into the Sheepscot Valley to search -out the land. Deer lay in the swamps there; and Jim sought to locate -them against the coming season. He moved slowly and quietly, as his -custom was; ears and eyes open. And he saw many things which another man -would never have seen. - -Two things he saw which had significance. Once, in a muddy patch along -the Sheepscot’s brim, he came upon a deer’s track; and other tracks -beside it. A man’s track, and a dog’s. - -Jim studied these tracks. They were sadly muddled; and he could make -little of them. But he was sure of this much--that man and dog had been -attentive to the tracks of the deer. And this stayed in Jim’s mind, -because no dog in Fraternity has any business with the track of a deer, -and no man may justly set a dog upon such track. - -Later that day Jim was to find some explanation for what he had seen. -Where Fuller’s brook comes into the Sheepscot, there lies an open meadow -half a mile long, and half as broad; and near the lower end of the -meadow half a dozen alders group about a lone tree in the open. Deer and -moose, coming up the Sheepscot Valley, are like to cross the stream -below and then traverse this meadow; and Jim Saladine stopped under -cover at the meadow’s head--it was near dusk--to see what he should see. - -He saw what you may see any day along the Sheepscot, and what, by the -same token, you may go a weary year without seeing. He saw a deer, a -proud buck, come up from the stream and follow the meadow toward where -he lay. It passed the isolated alder clump, and something there gave it -alarm; for Jim saw its head lift--saw then the quick leap and rush which -carried the creature to cover and away.... - -Saw something else. Out from the alder clump burst a man, driving before -him a dog. Dusk was falling, Jim could see their figures only dimly. But -this much he saw. The man urged the dog after the deer, with waving -arms; and the dog, ever looking backward shame-facedly, trotted slowly -off upon the trail, the man still urging from behind. - -They slipped into the brush where the deer had gone, and Jim caught no -further glimpse of them. - -Now, Saladine was an honest man, who loved the deer he hunted; and he -was angry. But he was also a just man; and he could not be sure whom he -had seen. So it was that he kept a still tongue, and waited, and through -the weeks that followed he watched, patiently enough, for what should -come. - -He meant, in that hour, to take a hand. - - -III - -With a week of October left, Proutt took Reck home to Westley. Westley -was not there, but Mrs. Westley marked Proutt’s lowering eye, and was -frightened of the man, and told Westley so when he came. But Westley was -well enough pleased to have Reck back again; and he bade her forget -Proutt. - -Proutt had been, thus far, somewhat favored by fortune. The business of -his office had taken Westley away from Fraternity for two weeks at a -time, so that Proutt had had full time to do with Reck as he chose. -Fraternity knew nothing of what had happened, though Jim Saladine may -have guessed. There was one night at Will’s store when Jim and Proutt -were near fisticuffs. Proutt had brought Dan with him to the store; and -Jim, studying the surly dog, asked: - -“Dan ever notice a deer, Proutt?” - -Proutt exclaimed profanely. “No,” he said. - -“I was over in the Sheepscot, t’other day,” said Jim evenly. “See -tracks where a dog had been after a deer.” - -“More like it was one of these setters,” Proutt declared, watching them -all from beneath lowered lids. “They’ll kill a deer, or a sheep, give -’em a chance.” - -“It was hound’s tracks,” Jim persisted mildly; and something in Jim’s -tone, or in Proutt’s own heart, made the trainer boil into fury, so that -he strode toward Saladine. But Will Bissell came between, and the matter -passed. - -Proutt, before this, had taken Reck home; and the Westleys made much of -the dog. Reck had affable and endearing little tricks of his own. He had -a way of giving welcome, drawing back his upper lip so that his teeth -showed as though in a snarl, yet panting with dog laughter all the time; -and he had a way of talking, with high whines of delight, or throaty -growls that ran the scale. And he would lie beside Westley, or beside -Westley’s wife, and paw at them until they held his paw in their hands, -when he would go contentedly enough to sleep. - -They thought the dog was unhappy when he came home to them. He had a -slinking, shamed way about him. At first Westley supposed Proutt had -whipped him; but Reck showed no fear of a whip in Westley’s hands. After -two or three days this furtiveness passed away and Reck was the joyously -affectionate creature he had always been. So the Westleys forgot his -first attitude of guilt, and loved him ardently as men and women will -love a dog. - -Westley had opportunity for one day’s hunting with him, and Reck never -faltered at the task to which he had been born and bred. - -He had one fault. Chained, he would bark at the least alarm, in a manner -to wake the neighborhood. So Westley had never kept him chained. It was -not the way of Fraternity to keep dogs in the house of nights; so Reck -slept in the woodshed, and Westley knocked a plank loose and propped it, -leaving Reck an easy avenue to go out or in. It was this custom of -Westley’s which gave Proutt the chance for which he had laid his plans. - -October had gone; November had come. This was in the days when woodcock -might be shot in November if you could find them. But most men who went -into the woods bore rifles; for it was open season for deer. Now and -then you might hear the snapping crash of a thirty-thirty in Whitcher -Swamp, or at one of the crossings, or--if you went so far--in the alder -vales along the Sheepscot. And one day in the middle of the month, when -the ground was frozen hard, Proutt came to Nick Westley’s home. - -He came at noon, driving his old buggy. Westley was at dinner when he -heard Proutt drive into the yard; and he went to the door and bade the -dog trainer come in. But Proutt shook his head, and his eyes were -somber. - -“You come out, Westley,” he said. “I’ve a word for you.” - -There was something in Proutt’s tone which disturbed Westley. He put on -his mackinaw, and drew his cap down about his ears, and went out into -the yard. Reck had been asleep on the doorstep when Proutt appeared; he -had barked a single bark. But now he was gone into the shed, out of -sight; and when Westley came near Proutt’s buggy, the dog trainer asked: - -“Did you see Reck sneak away?” - -Westley was angry; and he was also shaken by a sudden tremor of alarm. -He said hotly enough: “Reck never sneaks. He did not sneak away.” - -“He knows I saw him,” said Proutt. “He heard me yell.” - -Westley asked, with narrowing eyes: “What are you talking about? Where -did you see him?” - -“This morning,” Proutt declared. “Scant daylight. Down in the Swamp.” - -Westley stood very still, trying to remember whether he had seen Reck -early that morning. And he could only remember, with a shocking -certainty, that Reck had not been at home when he came out of the house -to do his chores. He had called and got no answer; and it may have been -half an hour before the dog appeared. It had disturbed Westley at the -time; and he scolded Reck for self-hunting. But any dog will range the -home farm in the morning hours, and Westley had not taken the matter -seriously. - -Proutt’s words, and his tone more than his words, made the matter very -serious indeed. Westley forced himself to ask: “What were you doing in -the Swamp?” - -“I was after a deer,” said Proutt; and when Westley remained silent, -Proutt added huskily: “So was Reck.” - -Westley cried: “That’s a lie.” But his own voice sounded strange and -unnatural in his ears. He would not believe. Yet he knew that other -dogs had chased deer in the past, and would again. He had himself shot -half a dozen. It was the law; and he was the instrument of the law. And -this was the very bitterness of Proutt’s accusation; for if it were -true, then he must shoot Reck. And Westley would as soon have shot one -of his own blood as the dog he loved. - -In the little instant of silence that followed upon his word, he saw all -this, too clearly. And in spite of his love for Reck, and in spite of -his ardent longing to believe that Proutt had lied, he feared -desperately that the man spoke truth. Westley’s wife would never have -believed; for a woman refuses to believe any evil of those she loves. -She is loyal by refusing to believe; a man may believe and be loyal -still. - -Westley did not know whether to believe or not; but he knew that he was -terribly afraid. He told Proutt: “That’s a lie!” And Proutt, after a -long moment, clucked to his horse and started on. Westley called after -him: “Wait!” - -Proutt stopped his horse; and Westley asked: “What are you going to do?” - -“You’re game warden,” Proutt told him sullenly. “Nobody around here can -make you do anything, less’n you’re a mind to. But I’ve told you what’s -going on.” - -Westley was sweating in the cold, and said pitifully: “Proutt, are you -sure?” - -“Yes,” said Proutt; and Westley cried: “What did you see?” - -“I had a deer marked,” said Proutt slowly. “He’d been feeding under an -old apple tree down there. I was there before day this morning, -figuring to get a shot at him. Crep’ in quiet. Come day, I couldn’t see -him. But after a spell I heard a smashing in the brush, and he come out -through an open, and was away before I could shoot. And hot after him -came Reck.” - -“How far away?” Westley asked. - -“Not more’n ten rod.” - -“You couldn’t be sure.” - -“Damn it, man, I know Reck. Besides, I wouldn’t want to say it was him, -would I? He’s a grand dog.” - -“What did you do?” Westley asked. - -“Yelled at him to come in.” - -“Did he stop?” - -“Stopped for one look, and then one jump into the brush and away he -went.” - -Westley was almost convinced; he turned to call Reck, with some curious -and half-formed notion that he might catechize the dog himself. But when -he turned, he found Reck at his side; and the setter was standing -steadily, legs stiff and proud like a dog on show, eyes fixed on Proutt. -There was no guilt in his attitude; nor was there accusation. There was -only steady pride and self-respect; and Westley, at sight of him, could -not believe this damning thing. - -He said slowly: “Look at him, Proutt. If this were true, he’d be -ashamed, and crawling. You saw some other dog.” - -Proutt shook his head. “He’s a wise, bold dog, is Reck. Wise as you and -me. He’ll face it out if he can.” - -Westley pulled himself together, dropping one hand on Reck’s head. “I -don’t believe it, Proutt,” he said. “But I’m going to make sure.” - -“I am sure,” said Proutt. “You can do as you please. But don’t ask me to -keep my mouth shut. You was quick enough to shoot Jackson’s dog when you -caught her on that doe.” - -“I know,” said Westley; and his face was white. “I’ll be as quick with -Reck, when I’m sure.” - -“You’ll take pains not to get sure.” - -Westley held his voice steady. “Did you ever have to call Reck off deer -tracks?” - -“No.” - -“Then he’s never been taught not to run them?” - -“Neither had Jackson’s dog.” - -“What I mean,” said Westley, “is this. He doesn’t know it’s wrong to run -deer.” - -“That’s no excuse.” - -“I’m not excusing him.” - -Proutt swore. “Well, what are you doing?” - -“I’m going to take him into the swamp and find a deer,” said Westley -slowly. “See what he does. He’s never been taught not to run them. So -he’ll run any that we find. If it’s in him to do it, he’ll take after -them--” - -Proutt nodded; and there was a certain triumph in his eyes. “You take -your gun along,” he said. “You’re going to need that gun.” - -Westley, white and steady, said: “I’ll take the gun. Will you come -along?” - -“Sure.” - -“Do you know where we can find a deer?” - -“No; not this time o’ day.” - -Westley turned toward the house. “Wait,” he said. “I’ll get my gun; and -we’ll go pick up Jim Saladine. He’ll know.” - -Proutt nodded. “I’ll wait,” he agreed. - -Westley went into the house. Reck stood on the doorstep. Proutt, -waiting, watched Reck with a flickering, deadly light in his sullen -eyes. - - -IV - -Saladine listened silently to Westley’s request; but he looked at Proutt -with an eye before which Proutt uneasily turned away his head. -Nevertheless, being by nature a taciturn man, he made no comment or -suggestion. He only said: “I can find a deer.” - -“Where?” Westley asked. - -“Over in the Sheepscot,” said Saladine. “I’ve got mine for this season; -but I know some hardwood ridges over there where they’re like to be -feeding, come evening.” - -Proutt said uneasily: “Hell, there’s a deer nearer than Sheepscot.” - -“Where?” Westley asked. - -“Everywhere.” - -“We ain’t got time to cover that much territory to-day,” the hunter said -mildly. “If the Sheepscot suits, I’ll go along. I’m most sure well pick -up deer.” - -Westley asked: “Do you think I’m testing Reck fair?” - -Saladine spat. “Yes, I’d say so,” he agreed. - -“I’ve got work to do,” Proutt still objected. “Sheepscot’s a danged long -way.” - -“I want you to come,” said Westley. - -So Proutt assented at last; and they set off in his team. He and Westley -in the front seat, Saladine and Reck behind. A five-mile drive over the -Sheepscot Ridge. “Past Mac’s Corner,” Saladine told them; and they went -that way. - -The road took them by Proutt’s house; and old Dan, Proutt’s hound, came -out to bark at them, and saw Proutt, and tried to get into the buggy. -Proutt bade him back to the house; then, as an afterthought, got out and -shut the hound indoors. “Don’t want him following,” he said. - -Saladine’s eyes were narrow with thought, but he made no comment, and -they moved on their way. - -That part of Maine in which Fraternity lies is a curious study for -geologists. A good many centuries ago, when the great glaciers graved -this land, they slid down from north to south into the sea, and in their -sliding plowed deep furrows, so that the country is cut up by ridges, -running almost true north and south, and ending in peninsulas with bays -between. Thus the coast line is jagged as a saw. - -These ridges run far up into the State; and the Sheepscot Ridge is as -bold as any one of them. There is no break in it; and it herds the -little waterways down into Sheepscot River, and guides the river itself -south till it meets the sea. There are trout in Sheepscot; and thirty -years ago the valley was full of farms and mills; but these farms are -for the most part deserted now, and the mills are gone, leaving only -shattered dams to mark the spots where they stood. The valley is a -tangle of second-growth timber, broken here and there by ancient meadows -through which brooks meander. Here dwells every wild thing that the -region knows. - -Proutt’s old buggy climbed the long road up the eastern slope of the -ridge; and the somber beauty of the countryside lay outspread behind -them. The sun was falling lower; the shadows were lengthening; and a -cold wind blew across the land. Across George’s Valley and George’s Lake -lay the lower hills, the Appleton Ridge beyond, and far southeast the -higher domes of Megunticook and the Camden Hills. The bay itself could -not be seen, but the dark top of Blue Hill showed, twenty miles beyond -the bay; and Mount Desert, ten miles farther still.... - -The men had no eyes for these beauties. They rode in silence, watching -the road ahead. And they passed through Liberty, and past Mac’s Corner, -and so up to top the ridge at last. Paused there to breathe Proutt’s -horse. - - * * * * * - -Back at Proutt’s home, about the time they were in Liberty, some one had -opened the door of the shed in which old Dan was locked; and the hound, -watching his chance, scuttled out into the open. What well-founded habit -prompted him can only be guessed; certain it is that he wheeled, never -heeding the calls from behind him, and took the road by which Proutt had -gone, hard on his master’s trail. - -If the dog trainer had known this, matters might have turned out -differently. But Proutt could not know. - - -V - -The roads from Sheepscot Ridge down into Sheepscot Valley are for the -most part rough and little used. An occasional farmer comes this way; an -occasional fisherman drops from the steep descent to the bridge. But the -frost has thrown boulders up across the road; and grass grows between -the ruts, and the young hardwood crowds close on either side. Down this -road, at Saladine’s direction, Proutt turned; and the westering sun -shone through the leafless branches and laid a bright mosaic before the -feet of the horse. - -Halfway down the hill Saladine spoke. “Let’s light out,” he said. “We’ll -find something up along this slope.” - -Westley nodded; and Proutt, after a moment’s hesitation, stopped his -horse. They got out, and Reck danced about their feet. Proutt tied the -horse to a sapling beside the road; and they climbed the ruined stone -wall and turned into the wood. Westley alone had a gun; the others were -unarmed. - -The course Saladine set for them was straight along the slope, moving -neither up nor down; and the three men, accustomed to the woods, went -quickly. Westley spoke to Reck now and then. His only word was the -hunter’s command. “Get in there,” he said. “Get in. Go on.” And Reck -ranged forward, and up, and down, covering a front of half a dozen rods -as they advanced. Westley was in the middle, Saladine was below, Proutt -above the other two. - -Westley had suggested putting his hunting bell on Reck; but Proutt -negatived that with a caustic word. “He’d know, then, you wanted birds,” -he said. “And, anyways, it’d scare the deer.” So they followed the dog -by sight or by the stirring of his feet among the leaves; and at times -he was well ahead of them, and at times when he moved more slowly they -were close upon his heels. At such moments Westley held them back till -Reck should work ahead. - -Whether Reck had any knowledge of what was in their minds, no man can -say. There were moments when they saw he was uncertain, when he turned -to look inquiringly back at them. But for the most part he worked -steadily back and forth as a good dog will, quartering the ground by -inches. And always he progressed along the ridge, and always they -followed him. And Saladine, down the slope, watched Proutt as they moved -on. - -No man spoke, save that Westley urged Reck softly on when the dog turned -back to look at them. And at the last, when he saw that Reck had found -game, it needed no word to bring the three together, two or three rods -behind the dog. - -Reck, as the gunners say, was “marking game.” Nose down, he moved -forward, foot by foot; and now and then he stopped for long seconds -motionless, as though at point; but always he moved forward again. And -Westley felt the cold sweat upon his forehead; and he looked at Proutt -and saw the dog trainer licking his tight lips. Only Saladine kept a -steady eye upon the dog and searched the thickets ahead. - -After a rod or two Reck stopped, and this time he did not move. And -Westley whispered to the others: “Walk it up, whatever it is. Move in.” -So the men went slowly forward, eyes aching with the strain of staring -into the shadows of the wood. - -When Reck took his point he was well ahead of them. He held it while -they came up beside him; and then, as they passed where the dog stood, -something plunged in the brush ahead, and they all saw the swift flash -of brown and the bobbing white tail as a buck deer drove straight away -from them along the slope. And Proutt cried triumphantly: - -“A deer, by God! I said it. I told you so. Shoot, Westley. Damn you, -shoot!” - -Westley stood still as still, and his heart was sunk a hundred fathoms -deep. His hand was shaking and his eyes were blurred with tears. For -Reck, who had no rightful concern with anything that roved the woods -save the creatures which go on the wing, had marked a deer. Enough to -damn him! Had hunted deer!... - -He tried to lift the gun, but Saladine spoke sharply. “Hold on. Look at -the dog. He didn’t chase the deer.” - -Westley realized then that Reck was, in fact, still marking game, moving -slowly on ahead of them. But Proutt cried: “He’d smelled it; he didn’t -see it go. Or there’s another ahead.” - -“He didn’t chase the deer,” said Saladine. Westley, without speaking, -moved forward behind the dog. And of a second his heart could beat -again. - -For they came to where the buck had been lying, to his bed, still warm. -And Reck passed over this warm bed, where the deer scent was so strong -the men could almost catch it themselves; passed over this scent as -though it did not exist, and swung, beyond, to the right, and up the -slope. The buck had gone forward and down. - -“He’s not after deer,” said Saladine. - -They knew what he was after in the next instant; for wings drummed ahead -of them, and four partridges got up, huge, fleeting shadows in the -darkening woods. And Reck’s nose followed them in flight till they were -gone, then swung back to Westley, wrinkling curiously, as though he -asked: - -“Why did you not shoot?” - -Westley went down on his knees and put his arms about the dog’s neck; -and then he came to his feet uncertainly as Proutt exclaimed: “Hell, he -was after deer. He knew we were watching. Took the birds.” - -Westley tried to find a word, but Saladine, that silent man, stepped -forward. - -“Westley,” he said, “wait a minute. You, Proutt, be still.” - -They looked at him uncertainly, Proutt growling. And Saladine spat on -the ground as though he tasted the unclean. “I’ve kept my mouth shut. -Wanted to see. Meant to tell it in the end. Westley, Proutt broke your -dog.” - -Westley nodded. “Yes.” He looked at Proutt. - -“He broke him to run deer.” - -Westley began to tremble, and he could not take his eyes from Saladine; -and Proutt broke out in a roaring oath, till Saladine turned slowly upon -him. - -The deer hunter went on: “I waited to see. I knowed what would come; but -I wanted to see. A bird dog’s bred to birds. If he’s bred right, it’s in -him. Reck’s bred right. You can make him run deer. Proutt did. But you -can’t make him like it. Birds is his meat. You saw that just now. He -didn’t pay any heed to that buck; but he did pay heed to the pa’tridge.” - -Proutt cried: “Damn you, Saladine, you can’t say a thing like that.” - -Saladine cut in: “I saw you. Month ago. Down by Fuller’s Brook. A deer -crossed there, up into the meadow. You was in the alders with Reck, and -you tried to set him on. He wouldn’t run, and you drove him. I saw you, -Proutt.” - -Westley looked down at Reck; and he looked at Proutt, the trainer; and -he looked back at Reck again. There was something in Reck’s eyes which -made him hot and angry; there was a pleading something in Reck’s slowly -wagging tail.... And Westley turned to Proutt, cool enough now; and he -said: - -“I can see it now, Proutt. I’ve known there was something, felt there -was something.” He laughed joyously. “Why, Proutt, you man who knows -dogs. Didn’t you know you could not kill the soul and the honor of a dog -like mine? Reck is a thoroughbred. He knows his work. And you--” - -He moved a little toward the other. “Proutt,” he said, “I’m going to -lick you till you can’t stand.” - -Proutt’s big head lowered between his shoulders. “So--” he said. - -And Westley stepped toward him. - -Saladine said nothing; Reck did not stir; and the woods about them were -as still as still. It was in this silence, before a blow could be -struck, that they heard the sound of running feet in the timber above -them; and Saladine said swiftly: “Deer!” - -He moved, with the word, half a dozen paces back by the way they had -come, to an old wood road they had crossed, and stood there, looking up -the slope. Westley and Proutt forgot each other and followed him; and -Reck stayed close at Westley’s heel. They could hear the beating feet -more plainly now; and Saladine muttered: - -“Scared. Something chasing it.” - -On the word, abruptly startling them, the deer came into view--a doe, -running swiftly and unwearied. Striking the wood road, the creature -followed the easier going, down the slope toward them; and because they -were so still it failed to discover the men till it was scarce two rods -away. Sighting them then, the doe stopped an instant, then lightly -leaped into the brush at one side, and was gone. - -The men did not look after the deer; they waited to see what pursued it. -And after a moment Saladine’s face grimly hardened, and Westley’s became -somber and grave, and Proutt turned pale as ashes. - -For, lumbering down the hill upon the deer’s hot trail, came Dan, that -hound which Proutt had shut away at home--came Dan, hot on the trail as -Proutt had taught him. - -The dog saw them, as the deer had done, and would have swung aside. But -Proutt cried, in a broken voice: “Dan, come in.” - -So came the hound to heel, sullenly and slowly, eyes off into the wood -where the doe had gone; and for a moment no one spoke, till Saladine -slowly drawled: - -“Westley, give Proutt your gun.” - -Westley did not speak. He was immensely sorry for Proutt, and all his -anger at the man had gone. Proutt looked old, and shaken, and weary; and -he had dropped his heavy hand across Dan’s neck. He caught Westley’s eye -and said harshly: “To hell with your gun. I’ll use my own.” - -An instant more they stood; then Westley turned to Saladine. “Jim, let’s -go,” he said. And Saladine nodded, and they moved away, Reck at -Westley’s heels. After a moment, an odd panic in his voice, Proutt -called after them: “Wait, I’ll ride you home.” - -But Saladine answered: “I’ll walk!” And Westley did not speak at all. He -and Reck and the deer hunter went steadily upon their way. - -The sun was setting; and dark shadows filtered through the trees to hide -old Proutt where he still stood close beside his dog. - - - - -“JESHURUN WAXED FAT” - - -I - -It was an evening at Chet McAusland’s farm, on the hill above -Fraternity. Chet and I had been all day in the woodcock covers with the -dogs, Reck and Frenchy, and with the ghost of old Tantrybogus going on -before us. We had come home to a heaping supper of fried woodcock, -boiled potatoes, sweet salt pork, squash, doughnuts, cheese, and Mrs. -McAusland’s incomparable biscuits, with pie to follow after. When Chet’s -chores were done, we went down to Will Bissell’s store to brag about our -day’s bag and get the mail; and now we were at home again, and Chet, to -confirm his recollection in connection with an ancient catch of trout of -which he spoke, brought from the desk in the front room an old -leather-backed account-book and conned its yellowing pages. - -When he had found that which he sought, he laid the book down between -us, and as he talked, I picked it up and looked it through, idly. The -covers were worn and ragged with age, and there was a flap upon the one -that entered a slit upon the other, holding the book securely closed. -The pages were filled with entries in pencil or in pen, and some of -these were concerned with matters of business concluded twenty years -before; and some recorded the results of days with rod or gun; while -here and there, dropped at random, were paragraphs or pages devoted to -casual incidents that had struck Chet’s fancy through a space of forty -years. On one such series I chanced, and read the entries through, first -to myself, and then, with some amusement, aloud. They ran in this wise: - - June 6, 1883. Jed was taken sick to-day with a pain in his stomach. - He seems very weak. The old man won’t last long. - - March, 1887. The old man’s stomach is bothering him again. He has - to stay in bed right along. - - September 2, 1892. Abbie Grant says Uncle Jed’s pain is worse. He’s - not long for this world. - - July, 1895. That pain in Uncle Jed’s insides still hangs on. It - will be the death of him. - - August 2, 1898. Deborah Grant was here to-day. The old man still - breathes. - - May, 1900. Uncle Jed is still alive and kicking. - -When I had finished reading these items aloud, Chet drew his chin back -against his neck and laughed with that robust vigor which is -characteristic of him; and I, without at all understanding the jest, -nevertheless laughed in sympathy. - -“But it seems to me,” I suggested, “that the record ends here a bit -abruptly. What happened to the old man, anyway?” - -“That was old Uncle Jed Grant,” Chet told me, tears of mirth in his -eyes. “I could tell you things about Uncle Jed that ’u’d surprise you.” - -Mrs. McAusland called from the kitchen to warn me that if I didn’t look -out I’d get Chet started; but I reassured her, and bade Chet tell on. -That which follows is the substance of his telling. - - -II - -This Jedidiah Grant, so Chet assured me, was by all odds the meanest man -that ever dwelt in Fraternity, where to be mean and to be miserly are -synonymous. - -“Why,” said Chet, “he was so mean he wouldn’t let you see him laugh; -fear it ’u’d tickle you.” And he began to chuckle at some recollection, -so that it was necessary to spur him before he would go on. - -“I was thinking,” he explained, “of the time Jed went down to Boston. -Went to turn some gold into greenbacks. This was after the war, when the -greenbacks was ’way down. Jed had made some money boot-legging in -Bangor, and he see a chance to make some more. Trip didn’t cost him a -thing, because a couple of Boston men asked him to come down.” - -He had met these men in Bangor, it appeared. - -“They ’lowed I uz a side-show,” Jed told Chet. “I knowed they thought -so, but long as they paid my way, I didn’t mind. Went along down and did -my business at the bank. Then they took me to supper at a tavern and -tried to git me drunk; got drunk theirselves. Then we went to a show. -Say, Chet, they was the funniest man in that show I ever see. I set -between these two, and they kep’ a-looking at me, and I was like to -bust, I wanted to laugh so bad. I never did see such a funny man. But I -didn’t much as grin; it near killed me. Say, when I got into bed that -night, I like’ to died laughing, just thinking about him. But they -didn’t know that.” - -“I asked him,” Chet explained, “why he didn’t want to laugh in the -theater, and he says, ‘I wouldn’t give them two that much satisfaction.’ -So he saved it up till he got alone. That’s how mean he was.” - -This man had been born in Fraternity, and his brother Nehemiah and his -sisters Abigail and Deborah always lived in the town. No one of them was -ever to marry. They were dwelling together in the house where their -father and mother had lived when Jed came back to Fraternity and settled -down to a business in usury, lending out money on iron-clad notes, and -collecting on the nail. He was a timorous man, forever fearful lest by -force or by stealth he be robbed of the tin box of paper that -represented his fortune; therefore he hid the box ingeniously, sharing -the secret with no living man. - -Jed was already old, and his sixtieth birthday came in 1881. He had -bought a little hillside farm, where he lived alone; but in that year -his loneliness became oppressive to him, and he sought out his brother -’Miah with a proposal that he had carefully planned. - -Before ’Miah’s eyes old Jed spread out all the kingdoms of the world. -That is to say, he showed his brother the tin box of notes, showed all -his wealth to the other man. He was worth at this time twenty thousand -dollars, a fortune in Fraternity. - -“It’s this a-way, ’Miah,” he explained. “I’m a-getting old, and mighty -feeble sometimes. Can’t do for myself like I used. I could hire -somebody to take care of me, but that don’t look just right. Seems like -what I got ought to stay in the family, ’Miah. Don’t it look that way to -you?” - -It did. ’Miah had no love for his brother; there was no basis for any -such love, since Jed had gouged him as hungrily as he had gouged other -men. Nevertheless, there was in Jed’s money a powerful conciliatory -factor, and ’Miah, though weaker, was as avaricious as the older man. He -asked: - -“What are you heading at, anyway?” - -“This here, ’Miah,” Jed replied. “You come on over here and fix to live -with me and look out for me. You’re younger than I be, and I ain’t a -well man, anyway. You do for me long as I live, and I’ll fix it so you -heir my prop’ty. Ain’t that a right fair thing?” - -’Miah did not consider over-long. The duties proposed to him were -burdensome, but the rewards were proportionately great. He did insist on -a formal will, which Jed drew and signed and delivered into ’Miah’s -custody. Thereafter the younger brother moved from the home farm, -leaving the sisters to dwell there alone with a hired man for help, and -came to live with the old miser. - -Jed began almost at once to prosper on this care. He contributed to the -support of the household nothing whatever. - -“’Tain’t in the bargain,” he insisted when ’Miah complained. “And, -besides,” he added, “all I got is a-going to come to you.” He -contributed nothing, yet demanded everything: victuals of his choice -and plenty of them, the daily paper to read, and a regular allowance of -gin. He demanded these things, and got them. Passers used to see him -sitting in the sun before the house door, as slothful as a serpent, his -little black eyes twisting this way and that in a beady fashion that -completed the likeness. He had been spare and thin; he began to put on -flesh. But as the angles of his frame became more rounded, the edges of -his tongue became keener, and he cut ’Miah with sharp words day by day. - -’Miah was a spineless man; nevertheless the hour came when he rebelled. -It is impossible to say how this ultimate dissension was begun; the -sources of such quarrels are often lost in the flood of recriminations -which arise from them. ’Miah, in a futile, shrill-voiced manner, lost -his temper, but Jed did not. The older man goaded the other with edged -words, observing with malign amusement his brother’s rising anger, till -’Miah suddenly became silent, turned away, and without word began to -gather his few belongings. Jed, having watched him for a time, asked: - -“What you a-doing, ’Miah?” - -“I got enough of you,” ’Miah told him, sullenly. “I’m going back home.” - -Persisting in a stubborn silence, he continued his preparations all that -morning; and Jed, at first jeering and incredulous, was forced to accept -the other’s intentions. It was in this crisis that he conceived the -artifice that was to become a part of his life. ’Miah, in the bedroom, -heard Jed groan; he paid no heed, and his brother groaned again. This -time the younger man came to the door and looked at Jed, suspiciously. -The miser was bent forward in his chair, hugging himself and groaning -more and more. ’Miah asked petulantly: - -“What’s the matter with you?” And Jed gasped, as though in agony: - -“Git Doctor Crapo, ’Miah. I’m a-dying. I got a turrible pain in my -stummick.” - -’Miah studied him; he said incredulously: - -“It’s belly-ache.” - -Jed wagged his wicked old head and groaned again. - -“All right, ’Miah; but git the doctor, anyhow. I’m a-dying, sure.” - -There was always a chance that this might be true. ’Miah sent for the -doctor, and Doctor Crapo, a young man then and not so wise as he would -later be, questioned Jed, and took pulse and temperature, and said with -some solemnity: - -“I don’t know. You’ve got no fever, but your heart is jumpy. I -guess--Well, you’re getting along, you know. If this pain is what you -say, it’s just the beginning of one of those ailments that come on old -men sometimes. Nothing I can do for it at your age.” - -“It’s a-killing me,” Jed pleaded weakly, and the doctor said: - -“Well, I can physic you, of course; but if it’s just a stomach-ache, it -will stop anyway, and if it’s something worse, physic won’t do a bit of -good.” - -“This ain’t no stummick-ache,” said Jed and groaned again. - -The doctor nodded, and he and ’Miah went out of the room together. ’Miah -took this chance to ask: - -“How about it, Doc?” - -“May be bad,” the doctor told him. “Looks like the beginning of one of -those torturing deaths that some men die. Months, maybe years, of that -pain, getting worse all the time. And--his heart is bad.” - -“He’ll maybe die?” - -“Might go any time,” said Doctor Crapo, and drove away. - -Now, this was in 1883. Chet McAusland had recorded the first appearance -of that pain in the old note-book that I still held in my hand. The -effect of Jed’s artifice was that ’Miah did not, after all, desert his -brother. Actuated by the avaricious thought that since he had endured -three years of servitude for no return, he might as well endure another -period, now that the reward was in sight, he stayed on at the little -hillside farm. The next spring he died and was laid away. Old Jed had -read his brother well; he grinned to himself because he had been able to -buy ’Miah’s services with empty promises and nothing more, and the -incident gave him confidence. He lived for a few months alone. - - -III - -But in 1885 Jed’s native sloth rebelled at the necessity for tending his -own bodily needs, and he sent for his sister Abigail, who lived with -Deborah on their father’s farm--sent for Abbie, and showed her, as he -had showed ’Miah, that tin box of ugly treasure-trove. - -“I’m a-getting feeble, Abbie,” he told her, plaintively. “I’m too old to -do for myself.” With some inward appreciation of the satiric drama of -the situation, he parroted the phrases he had used to ’Miah four years -before. “I could hire somebody, but that don’t look right. What I got -ought to stay in the family. You come and take care of me.” - -This spinster sister was a humble little woman without strength or -assertiveness; she yielded not from greed, but from lack of strength to -resist his insistence, and so came to the farm upon the hill. Chet, -telling the story, struck his fist upon his knee at the recollection. - -“There’s nobody knows what he put her through, and Deborah after her,” -he told me. “That old heathen had to have his own way or he’d raise holy -Ned; and he got it. Abbie stood it longer than ’Miah; she never did kick -up and threaten to leave him. But after two years she took sick and -discouraged-like, and wanted to quit and go home. Then Jed he begun to -say again how sick he was; made her fetch the doctor again.” - -This time, it appeared, Doctor Crapo had been wholly convinced of the -miser’s honesty. - -“A pain like that,” he told Jed, “is always a sure sign. I’ve seen them -go. Specially men that eat heavy, like you do, and that get fat as they -go along. You’re going to have that pain the rest of your life, and -worse all the time.” - -Abbie was in the room, and Jed asked plaintively: - -“Hev I got to suffer like this here for days and days, Doc?” - -“Months, maybe years,” said the doctor, implacably. - -Jed shook his head, turned wearily toward the wall. - -“It ain’t a-going to be that long,” he assured them. “I can’t stand it -so long as you say.” - -Before this pitiable resignation, Abbie had neither the courage nor the -selfishness to leave her brother alone; so she struggled on, tending the -dying man. But five years later he was still alive, as venomous and as -slothful as he had ever been, when Abigail at last gave way. She -suffered what would have passed as a nervous breakdown in a woman of -more sheltered life, and needed Jed’s care far more than he needed hers. -When she would have taken to her bed, however, Jed kept stubbornly to -his, so that she drove herself meekly to her round of tasks, and wept -with the agony of tight-wrung nerves. It was release when, in the -following spring, she died. Jed grinned at the fact that her years of -service had brought her no reward at all, and the day after the funeral -he sent for Deborah. - - -IV - -“By that time,” Chet assured me, “everybody in town knowed about Uncle -Jed and this pain of his, and from now on he talked about it more. You -stop to see him any day, and he’d groan and take on in a way that ’u’d -surprise you. He stayed in bed all the time, in a room all shut up -tight, reading his papers and drinking his gin and eating all the time. -Deborah took good care of him; she was that kind of a woman. She had -backbone, but she was built to take care of folks, and half the town had -had her in when folks was sick. There was times when she threatened to -leave him, but she never did, him always saying he was about to die.” - -There were skeptics, it appeared. Doctor Crapo himself was at last -beginning to suspect the old miser’s play-acting. - -“If he’d had that pain all this time,” he told Deborah, “he’d be howling -with it night and day or dead long ago. He’s a lazy hound; that’s all, -Miss Grant.” - -But Deborah would not altogether be convinced, and when Jed heard the -doctor’s words, he wagged his head and said pathetically: - -“That’s what I git for bearing it so brave’. If I’d yell and take on, -you’d believe me; but because I keep my mouth shut and stand these -torments, you think I’m lying.” - -So Deborah stayed with him. There was no avarice in her, but there was -the instinct for service, and some trace of blood affection for this -worthless brother, last of her kin alive. She gave him pitying and -tender care, and the old man, in his slothful bed, fattened enormously, -till it was scarcely possible for him to move at all. Yet in May, 1900, -he was, as Chet had recorded, still alive and kicking; and in June of -that year Deborah suddenly died. - - -V - -This woman was loved in Fraternity, and with reason. To the funeral -services in the little farmhouse came more men and women than could be -crowded within doors. Jed, abed in the next room, listened to the -minister’s slow and reverent words with a derisive grin. One or two -people came in to speak to him, charitably, as people do at such hours. -There was an element of martyrdom about the woman’s death that awed -them, glorifying even the ugly ceremonies of the funeral. - -Jed did not feel this at all. He was amusing himself with his own -reflections, and as the service drew toward its end he became so -absorbed in his own thoughts that he was not aware when the stirring of -feet marked the departure of the little cortège. The last man and the -last woman left the house to follow what was left of Deborah to her -grave, and five minutes after they were gone Jed realized that he was -alone. - -Not at first sure of this, he called out; but no one answered. When he -knew that he would not be overheard, the fat man began to chuckle and -shake with mirth at thought of how he had tricked his brother and -sisters; how, trading upon their avarice and their faint love for him, -he had bought their lives with empty promises, never to be fulfilled. - -But after a little this amusement passed; it gave way to a desire to -talk to some one, share this jest with them. He called out once more, -but no answer came to his call. - -The realization that he was in fact utterly alone, the abrupt -possibility that hereafter he would always be alone, with no tender -hands to serve him, startled the old man, and somewhat affrighted him. -He was aware of a tremor of fear at the prospect of the loneliness that -lay ahead, and because he wished to reassure himself, give evidence that -power still dwelt in him, he decided to get out of bed. - -With some effort he pushed away the heavy coverlets with which he was -accustomed to swaddle his vast body, and tried to swing his feet to the -floor, lift his bulk from the bed. He struggled for an instant, then -fell back with white face and staring eyes, and the sweat of fear upon -his forehead. - -For the first time in his life he had suddenly been stricken with a -terrific pain in his bowels. He had never suffered this agony before, -yet knew it for what it was; knew it for one of those shafts of anguish -that presage months or years of torment, with no relief save a torturous -death at the end. - -He whispered, with stiff and horror-stricken lips, “I’m a-dying.” This -time he spoke truth. He had, in fact, at last begun to die. - - - - -EPITOME - - -I - -I might begin with a recital of the conversation that led up to his -remark; but Chet has taught me the value of selection, the importance of -elimination, by the way he has of setting before me just such a curt and -poignant drama as this one was. “The last time I had a fight,” said -Chet, “was with a boy that was my best friend.” - -We had been in the alder swamps and across the birch knolls all that day -after woodcock and partridge, tramping the countryside in a flood of -autumn sunshine that was more stimulating than any of man’s concoctions; -had brought home a partridge or two, and our fair allotment of woodcock; -and had dined thereafter on other birds, killed three days before, which -had been hanging since then in the cool of the deep cellar. Now our dogs -were asleep upon the rugs at our feet; our pipes were going; and the -best hour of the day was come. - -“What did you fight about?” I asked. - -“Fishing,” Chet told me. “We used to always fish Marsh Brook, where you -and I went last summer. Where you caught the big trout in that hole in -the woods. Remember?” - -I nodded. The memory was very sweetly clear. - -“That brook starts way in behind the mountain,” Chet reminded me. “It -swings down through the old meadow and into the woods, and through the -lower meadow there, and finally it runs into Marsh River. There weren’t -the trout in it then that there are now. It’s been stocked right along, -the last few years.... But there were trout there, even then. If I told -you the fish I’ve seen my father take out of some of those holes, it -would surprise you.” - -“It’s a beautiful brook,” I agreed. - -“Jim and I always used to fish it,” Chet went on. “When we started in, -we’d draw lots to see who’d take the first hole, and then take turns -after that. He took a pebble in one hand, this day; and I picked the -hand that had the pebble in it, so I had the choice. And we started up -the brook, me fishing the hole under that log above the bridge, and him -fishing the next bend where the bank has all fell in and spoiled the -hole, years ago. And I fished under the big rock below the fence; and so -on. - -“Jim was a fellow that loved fishing,” Chet continued; and I interrupted -long enough to ask: - -“Jim who?” - -“Jim Snow,” said Chet. “He loved fishing, and he liked getting into the -woods. He was a boy that always played a lot of games with himself, in -his imagination. We were only about ten years old. And this day he was -an Indian. You could see it in the way he walked, and the way he crawled -around, except when he got excited and forgot. There was always a change -in him when we climbed up out of the lower meadow into the real woods. -He’d begin to whisper, and his eyes to shine. And he’d talk to the trout -in the pools; and he was always seeing wildcat, or moose, or bear, in -the deeps of the woods. - -“I never knew any one it was more fun to go around the country with than -Jim.” - -He was still for a moment, tasting the sweets of memory; and he chuckled -to himself before he spoke again. - -“Well,” he said, “we come up out of the meadow into the woods. You’ve -fished there. It’s the best part of the brook now, and it was then. My -winning when we drew lots in the beginning made it my turn to fish when -we came to the big hole. And Jim knew it as well as me.” He chuckled -again. “You know the hole I mean. Where that old gray birch leans out -over.” - -I did know. The brook ran through the heart of a grove of old first -growth pine; and the big hole itself was dark and shadowed. The water -dropped into it over a ledge a few inches high; spread wide and deep -upon a clear and sandy bottom, and spilled out at the foot of the hole -over the gravel bar. There was an old pine on one bank, at the upper -end, leaning somewhat over the water; and on the opposite side of the -brook, a huge gray birch leaned to meet the pine. Except on sunny days, -the spot was gloomy. More than once I heard great owls hooting in -muffled tones among those pines; and the number and ferocity of the -mosquitoes which dwell thereabouts is unbelievable. - -“It hasn’t changed much, all this time,” Chet went on. “That slough on -the west bank, in that spring hole, was there then, the same as it is -now. Maybe you’ve noticed an old stub, rotting away, right beside that -slough. That was a blasted hemlock; and it’s been dead a long time. -Wind, or lightning, or something knocked it down. - -“When we came up to that hole that day, I was on the side toward the -pine; and I crept in behind the big tree that leaned out over, and swung -my line in, and I had a bite right away. But I jerked too soon; didn’t -set the hook. And the line whished up and snarled in the branches over -my head.” - -He laughed to himself at the recollection, his head back, his chin down -upon his neck, deep-set eyes twinkling beneath his bushy eyebrows in the -fashion I like to see. “Well, sir,” he chuckled, “while I was untangling -my line, I heard a regular Indian hoot, and I turned around and see Jim -had caught a fish out of my pool. Quicker than a minute, I was mad as a -hat. - -“Yes, sir. I didn’t stop for a thing. He was on the other side, by that -old hemlock; and I went after him. I waded right across the ledge, -running, and when he saw me coming, he jumped to meet me. Because he -knew I was mad. We come together right in the black mire of that spring -hole; and let me tell you, for a minute the fur flew. I guess we fought -there in them woods, nobody within a mile of us, for as much as five -minutes, maybe. Both of us grunting and cussing with every lick. Knee -deep in that stiff, black mud. And first I’d get him down in it, and -then he’d down me; and finally, when we kind of stopped for breath, he -yells: - -“‘I was only catching the fish for you, anyway, Chet.’ - -“And I says: ‘I’ll catch my own trout!’ And I managed to roll him under, -and by that time we were both too tired to do any more.” - - -II - -He tilted back in his chair, and we laughed together at the picture he -had drawn of two wet, mad, and muddy boys. “Rolled in that mud, till we -were smeared with it,” he said. And: “Didn’t speak to each other till it -come time to eat lunch and we remembered we’d left it at the big hole.” -He had laughed till there were tears in his eyes. Now the mirth passed; -and by and by he sighed aloud, said wistfully: - -“Ah, well. Poor old Jim. He drank himself to death. Died of the D T’s.” - -The words were like a shock of cold water; I shivered as though the -winds of tragedy had blown upon me. In my thoughts I had been seeing -this Jim Snow; freckled, and covered with mud, and fighting so long as -he had breath to fight; and protesting in hurt at the end: “I was only -catching the fish for you.” A likeable boy, Jim Snow.... And in an -instant the picture was shattered; there stood in its place the -apparition of a dreadful, sodden, wrecked and ruined man.... The thing -was horribly abrupt. - -“For God’s sake, Chet,” I protested. - -“Yes,” he said soberly. “Yes.” - -I tried by a callous tone to insulate myself against the impinging -tragedy. “Went to the devil?” I hazarded. - -“I guess his father drove him to it, ruined him,” Chet explained. “There -wasn’t any harm in Jim. Just a mischievous boy, full of high spirits and -fun, like a colt. His father was a churchly man; a religious man. A -sober man. And he used to beat Jim, for his pranks, awfully.” He shook -his head, seemed faintly to shudder at the recollection. “I’ve seen him -take Jim out into the barn; and I’ve heard Jim yell. Yell and screech. -‘Oh, father! Father!’” - -My tongue seemed sticking in my mouth. I made a brave show of refilling -my pipe; the cheery flame of the match seemed to lighten the dark -shadows that oppressed us both. Chet laughed again, mindful of a new -incident. One of these practical jokes boys have played since there were -boys to play them. But as Chet told it, tragedy overhung the tale. - -“His father was a cobbler,” he explained. “A good one, too. He used to -make a good living out of his shop. Had a big family, and they did well. -Time Jim begun to be able to work, he used to work in the shop, -helping.” - -He warmed to his tale. “There was a bench, by the counter,” he -continued. “Folks used to sit down there when they had to wait. Jim was -always up to something; and one day when his father was at home, Jim -took a gimlet and bored a little hole in that bench. Then he fixed a -brad under that hole, with a spring, and a string on it. And he took -this string under the counter and back to the seat where he used to be -when he was working. He fixed it with a piece of wood, like a trigger, -there.” - -Chet, spreading his arms wide, illustrated the motion which a cobbler -makes in drawing his thread through the leather. “When his arm went out -like that,” he said, “he could just reach this piece of wood. And when -someone was sitting on the bench, some times he’d just give it a rap; -and the brad would come up through and stick into them, and they’d get -up in a hurry, I want to tell you.” - -“He couldn’t do that when his father was around,” I suggested. - -“He never did but once,” Chet agreed. “One day a boy came in that Jim -didn’t like. I was there that day; and I knew about this thing Jim had -fixed up; and when the other boy sat down on the bench, I kind of tipped -my head to Jim. I was sorry about that, after; because Jim was never one -to be dared. His father was there; but Jim winked back at me, and then -he gave that wooden trigger a good hard poke, and he must have rammed -that brad into the boy pretty hard, because he come right up into the -air, holding on to himself and yowling.” - -He slapped his knee at the memory. “Well, sir, he danced around there -like a crazy man. I remember his name was Elnathan Hodge. He danced -around and he yelled; and Jim’s father stood there looking at him and -frowning awfully, so that I was scared, and I edged over toward the -door. Jim’s father just stood, waiting for the boy to quiet down. He was -a stern, solemn man; and his voice used to be enough to make us boys -tremble. - -“By and by he said, slow and steady: ‘What’s the matter with you, -Elnathan?’ - -“And Elnathan says: ‘Jim stuck a needle into me.’ - -“The old man looked from him to Jim, and Jim was mighty busy, sewing on -a sole. - -“‘How did he stick a needle into you, Elnathan?’ says the old man. And -Elnathan pointed to the bench. He was a big boy, bigger than us; but he -was always kind of a sissy. That’s why we never liked him. - -“‘Right up through that hole, it come,’ he told Jim’s father.” - -“A nice boy, Elnathan!” I commented. - -“Jim and me licked him for it afterwards,” Chet explained. “But that -didn’t do a bit of good then. The old man went and looked under the -bench and saw where the string went through under the counter; and then -he followed it out through the shop to the back. He took his time about -it, never looking toward Jim, pretending not to know he was there, like -a cat with a hurt bird. Traced the string all back till he come to where -Jim was sitting. And he didn’t say a word then, but just reached down -and got Jim by the collar and started for the back room, dragging Jim -after him; and Jim’s heels were clattering on the floor. After he’d shut -the door, we heard the first whacks of the strap he kept there, and -heard Jim yell; and then me and Elnathan put out the front door and ran -away. And we could hear Jim yelling, begging....” - - -III - -He broke off abruptly, shaking his head in sorrow at the recollection. -“Poor old Jim!” he murmured, under his breath. For an interval we were -silent; and then I suggested that Jim’s father must have done what he -thought best for the boy. - -Chet would not accept this suggestion. “He knew better,” he said. “Any -man knows better. There ought to be friendliness between a man and his -son. My father used to take me fishing with him, but Jim was afraid of -his father, and kept away from him, except when he had to work in the -shop.” - -“Yet I’ll bet your father tanned your hide, Chet,” I argued. - -Chet laughed at that. “Sure he did. But there are ways of licking a -boy.” He snapped his fingers to Frenchy, and the setter came to lay his -chin upon Chet’s knee. Reck, jealous of this attention, at once rose and -demanded a caress from me. “Take a dog,” said Chet. “You lick him to -hurt, so he yelps with the pain of it, and the helplessness, and you can -make a rogue dog out of him mighty quick. A pain that breaks down the -pride of a man, or a boy, or a dog, and makes him beg for mercy, does -bitter things to him. Man, or boy, or dog, he’s not what he was, after -that has happened to him. I’ve known dog breakers that whipped dogs, and -made rogues or cowards out of them. And that’s what Jim’s father did to -him.” - -He filled his pipe, slowly, wedging the crumbled tobacco firmly down. -“Jim used to go fishing with me and father, till his father stopped -him,” he said. “Then he used to run away and go with me.” He chuckled, -shamefacedly, “I remember one of those times, the first time he ever got -drunk, I guess.” There was something like guilt in his countenance. -“We’d been fishing in the rain, all morning; and when it come time to -eat our lunch, Jim pulled out a little bottle. I asked him what it was, -and he said: ‘It’s gin!’ - -“He’d got it out of a big bottle his father had. ‘I filled the bottle up -with water,’ he told me. ‘So he’ll never know.’ We were soaking wet; and -we sat straddling a log that had fallen across the brook, and finished -that bottle between us. There couldn’t have been much more than half a -pint. We drank it, and then we began to sing; and Jim was wilder than -me. He got up to stand on the log, and fell off on his back in the -water; and I went to pull him out and he pulled me in. The gin didn’t -hit me the way it did him. I didn’t like it; and I only took a mouthful -or two; but it got hold of Jim. - -“He was seventeen years old, then; and getting big for his age. But his -father beat him awfully for that. The gin and water didn’t mix, so he -saw someone had got at his bottle. But that was the last time he beat -Jim. Jim got mad that time, and grabbed up an axe; and I guess it kind -of worried and frightened the old man.” - - -IV - -We puffed at our pipes in silence for a little while; and one of the -dogs rose to lay his chin upon my knee. “I can’t help feeling sorry for -his father, too,” I said at last. - -Chet nodded. “He was wrong all the time,” he replied. “But no one ever -regretted it more, when it was too late, and he saw what he had done to -Jim.” He was still for a moment, then wrote a swift “finis” to the tale. - -“The last time I saw Jim,” he said, “was down on the wharf at East -Harbor. He was drunk that day, and his father and his brother Charley -were trying to get him home. Jim was a big man then; and when he was -drunk, he was strong as a bull. I remember he took Charley around the -waist and threw him right off the edge of the wharf into the mud flats, -and Charley landed on his face in them. - -“His father tried to catch Jim’s arm, and Jim turned around and hit him -in the mouth and mashed his lips so they bled, and knocked him down. - -“That seemed to sober Jim a little, and he sat down with his back -against a pile and cried; and his father got up and came and was -kneeling down with his arm around Jim; and he was crying, too. They were -both crying. And it may have been the drink in Jim; but the old man -hadn’t been drinking. - -“That’s the last time I ever saw him. Crying there, with his father. -Probably they both saw, then, how bad things had gone. - -“But it was too late for anything to change Jim. The next year, I think -it was, he died.” - - - - -A DREAM - - -I - -Barnard became conscious that he was dreaming. It was a bad dream, a -nightmare. - -He had been dreaming for a long time; but at first he had not understood -that it was all a dream. It had been too real. When he realized that it -was only a dream, he began, as dreamers do, to fight for wakefulness. -But sleep held him stubbornly. - -His dream was long; it dragged interminably. An endless procession of -scenes and events harassed his troubled slumbers. He appeared in these -scenes, participated in these events. He was at the same time an actor -in his dream, and a spectator. - -Some portions of the dream were gay, some were somber; some were happy, -some were tragic. But over gay and somber, happy and tragic, there hung -an uneasy Cloud. It haunted and harassed him. He tried to escape from -this dark Cloud, but he could not. Thus his dream was one long, futile -struggle.... - - -II - -When the dream began, Barnard seemed in it to be a boy. Yet as an actor -in the dream, he felt himself neither boy nor man, simply James Barnard. -He was--identity. He was himself. - -It was in one of the earliest scenes of his dream that he first -discovered the threatening Cloud which was to shadow all the rest. - -He seemed to be running desperately after an omnibus, with a door in its -rear end. He pursued it at the height of his speed; and yet it drew -continually further away, and at length disappeared, in a hazy fashion, -at a great distance from him. When at last he abandoned the pursuit, his -chest seemed like to burst with his labored breathing. - -Two faces looked back at him from the rear windows of this omnibus; and -a hand waved through the open door. And above the omnibus, smoothly, and -without effort, moved a faint shadow of misty Cloud. It seemed to -Barnard to grow darker as the omnibus drew further and further away; and -when the vehicle disappeared, the Cloud remained for a moment in his -sight before it, too, vanished. There was something menacing about this -drifting mist. Barnard thought of it, in his dream, as The Threat. - -When the omnibus was gone, he remembered the faces which had looked back -at him, and recognized them. His mother, and his brother. His brother -was a baby. - -Barnard, in his dream, felt an overpowering terror at this recognition, -and he shuddered. - -Then that misty, shadowy picture was gone, and another took its place. - -He saw himself at home, sitting in a low chair before a coal fire, with -his chin in his hand. His Aunt Joan stood beside him. She was crying, -and she kept patting his head. - -“You’re a brave boy, not to cry,” she said to him, over and over. -“You’re a brave boy not to cry.” - -At the same time, she wept bitterly. - -Barnard, in his dream, had no desire to cry. He was puzzled and uneasy; -he groped for understanding. - -Understanding came with a last glimpse of the baby’s face in the -omnibus, and The Threat gliding above, and then he saw in his dream a -bit of yellow paper, and on it, written in a long, flowing, -telegrapher’s hand, the words: - -“Rob died today at noon.” - -He understood that Rob was his baby brother; and he understood, from -that time forward, the nature of The Threat.... - - -III - -Thus, his dream, even while he was still a boy in it, was always -disturbing and perplexing. He was uneasy, rebellious. He chafed and -suffered and could not find relief. The dream world was hostile and -mocking, full of inscrutable forces which were stronger than himself. - -But he could not wake up. The dream dragged him inexorably onward. He -was like a man bound to the stirrup of a horse, jerked forward -constantly, and meeting each instant new blows and pains. - -Abruptly, at length, as when at dawn the sun strikes low and sweet -across the dewy fields, the complexion of his dream was altered. He -smiled in his sleep, and he felt warm and comforted. He did not know -why this was so, and at first he did not care. - -He had been conscious that his dreams were of a more pleasant hue for -some time before he discovered that this new aspect was shared with him -by another. A girl. - -He saw her very plainly, and there was something familiar about her, and -at the same time something baffling. He felt that he ought to recognize -her, that he ought to know her name. He tried to remember it, but he -could not. - -So he set this problem aside, and gave himself up to enjoyment of the -dream with her. He could see no more of her than her face, her eyes. -They were near each other, yet aloof. Their hands never touched, they -never spoke; yet their eyes met frequently. - -He had at first no desire to approach this girl more than closely; and -she, also, seemed content to go forward with him, side by side, near, -yet not together. - -After a time, the mists cleared a little, and he saw that they were -passing through a pleasant, rolling meadow. Her feet followed a little -pathway; and when he looked down, he saw that his feet, also, were set -upon a path. - -He felt his father and mother somewhere near him, but he could not see -them. He could only see the girl. - -Suddenly, he perceived that his path and the path the girl followed drew -ever nearer together. This frightened him; but when he looked toward the -girl and saw that she, too, was a little frightened, he smiled -reassuringly, and waved his hand to her, and went boldly forward along -the way that was before him. - -The girl had hesitated, but when she saw him go forward, she no longer -faltered. She moved with him. - -Their paths met at a little turnstile in a fence. Their paths met there, -and they met there. - -For a moment, they looked at each other. Then their eyes went forward -through the next field. There were no longer two paths before them. In -the next field, there was but one. Either they must now go forward -together, or one of them must fall behind forever. - -So they clasped hands and passed through the stile. - -The field disappeared. The girl stood beside him, her right hand in his -right hand, her eyes turned up to his. Her eyes were deep, his were lost -in them. - -A voice spoke, resonantly, in measured words. He heard his own voice; -then the girl’s. - -Suddenly he recognized the girl. She was Anne; she was his wife.... - - -IV - -They went forward singing, for a little way. Their hands were lightly -clasped. The girl skipped and danced beside him; and though he walked -sedately, his heart sang and danced with hers. - -Then he felt a damp chill in the air, and Anne drew closer to his side, -and she no longer danced. - -At first he did not understand; but when he looked about them, and then -up into the skies, he saw the misty Cloud, The Threat.... - -He had forgotten the very existence of this Cloud; and he rebelled -furiously at its coming now. But it paid no heed to him. It hung not -over his strong head, but over the head of Anne, his wife. - -Anne saw him looking up at it, and she lifted her head to see what he -had seen; but he drew her eyes quickly away so that she should not -understand, and with ice at his heart he went forward, watching the -thing above them. - -He began to reach upward, behind Anne’s back, and try to thrust The -Threat away; but it was beyond his reach. It hung relentlessly above -Anne’s head, and he could not touch it. He strove, he stood on tiptoe, -he pleaded.... - -Anne turned and saw him; and she dropped her hand on his arm and -reassured him. But when he looked into her eyes, he saw the reflection -of The Threat there. - -Nevertheless, they went bravely forward, shoulders touching; and when -presently the Cloud descended and cloaked them so that he could not see -Anne, he still held her hand, and they spoke to each other through the -shadows. - -Then the Cloud lifted, and when Barnard looked down, he saw a little -child walking by Anne’s side, holding her hand. - -He forgot The Threat in the air above them, and took the other hand of -the child, and hurried forward.... - - -V - -Thereafter, the threatening Cloud was never out of their sight. At times -it hung low above them, at times its cold fingers touched them; and in -the intervals it rode high above their heads, distant, but relentless. - -His dream was a constant apprehension; he kept a persistent vigil -against The Threat, even while his heart told him it was a hopeless one. - -When the Cloud hung low above them, he cast his arms about Anne and the -child until the mists lifted again. Once, when this happened, and when -they started forward once more, he found that not one boy-child, but two -walked between Anne and him. Their hands were clasped, and Anne held the -hand of one, and he of the other, so that they four went forward -together, each helping each. - -Their path was rocky and beset. The Threat never left them; and stones -rose to trip them, and thorny bushes clutched at them from either -side.... - - -VI - -For a long time, in his dream, he always felt his father and his mother -near at hand. Sometimes their fingers touched his. Sometimes, his -father’s firm clasp lifted him over an obstacle in the way; and -sometimes his mother’s smile tried to smooth away the bruises he -encountered in the path. - -His mother and his father loved to cast their arms about the two -children, while he and Anne watched proudly. - -While they all stood thus one day, The Threat descended upon them, -lightly, gently; and thereafter Barnard was unable to find his father or -his mother. He looked for them and could not see them; but at times he -seemed to hear their voices, speaking to him.... - -The Threat in the air seemed to mock him; and he perceived that it would -never leave him. He must walk forever in its shadow, till he should -awake. - -A great throng of memories roared down upon him; their wings buffeted -his head. They were memories of things he might have done and had not -done; of things he had done of which there was no need. They concerned -his father and his mother, and they tormented him. - -Then Anne’s hand lay lightly on his arm, and he was mysteriously -comforted and reassured. - - -VII - -Once another child came to walk with them. This child was very little, -and it walked between his two tall sons, and they held it by the hands -and guided its stumbling and uncertain steps. - -This child laughed easily, and when it laughed, they laughed with it, -because they could not help themselves. - -In his dream, Barnard forgot for a moment The Threat which drifted above -them, and he began to sing, and Anne sang with him. And the three boys, -his sons, laughed as he and Anne sang. Their voices were like peals of -music. - -Then something brushed Barnard’s cheek, and before he could stir, The -Threat had engulfed them all. It crushed down upon them, stifling and -smothering and blinding them. - -He fumbled desperately through this Cloud, seeking the others. He found -Anne, and they clung together, and groped about.... - -“Here is Dick,” she called, and laid the hand of his eldest son in his; -and a moment later he felt a straight, youthful shoulder, and when he -peered through the mists, he saw that he had found Charles, the second -son, and he called to Anne, as she had called to him: - -“Here is Charles!” - -They were glad at that; and they went more hopefully at their task of -finding the little child; but while they were still searching, the Cloud -lifted, and they saw that the little boy was gone. - - -VIII - -Barnard, in his dream, began to feel old; and he began to feel lonely. - -He missed the laughter of the little child. Even though Anne, and Dick, -and Charles still walked with him, he missed the little child. - -He could see in Anne’s eyes that she, too, was lonely, but when he taxed -her with it, she gave him a gay denial. - -The two boys, however, soon forgot. At first Barnard resented this; then -he accepted it dumbly. Revolt was dying in him. He still went forward as -steadily as before, but the old, fierce defiance no longer burned in his -breast. He no longer sought to escape The Threat above them. He -accepted its presence. Submission was born in him. - -The Threat rode high and serene above their heads.... - -In his dream, he thought they went forward for a long time together, -through the fields. There were not so many stones in their path, not so -many thorns to snatch at them. Barnard took pleasure in lifting the -stones and tossing them aside, and he found joy in lopping off the -thorns. He was, in some measure, happy. - -Then, one day, he spoke to Charles, and the lad did not hear him, did -not reply. - -He looked at the boy in surprise; and he saw that Charles was looking -off across the field through which they passed. His eyes followed his -son’s eyes, and fell upon a girl child walking in the field, a little -way off. - -She followed a path parallel to theirs, and she was answering Charles’ -eyes with her own. - -Barnard called to Charles again, more loudly; and this time the boy -heard, and turned, and answered him. But his eyes went back to the girl -as soon as he had answered. - -Then suddenly, they came to a place where a narrow path led off from the -broad one they were following, and went toward the girl’s path; and here -Charles stopped. He looked along the narrow way. - -“This is my path,” he said. - -Anne did not understand. She put her arm around Charles’ shoulder. “No, -son,” she said. “The broad way is ours.” - -“Go on, Charles,” Barnard told his boy, impatiently. “The broad path, -Charles. Go on.” - -But their son shook his head stubbornly; and his eyes were meeting the -eyes of the girl, across the field. Barnard started to protest in anger; -but Anne looked at her son, and saw whither his eyes led; and she -followed his eyes and saw the girl. - -The girl smiled at Anne, very humbly and beseechingly; and Anne put her -hand to her throat and trembled. - -Then she turned to Barnard, nodding ever so little; and she reached up -to brush back a lock of hair upon the forehead of her tall son, and she -buttoned a button of his coat. - -“Go bravely, Charles,” she whispered. “Good-by.” - -He kissed her hurriedly. “I’ll be back,” he promised. “I’m not going far -away from you.” - -Anne shook her head wistfully; but Charles was already running down the -narrow path and did not see; and when Dick shouted after him, Charles -did not hear. - -They watched, and after a little they saw Charles and the girl come -together; and presently their son and the strange girl went happily off -across the meadow, out of their sight, hand in hand.... - - -IX - -When Barnard, and Anne, and Dick went on, Barnard thought in his dream -that he and Anne held Dick’s hands more tightly than before. And when, -presently, he saw another girl, walking alone upon a distant path, he -caught Anne’s eye behind Dick’s back, and pointed this girl out to her. - -Then he and Anne conspired against their son; they left the broad path -for another, narrower. They pointed out to Dick the wonders of the way, -and talked eagerly to him, and caressed him. - -But after a time, they saw that the girl’s path had curved to follow -them; and at length, while they spoke together, Dick turned to look -back, and his eyes met the eyes of the girl.... - - -X - -Thereafter Barnard and Anne moved alone together; and though Barnard, in -his dream, felt Anne’s hand in his, his heart ached with loneliness. -Anne smiled bravely beside him, but her smile was worse than tears. - -They seemed to have lost their path. They no longer went confidently -along a broad way, but wandered aimlessly this way and that. They tried -new paths that led nowhere; and there were times when they stood still, -clinging each to each. - -The Threat above them, Barnard saw, was floating lower. - -In his dream, Barnard thought that he and Anne came to a path which -followed the brink of a great precipice. They walked that way. His arm -was about her, hers clasped him. She was talking very gaily; she had -never been so beautiful. - -Barnard forgot The Threat for a moment; and when uneasy recollection -returned to him, and his eyes sought for it, he saw that the cloudlike -thing had descended till it rode level with them, and at one side, above -the abyss at their left hand. It hung there, following them as they -followed the brink of the precipice. - -He was afraid, but he tried to tell himself this was a victory, that The -Threat was leaving them; and he pointed it out to Anne. In his dream, he -thought she looked up to him, and he saw pity in her eyes, and so he was -more afraid than before. - -He watched the cloudy thing more closely; and presently he saw that it -was drifting toward them. So he caught Anne’s hand, and hurried her -forward. She ran with him, as though to humor him; and she was speaking -comfortingly to him as they ran. - -The Cloud moved swiftly closer till it touched Anne. And her steps -faltered. He could no longer persuade her to run. He could only throw -his arms about her; and in his dream he shouted defiance at The Threat. - -Then he pleaded with it.... - -Anne was being drawn from his arms. It was not that she was torn away; -it was just that he could no longer hold her. The solid substance of -her, to which he clung, melted in his arms. He tore off his coat and -wrapped it about her, but still she slipped away like sand through the -fingers. - -He begged; and her face came toward him, and her lips touched his. Her -fingers rested for an instant on his eyelids. - -When they were lifted, and he opened his eyes again, Anne was gone. - -He threw himself toward the brink of that precipice to follow her; but -the chasm had disappeared. Where it had been, there was only a sweet -meadow, mockingly beautiful in the sun. - -He looked about him. All the world was beautiful as ice. - - -XI - -The world in which Barnard walked when Anne was gone was full of people. -While Anne had been with him, there had seemed to be no one else in the -land save himself and Anne. But now the paths were full of folk who -moved steadily this way and that. - -They did not see Barnard. At first he spoke to them, but he found they -did not hear. They were absorbed, each in each. After a time he gave -over accosting these people and began to hunt for his sons. But he could -not find them. - -And so he went forward alone, and very lonely. This was the worst part -of Barnard’s dream. - -He was so much alone that even The Threat had left him. He missed it. -Its absence was more terrible than its presence had been. He longed for -it to return, and he sought for it; and then, one day, it appeared in -the air, high above him. - -It was very beautiful, much to be desired. He wondered that he had never -perceived its beauty in the past. It was no longer a threat; it was -something kinder. - -But it rode high above Barnard, seemed not to perceive him. - -Barnard tried to wake and could not; and then he saw that he could only -wake by coming closer to the Cloud that had been a threat. He climbed a -little hill and called to it; but it rode serenely on, not regarding -him. - -When it had passed the hill on which he stood, it went more swiftly, and -Barnard was fearful that it would vanish again. He ran after it. It was -the only friendly and familiar thing in this world without Anne. He -could not bear to lose it. By and by he seemed to be overtaking it; and -abruptly he plunged into the cool sweetness of its embrace. - -It blinded his eyes, and he began to fall; and at the end of his fall, -he awoke. - - * * * * * - -For a moment after his waking, Barnard lay shuddering at the horror of -his dream. The loss of Anne had been so terribly real that at first he -scarce dared reach out in the darkness for her head upon the pillow -beside him. - -But after a moment he became conscious of the soft warmth of her body -there; and he caught the sound of her slow and pleasant breathing; so he -fumbled and found her hand and held it and was comforted. - -The touch of his hand seemed to wake her; her fingers answered his with -a loving pressure, and she said reassuringly to him: - -“All right, Jimmie.” - -He leaned in the darkness and found her lips and kissed her. “All right, -Anne,” he replied. “Just a bad dream.” - -He heard her laugh softly; and at the sound of her gentle mirth he felt -strangely humble. “What is it, Anne?” he begged. - -“I, too, dreamed,” she told him. “I woke before you; that is all. In the -morning you will understand.” - -“Understand?” he pleaded; and he was trembling with eagerness for this -understanding which was already in some parts revealed to him. - -“That though it seemed so long, and seemed so real, it was after all but -the matter of an instant’s dream,” she told him lovingly. Her hand was -on his hair as it had used to be.... - -So he began to understand; and he held tight to Anne’s hand for a space; -and presently they slept for a little time, and woke in the glory of the -risen sun, to begin together the new Day. - - - - -HIS HONOR - - -I - -Judge Hosmer’s study was on the second floor of his home. Not a -pretentious room. Calf-bound volumes on the shelves that lined the -walls; a comfortable chair under a reading light, a work table on which -books, papers, pen and ink were usually littered; and a more formal desk -where, in laborious longhand and disdaining the services of a -stenographer, the Judge wrought out his opinions. There was a homely -honesty about the room; a clean suggestion of common sense and -fundamental decency; a certain uprightness. Rooms much used do thus at -times reflect the characteristics of those who use them. - -The Judge was, this evening, at the desk and writing. He used a stiff, -stub pen; and he wrote slowly, forming the large characters with care, -forming the pellucid sentences with equal care. He consulted no notes; -it was his custom to clarify the issues in any case so thoroughly in his -own thoughts that there could be no hesitation when the moment came to -set those issues down. Half a dozen sheets, already covered with his -large hand, lay at his elbow. His pen was half-way down another when a -light knock sounded upon his closed door. - -The Judge finished the sentence upon which he was engaged, then lifted -his eyes and looked across the room and called: - -“Come, Mary.” - -His wife opened the door and stepped inside. She shut it behind her, and -crossed to her husband’s chair, and dropped her hand lightly on his -head. He lifted his own hand to smooth hers caressingly. - -“Almost through?” she asked. - -He nodded. “Another line or two.” - -“Jim Cotterill is down-stairs,” she told him. - -The Judge seemed faintly surprised. “Jim?” he repeated. And added -thoughtfully, half to himself, “Well, now.” - -“He says there’s no hurry,” she explained. “Says he just dropped in for -a word or two. Just to say howdy.” - -“That’s--neighborly,” her husband commented. “Course, I’ve seen him -every day, in court. But I haven’t had a chance to talk to him. To ask -him how things are, down home.” - -She nodded, smiling. “Another of your scruples, Bob?” - -“It wouldn’t hardly have looked right,” he agreed. “The other side were -doubtful, anyway, knowing I’d been attorney for the Furnace a few years -ago, and knowing Jim and me were townsmen.” - -“I know,” she assented. - -“Case is finished, now, though,” he commented. “Tell Jim I’ll be through -in fifteen or twenty minutes. You entertain him, Mary.” - -She made a gesture of impatience. “He makes me uncomfortable,” she -said. “I never liked him.” - -The Judge smiled. “Oh, Jim’s all right. He’s fat; and he’s a little bit -slick. But he means all right, I reckon. Give him a cigar and ask after -his folks. He’ll do the talking for both of you.” - -She nodded, moving toward the door. “Yes,” she assented; and asked: “I -haven’t bothered you?” - -The Judge smiled. “Lord, Honey, you never bother me.” - -But when the door had closed behind her, his countenance was faintly -shadowed. Concern showed in his eyes, dwelt there. He remained for a -little time motionless, absorbed in some thought that distressed him. In -the end, there was a suggestion of effort in his movements as he picked -up his pen and began again his slow and careful writing. Bethany Iron -Furnace against John Thomas, David Jones, et al. His decision. - - -II - -It was half an hour later that the Judge came out of his study to the -head of the stairs and shouted down them: “Hi, Jim!” Cotterill, a -certain impatience increasingly manifest in his eyes, had been talking -with Mrs. Hosmer. He answered, and the Judge called to him: “Come along -up.” - -Mrs. Hosmer followed the attorney into the hall and watched him climb -the stairs. A short, bald man with a countenance that was always -good-natured, but never prepossessing. She saw him grip her husband’s -hand at the top, panting a little from the ascent. They turned together -toward the Judge’s study, and she went back into the living room. - -“This is neighborly of you, Jim,” Judge Hosmer was saying, as he closed -the study door behind them. “Come in and set. Have a stogie. I’m glad -you didn’t hop back down home without coming to say hello.” - -Cotterill’s rather small eyes whipped toward the older man, then away -again. “I didn’t figure we ought to get together while the case was -going on,” he explained. Both men, meticulous and precise in their -professional utterances, dropped easily into the more colloquial idiom -of their daily life. - -“Right enough,” Judge Hosmer agreed. “Fair enough. But no harm now. -How’re tricks, anyhow? Folks well?” - -“Yes, well enough. Were when I left. I’ve been too busy to do much -letter writing, since I came up here.” - -“They have sort of kept you humping, haven’t they?” the Judge agreed. - -“Well, that’s my job,” Cotterill told him; and the Judge assented. - -“Sure, that’s your job.” - -A little silence fell between these two. The Judge, tall and lean, with -bushy brows above his wide-set eyes, studied the fat little man with -some curiosity. Cotterill seemed indisposed to speak; and the other -asked at last: “Family all well, Jim?” - -“Well? Sure. Fine.” - -“What’s the news, anyway?” the Judge insisted. “I haven’t heard from -the folks lately.” - -The attorney leaned back in his chair, somewhat more at ease; and he -smiled. “Well,” he said. “Things go along about the same. Folks down -home are right proud of you, Judge.” - -“Sho,” said Hosmer, deprecatingly. - -“Yes, they are,” Cotterill insisted good-naturedly. “Yes, they are. I -was talking to old Tom Hughes, when he sent for me about this case, in -the beginning. He told me to give you my regards and good wishes.” - -“That was neighborly of him.” - -Cotterill nodded. “Tom’s always been proud of you, you know, Bob. -Course, being at the head of the Furnace the way he is, he runs a lot of -votes in the county; and he’s always kind of figured that he elected -you. Helped anyway. Feels like he’s done something to put you where you -are. He liked you, when you were handling their business, too. I guess -the Old Man kind of feels like you were his own son.” - -Hosmer’s thin, wide mouth drew into a smile. “A fatherly interest, eh? -Tom’s a good old man.” - -“Well, he’s not the only one down there that feels that way about you, -Bob. You know how the folks there stick together. The men that amount to -anything. Tom’s bunch. Old Charley Steele, and Dave Evans, and that -crowd. They’ve always been back of you. Sort of feel as though you were -one of them.” - -“Best friends I’ve got in the world,” Hosmer agreed. - -Cotterill chuckled. “Matter of fact, it’s right funny to see them watch -the papers when you’re sitting in one of these big cases up here. -Bragging to strangers that you’re from there.” - -“Yeah,” Hosmer remarked encouragingly. He watched the fat little lawyer, -an ironic question in his eyes. - -“They’re all getting ready to get behind you and push, when you run -again,” Cotterill assured him. “Dave Evans said here, just the other -day, that you could get pretty near anything you wanted to, if you -watched your step. It means a lot to have the home town folks back of -you, you know. There’s a neat bunch of votes down there, Bob.” - -“Sure,” the Judge agreed. - -Cotterill opened his hands with a frank gesture. “Of course, they’re all -watching this case, right now. It’s pretty important to the Furnace, you -know. Not much in this one case, but it’s a precedent. Reckon it would -cut into the business they do down there quite a bit if things went -wrong. Tom says to me when we first talked about it: ‘You got to win -this case, Jim. If you don’t, it’s going to cost us money.’ And what -hurts the Furnace hurts the town.” - -He hesitated; and the Judge said slowly and pleasantly: “You’re dodging -around corners, Jim. What’s on your mind?” - -Cotterill swung toward the other, leaning a little forward in his chair. -“Well--” he began, then hesitated. “Bob, you know my reputation, I -guess?” - -“I know you’re reputed to be--successful,” said the Judge. If there was -in his word anything of criticism or of reproach, Cotterill paid no -heed. - -“I mean, you know, that I’ve the reputation of going right after what I -want. No wabbling around.” - -“Have you, Jim?” - -“And I’m coming right to the point now.” - -“Come ahead.” - -The fat little man hitched his chair a little nearer the other’s. His -voice was lowered. He gesticulated with a pudgy finger. - -“First thing,” he explained, “I want to be sure you understand just how -important this is. To us, and to you, too. It’s business with us; but -it’s a policy with you. That’s what I want you to understand. They -haven’t asked you for anything because they helped you get started; and -they don’t aim to. Not for what was done for you then. But we can’t -afford to lose this case now.” - -Hosmer said slowly: “Case is finished, Jim. Decision is all written. -It’s in that envelop there.” He pointed toward the top of his desk. - -Cotterill shot a glance in that direction; and beads of sweat started -upon his forehead. “That’s all right,” he said. “No need of going into -that. I know I’m not much as a trial lawyer. I know I fell down on this -case. Facts and law were with us; but I didn’t get the stuff into the -record the way I’d ought to, and some of our witnesses didn’t stand up -when Marston got after them. Marston’s a good lawyer; but there’s more -to trying a case than the court end of it. I’m trying my case right now, -Bob.” - -The Judge did not reply. He seemed to have settled into a certain stony -calm; his eyes were steady and inscrutable. Cotterill waited for an -instant, then swung swiftly on. - -“Thing is,” he said. “You want to figure whether you’re going to stand -with us, and have us back of you; or whether you want to stand with this -other bunch. They were against you at the start. You know that. And -they’re not going to shift now, even if you’re good to them. They’ll -just figure you’re scared. You’re coming up for reelection one of these -days. Maybe for a bigger job. And if we’re solid back of you, you can -have anything you want. You know that, Bob. But if we split, you’re a -goner. There’s the whole thing. You stick with us, and we’ll stick with -you. You throw us, and we’ll--remember it. We’re not asking favors for -what we have done, but for what we figure to do. See?” - -He stopped short, watching the other shrewdly. The Judge at first made -no move, said no word. His eyes were thoughtful; and his glance was not -turned toward the other man. - -“Do you see?” Cotterill repeated. - -“I--see what you mean,” said the Judge, slowly. - -“Then what do you say?” the fat man insisted. - -Judge Hosmer swung slowly to face him. There was something judicial in -his tones, even and calm; and his colloquialisms were gone. - -“I’m not ambitious--in a political way,” he replied. - -Jim Cotterill watched him, marked the apparent hesitation in his answer; -and the fat man licked his lips, and looked behind him toward the door -with something furtive in his manner. Then jerked his chair still -nearer to the other, with the buttonholing instinct always so strong in -his ilk. And laughed in an unpleasant way. - -“All right, Bob,” he said. “All right. I get you. We’re ready to meet -you on that ground, too.” - -“On what ground?” the Judge asked tonelessly. - -Cotterill whisperingly explained. “We know your affairs pretty well, -Bob,” he said, assuringly. “You’ve got a reasonable salary; but it’s -none too much. You like to live comfortable; and nobody blames you. -Everybody feels the same way. There are a lot of folks that’d like to be -friendly, help you out. If you wanted they should. And there are a lot -of ways they could help you. Any way you like.” - -“What way?” Judge Hosmer insisted. - -Cotterill’s embarrassed reluctance, if such an emotion can fairly be -attributed to the man, passed before the Judge’s encouraging inquiry. -“There’s that mortgage,” he suggested. “I know it’s a burden to you. It -ain’t that you need the money. You’re paying six per cent. on it, and -making more than that on the money it releases for you. Pays any man -with a business head to borrow at six per cent. That’s all right. But -maybe there are times when you fret a little bit about that mortgage. -Well, Judge, you don’t need to. Easiest thing in the world to have it -tore up. All you got to do is say the word.” - -The Judge did not say the word. Cotterill pursued the subject. - -“Maybe there’s something else,” he suggested. “I take it you’re a -business man, but I may be wrong. Maybe you don’t know where to get any -better than six per cent. for your money. If that’s the trouble, we can -help you, too. You don’t know the market. Not your business to. But -there are men that do know it. Fact is, they are the market, Judge. They -make it jump over a stick whenever they like. Old Tom is in with them. -And they’d be glad to show you the way. You wouldn’t have to worry. You -just open an account. Put in as much as you like. I can guarantee it’ll -double and double for you, pretty regular. Handled right. You can call -it a speculation; but it’s not that. Not when the market is trained, way -it is. You see how I mean?” - -The Judge said nothing at all; and Cotterill threw out his hands with an -insinuating gesture. “Or,” he suggested, “it may be you haven’t got any -loose money to put in. That’ll be all right. They’ll carry the account -for you. Carry it, and take care of it and whenever they make a -turnover, mail your check to you. You cash it, that’s all there is.” -There was no answering gleam in the Judge’s eye; and Cotterill added -hurriedly, “Maybe the notion of a check bothers you. It does leave a -trail. But cash don’t. And cash can be got. There won’t be any trouble -about that. Nor about how much. We’re responsible people. So are you. -Come on, Bob; what’s the answer?” - -The Judge said, almost abstractedly, and entirely without heat: - -“You’re interesting, Jim; but you’re not convincing. You see, it just -happens that I don’t take bribes.” - -Cotterill twisted in his chair as though under a blow; and his fat face -purpled with anger. He struck his fist upon the edge of the desk before -him. - -“All right! All right, Bob!” he cried hotly. “If you won’t have it in -friendship, take it the other way. You can’t pull this high and mighty -on me. You can’t get away with it. What are you after, anyway? I haven’t -named a figure. You could have named your own, if you’d been reasonable. -’Stead of that, you’ve got to grow wings and fan ’em like an angel, or -something. You can’t pull that with me, Bob. I know too much.” - -“What do you know, Jim?” the Judge asked mildly. - -Cotterill laughed. “Getting under your skin, am I? Thought I would. You -think I’d go into this without making sure I had winning cards? I’ve -looked you up, Bob. I’ve had you looked up. I know you, inside out. And -I’ll tell you flat, either you come across now, or everybody’ll know you -as well as we do.” - -“How well do you know me?” Hosmer inquired. - -The attorney held up his left hand, the fingers outspread; and he ticked -off his points upon these fingers. “This well,” he declared. “Item one: -You sat in the Steel case. When the decision was announced, the market -went off. Robertson Brothers had you on their books, short a thousand -shares. You made a nice little pile. Legal enough, maybe, Judge; but not -right ethical. Would you say so?” - -“Go on,” said the Judge. - -The fat little man touched another finger. “Item two: Remember the -Daily trial, down home. Chet Thorne. Remember him? Witness for the other -side. You was defending Daily. He needed it, too. He was guilty as the -devil. Chet told the truth, first trial. But you got a disagreement, -just the same. Second trial, Chet lied. You got Daily off. Well, we’ve -got Chet. You can’t find him, but we know where he is. And we’ve got his -affidavit to why he changed his story. Oh, it was slick! Nobody could -get Chet for perjury. Change didn’t amount to enough for that. But it -was enough for what you needed. You got away with it then; but Chet’s -ready to tell how you got away with it, now.” - -He stopped again, and the Judge inquired: “Is that all?” - -Cotterill shook his head. “Not quite. Item three: The matter of the -Turner trust, and how it happened the trustee was short, and how the -thing was covered up. You were the trustee, Bob. One, Two, Three, and -there you have it.” He struck the desk again, triumph inflaming him. -“Furthermore,” he cried, voice suddenly shrill. “Furthermore, the -story’s ready to spring. This afternoon, petition for your disbarment -was filed down home. In a sealed envelop. And the whole story back of -it’s in type, right now, down town at the _Chronicle_ office. When I -leave here, before midnight tonight, I’ll hit a telephone. If I say one -word, the envelop goes into the fire and the type is pied. If I don’t -say the word, the envelop’s opened in the morning, and the story’s on -the street in the _Chronicle_ before breakfast. There’s the load, -Judge.” He shrugged, his hands outspread. “Look it over. Simple enough. -Be good and you’ll be happy. Now what do you say?” - -For a long moment, there was silence in the quiet room; and when the -Judge spoke, it was in a gentle, but a decisive tone. - -“Nor I’ve never permitted myself to be blackmailed, Cotterill,” he -replied. - -The lawyer stormed to his feet; he threw up his hands. “All right!” he -cried. “Then it’s bust for you.” - -The Judge nodded. “Maybe,” he agreed. “Of course, this is old stuff. A -little of it true, and a good deal of it lies. Dates back ten--twelve -years. Maybe you can make it go. I don’t know. But I do know one thing, -Jim. I know you’re a dirty specimen.” There was, abruptly, a hot ring in -his tones. - -Cotterill cried: “That’ll do! You’re through. No man can talk to me that -way....” - -Hosmer’s long arm shot out; his fingers twisted into the other’s collar. -“Talk to you? Talk to you?” he repeated quietly. “Why, Jim, I aim to do -considerable more than talk to you.” His right hand swung; he slapped -the squirming man across the cheek. Swung and cuffed Jim Cotterill to -and fro in a cold fire of rage.... - -Urged him toward the door; half dragged, half thrust, half threw him -down the stairs; spurred his tumultuous exit from the house. A last -stinging blow, and: “Git,” he said. - -Cotterill was gone. - - -III - -The Judge’s wife had come into the hall. Hosmer slowly shut the door, -and he rubbed his hands as though they were soiled. There was trouble in -his eyes, where the anger died. - -Mary Hosmer touched his arm; asked softly: “What is it, Bob?” - -He looked down at her; slowly shook his head. “Trouble, Mary,” he said -frankly. “He wanted to beg, or buy, or steal the Furnace case. They’ve -raked up those old affairs. The _Chronicle_ will print the whole -business in the morning. He’s gone to release the story now. I guess -folks will walk right by and never see us, tomorrow, Mary.” - -Comprehension came swiftly into her eyes; she cried rebelliously: -“You’ve lived those old tales down, Bob!” He shook his head. “Anyway,” -she told him, “I’m glad you--kicked him out as you did.” - -The Judge nodded. Then a slow smile crept into his eyes. “Matter of -fact, Mary,” he said, “this affair has its funny side.” - -“Funny?” she echoed. - -“Yeah.” - -“Why....” - -“I’d written my decision before he came upstairs,” he explained. “I’d -already decided the way he wanted me to.” - - - - -THE COWARD - -I - - -Little old Bob Dungan, his coat off, his sleeves rolled to the elbow so -that they revealed the red-woolen underwear which he habitually wore, -sat at his typewriter in the furthest corner of the noisy City Room and -rattled off a cryptic sentence. He wrote: - - “_The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog._” - -Now this is not a piece of information calculated to interest more than -a baker’s dozen of the half million readers of a metropolitan daily such -as that which Bob served. The sentence as a sentence has but one virtue; -it contains all of the letters of the alphabet. That is all you can say -for it. Nevertheless, having written the words, Bob studied them -profoundly, ticking off with his pencil each letter, from A to Izzard, -and when he was done, counted those that still remained. - -“Nine,” he said, half aloud. And he scratched his head. “Ought to get it -under that.” He put a fresh sheet in the typewriter and prepared to try -again. To the casual eye of any one who might be watching from across -the room, he looked like a very busy man. - -As a matter of fact, this was exactly the impression Bob wished to -convey. He was anxious to appear busy and indispensable. For little old -Bob Dungan was desperately afraid of being fired. - -A newspaper staff is built to meet emergencies. That means that, left to -itself, it inevitably becomes top-heavy, and on days when news is slack, -the City Room is half full of men waiting for an assignment that never -comes. When such a condition develops, the veterans in the office know -what will follow. Some fine morning, the publisher drifts down stairs -and sees the idle men--idle because there is nothing for them to do. And -that afternoon, the order comes to cut the staff, cut to the bone. - -So faces once familiar begin to disappear. The latest comers are the -first to go, and only unusual ability will save them. Then the less -efficient among the regulars are dropped, and finally, in drastic cases, -those oldtimers who have begun to slow down. There was once a Saturday -afternoon when from a single City Room twenty-two men were discharged, -and the work went on, Monday morning, just the same. Men who have seemed -indispensable disappear--and leave no more of a hole than your finger -leaves in a bucket of water. The young reporters take these episodes -gaily, as a part of the game; those more experienced accept misfortune -with what resignation they can muster. But in the case of a man who has -served the paper for ten or fifteen or twenty years, the moment has its -black and tragic side. - -Old Bob Dungan was wise enough to know the signs. Three weeks before two -young reporters had disappeared. A week after, five men were “let go.” -Last Saturday seven old friends had stopped at his desk to say goodby. -And this morning, his half-admitted apprehensions had been brought to -focus. Fear had set its grip on him.... - -Dade, the City Editor, a driver of a man who was himself driven by a -fierce affection for the paper which he served, was standing at Bob’s -desk, and they were talking together when Boswell, the publisher, came -in from the elevator. And Dade--the man had a kindly, human streak in -him which some people never discovered--whispered out of the side of his -mouth to Bob: - -“Look out, old man. For God’s sake, look busy as hell!” - -Then he went across to meet Boswell; and Bob began to write on his -machine, at top speed, over and over again: - -“_Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. Now -is the time for all good men to come...._” - -He shifted, after a while, to the other: “_The quick brown fox jumps -over the lazy dog._” Meaningless enough; but Bob hoped, with all his -trembling soul, that he was succeeding in looking busy. He was, as has -been said, afraid of being fired. - - -II - -Bob could not afford to be fired. He had been a newspaper reporter all -his life, and always would be. His salary had always been small, and -always would be. His savings were spasmodic, disappearing like snow -patches on a sunny day before the occasional emergencies of life, and -emergencies insisted on arising. Emergencies do arise, when a man has a -family. Just now, for example, his wife was only two days out of -hospital, and the bill unpaid.... No, he could not afford the luxury of -being fired. - -So fear scourged and shook him. It was physical; there were certain -muscular and nervous reactions that went with it. His heels, tucked -under his chair, felt naked and chilled by the little currents of air -that circulated along the floor. His bowels were sick within him, as -though there were an actual, ponderable weight in his mid-section. His -ears, attuned to what went on in the room behind him, seemed unnaturally -enlarged, and there were pricklings in his scalp. - -He had known fear before. Such dull periods come to every newspaper -office. But Bob had always pulled through, escaped discharge. He had -worked at this same desk for a dozen years.... Had come here from the -_Journal_, feeling a little proudly that he was taking an upward step, -beginning at last to climb. It had meant more money. Thirty-five dollars -a week. He was getting forty, now. So little, yet enough to make a man a -coward. - -Bob had never been fired from any job. The process of discharge was -cloaked, in his thoughts, with an awful mystery. Sometimes men found a -note, in a blue envelope, in their mail boxes; sometimes Dade called -them to him, spoke to them, explained the necessity which forced him to -let them go. They took it variously; defiantly, calmly, humbly, as their -natures dictated. But it had never happened to Bob.... - -He was afraid, these days, to go to his box for mail lest the dreaded -note be there; and when Dade stopped at his desk or called him across -the room he cringed to his very soul with dread. He was, no doubt of it -at all, an arrant and an utter coward. - -So he sat, this morning, and wrote, over, and over again: - -“_Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. Now -is the...._” Or shifted, and tapped off: “_The quick brown fox jumps -over the lazy dog._” He was still thus occupied when Dade called from -his broad desk by the window: - -“Bob!” - -The little old man looked fearfully around, and Dade beckoned. Bob’s -heart dropped into his boots; he was fairly white with fear. Perhaps -Boswell had told Dade to let him go.... - -Nevertheless, he faced the music. Got up and went across the room toward -where the City Editor was standing. And he managed a smile. Beat down -his panic and smiled. - -Dade kept him waiting. The City Editor was giving some instructions to -Ingalls, the City Hall man. Bob, his thoughts misted and confused by his -own apprehensions, nevertheless heard what Dade was saying, and -subconsciously registered and filed it away. - -“ ...going to start something,” Dade explained to Ingalls. “Mr. Boswell -is interested, so you want to get results. The Building Department has -been slack. Not inspectors enough, maybe. Fire Department, too. There -were two girls caught in that fire in the South End ten days ago. Got -out, I know, but it was luck. We’re going to cover every fire, from now -on. Going to watch the fire-escapes and the fire-doors and get the goods -on this bunch, if they’ve been falling down. You keep it to yourself, -but see what you can dig up. There must be stuff filed, up there. I’ll -let you know.... Don’t make any breaks till you hear from me, but keep -on the job....” - -Bob listened, finding some relief from his own apprehensions in doing -so. “Another crusade ...” he thought, idly. Abruptly, Dade dismissed -Ingalls and turned to him, and Bob turned pale, then colored with relief -when he understood that Dade simply wished to give him an assignment. - -“Jack Brenton,” Dade said, in the staccato sentences which were his -habit. “We hear his wife has run away from him. He lives out in -Hanbridge. Here’s the address. I sent the district man over. He says -Brenton’s drunk. Threatened to shoot him. You’ll have to handle him -right. Jack’s a bruiser, looking for trouble. Ask him if it’s true his -wife’s gone. Ask him who she went with, and why, and what he’s going to -do about it. Telephone me.” - -Bob nodded. “All right,” he said quickly. “I’ll phone in.” He swung back -to his desk for coat and hat, eager to be away, eager to be out of the -office and away from present peril. - - -III - -Outside the building, Bob headed for the subway. He had no qualms at the -thought of Jack Brenton and his drunken pugnacity. Bob was an old hand, -a good leg man, a competent reporter. He had handled angry husbands -many times. He could handle Brenton. - -Yet he might have been forgiven for being afraid to encounter Jack -Brenton. The man was a professional pugilist of some local note, and his -record was bad. He had once, by ill luck, killed an opponent in the -ring; he was known to possess a sulky temper that flamed to murderous -heat, and it was said of him that when he was in his cups, he was better -left alone.... He was in his cups this morning. Bob knew this as soon as -he heard the other’s sulky shout that answered his knock at the -apartment door. The prize-fighter yelled: “Come in!” And Bob went in. - -Inside the door there was a little hallway, with a bathroom opening off -one side, and a living-room at the end. Brenton came into this passage -from the living-room as Bob entered from the hall, and they met face to -face. Brenton looked down at the little man; and he asked suspiciously: - -“What’re you after?” - -“Dungan’s my name,” said Bob pleasantly. “I’m from the _Chronicle_.” - -He saw the other’s scowl deepen. “I said what I’d do.... Next damn -reporter came out here. What you want, anyway?” - -“I want to ask you a few questions. About your wife....” - -The pugilist dropped his hand on little Bob Dungan’s shoulder. His left -hand. His right jerked into sight with a revolver; he thrust the muzzle -of it into Bob’s face. “You smell that,” he cried, truculently. “I’ll -blow your damn head off.” - -Bob--laughed. “Why, that’s all right,” he replied. If he had squirmed, -struggled, or even if he had been afraid, the other’s drunken anger -might have given him strength to shoot. There was very real and deadly -peril in the situation. But Bob, unafraid, laughed; and the -prize-fighter could see that there was no fear in the little man’s eyes. -“That’s all right,” said Bob. “Go ahead.” - -Brenton did not shoot. He hesitated uncertainly, his slow wits wavering. -And Bob asked sympathetically: - -“Did she treat you pretty bad?” - -“Bad?” Brenton echoed. “Why, the things she’s done to me--Why, say....” - -“That’s tough,” the reporter murmured. - -The fighter’s grip on his shoulder relaxed; the big man’s arm slid -around Bob’s neck. He became maudlin and unhappy, weeping for sympathy. -“Why, you jus’ lemme tell you....” he begged. - -“Sure,” Bob agreed. “Tell me all about it. Let’s go in and sit down.” - -They went into the living-room. “Y’see, it was this way....” the -pugilist began. - - -IV - -When Bob left the prize-fighter, he called the office and reported to -Dade. “Dungan speaking,” he said. - -“What you got?” Dade asked hurriedly. - -“Jack Brenton. Got his story. About his wife. Good stuff....” - -Dade interrupted. “Never mind that now,” he directed. “There’s a big -fire in that block of lofts on Chambers Street. Hop a taxi and get there -quick as you can. Get busy, Bob.” - -Bob said crisply: “‘Right!” He heard the receiver click as Dade hung up. -Five minutes later he had located a taxi and was racing toward the fire. -As he drew near, he saw the column of smoke that rose from the burning -building, black against the sky. “Two or three alarms,” he estimated, -out of his long experience in such matters. “Lot of girls working in -there, too. Probably caught some of them. Damned rat-hole....” - -He had not enough cash in his pocket to pay the taxi fare; so he showed -the man his badge and said curtly: “Charge _Chronicle_.” Then he began -to worm through the crowd toward the fire. His badge passed him through -the fire-lines, into the smother of smoke and the tumult of voices and -the throbbing rhythm of the engines. The loft building was five stories -high; and when Bob looked up, he saw, as the smoke thinned and left -vistas, the red of flames in every window on the upper floors. Beside an -empty hose-wagon, he came upon Brett of the _Journal_, and asked him: -“Anybody caught!” - -Brett shook his head. “Seven rescues,” he said. “Fire started on the top -floor, so they mostly had time to run.” - -“Got the names?” Bob asked. - -“Jake’s got ’em,” said Brett. Jake was the _Chronicle’s_ police -reporter. “He’s gone to telephone them in.” - -Bob nodded. Jake was a good man. He would have picked up enough of -incident and accident to make a story. The rewrite men in the office -would do the rest. His, Bob’s, job was to look for a feature the other -men might have overlooked.... And abruptly, he remembered Dade’s -instructions to Ingalls that morning. Fire escapes; fire-doors. Were -they adequate, on this old trap? - -There was an alley beside the burning building. He could work in through -there and find out, perhaps.... At the mouth of the alley a policeman -halted him. Bob showed his fire badge. The policeman said scornfully: “I -don’t give a damn for that. That wall in there is going to fall in a -minute.” - -Bob laughed. “I was covering fires when you were in the cradle, old -man,” he said, and slipped by, into the alley. The officer started to -pursue, swore, changed his mind, returned to his post. The alley was not -an attractive place to enter. It was full of smoke, and sprinkled with -bits of glass that still tinkled down in a steady rain from the -shattered windows above; and as he had said, the upper part of the wall -had been gnawed by the fire till it was like to fall at any moment. - -In spite of this, Bob went in. He was not afraid, and he was not -excited, and he was not valorous. He was simply matter of fact. The -smoke made him cough, and burned his eyes. Nevertheless he located the -fire-escape, where it came zigzagging down the wall. Its ladder swung -seven feet above the sidewalk. He got a barrel and climbed upon it and -so reached the ladder. - -He scaled the ladder to the second floor landing. He found there a -blank, iron-sheathed door. Locked. He could not move it. “But it -probably opens from the inside,” he reminded himself. “Let’s see.” - -There was no window on this floor; he looked up and discovered that from -the landing above he could reach a window. Flames were streaming thinly -out of windows ten feet above that landing. Nevertheless, Bob did not -hesitate. He climbed, straddled the iron rail, kicked in a pane of glass -and pushed the sash up. The room within was full of eddying smoke; Bob -crawled inside. He wished to reach the hall, test the doors that opened -upon the fire-escape from the inside. - -Smoke in the room was thick, so he crouched below it and slipped out -into the hall. When he reached the door, he found it adequately equipped -with patent bolts of the sort that yielded at a tug. He tried them; the -door swung open. The bolts, he saw, were recently installed and in good -condition.... The open door had created a draft. Smoke, with a hot -breath of fire in it, began to pour past him and out through the door. - -Fire-escapes all right; doors all right. No story. Time to get out, he -decided. - -To do so it was necessary to traverse the building. He did this. Bob had -seen fires before. Experience and instinct guided him safely. On the -stairs he found lines of hose leading up to where a squad of firemen -were fighting the fire from within. He followed the hose down and to the -front door and so to the street. - -The fire, for newspaper purposes, was over. Three alarms, seven rescues, -a hundred thousand damage.... Bob telephoned the office. Dade asked: -“How about fire-escapes?” - -“I looked at them,” Bob said casually. “They’re O. K. Fire-doors all -right, too.” Dade said: “Well, you might as well come in.” - - -V - -Bob brushed his clothes and washed his face and hands in a hotel -wash-room before he returned to the office. When he came into the City -Room, no one paid him any attention. He went to his desk and wrote the -story of Jack Brenton’s wife, and handed the manuscript to Dade. The -City Editor scanned the pages with swift eyes, said over his shoulder: -“Good stuff, Bob.” Then tossed the story to the copy-desk. “Top 7,” he -directed. “Good little local story. But you’d better cut it down. Half a -column’s enough.” - -Bob went back to his desk. He was beginning to feel the reaction; he was -somewhat tired. So for a little while he sat idly, doing nothing at all. - -Then Boswell, the publisher, came in from the corridor; and Bob saw him, -and turned to his typewriter, and inserted a sheet of paper, and began -to write. He wrote, over and over again: - - _“The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.”_ - -The little old reporter wished to appear busy. He was, you see, a good -deal of a coward; he was desperately afraid of being fired. - - - - -NOT A DRUM WAS HEARD - - -I - -This is, in all essentials, a true story. It came through an old friend -from the Southwest, a newspaper man, who telephoned an invitation to -lunch the other day. He says he remembers, as a boy, seeing the whole -population of his home town embark on horseback, in wagons, and afoot to -go to the hanging. That was in 1881; but it was not till twenty years -afterward that he heard from one Chris O’Neill the true inwardness of -that hanging, as he told it to me over our coffee. The thing happened in -a little frontier town in the cow country; and since swift justice and a -ready rope were characteristics of the time and the place, it occasioned -only passing comment in that day. Nevertheless, the tale may well bear -preserving. - -I cannot hope to reproduce my friend’s words, nor the atmosphere of -those reckless times, so long dead, which he brought back to life for -me. Nevertheless, here is the substance of the story that he told. - - -II - -There were two cowboys in the O K O outfit, otherwise called the -Hourglass; and these two men were pardners. This, I was given to -understand, is a very different thing from being partners. In France, a -few years ago, they would have called themselves “buddies.” The -relationship is the same, though it appears under another name. The two -men were named Jack Mills and Bud Loupel. If you hired one, you hired -both. If one was fired, the other quit. If you licked one, the other -licked you; and if one became involved in a shooting affray, the other -was apt to be somewhere in the background with a gun in his hand and an -eye out for possible sharp practice by allies of the party of the second -part. The foreman of the Hourglass, being wise in his generation, -assigned the two to tasks at which they could work together; and they -stayed with that outfit for a length of time that was considered -extraordinary in those tempestuous days. That is to say, they labored in -the vineyard for the O K O for a matter of a year and a half. At the end -of that time Jack Mills was twenty-one and Bud Loupel was twenty-two. - -As they did their work jointly, so they took their pleasures together; -and it came to pass on a certain day that they rode away to town with -full pockets and lively plans for the evenings immediately before them. -Jack Mills, always the gayer spirit of the two, pulled his gun at the -edge of town and perforated the blue sky above him. At the same time he -emitted certain shrill sounds and spurred his horse to the gallop. Bud -was more given to a certain sobriety and decorum; he did not shoot and -he did not yell. But his horse kept close beside the other’s. They swung -into the wide and dusty main street with hats flapping, horses racing -like jack rabbits, holsters pounding against their thighs. They swept -up the street together, saw the same vision at the same instant, and -jerked their horses to a sliding, tail-grinding stop with a single -movement of their bridle hands. - -The vision’s name was Jeanie Ross. She was the daughter of old man Ross, -the storekeeper, and she had just come home from the East. The rattle of -the shots had brought her to the door of the store, and she stood there -when the two cowboys discovered her. She looked at them; they stared at -her. Then Jack Mills swung boldly to the ground and walked toward her, -grinning in his pleasantly likable way. He swept his wide hat low, and -he said: “Ma’am, I’m Jack Mills of the Hourglass.” - -The girl, though she had lived long in the East, was a daughter of the -West. She was amused and not displeased, for Jack was easy enough to -look at. She smiled, and this emboldened Bud Loupel, who was always -conservative, to imitate his pardner’s example. He, too, dismounted and -stepped forward, and Jack Mills bowed again to the girl and told her: -“Furthermore, ma’am, this here is my bashful friend, Bud Loupel. The cat -has got his tongue, but he’s a nice little fellow. Now you know -everybody worth knowing.” - -Jeanie Ross, still very much amused, asked: “Who were you shooting at?” - -“The man in the moon,” said Jack Mills. “But I missed him a mile.” - -She laughed and said she was glad of that. “I’d hate not to be able to -see him up there once in a while,” she told Jack. - -“Just to prove he ain’t hurt,” he assured her, “I’ll ride in and point -him out to you when the signs is right.” - -She shook her head, looking from one man to the other, withdrawing a -little into the doorway. Jack marked, even then, that her eyes rested -longest on Bud Loupel. “I’ve studied astronomy my own self,” she said, -and while he was still crushed by that she backed into the store and -disappeared. - -The two mounted in silence and continued more demurely down the street. -In front of Brady’s they hitched their horses, tramped dustily inside, -and touched elbows at the bar. The first drink was taken without speech; -the second followed it. - -After a while Bud Loupel said: “Jack!” - -“Huh?” - -“Me, you know what I aim to do?” - -Mills grinned. “I don’t know, but I’m waiting.” - -“I aim,” said Bud Loupel, “to quit the range and get me a job in this -here little old town.” - -Jack Mills banged his open hand upon the bar. “Bud, she sure is that and -more,” he cried. “Just make it the same for me.” - - -III - -They had ridden into town, as has been said, with full pockets. They had -expected to ride out again in a day or two with empty ones. But the -encounter with Jeanie Ross and their subsequent abrupt decision made all -the difference in the world. The procedure of each one, in the -circumstances, was characteristic. Bud Loupel crossed the street to the -bank and opened an account, depositing his money. Jack Mills went into -Brady’s back room, where there was a bank of another kind, and set to -work to double his. - -The bank Bud patronized was owned by Sam Rand, who was also cashier, -president, and board of directors. There had been, till some three days -before, a teller, but Rand had let him go. Bud found the banker, as a -consequence, up to his eyes in unaccustomed work. Rand knew Loupel, knew -that the cowboy had a certain aptitude for figures. When Bud, in the -casual talk that followed his deposit, mentioned the fact that he was -hunting for a town job, Rand hired him on the spot. - -An hour or so later Bud went back to Brady’s to tell Jack of his good -fortune, and Mills rolled a cigarette and said cheerfully: “Then you’re -fixed to lend me five dollars.” - -“As quick as this?” Bud asked. “You must have picked ’em mighty scant.” - -“I didn’t pick them,” Jack told him. “They picked me.” - -They went out together and sought a restaurant and food. By supper time -Jack had a job in the blacksmith shop. He was as good with horses as Bud -was with figures. That evening they hired a room, and Bud wrote a note -to the Hourglass foreman, telling him not to expect them back again. -Then they settled down to live the life of sober and substantial -citizens. Object matrimony. - -Now, this is not a story of how a woman came between two men and turned -good friends into enemies. Jeanie Ross did nothing of the kind. It is a -fact that they both loved her and that they both wooed her, but it is -also a fact that they continued to be pardners just the same. And it is -furthermore true that when Jeanie made up her mind between them, Jack -was the first one she told. - -She told him she was going to marry Bud. And Jack rolled a cigarette -with both hands, slowly and with care; he fashioned it neatly, and -stroked it between his fingers, and twisted the ends and lighted it -before he spoke at all. - -“Said so to him?” he asked then. - -Jeanie shook her head. “No. I wanted you to know first, because I want -you and Bud to keep on being friends. I like you, Jack. But -you’re--flighty. Bud’s steady. You’re more amusing sometimes, but he’s -more reliable. I couldn’t ever really count on you. I can count on Bud, -Jack. But you will go on being friends with him, won’t you? That’s why -I’m telling you.” - -“He’s steady, he’s reliable, and you can count on him,” Jack repeated, -ticking the points off upon his fingers. “Now, is there maybe any other -little thing besides?” - -“Yes,” said Jeanie softly. “Yes. I love him, Jack.” - -He flicked his cigarette away. “Keno!” he exclaimed. “And Bud’s a good -scout too. I don’t reckon you’ll ever need to be sorry at all.” He -picked up his hat and started away. - -“Where are you going?” she asked softly, and there were tears in her -eyes for him. - -“I aim to tell Bud you’re a-waiting,” he said. - -And he did. Bud was working late that night at the bank. Jack bade him -go and find her. “And, Bud,” he warned good-humoredly, “I’ll aim to -perforate you, sudden and complete, if you don’t name the first after -me.” - -When Bud was gone Jack stood very still for a while, whistling a little -tune between his teeth. Then he went across to Brady’s and had a drink -or two, but the liquor would not bite. It was still early in the evening -when he sought the room he shared with Bud, and went to bed. Bud, -returning two hours later, undressed quietly, because he thought his -pardner was asleep. - -But Jack Mills was not asleep. - - -IV - -The first was a boy, and was well and duly named Jack Loupel; and Uncle -Jack used to go to the house for Sunday dinner and play bear all over -the floor of the sitting room. The next was a girl, and the next was a -boy again. Bud was by that time cashier of the bank, and Sam Rand left -most of the work to him. Jack Mills was just what he had always been; -that is to say, a likable, wild young chap with a quick gun and a -reckless eye and a fondness for the society he found at Brady’s. -Sometimes, after eating one of Jeanie’s dinners, he would take his horse -and ride out of town and be gone for a day or two. He was always alone -on these excursions; but ranging cowboys came across him now and then -and reported that he seemed to be just sitting around, smoking, doing -nothing at all. When he got ready he would drift back into town and go -to work again. Old man Ross liked him; Jeanie liked him; everybody liked -him. But the sober citizens were also inclined to disapprove of him; -and some of the stories that came to Jeanie’s ears made her think that -when the children were a little older she had better quit asking Jack to -come to the house. She hated to think of doing this; and because she was -kind of heart, it is unlikely that she would ever have come to the -actual point. But that the possibility should occur to her is some -measure of the man’s standing in the town. - -One day, about seven years after Bud and Jeanie were married, Bud sought -out Jack Mills and asked him to get his horse and come for a ride. “Want -to tell you something, Jack,” he explained. - -Mills saw the trouble and distress in the other’s eyes, so he saddled -up, and they trotted out of town. When the last building was well behind -them, Jack asked mildly: “What’s on your mind, Bud?” - -Bud Loupel, with some hesitation, said: “I’m in trouble.” - -“Yeah! I judged so,” Mills told him. “Well, what brand?” - -“I’ve been putting money in the market at Wichita,” Loupel said. “I’ve -had rotten luck. It’s gone.” - -Jack nodded. “I got three-four hundred in the bank,” he suggested. “Take -that.” - -“It’s not enough.” - -“Maybe I could look around and raise five hundred more.” - -“It wouldn’t do a bit of good.” - -Mills produced tobacco and papers and rolled a slow cigarette while -their horses jogged along. At last: “How much?” he asked. - -“Forty-four hundred.” - -“You’ve saved a right smart, ain’t you?” - -“It’s the bank’s,” Loupel confessed, and Jack puffed deeply and expelled -the smoke in a cloud and remarked: - -“Well, at a guess, I’d say you were a damned fool.” - -“I know it.” - -Their horses plodded on, and the dust cloud rose and hovered in the air -behind them. For a space neither man spoke at all. Then Loupel bitterly -exclaimed: “I’m not whining for my own sake, Jack. If it was me, I’d hop -out. I’d take a chance. But Jeanie....” - -“Sure,” Jack Mills mildly agreed. “Sure.” - -“Damn it, Jack, Jeanie’s proud of me. She’s proud of me.” - -“Yeah!” - -“I can’t bear to think of her knowing. It would just about bust her.” - -Mills drawled: “Your sentiments does you credit, Bud.” - -There was a cold and scornful anger in his tone that kept the other for -the moment silent. They rode on, side by side, and Loupel, covertly -watching the younger man, waited for him to speak. Mills finished his -cigarette, eyes straight before him, face unchanging. Then he flicked -the butt away and turned in his saddle and looked at his pardner. - -“What’s Rand say?” he asked. - -“He’s been away. Due back to-morrow afternoon. He’ll spot it in a -minute.” - -Mills whistled for a moment, between his teeth, a gallant little tune; -then he nodded, as though in decision, and he asked: “All right, Bud. -What’s your idea?” - -While they rode on at the trot toward the low hills south of the town -Bud Loupel outlined his idea; and when they turned back again at sunset -Jack had agreed to do what the other asked of him. - - -V - -At ten o’clock next morning the town lay still and shimmering in the -blistering sun of a summer day. There were one or two men in Brady’s, -and here and there along Main Street other figures lounged in the shade. -Jack Mills rode in from the south on a strange horse, wearing new -overalls and an indistinguishable hat. There was a red bandanna loosely -knotted about his neck. He encountered no one within recognizing -distance. In front of the bank he dropped off, hitched the horse, lifted -the handkerchief so that it hid his mouth and nose, and stepped into the -building. Two or three people at some distance saw him go in, and idly -wondered who the stranger was. - -He had hoped to find Loupel alone in the bank; but Jim Paine was there. -Paine had just cashed a check and stood with his back toward the door, -talking to Bud. When Bud saw the masked man he turned pale, and Jim -marked the change in his countenance and whirled around. But Jack’s gun -was leveled, so Bud and Jim Paine reached for the ceiling. - -Mills, with some attempt to disguise his voice, said harshly to Bud: -“Paper money. All of it. Quick!” - -Loupel, hands still in the air, started toward the safe. Jack looked -that way and saw that the safe door was open. He changed his mind. - -“Wait,” he commanded. With a gesture he bade Paine face the wall. Then -he leaped the counter, motioned Loupel aside, and himself approached the -safe. Paine, watching sidewise, saw the masked man drag out half a dozen -packets of bills and stuff them into the front of his shirt. Mills did -this with his left hand; his right hand held the gun, and his eyes -covered Paine and Loupel almost constantly. Loupel, backed into a -corner, watched in silence. - -When Mills had taken what he came for, he rose and turned toward the -counter again. At that instant a gun roared behind him, and something -tugged at his shirt, under the left arm. He whirled, saw Rand standing -in the back door of the bank building. Rand’s gun was going. Jack fanned -his hammer twice, and the banker fell. - -Paine had not moved. Mills swung, half crouching, toward Loupel. Loupel -had double-crossed him. That was the thought that tightened his finger -on the trigger. But--Jeanie! That was the thought which made his trigger -finger relax. He slid across the counter, made the door in one jump. -Five seconds after his shot, his horse was galloping out of town. And as -he passed the last house a rifle spoke, somewhere behind him. - - * * * * * - -Half a mile from town he looked back and saw three or four horsemen just -emerging from Main Street. On their heels others appeared. He laughed a -grim little laugh, and slid forward in his stirrups to help his horse to -greater speed. But when he reached the hills, some half a dozen miles -south of town, they were close behind him, and their rifles were -reaching out for him. He knew a certain cave, a narrow, shallow cover. -Poor refuge, but better than none. - -In this cave they brought him to bay. He lay prone behind the bowlder -that screened and half closed the entrance, and watched them draw off -and circle to inclose him. “Got a little while,” he said to himself. -“Fireworks won’t start right away.” - -Satisfied of this, he rolled a little on his side and drew from the -front of his shirt the packages he had taken from the safe. Strictly in -line with Bud Loupel’s well-laid plan, these were simply dummy packets -of waste paper, with a genuine bill on the outside of each bundle. Mills -laid them on the ground and studied them thoughtfully, considering their -significance. - -His situation was sufficiently desperate. Rand was dead. He had no doubt -of that, and he regretted it. He had always liked Rand, but there had -been no choice at the moment. The question was, what next! These fake -bundles of money had their place in the scheme of things. If he kept -them, told the true story, they might well save his life. Frontier -justice was swift, but it was also tempered by considerations not -accepted under a more rigid system of law. If he proved Bud Loupel’s -part in this, Bud would be damned, and he might himself be saved. And -the dummy bundles would prove Bud’s guilty foreknowledge of the -robbery. - -A rifle bullet spattered on the rock above him, and he postponed -decision. “Needs thinking over,” he told himself. “We’ll see what we -will see.” - -They held him in siege all that afternoon, and toward sunset brought a -barrel of kerosene from town. Men climbed the hill above the cave, where -the bullets could not reach them, and poured this oil so that it ran -down into a pool just in front of his retreat. Then they set fire to it. -He saw at once that he could not endure the smoke and gas, and after -some preparations shouted his surrender. - -They bade him come out with his hands in the air, and he did so. His -boots were somewhat scorched by the flames. Then they tied his hands -behind his back and his ankles beneath the horse’s belly, and took him -back to town. Toward dusk he was lodged in the calaboose there, and Nick -Russ, the deputy, went on guard outside. - - -VI - -About nine o’clock that night Bud Loupel came to the calaboose and asked -if he could talk with Mills. Russ told him to go ahead. Bud asked -permission to talk privately; and, though Russ was inclined to protest, -he was at length persuaded. The deputy moved away from the little, -one-room building, and Bud went inside. Mills was confined in a rude -cell of two-by-four timbers. Bud approached these bars, and Jack came -to meet him. - -Loupel was sweating faintly. “For God’s sake, Jack,” he whispered. “This -is terrible!” - -Mills grinned. “Well,” he agreed. “It looks right critical to me.” - -“If Rand hadn’t happened to get back ahead of time.... Hadn’t come in -right then....” - -“You didn’t happen to know he was coming, I don’t reckon.” - -Loupel cried: “No, no, Jack. Honest to God!” - -Mills nodded. “I know. I thought at first you did; but I reckon you -wouldn’t play it that low down. Is he--hurt much?” - -“Oh, you got him.” - -“Yeah,” said Mills. “Well, that’s tough, too. When is it going to happen -to me?” - -“To-morrow morning.” - -“They’re right prompt, ain’t they?” - -Loupel gripped the stout timbers to stop the trembling of his hands. -There was a terrible and pitiful anxiety in his voice. “Jack!” he -whispered. - -“Yeah?” - -“Have you told?” - -Mills turned his head away; he could not bear to look upon this old -friend of his. “Why, no,” he said gently. “No, Bud, I ain’t told. Don’t -aim to, if that helps any.” - -“But the money,” Bud stammered. “The packages of bills. You couldn’t get -rid of them. When they find them, they’ll know.” - -“They won’t find them bundles,” Jack Mills told him; and, while Bud -could only stare with widening eyes, he cheerfully explained: “You see, -I was cold for a spell. So I had me a little bonfire in that cave.” - -There was something hideous and craven in the relief that leaped into -the eyes of Bud Loupel. Mills reached through the bars, caught the -other’s shoulder, shook him upright. “Take a brace, Bud,” he said -gently. “Go on home.” - -Bud Loupel could not speak. He turned and went stumbling toward the -door; he forgot so little a thing as shaking his pardner’s hand in -farewell. Jack watched him go; and as the other reached the door he -called: - -“Take care of Jeanie, Bud.” - -Loupel turned to look back, muttered a low assent, went on his way. -Mills heard him speak to Russ as he departed. Then the deputy came to -look in and make sure that the prisoner was still secure. He resumed his -seat on a chair tipped against the wall, just outside the door. - -Mills went back to the bench against the rear of his cell and rolled and -smoked a cigarette. Then he lay down, one knee crossed above the other, -and the man on guard heard him whistling. - -Heard him whistling softly, between his teeth, a gay and gallant and -triumphant little tune. - - - - -THE MAN WHO LOOKED LIKE EDISON - - -I - -Ernie Budder was a leading member of a profession not always given its -just due--that is to say, he was an expert washer of automobiles. You -have seen his like in your own service-station, garbed in rubber boots -and rubber apron, a long-handled soapy brush in one hand, and the ragged -end of a line of hose without a nozzle in the other. But unless you have -attempted on your own account the task he so expeditiously performs, you -have never properly appreciated this man. By the time you have run water -over your car, only to find that it dries in muddy spots upon the -varnished surface; by the time you have wet it again and wiped it -hurriedly, and found the result suggestive of the protective coloration -of a zebra; by the time you have for a third time applied the hose, and -scrubbed with the sponge, and wiped with the chamois, and picked off -with your fingernails the lint and dust that still persist in sticking, -you will have begun to value at their true worth such men as Ernie -Budder. - -Ernie could and did wash and polish a car an hour, with monotonous -regularity, all day long. For this work he was paid a dollar an hour, -which seems munificent until you have tried it, and until you stop to -consider that, for the work he has done, you paid his employer three -dollars, and until you remember the cost of living and such matters not -easy to forget. - -He was a fixture at my particular service-station, where his abilities -were recognized by the powers that were. If you ran your car in and said -confidentially to Forgan, the foreman: “Give her an extra good -going-over, will you? I’ve been out on some muddy roads, and she needs -it,” then Forgan would nod, and promise reassuringly, “I’ll see to it -that Ernie does her himself, boss.” Upon which, if you knew Ernie and -trusted Forgan, you went away completely at your ease. - -Ernie was not a young man, in spite of his youthful appellation. I -suppose his name had once been Ernest. He was past middle life--how far -past it was hard to guess. His hair was snow-white, and his square -shoulders were a little stooped, but his hands were vigorous and his eye -was mild and clear. There was a diffident affability about him, an -amiability like that of a puppy which is afraid of being misunderstood; -and, as a result of this quality, it is probable that he was somewhat -put upon by the more aggressive characters among whom his lines were -laid. My acquaintance with him was a matter of slow growth over a period -of years. What might be called our friendship dated from the day when -Ernie whispered to me that there had been a small leak in my radiator. I -nodded abstractedly. - -“Thanks,” I told him. “I’ll run her in to-morrow and let them patch it -up.” - -He shook his head. - -“Don’t need to,” he told me. “I stuck a drop of solder on her to-day. -Gave it a lick of enamel. You’ll never notice the place at all.” - -I stifled my natural suspicion--for I did not know the man--and pulled -out a bill; but Ernie smiled and backed away. - -“No, no,” he said pleasantly. “No; I like to tinker. Don’t let Forgan -know. That’s all.” - -I was a little dazed, would have insisted. But in the face of his -persistent, good-natured refusal, I perceived that I had been mistaken. -The man was not a type; he was an individual. And thereafter we became, -as I have suggested, friends. If there was a grease-cup missing when he -washed the car, I was sure to find it replaced. If my brakes needed -adjusting, he found time to attend to them. A surface-cut on a tire that -passed under his hands was apt to be filled with cement and composition -and firmly closed. I eventually discovered that this habit was no secret -to Forgan. - -“He thinks we ain’t wise,” the foreman said to me. “But I’ve spotted him -at it. Long as he does them things on his own time, why should we kick? -We don’t want to soak our customers. We’re human, ain’t we? Besides, it -makes ’em good-natured. And Ernie likes to think he’s putting something -over. So I don’t let on.” - -But it was not that Ernie liked to think he was putting something over; -it was simply, as the man had told me, that he liked to tinker. I was -not alone in his favor. Others also benefited. He was a friend of all -the world. - - -II - -I missed him one day when I drove in and left the car. Forgan laughed at -my question. - -“Yep,” he said. “Gone. Got a vacation. Guy came in here--one of these -movie men. Spotted Ernie, and said he wanted him for a picture. Said he -looked the part. He’ll be back in a month or so. ’Less he gets the bug.” - -I was interested, and a little amused at the thought of Ernie on the -film; and I hoped he would come back at the end of the stipulated month, -hoped he would, in fact, escape the bug. - -As matters chanced, it was two weeks over the allotted month before I -had occasion to take my car to the service-station. I drove in on my way -to town in the morning, and Forgan slid back the doors for me, and -Ernie’s familiar smile, a little more alert than of old, greeted me from -the washing-floor. - -“Just a wash and a polish,” I told Forgan, as I rolled past him at the -door; and he nodded and said, - -“Give her to Ernie.” - -I maneuvered in the narrow passage and headed in to the washing-floor; -but Ernie held up a warning hand, smiling and nodding. - -“Cut her,” he called. “Over this side.” - -And as I obeyed, wondering what it was all about, I saw that he cocked a -wise eye toward the ceiling. Under his guidance, I brought the car into -the position he desired, and then alighted and asked: - -“What’s the idea, Ernie! Used to be any old place would do.” - -Ernie chuckled. - -“Look a’ there,” he admonished, and pointed upward. “There’s an -arrangement I’ve fixed up. Just shut up your windows and you’ll see.” - -Mine is a sedan; I obediently closed windows and doors. - -“Rigged her myself,” Ernie repeated. “Just three-four lengths of pipe -and a punch. Works great on a closed car.” And he yanked at the long -wooden pole which opened the water-valve against the ceiling. - -That which Ernie had indicated so pridefully was a rectangle of two-inch -pipe, hung in such position that it was just above the roof of the car. -When the valve was opened, from this pipe through numberless orifices -descended a veritable water-curtain composed of many tiny streams. The -water struck upon the top of the car and flowed down over front and rear -and sides in sheets. - -“Wets her and rinses her all at once,” Ernie pointed out to me. “Saves a -lot of time, and does a sight better job. I rigged her.” - -He was, as I have said, immensely proud--proud as a child. The idea was -undoubtedly ingenious, and I told him so. - -“I got a lot of ideas,” he assured me. “I’m figuring on them.” - -I nodded. - -“How’d you like the movies?” I asked. - -“Great!” he said. “Say, I want to tell you--” - -But I was already overdue at the office, and I made my excuses to the -old man. Another time, I said, would do. He agreed, as he always agreed, -and I left him at work upon the car. Forgan, at the door, winked in his -direction as I passed, and asked, - -“Do you make him?” - -“Why?” I inquired. “What do you mean?” - -“You watch the old coot,” Forgan admonished me. “He’s a new man.” - - -III - -I heard from Ernie, and in fragmentary snatches, the story of his -moving-picture experience. There was a studio in one of the more remote -suburbs, the plant of a fly-by-night company of none too good repute. -The director of this company it was who had enticed Ernie away. - -“They wanted me,” he told me seriously one day, “because I looked so -much like Tom Edison. Didn’t you ever notice that?” - -I did not smile, for Ernie was perfectly sober. But that this washer of -automobiles was even remotely like the great inventor seemed to me a -ridiculous suggestion. It was true that Ernie had white hair, had a -round and placid face; but there was in his countenance none of that -strength which is so evident in the other’s. I told myself that it was -possible the picture-people were wiser than I, that under the lights and -with a touch of makeup here and there-- - -“A war-film, it was,” Ernie assured me. “I was the big man in it.” - -“So?” I prompted. - -“Yeah. Inventor. Working on a new torpedo thing. Spies after it, trying -to get it from me. They had me working in a shop with barred windows and -a steel door and a guard outside. Had a bed there. Slept there. In the -picture, you understand. Ate there and everything. People’d come to see -me, and I’d show ’em how the thing worked. I was the big man in that -picture, I’ll tell you.” - -“That must have been an interesting experience,” I suggested. - -He nodded, started to speak, but an expression curiously and almost -ludicrously secretive crossed his countenance. He held his tongue, -turned back to his task in a manner almost curt. - -I drove out, and just outside the door--this was in January, and there -was snow upon the streets--one of my chains flipped off. Forgan’s hail -of warning stopped me, and he shut the door and came out to help me -adjust the chain. - -“I see Ernie telling you about his movie,” he said, as we worked. And I -was surprised, for the man’s tone was perfectly respectful. - -“Yes,” I replied. “He seems to take it seriously.” - -“Well, now, you know,” Forgan told me, “it’s made a big change in -Ernie.” - -“Change?” I blew upon my cold fingers and fumbled at the chains. - -“Yes. He never had much git-up to him before. But now he’s full of -ideas. Rigged that water-curtain to wash the cars. Things like that. -Good ideas, too.” - -My interest was caught. - -“A real inventor?” - -“You’d be surprised. He took him two of these here electric pads that -you sleep on when you got the lumbago, and made a bag of them, just -right to fit round the carbureter and the manifold of his old flivver; -and he keeps her all warm at night from the light-socket. No heat in his -garage. No starter on his car; but he says she starts at the first whirl -now.” - -“That’s pretty good,” I agreed. “More power to him. I’ve no heat, -either. Use one of those electric things under the hood; but Ernie’s -notion is better.” - -“Get him to make you one,” Forgan advised. And, the chain adjusted, I -stepped in and drove away. - -I was able, thus prompted by Forgan, to mark the development in Ernie -during the succeeding weeks. He became steadily more alert of eye, and -at the same time more confident of his own powers. One day in early -spring I drove in and remarked that I had dropped a grease-cup off the -forward right-hand spring. - -“I’ll stick one on,” he promised. “One around here somewheres.” And -added, “You won’t be using them things any more in a year or two.” - -“I suppose you’re right. They’ll do away with them somehow,” I agreed. - -“They won’t,” said Ernie. “But I will.” - -“You’ve got a scheme? Automatic lubrication?” - -“Better than that,” he told me. - -“Better?” - -“I’ll show you one o’ these days,” he promised. But would say no more. - - -IV - -It was not till early May that I was shown, and, as the thing chanced, -it was Forgan who then showed me. - -I happened to come in when Ernie was not there. We spoke of him, and -Forgan said, - -“You know what that old guy’s done?” I shook my head. “Company’s backing -him,” said Forgan. “He’s got a great thing. You come down-stairs.” - -We went down to the machine shop under the receiving floor. Forgan -unlocked the door, led me into a small room. On a bench was set up a -tiny electric motor, harnessed to a wheel and connected with a simple -bit of apparatus which had no meaning, at first sight, at all. But -Forgan stopped the motor and made all clear to me. The power revolved a -wooden spindle, which entered a hole in a steel block, whirling there. I -could perceive no purpose in this, but Forgan said: - -“It’s a test. It don’t do anything. Feel of it. Ain’t hot, is it?” - -I touched the steel, touched the spindle that had been revolving so -swiftly. - -“No.” - -“See if you can pull it out.” I tried, and failed. “Tight fit, you see,” -Forgan told me. “But she’s been spinning in there for three days now, -except when we stop her to measure once in a while. No oil, and no heat, -and no wear.” - -“But what’s it all about?” I asked. - -“That’s an oilless bearing,” Forgan explained, a little disgusted with -my stupidity. “Piece of hard wood, filled with oil. Use the stuff to -make wrist-pins and all, and you’ll never have to oil your chassis at -all.” - -The thing broke upon me. - -“But does it work?” I asked. - -“You see it,” he said. “It works here. Well, it’ll work anywhere.” - -“And Ernie figured that out?” - -“He sure did.” - -“Why, the man’s a genius!” - -“Yeah. Ever since he went and got his picture took.” - -“How does he make this, anyway--this bearing? Soak the wood in oil?” - -Forgan laughed. - -“Not as easy as that. He puts her in as hot as the devil, and under a -lot of pressure. Don’t just know how. He won’t tell. He’s got a lay-off -now to work it out. Figuring on cost. Cost’s too much now; but he’s -going to figure to make it cheaper. He--” - -Ernie himself came in just then. I hardly knew him. He had on a new suit -of clothes; he was close-shaven, and his hair was trimmed. His bearing -was that of a successful and confident man, and he nodded to the -respectful Forgan as one nods to a chauffeur. - -“How is she?” he asked. - -“Cool as a cucumber,” Forgan assured him. - -“Any wear?” - -“I’ll see,” the foreman said with alacrity, and proceeded to dismantle -the test-apparatus and apply a micrometer to the bearing. Ernie nodded -to me, and I said, - -“Seems like a fine thing.” - -“It is,” he replied, positively and confidently, yet without a trace of -arrogance or ugly pride. “Yes; it will do very well.” - -“No wear at all,” Forgan reported, and Ernie nodded assent. - -“Keep her going,” he directed. - -While Forgan was setting the apparatus again in position, Ernie and I -went up the stair together. He said, as we came to the main floor, - -“By the way, that film, you know--” - -“The one you were in--” - -“Yes. It’s at the Globe next week.” - -“I’ll surely go and see it,” I promised him. - -We separated with a word, and I drove home, marveling at this new man -that had been Ernie Budder--marveling at the power of suggestion. He had -been told that he looked like a great inventor, and he had emerged from -this experience stimulated, sure of himself, alert, and keen--a new man. - -Such a slight fillip from the finger of Destiny to throw open before a -man’s feet new and lofty ways-- - - -V - -Toward the end of the next week I went to the Globe, and so understood -at last that what Destiny had brewed was tragedy. Ernie was in the film; -so far he had been right. But in how different a rôle! I could -understand how they had tricked him. An actor on the screen knows -nothing, or may know nothing of scenes in which he does not himself -appear. Ernie had no doubt been told that he was playing the part of a -great inventor upon whom the hopes of the nation rested; he had accepted -the explanation, had accepted the barred windows, the steel door, the -guard outside, and the solicitous visitors. - -But he had been deceived, perhaps because they feared he would not -otherwise consent to play the part they assigned to him. For the Ernie -in the films was no great inventor but an insane old man; the bars at -his windows were the bars of a madman’s cell. Within, this madman -pottered at his mad designs, and the guard at the door was not to keep -others out but to keep him in; and the solicitous visitors paid him no -respect but only humored his poor illusion. There were tears in my eyes -before the thing was finished--tears of pity for Ernie, and tears of hot -anger at the callous brutality of those who had contrived this thing. I -thought of legal action on his behalf; but they had, no doubt, been wise -enough to have him sign a release from all responsibility. There was -nothing that could be done. - -I avoided the service-station for the week thereafter; I could not bear -to see Ernie. But at last it was necessary to go in. I planned to tell -him, if he asked, that I had missed seeing the film. So much poor -kindness I could do the man. - -When I drove in, he was on the washing-floor, working about a limousine. -The old, ragged hose was in his hand; the sprinkler he had designed was -still attached to the ceiling, but unused. I parked my car in an empty -space and walked across to him. He looked up with his old timidly -amiable smile, and I saw that the alert confidence and the sense of -power were utterly gone. - -“There’s a grease-cup missing, Ernie, from the rear end,” I told him. -“If you see one kicking around--” - -“Why, yes; sure,” he promised me. - -I hesitated, then said smilingly, “Won’t need to bother with them in a -year or two--” - -By his answer, I knew that the dreams were gone and the vision was fled. - -“Oh, I guess we’ll have to keep puttering on in the same old ways,” said -Ernie Budder hopelessly. - - - - -SUCCESS - - -I - -Jenkins was a special writer of national reputation, and he had come on -from Philadelphia to see Homer Dean, the automobile man whose name is a -registered trade-mark borne by some hundred thousand cars of the first -class upon the nation’s thoroughfares. Jenkins’ appointment with Dean -was for two-thirty in the afternoon, but he was in the reception room -outside the other’s office a little ahead of time. - -While he sat there Dean came out with an older man, to whom he was -saying goodby, and when this older man was gone the millionaire turned -to Jenkins with a friendly nod of invitation, and Jenkins followed him -into his office. But Dean at once went to a closet in the corner and -brought out his coat and hat, saying: “I’m going to have to put you off -till to-morrow, Mr. Jenkins. Old Jasper Hopkins, my first boss--that was -him who just went out--has just told me something I should have known -twenty years ago. I’ve got to--straighten it out. Come in to-morrow, can -you?” - -The writer’s disappointment showed in his face. “I had figured on taking -the six o’clock to-night.” - -Dean hesitated, glancing at his watch. “Just what is it you wanted of -me?” he asked. - -Jenkins smiled. “The usual thing. The story of how you did it. People -are always interested in such things. Self-made man, you know. It’s old -stuff, sir, but it’s sure-fire.” - -“I know,” the automobile man agreed, nodding thoughtfully. He considered -for a moment, then, with abrupt decision, took off his coat, his hat. -“After all, it’s waited twenty years,” he said. “Another two hours won’t -matter. And--the affair may interest you.” He turned back to his desk, -indicated a chair for the other. “Sit down,” he directed. “I think I -understand what you’re planning. ‘How to Make Yourself. By One Who Has -Done It.’ Is that the idea?” - -“Yes.” - -Dean smiled. “I’ve heard folks speak of me as self-made,” he confessed. -“In fact, that has been, secretly, my own idea. Until an hour ago. Just -how much do you know of my--success, anyway?” - -“I know you’re the head of one of the half dozen biggest concerns in the -business.” - -“Know how I came to be here?” - -“You were managing vice-president in the beginning; bought out Hopkins -ten years or so ago.” - -“Can you go back any farther than that?” - -“I’ve understood you were sales manager of the old Hopkins Tool Company; -that you were a world beater in that job.” - -Dean laughed. “Those were boom times, and sales jumped. I happened to be -the head of the department, and I got the credit. Ever hear how Hopkins -came to make me sales manager?” Jenkins shook his head. - -“He had put me on as a salesman,” Dean explained. “My first trip, a big -prospect hunted me up, said he’d decided to trade with us, and gave me a -whooping order. My predecessor had worked on them four years; they fell -into my lap, and Hopkins thought I was a worker of miracles from that -day.” - -Jenkins shook his head, smiling. “You give yourself the worst of it,” he -commented. - -Dean’s eyes had become sober and thoughtful; he spoke slowly, as though -invoking memory. “You’ve called me a self-made man. But, as a matter of -fact, it was the mere accident that I was on the spot which gave me that -first order; and that order made me sales manager within two months’ -time. By and by the automobile came along, and Old Jasper remodeled his -factory and went after the business--with me in charge. He gave me some -stock; and a year or two later his son Charlie died and took the heart -out of the old man. He offered to sell out to me, and I gave him a -bundle of notes for the whole thing. The business paid them off inside -of five years. Do you see? The fact that I was salesman made me sales -manager; the fact that I was sales manager made me vice-president; the -fact that I was vice-president threw the business into my hands; and the -fact that everybody wanted to buy cars has done the rest. Still call me -a self-made man?” - -“After all,” Jenkins suggested, “you had made good or you wouldn’t have -been given the job as salesman.” - -Dean nodded emphatically. “That’s the key to the whole structure,” he -agreed. “That first job as salesman. And that’s what I want to tell you -about. If you care to hear.” - -The reporter did care to hear, and this--as he shaped the tale in his -thoughts thereafter--is what he heard: - - -II - -Homer Dean and Will Matthews grew up in adjoining back yards, fought and -bled with and for each other as boys will, went through high school side -by side, took a business course given by a broken-down bookkeeper in a -bare room over the Thornton Drug Store, and went to work in the offices -of the Hopkins Tool Company within a month of each other, as vacancies -occurred there. Will got the first job, Homer the second. They helped -with labels in the shipping room, kept checking lists, and eventually -graduated to keeping books. - -The tool company was a one-man concern. Old Jasper Hopkins had founded -it, and intended to turn it over to his boy Charlie when his own time -should be done. Old Jasper--he was then no more than in his late -forties, but he was Old Jasper just the same--was a man of many -eccentricities. He had begun as a mechanic, a machinist; and he had -mastered the machinery of the shop, but never mastered the machinery of -business. He picked machinists for his shop work, but for the -white-collar jobs he chose men with no grime under their finger nails. -Who sought a job with him began in the shipping room, and advanced--if -he had merit--through regular and accustomed channels. Keeping books -was the second rung of the ladder. Jasper could not multiply eight by -seven; he had a vast respect for any man who could. - -Will Matthews could, and so could Homer Dean. Also they recommended -themselves to Jasper in other ways. The head of the Hopkins Tool Company -had breathed the dust from his own emery wheels in the past; he was of a -gritty and abrading disposition. His nerves were tight, his temper was -loose; and to arouse him meant an explosion that resembled nothing so -much as the commotion which results when the mainspring of an ancient -alarm clock, in process of dissection, is injudiciously set free. - -His prejudices were tradition. While Will and Homer were still in the -shipping room they heard how he had scorched Charlie Dunn with many -words over the mere slamming of a door. And how he had reduced Luther -Worthing from salesman to bookkeeper again because Luther faced him one -morning with waistcoat half unbuttoned. And how he had summarily -discharged Jim Porter for carelessly rumpling the corner of the office -rug. Noise he hated, neatness and order he demanded and revered; and -more than one office boy had lost his job for scanting his daily task of -putting a fresh and spotless blotter on the broad pad upon Old Jasper’s -desk. - -These likes and dislikes Homer and Will respected; to a legitimate -extent they catered to them; and thus they attained a certain eminence -in their employer’s eyes. He had been known to refer to them as -promising young men. They knew this as well as others did, and there was -a good-natured rivalry between them to see which should distance the -other on the upward way. - - -III - -This was not the only rivalry between the two young men. Her name was -Annie Cool, and she was some four years younger than either. They became -aware of her the year after her graduation from high school, when she -let down her skirts and put up her prettily luxuriant hair and ceased to -be “that Cool kid” in their eyes. There is a wide gulf between twelve -and sixteen; there is even a gulf between sixteen and twenty. But when -the signs are right, there is no gulf at all between, say, eighteen and -twenty-two. - -Annie was eighteen and they were twenty-two. Presently she was nineteen -and they were twenty-three, and a little after that she was twenty and -they were twenty-four. - -By this time each of the young men was conscious of much more than a -pleasantly intense delight in Annie Cool’s companionship. Will Matthews -was always somewhat more mature than Homer Dean; he took Annie more -seriously. He wooed her gently, with kindliness and much persistence; -and Homer wooed her laughingly, with raillery and the rough teasing that -goes with youth. There were times when she liked to be with Will; there -were other times when she liked to be with Homer, but most of the time -she liked to be with both of them, and said so. Other young men of the -community knew the uselessness of intrusion on their intimacy. - -It had not come to the point of marriage talk, for Will and Homer were -getting only a matter of fifteen dollars weekly wage, and even in those -days fifteen dollars a week was not considered a competence. But Jasper -never paid his bookkeepers more. A salesman, now, was another matter; -beside those of a bookkeeper, his wages were munificent. Enough, that is -to say, for marrying. - -In the fall of the year, when they were twenty-four and Annie Cool was -twenty, Steve Randall was killed in a train wreck. Steve was a salesman -in the southern territory, and Old Jasper was accustomed to fill -vacancies in his selling force from the men who worked upon his books. -Both Will and Homer were in line for the job. For three days, till after -Steve’s funeral, everyone ignored this fact; then a certain atmosphere -of expectancy began to develop in the office. Old Jasper was in bed at -home with a shaking cold, but on the fourth day word came that next -morning would see him at the office. Everyone knew his choice would be -either Homer or Will. - -On their way home together after work that day these two met Charlie -Hopkins, the old man’s son; and Charlie stopped, smiling like a bearer -of good news. “I’ve just come from father,” he told them, and he added: -“Homer, you’ve got to congratulate Will this time.” - -He shook Will by the hand, and Homer said: - -“You’re going to get it, Will. Good for you. I sure am glad!” - -Will looked at the other, and there was a faint mist in his eyes. “I -know you are, Homer,” he said. “I’d have been just as glad for you.” - -Nevertheless, both knew that this moment must always mark the parting of -their ways. Thus far they had gone shoulder to shoulder; hereafter one -would lead. Also, both thought of Annie Cool. - - -IV - -That evening after supper Homer Dean went over to see Annie. He did not -telephone to ask if he might come, for Annie was always glad to see him, -or to see Will, whether she knew they were coming or not. Homer got -there early, so early that the Cools were still at supper, and he went -into the dining room and sat by the door, refusing Mrs. Cool’s -hospitable urgings that he eat a second supper with them. He did -surrender to a piece of pumpkin pie, but it failed to raise his spirits. -He was not yet able to face with composure the fact that Will had beaten -him. Will was his friend; there was no malice in Homer. Nevertheless, he -was disappointed, and discouraged, and sick at heart. - -This was not apparent to Mr. Cool, nor to Annie’s mother, nor to her -younger sister and brother. They all liked Homer, and they talked to -him, all at once, but Annie said very little. She watched him, with a -curiously wistful questioning in her eyes, but she did not at that time -put her question into words. - -After supper Mr. Cool and Homer went into the sitting room and smoked -together while Mrs. Cool and the two girls cleaned up the supper dishes. -Annie’s brother had gone downtown immediately after supper, and soon -after they came in from the kitchen Annie’s sister was borne away by one -of the boys of the neighborhood. Then Annie drew a scarf across her -shoulders and suggested to Homer that they sit on the porch. - -“It’s warm to-night,” she told him. “We shan’t be cold.” - -So they went outside and sat down a little to one side of the front -steps, where they were shadowed and hidden by some wistaria vines from -which the leaves were just beginning to fall. And Annie asked at once: - -“What is it, Homer? What is wrong?” - -He did not ask her how she knew anything was wrong. In a boyish fashion -he had rather enjoyed the melancholy mien he wore, and knew she had -noticed it. - -“Oh--nothing,” he said. - -Annie shook her head in slow reproof, her eyes softly shining in the -shadows. - -“Yes, there is too, Homer,” she insisted. “Please tell me what it is.” - -“Why, I haven’t any right to growl,” he told her. “I didn’t mean you to -see. Didn’t mean anyone to see.” - -“I could see,” she insisted gently. - -He and Will had already explained to her the significance of the death -of Steve Randall, the salesman; it was not necessary for Homer to repeat -these things. He simply said: “Will’s got that job.” - -She did not speak for a moment, then asked softly: “Mr. Randall’s--job?” - -“Yes. Charlie Hopkins told us to-night his father had decided.” He -added with careful sportsmanship: “Of course Will deserves it. He’s a -better man. But I sort of hoped I’d.... Oh, you know.” - -“I know, Homer,” she agreed, in a voice that was scarce more than a -whisper. And laid her hand, ever so lightly, upon the hand of Homer -Dean. - -Now Annie Cool had kissed and been kissed many a time, by Will, and by -Homer, and by others, in the cheerful frolicking of youth; and she had -held hands on hay rides, or beneath the table at supper parties, or even -on more public occasions. Thus that she should touch Homer’s hand had in -itself no great significance. - -But she had never touched his hand, nor he hers, before this night, save -when there were others all about them; and always before this night -there had been laughter back of the gesture. This night there was not -laughter; there were tears. - -A conspicuously different matter. - -Ten minutes later they drew their eyes one from another for long enough -to see that a man had come across the lawn from the street to the steps; -that he stood there, looking at them. A man. Will Matthews. - -“Will!” cried Annie; and Homer came to his feet, laughing in nervous -exhilaration. “Will, old man,” he exclaimed. - -Will stepped up on the porch, and they saw that he was smiling. He held -out his hand. “I’m sorry I--butted in,” he apologized. “But I’m glad I -was the first to know. You’ll never be sorry, Annie. Homer....” Homer -had gripped his hand; each held the other fast, as good friends will. - -He stayed only a minute, then left them alone together; and he left no -shadow of sorrow for him to cloud their hour of happiness. - - -V - -Will Matthews had a practical and straightforward habit of thought; he -possessed what men call a level head. He was not given to illusions; and -through that long night he faced facts squarely and without -self-deception. He had time to weigh many matters, for he did not sleep -at all. Time to fight off the first and crushing grief, time to -understand fully and beyond changing that he could never love any girl -but Annie. He meant that Annie should never know how deeply he had -cared, would always care. He could spare her this measure of -unhappiness. There was a somber sort of pleasure in planning thus to -serve her. Thus and in other fashions.... Do what he could to make her -happy as might be.... His thoughts went racing on a half-seen road. - -Will was not a heroic figure. Rather a small man, with light hair and a -round and amiable countenance, there was nothing about him to arrest the -eye. He already wore glasses; his shoulders were already faintly stooped -from too close companionship with the ledgers where lay his daily toil. -His mother made him wear a strip of oily, red flannel about his throat -when he had taken cold. All in all, a man at whom you were like to -smile. - -But--hear what Will did, and try then if you’re moved to smile. - -He made it his business to reach the office next morning some five -minutes ahead of the hour. It was chance, a chance that favored what he -meant to do, which made Homer Dean ten minutes late. Old Jasper was -there before Will; and Will found on his desk a memorandum, commanding -him to come at once to Jasper’s office. - -He read this memorandum slowly, considering once more the details of his -plan. - -None of the other bookkeepers had yet arrived; he was alone. Jasper was -in his office at the end of the corridor, a few yards away. After a -moment Will went out into this corridor and turned toward Jasper’s door. -Outside this door he hesitated, and one hand fumbled at his throat, then -dropped to the pocket at his side. From within the office he heard old -Jasper’s rumbling cough; and he knocked upon the panel. - -Jasper called: “Come in.” - -Will obeyed. He pushed the door open, stepped slowly inside, and thrust -it shut behind him. He did not slam the door; nevertheless the impact -was sufficient to make Old Jasper grimace with distaste, and clap his -hands to his ears. Will stood still, waiting for the other to speak; and -his employer barked: - -“What’s the matter with you, anyway? Come here?” - -Will moved slowly across the office till he faced Jasper across the -other’s immaculate desk. He rested his finger tips on the polished -surface, standing uneasily under the older man’s glare. - -Abruptly Jasper cried: “Where’s your cravat, Matthews? You’re not half -dressed, man. What’s got into you?” - -Will’s hand flew to his collar. - -“Why, I--I must have forgotten it,” he lamely apologized. “I’m very -sorry, sir.” - -Jasper snorted; and Will’s hands fidgeted nervously about the tall, -old-fashioned ink bottle on the desk before him. The other seemed to -hesitate; he cleared his throat importantly. At last he said: - -“Well, for God’s sake look out for your appearance better than that -hereafter. I sent for you to....” - -Will heard him in something like despair. The slammed door, the lost -cravat, these had not been sufficient. He set his teeth hard, and one of -his nervous hands touched the high ink bottle. It tilted dangerously. He -seemed to try to catch it; but the thing escaped him, was overturned. -Across the spotless blotter spread a widening black flood; and as Jasper -pushed back his chair with awkward haste, those few drops which the -blotter had not absorbed flowed over the edge of the desk and descended -upon the rug. - -The storm broke upon Will’s devoted head; and he stood with burning -cheeks under the old man’s profane and scourging tongue, till the first -force of Jasper’s anger was spent, and he cried: - -“Damn it, I ought to kick you out for good and all. But you never did a -thing like this before. You--” - -He fell silent, stumped away across the room as though ill at ease. “I -meant to--” he began, then stopped again. Stood a moment by the window, -looking out; swung back to where Will stood. - -“Look up the Fosdick account for me,” he said, with averted eyes. “Give -me the figures on it. That’s all. Get out of here.” - -Will got out. In the corridor he paused for a moment to replace his -cravat, swiftly fitting the stiff ends under the wings of his collar. He -was back on his high stool before the first of the other bookkeepers -arrived. - -When Homer Dean came in, ten minutes late, Old Jasper’s office boy was -in the room, looking for him. “The boss wants to see you, Homer,” he -said. Right away.” ... - - -VI - -“So,” said Homer Dean, the millionaire, to Jenkins, the reporter. “So I -got the job, went on the road, my luck began.” - -Jenkins had listened without interruption; now he nodded slow -acquiescence. “And he handed it to you. How did you find it out?” - -“I’m ashamed of that part,” Homer admitted. “Will and I talked it over -at the time, decided Charlie had been mistaken. Old Jasper came in -to-day, to talk about old times. I’d never asked him before; to-day I -did ask: Why he gave me the job? And he told me what Will did that day.” - -“Think it was an accident?” Jenkins asked curiously. - -Dean shook his head. “I know Will too well. Besides, the ink might have -been an accident, but not the cravat, for he had his cravat on when I -came in that morning. No, I can see it beyond any doubting, now.” - -The writer nodded. “A pretty decent thing,” he commented. “What became -of Matthews?” - -“He’s our head bookkeeper, at the office downtown. I was going straight -to find him when you came.” - -Jenkins reached for his hat. His words were commonplace enough, but -there was eloquence in his tone. - -“Don’t let me keep you, Mr. Dean,” he said. - - - - -SHEENER - - -I - -When he was sober the man always insisted that his name was Evans, but -in his cups he was accustomed to declare, in a boastful fashion, that -his name was not Evans at all. However, he never went further than this, -and since none of us were particularly interested, we were satisfied to -call him Evans, or, more often, Bum, for short. He was the second -assistant janitor; and whereas, in some establishments, a janitor is a -man of power and place, it is not so in a newspaper office. In such -institutions, where great men are spoken of irreverently and by their -first names, a janitor is a man of no importance. How much less, then, -his second assistant. It was never a part of Evans’s work, for example, -to sweep the floors. There is something lordly in the gesture of the -broom. But the janitor’s first assistant attended to that; and Evans’s -regular duties were more humble, not unconnected with such things as -cuspidors. There was no man so poor to do him honor; yet he had always a -certain loftiness of bearing. He was tall, rather above the average -height, with a long, thin, bony face like a horse, and an aristocratic -stoop about his neck and shoulders. His hands were slender; he walked in -a fashion that you might have called a shuffle, but which might also -have been characterized as a walk of indolent assurance. His eyes were -wash-blue, and his straggling mustache drooped at the corners. - -Sober, he was a silent man, but when he had drunk he was apt to become -mysteriously loquacious. And he drank whenever the state of his credit -permitted. At such times he spoke of his antecedents in a lordly and -condescending fashion which we found amusing. “You call me Evans,” he -would say. “That does well enough, to be sure. Quite so, and all that. -Evans! Hah!” - -And then he would laugh, in a barking fashion that with his long, bony -countenance always suggested to me a coughing horse. But when he was -pressed for details, the man--though he might be weaving and blinking -with liquor--put a seal upon his lips. He said there were certain -families in one of the Midland Counties of England who would welcome him -home if he chose to go; but he never named them, and he never chose to -go, and we put him down for a liar by the book. All of us except -Sheener. - - -II - -Sheener was a Jewish newsboy; that is to say, a representative of the -only thoroughbred people in the world. I have known Sheener for a good -many years, and he is worth knowing; also, the true tale of his life -might have inspired Scheherazade. A book must be made of Sheener some -day. For the present, it is enough to say that he had the enterprise -which adversity has taught his people; he had the humility which they -have learned by enduring insults they were powerless to resent, and he -had the courage and the heart which were his ancient heritage. And--the -man Evans had captured and enslaved his imagination. - -He believed in Evans from the beginning. This may have been through a -native credulity which failed to manifest itself in his other dealings -with the world. I think it more probable that Evans and his pretensions -appealed to the love of romance native to Sheener. I think he enjoyed -believing, as we enjoy lending ourselves to the illusion of the theatre. -Whatever the explanation, a certain alliance developed between the two; -a something like friendship. I was one of those who laughed at Sheener’s -credulity, but he told me, in his energetic fashion, that I was making a -mistake. - -“You got that guy wrong,” he would say. “He ain’t always been a bum. A -guy with half an eye can see that. The way he talks, and the way he -walks, and all. There’s class to him, I’m telling you. Class, bo.” - -“He walks like a splay-footed walrus, and he talks like a drunken old -hound,” I told Sheener. “He’s got you buffaloed, that’s all.” - -“Pull in your horns; you’re coming to a bridge,” Sheener warned me. -“Don’t be a goat all your life. He’s a gent; that’s what this guy is.” - -“Then I’m glad I’m a roughneck,” I retorted; and Sheener shook his head. - -“That’s all right,” he exclaimed. “That’s all right. He ain’t had it -easy, you know. Scrubbing spittoons is enough to take the polish off any -guy. I’m telling you he’s there. Forty ways. You’ll see, bo. You’ll -see.” - -“I’m waiting,” I said. - -“Keep right on,” Sheener advised me. “Keep right on. The old stuff is -there. It’ll show. Take it from me.” - -I laughed at him. “If I get you,” I said, “you’re looking for something -along the line of ‘Noblesse Oblige.’ What?” - -“Cut the comedy,” he retorted. “I’m telling you, the old class is there. -You can’t keep a fast horse in a poor man’s stable.” - -“Blood will tell, eh?” - -“Take it from me,” said Sheener. - -It will be perceived that Evans had in Sheener not only a disciple; he -had an advocate and a defender. And Sheener in these rôles was not to be -despised. I have said he was a newsboy; to put it more accurately, he -was in his early twenties, with forty years of experience behind him, -and with half the newsboys of the city obeying his commands and -worshiping him like a minor god. He had full charge of our city -circulation and was quite as important, and twice as valuable to the -paper, as any news editor could hope to be. In making a friend of him, -Evans had found an ally in the high places; and it became speedily -apparent that Sheener proposed to be more than a mere friend in name. -For instance, I learned one day that he was drawing Evans’s wages for -him, and had appointed himself in some sort a steward for the other. - -“That guy wouldn’t ever save a cent,” he told me when I questioned him. -“I give him enough to get soused on, and I stick five dollars in the -bank for him every week. I made him buy a new suit of clothes with it -last week. Say, you wouldn’t know him if you run into him in his glad -rags.” - -“How does he like your running his affairs?” I asked. - -“Like it?” Sheener echoed. “He don’t have to like it. If he tries to -pull anything on me, I’ll poke the old coot in the eye.” - -I doubt whether this was actually his method of dominating Evans. It is -more likely that he used a diplomacy which occasionally appeared in his -dealings with the world. Certainly the arrangement presently collapsed, -for Sheener confessed to me that he had given his savings back to Evans. -We were minus a second assistant janitor for a week as a consequence, -and when Evans tottered back to the office and would have gone to work I -told him he was through. - -He took it meekly enough, but not Sheener. Sheener came to me with fire -in his eye. - -“Sa-a-ay,” he demanded, “what’s coming off here, anyhow? What do you -think you’re trying to pull?” - -I asked him what he was talking about, and he said: “Evans says you’ve -given him the hook.” - -“That’s right,” I admitted. “He’s through.” - -“He is not,” Sheener told me flatly. “You can’t fire that guy.” - -“Why not?” - -“He’s got to live, ain’t he?” - -I answered, somewhat glibly, that I did not see the necessity, but the -look that sprang at once into Sheener’s eye made me faintly ashamed of -myself, and I went on to urge that Evans was failing to do his work and -could deserve no consideration. - -“That’s all right,” Sheener told me. “I didn’t hear any kicks that his -work wasn’t done while he was on this bat.” - -“Oh, I guess it got done all right. Some one had to do it. We can’t pay -him for work that some one else does.” - -“Say, don’t try to pull that stuff,” Sheener protested. “As long as his -work is done, you ain’t got any kick. This guy has got to have a job, or -he’ll go bust, quick. It’s all that keeps his feet on the ground. If he -didn’t think he was earning his living, he’d go on the bum in a minute.” - -I was somewhat impatient with Sheener’s insistence, but I was also -interested in this developing situation. “Who’s going to do his work, -anyhow?” I demanded. - -For the first time in our acquaintance I saw Sheener look confused. -“That’s all right, too,” he told me. “It don’t take any skin off of your -back, long as it’s done.” - -In the end I surrendered. Evans kept his job; and Sheener--I once caught -him in the act, to his vast embarrassment--did the janitor’s work when -Evans was unfit for duty. Also Sheener loaned him money, small sums that -mounted into an interesting total; and furthermore I know that on one -occasion Sheener fought for him. - -The man Evans went his pompous way, accepting Sheener’s homage and -protection as a matter of right, and in the course of half a dozen years -I left the paper for other work, saw Sheener seldom, and Evans not at -all. - - -III - -About ten o’clock one night in early summer I was wandering somewhat -aimlessly through the South End to see what I might see when I -encountered Sheener. He was running, and his dark face was twisted with -anxiety. When he saw me he stopped with an exclamation of relief, and I -asked him what the matter was. - -“You remember old Bum Evans?” he asked, and added: “He’s sick. I’m -looking for a doctor. The old guy is just about all in.” - -“You mean to say you’re still looking out for that old tramp?” I -demanded. - -“Sure, I am,” he said hotly; “that old boy is there. He’s got the stuff. -Him and me are pals.” He was hurrying me along the street toward the -office of the doctor he sought. I asked where Evans was. “In my room,” -he told me. “I found him on the street. Last night. He was crazy. The D. -T.’s. I ain’t been able to get away from him till now. He’s asleep. -Wait. Here’s where the doc hangs out.” - -Five minutes later the doctor and Sheener and I were retracing our steps -toward Sheener’s lodging, and presently we crowded into the small room -where Evans lay on Sheener’s bed. The man’s muddy garments were on the -floor; he himself tossed and twisted feverishly under Sheener’s -blankets. Sheener and the doctor bent over him, while I stood by. Evans -waked, under the touch of their hands, and waked to sanity. He was cold -sober and desperately sick. - -When the doctor had done what could be done and gone on his way, Sheener -sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed the old man’s head with a -tenderness of which I could not have believed the newsboy capable. -Evans’s eyes were open; he watched the other, and at last he said -huskily: - -“I say, you know, I’m a bit knocked up.” - -Sheener reassured him. “That’s all right, bo,” he said. “You hit the -hay. Sleep’s the dose for you. I ain’t going away.” - -Evans moved his head on the pillow, as though he were nodding. “A bit -tight, wasn’t it, what?” he asked. - -“Say,” Sheener agreed. “You said something, Bum. I thought you’d kick -off, sure.” - -The old man considered for a little, his lips twitching and shaking. “I -say, you know,” he murmured at last. “Can’t have that. Potter’s Field, -and all that sort of business. Won’t do. Sheener, when I do take the -jump, you write home for me. Pass the good word. You’ll hear from them.” - -Sheener said: “Sure I will. Who’ll I write to, Bum?” - -Evans, I think, was unconscious of my presence. He gave Sheener a name; -his name. Also, he told him the name of the family lawyer, in one of the -Midland cities of England, and added certain instructions.... - -When he had drifted into uneasy sleep Sheener came out into the hall to -see me off. I asked him what he meant to do. - -“What am I going to do?” he repeated. “I’m going to write to this guy’s -lawyer. Let them send for him. This ain’t no place for him.” - -“You’ll have your trouble for your pains,” I told him. “The old soak is -plain liar; that’s all.” - -Sheener laughed at me. “That’s all right, bo,” he told me. “I know. This -guy’s the real cheese. You’ll see.” - -I asked him to let me know if he heard anything, and he said he would. -But within a day or two I forgot the matter, and would hardly have -remembered it if Sheener had not telephoned me a month later. - -“Say, you’re a wise guy, ain’t you?” he derided when I answered the -phone. I admitted it. “I got a letter from that lawyer in England,” he -told me. “This Evans is the stuff, just like I said. His wife run away -with another man, and he went to the devil fifteen years ago. They’ve -been looking for him ever since his son grew up.” - -“Son?” I asked. - -“Son. Sure! Raising wheat out in Canada somewhere. They give me his -address. He’s made a pile. I’m going to write to him.” - -“What does Bum say?” - -“Him? I ain’t told him. I won’t till I’m sure the kid’s coming after -him.” He said again that I was a wise guy; and I apologized for my -wisdom and asked for a share in what was to come. He promised to keep me -posted. - - -IV - -Ten days later he telephoned me while I was at supper to ask if I could -come to his room. I said: “What’s up?” - -“The old guy’s boy is coming after him,” Sheener said. “He’s got the -shakes, waiting. I want you to come and help me take care of him.” - -“When’s the boy coming?” - -“Gets in at midnight to-night,” said Sheener. - -I promised to make haste; and half an hour later I joined him in -Sheener’s room. Sheener let me in. Evans himself sat in something like a -stupor, on a chair by the bed. He was dressed in a cheap suit of -ready-made clothes, to which he lent a certain dignity. His cheeks were -shaved clean, his mustache was trimmed, his thin hair was plastered down -on his bony skull. The man stared straight before him, trembling and -quivering. He did not look toward me when I came in; and Sheener and I -sat down by the table and talked together in undertones. - -“The boy’s really coming?” I asked. - -Sheener said proudly: “I’m telling you.” - -“You heard from him?” - -“Got a wire the day he got my letter.” - -“You’ve told Bum?” - -“I told him right away. I had to do it. The old boy was sober by then, -and crazy for a shot of booze. That was Monday. He wanted to go out and -get pied; but when I told him about his boy, he begun to cry. And he -ain’t touched a drop since then.” - -“You haven’t let him?” - -“Sure I’d let him. But he wouldn’t. I always told you the class was -there. He says to me: ‘I can’t let my boy see me in this state, you -know. Have to straighten up a bit. I’ll need new clothes.’” - -“I noticed his new suit.” - -“Sure,” Sheener agreed. “I bought it for him.” - -“Out of his savings?” - -“He ain’t been saving much lately.” - -“Sheener,” I asked, “how much does he owe you? For money loaned and -spent for him.” - -Sheener said hotly: “He don’t owe me a cent.” - -“I know. But how much have you spent on him?” - -“If I hadn’t have give it to him, I’d have blowed it somehow. He needed -it.” - -I guessed at a hundred dollars, at two hundred. Sheener would not tell -me. “I’m telling you, he’s my pal,” he said. “I’m not looking for -anything out of this.” - -“If this millionaire son of his has any decency, he’ll make it up to -you.” - -“He don’t know a thing about me,” said Sheener, “except my name. I’ve -just wrote as though I knowed the old guy, here in the house, see. Said -he was sick, and all.” - -“And the boy gets in to-night?” - -“Midnight,” said Sheener, and Evans, from his chair, echoed: “Midnight!” -Then asked with a certain stiff anxiety: “Do I look all right, Sheener? -Look all right to see my boy?” - -“Say,” Sheener told him. “You look like the Prince of Wales.” He went -across to where the other sat and gripped him by the shoulder. “You -look like the king o’ the world.” - -Old Evans brushed at his coat anxiously; his fingers picked and twisted; -and Sheener sat down on the bed beside him and began to soothe and -comfort the man as though he were a child. - - -V - -The son was to arrive by way of Montreal, and at eleven o’clock we left -Sheener’s room for the station. There was a flower stand on the corner, -and Sheener bought a red carnation and fixed it in the old man’s -buttonhole. “That’s the way the boy’ll know him,” he told me. “They -ain’t seen each other for--since the boy was a kid.” - -Evans accepted the attention querulously; he was trembling and feeble, -yet held his head high. We took the subway, reached the station, sat -down for a space in the waiting room. - -But Evans was impatient; he wanted to be out in the train shed, and we -went out there and walked up and down before the gate. I noticed that he -was studying Sheener with some embarrassment in his eyes. Sheener was, -of course, an unprepossessing figure. Lean, swarthy, somewhat flashy of -dress, he looked what he was. He was my friend, of course, and I was -able to look beneath the exterior. But it seemed to me that sight of him -distressed Evans. - -In the end the old man said, somewhat furtively: “I say, you know, I -want to meet my boy alone. You won’t mind standing back a bit when the -train comes in.” - -“Sure,” Sheener told him. “We won’t get in the way. You’ll see. He’ll -pick you out in a minute, old man. Leave it to me.” - -Evans nodded. “Quite so,” he said with some relief. “Quite so, to be -sure.” - -So we waited. Waited till the train slid in at the end of the long train -shed. Sheener gripped the old man’s arm. “There he comes,” he said -sharply. “Take a brace, now. Stand right there, where he’ll spot you -when he comes out. Right there, bo.” - -“You’ll step back a bit, eh, what?” Evans asked. - -“Don’t worry about us,” Sheener told him. “Just you keep your eye -skinned for the boy. Good luck, bo.” - -We left him standing there, a tall, gaunt, shaky figure. Sheener and I -drew back toward the stairs that lead to the elevated structure, and -watched from that vantage point. The train stopped, and the passengers -came into the station, at first in a trickle and then in a stream, with -porters hurrying before them, baggage laden. - -The son was one of the first. He emerged from the gate, a tall chap, not -unlike his father. Stopped for a moment, casting his eyes about, and saw -the flower in the old man’s lapel. Leaped toward him hungrily. - -They gripped hands, and we saw the son drop his hand on the father’s -shoulder. They stood there, hands still clasped, while the young man’s -porter waited in the background. We could hear the son’s eager -questions, hear the older man’s drawled replies. Saw them turn at last, -and heard the young man say: “Taxi!” The porter caught up the bag. The -taxi stand was at our left, and they came almost directly toward us. - -As they approached, Sheener stepped forward, a cheap, somewhat -disreputable, figure. His hand was extended toward the younger man. The -son saw him, looked at him in some surprise, looked toward his father -inquiringly. - -Evans saw Sheener too, and a red flush crept up his gaunt cheeks. He did -not pause, did not take Sheener’s extended hand; instead he looked the -newsboy through and through. - -Sheener fell back to my side. They stalked past us, out to the taxi -stand. - -I moved forward. I would have halted them, but Sheener caught my arm. I -said hotly: “But see here. He can’t throw you like that.” - -Sheener brushed his sleeve across his eyes. “Hell,” he said huskily. “A -gent like him can’t let on that he knows a guy like me.” - -I looked at Sheener, and I forgot old Evans and his son. I looked at -Sheener, and I caught his elbow and we turned away. - -He had been quite right, of course, all the time. Blood will always -tell. You can’t keep a fast horse in a poor man’s stable. And a man is -always a man, in any guise. - -If you still doubt, do as I did. Consider Sheener. - - - - -THE FIELD OF HONOR - - -I - -Old Eph’s favorite stand was on Tremont street, just outside the subway -kiosk, where every foot in Boston soon or late must pass. He appeared -here about dusk every evening, when the afternoon rush was over; and he -squatted, tailor fashion, on crossed legs, and hugged his banjo to his -ragged breast, and picked at it and crooned and shouted his old melodies -so long as there were any to listen. He was a cheerful old fellow, with -the pathetic cheerfulness of the negro. When coins were tossed to him, -he had a nimble trick of whisking his banjo bottom side up, catching the -contribution in this improvised receptacle, flipping it into the air and -pocketing it without interrupting his music. Each time he did this, his -fingers returned to the strings with a sweep and a strumming that -suggested the triumphant notes of trumpets. There was an ape-like cast -to his head; and his long arms and limber old fingers had the uncanny -dexterity of a monkey. Pretty girls, watching him, sometimes said -shiveringly to their escorts: - -“He hardly seems human--squatting there....” - -Old Eph always heard. His ears were unnaturally keen, attuned to the -murmur of the crowds. And he used to answer them, chanting his reply in -time with the tune he happened at the moment to be playing. Thus: “Don’ -you cry, ma Honey ...” might become: - - “‘Don’ you call me monkey, - ‘Don’ you call me monk ... - ‘Eph ain’ gwine tuh lak it, and hit ain’t so....’” - -And then he would go on with the song, calm and undisturbed ... - - “‘All de little black babies, sleepin’ on de flo’ ... - ‘Mammy only lubs her own.’” - -When a particularly liberal coin came his way, he gave thanks in the -midst of his song. Thus: - - “‘I’m comin’; I’m comin’; and my head is thank ye ma’am ... - ‘I hear dem darky voices calling: Yes mum-ma’am.’” - -He never hesitated to take liberties with the English language in order -to preserve the meter; for he had the keen sense of rhythm that -characterizes his race. Also, for all the ravages of age, his voice was -sweet and true. He sang endlessly, so that his songs were half medley, -half monologue; and his banjo would all but speak for him. - -No one ever saw Eph about the streets in the day time. He appeared at -dusk; and it was known that he sometimes remained at his post, singing -and picking at his banjo, long after the ways were empty of pedestrians. -Sometimes, in those middle hours between night and morning, when there -was no one near, the songs he sang became ineffably sad and mournful; he -crooned them, under his breath, to the banjo that he hugged against his -breast, and his sweet old voice was like a low lament. Once Walter -Ragan, the patrolman on the beat, passed at four in the morning of a -late fall day and heard Eph singing, over and over.... - - “Tramp, tramp, tramp! De boys is marching....” - -Eph repeated this song so long and so sorrowfully that Ragan came up -quietly behind him and asked: - -“What’s the matter, Eph?” - -The old negro looked up, and Ragan saw that there were tears on his -black and wrinkled cheeks. But the darky grinned cheerfully at sight of -the policeman. - -“Jes’ thinkin’ on de old times, Miste’ Ragan. Thinkin’ on de old times, -suh,” said Eph. - -Ragan was half inclined to laugh, and half inclined to cry. He felt so -sorry for the old man that he ordered him gruffly to get up and go home -and go to bed. And Eph got up, and bowed, and brushed the paving with -his cap, so deep was his obeisance. “Yas, suh, Miste’ Ragan,” he -promised. “Yas, suh, I’m goin’ right along....” - -And he tucked the banjo under his arm, and crossed the street, and -started up Beacon Hill. Ragan knew where he dwelt, down in the swarming -hive beneath the Hill. He watched old Eph go, watched the shuffling, -splay feet, and the bent shoulders, and the twisted, crooked little -body.... - -“The darned old nut,” said Ragan gruffly, to himself. “Not sense enough -to go to bed....” - -And he went on down the street, whistling between his teeth and trying -not to think of Eph’s bowed body and the tears upon the black old -cheeks. - - -II - -Eph’s songs, in the old days, were simple darky ballads, or lullabys, or -the songs of the southland that all the world knows. People sometimes -brought their children, of an evening, just to hear Eph sing: “Don’ You -Cry, Ma Honey ...” or that fearsome lullaby about the “Conju’ cats....” -When the old man was in good voice, he never failed to gather a little -audience about him. His listeners used to call out and ask him to sing -certain songs that were their favorites; and sometimes Eph sang what -they wished to hear, and sometimes he refused. He would never sing -“Dixie.” “I ain’ no slave nigger,” he was accustomed to protest, with -scorn. “I fit ag’in’ de South, in de big war. Rackon I’m gwine sing dat -song? Lawdy, man, no suh.” - -They told him, laughingly, that the war was over. “Da’s all right,” he -agreed. “De war’s over. Mebbe so. But I ain’ over. Not me. An’ long as I -is what I is, I don’ sing no rebelliums. No suh.” - -Those who had enough curiosity to make inquiries found that Eph told the -truth when he said he had fought for the North. He had served in that -colored regiment whose black ranks are immortalized in the Shaw -Memorial, opposite the State House, just up the hill from where Eph had -his nightly stand; and he carried his discharge papers in a tattered -old wallet in his tattered coat.... By the same token, though he would -never sing “Dixie,” it required no more than a word to start him off on -that mighty battle hymn, “Mine eyes have seen the glory....” When he -sang this, his voice rolled and throbbed and thrummed with a roar like -the roar of drums, and there was the beat of marching feet in the -cadence of his song. His banjo tinkled shrilly as the piping of the -fifes, and his bent shoulders straightened, and his head flung high, and -his old eyes snapped and shone.... - -When Europe went to war, Eph little by little forsook the gentler -melodies of his repertoire; he chose songs with a martial swing. He -chose them by ear and by words; and when he sang them, there was the -blare of bugles in his voice. He was, from the beginning, violently -anti-German; and now and then, when his enthusiasm overcame him, he -delivered an oration on the subject to his nightly audience. At which -they laughed. - -But if it was a joke to them, it was not funny to Eph; and he proved -this when the United States went into the war. He went, -unostentatiously, to the recruiting office and offered himself to the -country. - -The Sergeant in charge did not smile at old Eph, because he saw that Eph -himself was deadly serious. Eph had said simply: - -“I’ve come to jine up in de army, suh.” The Sergeant asked: - -“You mean you want to enlist.” - -Eph nodded, and grinned. “Yas suh, jes dat.” - -The Sergeant frowned, and he considered. “I’ll tell you, old man,” he -said. “I’m afraid you’re over the age limit.” - -“Whut de age limit?” Eph asked cautiously. - -“Forty-five.” - -Eph cackled with delight. “I declare, dat jes lets me in. Me, I’m gwine -on fo’ty-four, dis minute.” - -The Sergeant grinned. “Get out!” he protested. “You’ll never see -seventy-four again.” - -“I kin prove it,” Eph offered. - -The other shook his head. “You’re too old; and your eyes are no good, -and your teeth are gone, and you’ve got flat-foot....” - -Eph perceived that the man was friendly. “I can p’int a gun an’ pull a -trigger,” he urged wheedlingly. - -“There’s more than that to war,” the Sergeant told him; and Eph’s eyes -blazed. - -“Whut you know ’bout war, man?” he demanded. “Ain’ I been in it. Ain’ I -slep’ in de rain, an’ et raw corn, an’ fit in mud to de knees, an’ got a -bullet in my laig, an’ laid out in de snow three days till they come an’ -fotch me in. Don’ you let on about war to me, man. I been it and I done -it, befo’ you uz thought of. Go way!” - -Eph was so deadly earnest that the Sergeant’s eyes misted. The Sergeant -himself knew what it was to grow old. He had a terrible, sneaking fear -that they would keep him on such duty as this; that he would never see -France. And he crossed, and dropped his hand on Eph’s shoulder. “I’m -sorry,” he said. “It’s no go. We can’t take you.” - -Eph passed from anger to pleading. “Spose’n I uz to go along an’ sing -to um,” he proposed. “I c’d do that, anyways.” - -“No. They wouldn’t allow you....” - -“I’m a jim dandy cook,” Eph offered pitifully. - -The Sergeant had to swear or weep. He swore. “Get out of here, you -damned old scamp,” he exclaimed, and swept Eph toward the door. “Get out -of here and stay out, or I’ll have you run in....” - -And Eph, who knew white folks and their ways as well as the slave -niggers he scorned, understood that this was the Sergeant’s way of -telling him there was no hope at all. So he said simply: “Thank’e, sir.” -And he turned, and with a sad and dreary dignity he went out, and down -the stairs to the street, and up the Hill and down to the little room -where he lodged. - -He was alone in his room all that day. The woman who kept the boarding -house, a billowy negress with a pock-marked face, heard little moaning -cries and lamentations coming from behind his closed door; and once she -knocked and offered her comfort, but Eph drove her away with hard words, -and nursed his sorrow alone. - -That night, some of those who saw him at his stand by the subway kiosk -thought he looked tired; but he was as gay as ever, and as cheerful. He -made one innovation in his singing. Across the street and above his head -rose the spire of the Park street church. Whenever the hands of the -clock in this spire touched the hour, old Eph rose, and took off his -hat, and lifted up his voice and sang: - -“‘Oh say, kin you see....’” - -He sang this each hour that evening, and each hour in all the evenings -that were to come, until the end. And at first they scoffed a little, -because they thought he was playing patriotism for his own ends; but -when they saw how earnestly he sang, and felt the wistful tenderness in -his tones, they faintly understood, and more respected him. - -When Ragan came on duty, shortly after midnight that night, he thought -old Eph looked sick, and he sent the old man home. - - -III - -It was Ragan, in the end, who brought Jim Forrest to see Eph. Forrest -was a reporter on one of the daily papers. He was unlike the reporter of -fiction, in that he was neither a “cub” nor a “star.” He was just plain -reporter, with a nose for news, and human sympathy, and some ability as -a writer. He was a young fellow twenty-two or three years old. His -father died just as he finished college, and Jim of necessity gave up -law school and buckled down to earn a living for his mother and himself. -The newspaper business seldom pays enormous salaries; but there is no -other profession in which a green man can earn so much. Jim began on a -salary of fifteen dollars a week, and at the end of his first year was -raised to twenty. At the same time they put him on the night shift at -police headquarters. - -When Jim was earning fifteen dollars a week, he and his mother lived, -and that was about all. For they had been accustomed to five or six -thousand a year before Mr. Forrest died; and a dollar still looked -small and unimportant to them. By the time Jim was raised to twenty, -Mrs. Forrest had learned to make one dollar do the work of two; and they -managed.... Jim worked hard, and wondered when he could ask for another -raise. - -But when the United States went into the war, newspapers stopped raising -salaries. And the worst of it was that Jim was particularly anxious for -more money at that time. The sight of his friends, the young unmarried -men among whom his life was laid, decked out in khaki, gave Jim a -miserable feeling that was like nothing so much as homesickness. He had -a nostalgia for the training camps that was actually physical; it was so -acute that it sickened him. - -But--there was nothing he could do. If he went, his mother could not -live. That was pure mathematics; and when Jim had reluctantly accepted -this fact, he set himself to keep a stiff upper lip and stick heroically -to the tasks of peace when the cowardly way would have been for him to -go to war. He stuck to the tasks of peace, but he did not accept the -situation as hopeless. He began to cast about for chances to earn a -little extra money, for special stories he might write, for -opportunities to earn one of the bonuses that were sometimes awarded for -exceptional performance. - -He was a likeable boy; he had friends, and they helped him with -suggestions. One of these friends was Ragan, and Ragan told Jim one day -to go see old Eph. - -“There’s a story in him, and a big one,” he assured Jim. “That old -nigger.... You can write a yarn about him that will make every man in -town cry into his coffee.” - -Jim knew Eph by sight; he asked Ragan for details. - -“Work the patriotic line,” Ragan advised him. “D’you know Eph tried to -enlist, when we went into the war? Well, he did.” - -“Is that straight?” - -“Sure. Sergeant Hare told me. Said Eph all but cried at being turned -down. Offered to go along and sing to the boys, or cook for them....” - -“Thanks,” said Jim. “You know Eph pretty well. Put in a word for me, -will you?” - -“You’re through at four in the morning,” Ragan suggested. “He’ll -probably be around till then. Come up with me, and I’ll take you to -him.” - -That was in September, a warm, still night of early fall; and they found -old Eph as Ragan had expected, still squatting with his back against the -kiosk, still strumming softly, still crooning under his breath as he -strummed. The darky looked up sidewise when they came near, and grinned -at Ragan, and bobbed his head. - -“Howdy, Miste’ Ragan,” he said. - -Ragan chuckled. “Tol’able, Eph,” he mimicked. “Get up out of that. This -is Jim Forrest, wants to talk to you.” - -Eph looked at Jim suspiciously. “Howcome?” he asked. - -Forrest smiled. “I’m a reporter,” he explained. “I want to write -something about you. Everyone has seen you; I want to tell them more -about you than they’ve seen.” - -Eph shook his head stubbornly. “Ol’ Eph ain’ gwine git his name in no -papers,” he protested. “You go ’long, boy, and lemme ’lone.” - -Jim became grave. He knew the first and strongest weapon in a reporter’s -armory; the art of making your victim angry. And he knew enough about -Eph to hit the old man in a tender spot. “I want to get your story about -the way you fought in the Confederate army,” he explained. - -Eph got to his feet with a menacing swiftness; and he shook his old fist -in Jim’s face. “Dat’s a lie,” he said shrilly. “I fit ag’in’ de South; -an’ I kin prove it.” - -Jim looked puzzled. “Why--aren’t you twisted, sir? I understand that you -fought for three years, before you were wounded, and that General Lee -himself gave you a letter....” - -Eph boiled, but he controlled his tongue. He studied Jim, leaning closer -to look into the young man’s eyes. “Y’all know dat ain’ right,” he said -steadily. “Howcome you want to pester an ol’ nigger lak me?” - -Jim was ashamed of himself, but he stuck to his attack. “I may be -mistaken,” he confessed. “Maybe they told me wrong.... Maybe they were -trying to start trouble between us, sir. What was the straight of it? -Didn’t you fight in the war at all?” - -Eph tapped Jim slowly on the breast. “Nemmine me,” he said slowly. -“Nemmine me. Le’s talk ’bout you. Howcome you ain’ got on one o’ dem -kharki uniforms, boy? Howcome? Huh?” - -The attack was so unexpected; it struck so acutely to the mark that Jim -was silenced. But Ragan took his part; he touched old Eph’s arm. “There -now, old man,” he said. “He’s all right. But he’s got a mother to -support. If he don’t take care of her, nobody will. He’s got to take -care of her, hasn’t he?” - -Eph looked from Jim to Ragan, puzzling. “Ain’ he got tuh tek care o’ dis -country, too?” he demanded. “Why caint his maw tek in washin’?” - -Ragan chuckled. “Don’t you worry,” he told Eph. “Jim here will go, when -he can. Why, here, Eph. He wants to write this story about you so he can -make extra money--get enough ahead so he can go.... Enough to take care -of his mother....” - -Jim had turned hopelessly away. Eph looked at the boy’s straight -shoulders; and he looked at Ragan. And then the old darky did a -surprising thing. - -He crossed, and touched Jim’s arm. “You, suh ...” he said softly. - -Jim looked at him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I won’t bother you any -more....” - -Eph chuckled. “Lawdy, man, you cain’ bother me. Listen.... You come -’long home with me now. I aim tuh talk to you, some....” - -Jim hesitated; he was surprised. Eph nodded. “You come ’long,” he -insisted, and took Jim’s arm, and turned him about, and led the boy, -half unwilling, across the street, past the tall old church, and up the -hill. - -Ragan scratched his head, watching them go, puzzled; and he wondered; -and then he gave up the puzzle. - - -IV - -There is some quality which possesses the soul of a good old negro that -gives them a power not granted to other men. They have, above -everything, the power to inspire confidence, to win confidences. Perhaps -this is because of their simplicity, or because of their vast sympathy. -White children in the South will love and trust their darky friends and -will share with them those intimate secrets of childhood from which even -parents are excluded. These old darkies have a talisman against the -griefs that visit others; they soothe the sufferer, they murmur: -“Nemmine, now chile,” and the suffering is forgotten. In their own -sorrows they wail and lament theatrically, and tear their hair and vent -without restraint their primitive despair. But when white folks weep, -the darky has comfort to give, and gives it.... To tell them a secret is -like whispering it to one’s own self; there is the bliss of confession -without the anguish of knowing that one’s shame is shared. It is easy to -tell, hard to rebuff their gentle inquiries.... - -Jim Forrest was never able to understand how he had been led to unbosom -himself to old Eph; but he did. The negro took him over Beacon Hill, and -down one thin and dingy street, and then another; and so into a boarding -house, and up to the room where Eph dwelt. This room was as clean as a -new pin; it was meagerly furnished; yet it was comfortable. It was tiny, -but it was large enough to be a home. Eph made Jim welcome there; he -sat the boy down; he talked to him.... - -And Jim, who had come to hear Eph’s story, found himself talking while -Eph listened. And though he held his head high and steadily, there was -in the boy’s tones something of the longing that possessed him, -something of the shame that oppressed him because he could not be out -and doing like his fellows. Day broke and found them there together; and -it was two hours after dawn before Jim left at last, comforted in a way -he could not understand, cheered and content as he had not been for -months, steady and unafraid.... - -He did not realize till that night that he had failed to get Eph’s -story. - -Old Eph, when the boy was gone, sat down on his bed and put his head in -his hands and thought hard. He was a shrewd old man, for all his -simplicity; and the fruits of his thoughts were action. He knew what he -wished to do, he considered only the method; and when this was chosen at -length, he took his hat and went out, and up over the Hill, and down -Beacon street to find the man he sought. - -He waited humbly in an outer office till this man could see him. When he -was admitted, he fumbled in his inner pocket for a dog-eared little bank -book, and went in. - -Jim Forrest, the day after, received a registered letter. This letter -contained a check for eleven hundred dollars; and it read briefly: - -“I am instructed by my client to hand you this check, and to inform you -that there will be mailed, each week, to your mother, for an indefinite -period hereafter, a check for ten dollars. I have no further -instructions, except to preserve absolute secrecy.” - -The letter ended in due legal form. - -Jim, thereafter, did three things. The first was to go to the lawyer who -had sent the letter and ask who had given the money. He got no answer. -The second was to seek out old Eph and accuse him of sending it. At -which Eph cackled joyfully. - -“Lawdy, suh,” the old darky chuckled guilelessly. “Where you think I -gwine git ’leven hunnerd dollars. Don’ you joke an old man, boy.” - -The third thing Jim did, when he gave up hope of discovering the -identity of his benefactor, was to enlist. - - -V - -One of the charms of old Eph’s nightly performances at his chosen spot -near the subway kiosk was that he never asked for money. The mercenary -side of his activities was never prominent. It was his custom to remain, -sitting cross-legged upon the paving, from beginning to end. He never -rose to pass his hat or his palm solicitously among the listeners; and -he never went so far as to set a tin cup or a similar receptacle -invitingly beside him. If coins were tossed his way, he caught them with -skinny fingers or inverted banjo; if none were tossed, no matter. Eph -never complained. - -But about the time Jim Forrest enlisted, it was remarked that old Eph -began to grow greedy. At first he interspersed among his songs little -half-caught remarks about the exceeding hard times; the high cost of -living, even for a dry old darky; and the necessity of eating which -possesses every man. A little later, he introduced the custom of passing -his battered old hat out through the crowd. He never carried it from man -to man himself; he simply tossed it to the nearest, and then broke into -a gay and chuckling melody to hide his own confusion while it went from -hand to hand and came back to him. Eventually, he fell into the habit of -leaving his hat, bottom side up, upon the paving between his feet; and -he referred now and then, in his songs, to the necessity for putting -coins into it. - -Some people who had known Eph for a good many years thought he was -becoming miserly. They told stories, from man to man, about beggars of -whom they had heard who owned half a dozen apartment houses out in -Dorchester. And they quit coming to hear Eph sing. Others deplored the -old man’s avarice, but gave. Still others decided that the high cost of -living must have hit Eph hard, and offered to help him. - -All in all, his earnings did increase. His old, unbusiness-like -arrangement had in the past sufficed. There was always a little money; -there was sometimes a considerable sum. He might go home with one -dollar, or two, or even five; or he might trudge up the hill with only a -few pennies to show for his night’s singing. On the whole, however, -there had always been enough. He lived in some measure of comfort; and -he laid up something for a rainy day. This hoard had been long years -accumulating.... - -Eph told no one his troubles; no one had known of his little wealth; no -one knew that it was gone. Eph was bankrupt; and not only that, but he -had mortgaged his earnings. He had pledged his future. He had given -hostages to fortune. He had promised to find and send to Jim Forrest’s -mother the sum of ten dollars every week. - -And in spite of the fact that in the past he had never averaged earning -ten dollars a week, he proposed to keep his word. - -He believed, in the beginning, that this would not be hard. He would -have to demean himself, to ask for money, to invite gifts.... The -thought irked him; yet he was ready to do it. And to help out, he -himself prepared to make sacrifices. Down in his boarding house, he gave -up his comfortable little two dollar room and took another, in the very -top of the house, which cost him half a dollar less. Likewise he cut -down on his food. He gave up altogether the sliced, roast ham that had -always been his delight; the occasional eggs; the bananas. He ate -meagerly, and scouted the scolding insistences of his old colored -landlady when she tried to force food upon him. - -“I ain’ no beggar, Mis’ Hopkins,” he told her, over and over. “When old -Eph cain’ pay his way, he gwine git out o’ here to som’eres where he -can.” - -In the beginning, matters went well enough. The people who stopped to -listen to his singing opened their purses at his unwilling hints to -them. He was able to take the promised ten dollars to the lawyer every -week, and to live on what remained. And when he heard Jim Forrest was in -the army, the old darky sang in a fashion that he had not equalled for -a dozen years, and the next day he boasted to his landlady of the -matter. - -“Ol’ Eph ain’ here, at all, Mis’ Hopkins,” he told her gleefully. “Y’all -jes’ thinks he is. He ain’ here, I’m tellin’ you.” - -She shooed him, with fat hands. “Go ’long, Eph, you ol’ scamp,” she -scolded. - -“I’m tellin’ you,” he repeated. “Eph ain’ here. Ol’ Eph’s in de army, -now. Ain’ old Eph no more; he’s a fine, stroppin’ boy big enough to cut -de Dutch. A fixin’ tuh fight, Mis’ Hopkins. A fixin’ tuh fight!” - -“Whut you tryin’ let out, anyhows?” she demanded. “You sayin’ somethin; -or is you jes’ talkin’ th’ough yore hat?” - -“I’m tellin’ you,” he chanted. “Eph’s in de army, now.” - -But he did not lay bare his secret to her, even then. Eph knew white -folks. He knew that Jim Forrest wouldn’t want it noised abroad that a -nigger street singer was supporting his mother. And he kept his tongue -in his head; but he exulted. He carried his old head high; and when he -met on the street one day that Sergeant Hare who had refused him -enlistment, Eph went into a fit of merriment that made the Sergeant -think the old darky had gone witless. - -“Dat man ’lowed he ’uz gwine keep me out o’ dis here war,” he boasted to -Mis’ Hopkins next day. “But I showed him. Old Eph showed whut ’uz whut.” - -“Yo’re crazy,” Mis’ Hopkins told him scornfully. “Git out o’ my way.” - -Eph told his lawyer, the next week, to ask Jim’s mother to give them -word of Jim; and when she wrote, two weeks later, that the boy had been -admitted to an officer’s training camp, Eph danced on his bowed legs, -and told Mis’ Hopkins loftily that she would have to step lively now. - -“Howcome?” she demanded. - -“’Caze I’m an orf’cer now,” Eph told her proudly. - -“Yo’re bughouse,” she assured him. “De booby man’ll git you.” - -Eph thought nothing of her word at that time; but two or three weeks -later, it was repeated in a way that frightened him. - -He had fallen into the habit of acting a little comedy of his own; a -habit infinitely soothing to his soul. When he climbed the Hill every -night, on his way home, he passed the Shaw Memorial, and he had always -stopped to look at it. Now he fell into the habit of marching stiffly -down the middle of the road to face the Memorial, and of coming to a -halt there, standing at attention, and saluting after the ancient -fashion of his Rebellion days. He used to fancy that the eyes in the -sculptured faces of the marching soldiers turned sidewise to look at -him; he used to imagine that the arm of the officer graven in the stone -flicked upward in an answering gesture. And there were nights when he -stood thus for a minute or two, speaking his thoughts aloud.... - -Walter Ragan came upon him so, one bleak dawn in mid-November. Old Eph, -very stiff and straight, was saying respectfully: - -“Yas suh, Cunnel; I’se a soldier now. Ol’ Eph. Yas suh; gwine tuh be an -orf’cer, too.” - -Ragan called to him: “You, Eph, what are you doing out there?” - -Eph saw the patrolman, and cackled. “Howdy, Miste’ Ragan,” he called. - -“What are you up to, you old rascal?” - -“Jes’ makin’ my reports to de Cunnel,” said Eph gleefully. “Makin’ my -reports on a little matter.” - -“Look out, Eph,” Ragan warned him. “You’ll go bugs, next thing I know, -and I’ll have to ship you out to Waverly.” - -Now when Mis’ Hopkins had warned Eph that he was showing symptoms of -insanity, Eph had laughed; but Ragan’s warning was another matter. -Ragan, for all he was Eph’s good friend, was a policeman, an arm of the -law; and Eph had the negro’s deep-rooted and abiding awe of the blue -uniform and the helmet. Ragan’s word hushed him instantly; and it -chilled him with a sudden, cold fear.... - -That accumulated hoard of the years had been Eph’s safeguard against old -age. He had expected it would one day make him comfortable while he -smoked, and sang, and waited his time to die; he had known it would -always keep him out of the institutions he dreaded. But now it was gone; -and when he thought of this fact, Eph felt stripped and defenseless and -afraid. So now he was afraid; he hushed his mirth and touched his cap to -Ragan. - -“Yas suh,” he said respectfully. - -“Get along home to bed,” Ragan advised him. - -“I’m gone,” said Eph; and he went. - -Ragan, considering the matter afterward, wondered if old Eph’s mind -might not indeed be weakening. He decided to keep an eye on the darky. - -He thought, during the next month, that Eph was aging. The old negro was -growing thin; and Ragan guessed this might be the sudden wastage of age. -But he was wrong. It was something distinctly more tangible. It was a -matter of money, and of food. - -Times were tightening purse-strings. There were a thousand calls for -money besetting every man; and each had the high urge of country behind -it. People who had never considered dollars before began to count -pennies. A quarter thrown to Eph would buy a thrift stamp.... And men, -thinking this, returned the quarter to their pockets and turned away. -Old Eph, after all, was only a beggar. No doubt he wasted his money on -rum; or if not that, he must own at least one “three-decker” that -brought him in fat rents. The legend of the wealth of beggars harassed -Eph and was like to ruin him. He did his best; he labored manfully; he -descended to covert pleadings.... - -One week in mid-December, he had only nine dollars and thirty cents on -the appointed day. He borrowed the remaining seventy cents from the -lawyer, and repaid the loan next day, in spite of that gentleman’s -insistence. - -“Naw suh,” Eph told him proudly. “Dis heah’s my arrangement, suh. I’ll -manage. Lemme alone.” - -The next week he brought ten dollars; and the next. But for two days of -that second week he ate nothing. He admitted this, in the bleak dawn, -when he stopped for a whispered colloquy with the stone figure of his -old Colonel, at the Memorial. - -“But dat ain’ no matter, suh,” he assured the inscrutable officer. “Dis -ol’ coon don’ need tuh eat. Nothin’ but skin an’ bone, anyhow. Lawdy, -suh, whut good is vittles tuh me?” - -Cold had struck down on Boston in December; and it held and intensified -as January came. Sometimes people, listening to Eph’s singing, thought -the old man must be shivering where he sat upon the stones; and Ragan -drove him away two or three nights and bade him warm himself. But each -time Eph looked at him with such pitiful entreaty against this kindness -that Ragan gave up. “Have it your own way, you old idiot,” he told Eph. -“If you want to freeze, go ahead and freeze. But don’t look at a man -like he’s kicked you....” - -“Yas suh,” said Eph. “Thank’e kindly, suh.” - -Neither Ragan, nor Eph’s friend, the lawyer, realized how serious the -matter was. They found Eph stubbornly determined to hold his own course; -they decided he would not otherwise be content; and Eph was but one -figure in their crowded lives. They let him have his way. - -Eph duly met his obligations in the first week of that cold January; he -was at his post through the second week. On the appointed day, he went -to make the payment.... - -The lawyer had good news for him. Jim Forrest’s mother wrote that Jim -had won a commission in the training camp; he had won, by exceptional -merit, a commission as Captain. - -“You understand, Eph,” the attorney explained, “this means he’ll have a -good salary, about two hundred dollars a month. So his mother can get -along all right, now....” - -Eph’s feet were shuffling on the floor in something that sounded very -like a soft but jubilant hornpipe; he disregarded utterly the attorney’s -word. “My man’s a captain, suh,” he chanted. “An’ I put him in where he -c’ud be it. Same as if I ’uz a captain in de army, now....” - -“By Jove, Eph, you’re right,” the lawyer agreed. “I ... I’d like to....” - -There were tears in his eyes when he had shaken Eph’s hand and seen him -go; but there were no tears in old Eph. He was riotously happy, madly -happy, tenderly happy.... He went out, and down the street, and in the -early dusk spread a newspaper on the cold stones of the pavement by the -kiosk there, and sat him down, and lifted up his voice in song.... - -People said afterward that Eph had never sung so tunefully as that last -evening. His voice had an unusual purity and sweetness; it was as tender -as a woman’s. There was an exaltation about the old man, so that the -discerning eye seemed to see a glory hanging over him. He sang and -sang.... - -That was a bitter cold night, and the streets cleared early. Ragan came -along about one o’clock and found Eph still singing, with no one near to -hear. He bade Eph stop and go home; but Eph protested: - -“Please suh, Miste’ Ragan; dis is my night tuh sing, suh.” - -Ragan, shivering in his warm garments, said harshly: “This’ll be your -night to freeze to death. Get up and go home, before I run you in.” - -Eph got up. There was nothing else to do when a policeman commanded. And -Ragan watched him cross the street, and called: “Good night.” - -Eph looked back and nodded. “Good night, suh,” he echoed. “I’m gwine -right along.” - -He started up Park street; and Ragan went on his way, trying the shop -doors, huddling in the doorways to avoid the wind, blowing on his aching -hands. - -“By God, I don’t see how the old fool stands it,” he said to himself. -“It’s a wonder he’s not stiff....” - - -VI - -Eph went up the Hill. Half way up Park street he looked back and saw -Ragan disappearing; so when he came to the top, he felt safe in turning -aside a little, to pause before the Memorial and report his triumph to -his Colonel there. - -He stood on the steps before the Monument, and took off his hat, and -explained the matter very respectfully; and for all the howling of the -wind that swept up the street and past him, he was sure he heard the low -exclamations of his comrades in the stone ranks there; and he was sure -the graven officer looked down at him, and spoke with him, and praised -him.... - -The night watchman, at the State House across Beacon street, reported -afterward that he had thought, in the night, he heard the sound of -martial music in the street out there. It might have been a banjo, and -an old man’s voice; he could not be sure. - -“But it sounded like a fife and drums to me,” he said, again and again. -“I came to a window and looked out; but I couldn’t see a thing.... -Thought I must have been dreaming.... Went back to the fire....” - -Whether it was old Eph’s banjo, and old Eph’s song he heard, or whether -it was indeed the shrilling of invisible pipes, welcoming a hero home, I -cannot say. He says it was The Battle Hymn of the Republic that he -heard, so Ragan thinks it was only old Eph. But I am not so sure.... - -At any rate, Ragan found Eph, in the morning. The old darky was huddled -at the base of the Memorial, cuddling his banjo in his arms, while above -his head the stone ranks marched interminably on. - - * * * * * - -Ragan and his lawyer between them decided to tell Jim Forrest the truth -of the matter; and it was Jim who devised old Eph’s epitaph. That which -he caused to be set upon Eph’s small, white stone was a familiar phrase -enough; but glorious as simple things may be. - -The legend on the stone reads: - - “Old Eph.” - “January 17, 1918” - “Dead on the Field of Honor” - - - - -THE UNCONQUERED - - -I - -This was in the first months after the war. The old Frenchman was still -in uniform. His round-topped, gold-braided cap lay on the table at his -elbow, beside the open box of cigarettes, and the half-empty glass. The -breast and the sleeve of his tunic bore testimony to his honorable -service. He was a short man, a heavy man, with a large stomach, and -solid shoulders; and his head hunched forward in a leonine fashion. His -eyes were blue; and his hair was thick, and coarse, and white as snow. -He was in New York on some business of reconstruction.... And while the -other men had been exchanging reminiscences, he had stared with -thoughtful eyes at a large, framed print upon the wall before him. - -This print was a reproduction of a painting thoroughly familiar. It -portrayed an old man, a man of middle age, a boy, a fife, a drum and a -flag.... And one who looked at it could feel the brush of the wind -through the banner’s waving folds, and hear the scream of shrill fifes -piping in the air.... - -Hinchcliffe, who knew the Frenchman better than the others, observed -this scrutiny, and asked a question, softly. The Frenchman smiled. - -“I was thinking, sir,” he told Hinchcliffe, “That I have witnessed a -scene like that, in my time.” - -His words came in a little pause in the conversation of the others, so -that they all heard, and waited for him to continue. And Hinchcliffe -ventured to urge quietly: “Tell us.” - -The Frenchman lifted his hand in a deprecating fashion; they insisted. -He sipped at his glass, and in the end he nodded. Barton lighted a fresh -cigar. Hinchcliffe shifted to a more comfortable position in his chair. -Hughes beckoned the nearest attendant with a silent forefinger. The -Frenchman began to speak. His tone was level and unemotional; his -articulation was precise. Only an odd construction of sentences now and -then betrayed his unfamiliarity with the tongue. His eyes were on the -framed print upon the wall; and they seemed to look through it, and -beyond.... - - -II - -It was, in the beginning, (said the old Frenchman) one of those valorous -and devoted regiments to which fall the hardest and most honorable -tasks. The men came, for the most part, from the Argonne; they were -rugged stock, men of the farms and of the hills. Simple, and direct.... -Good soldiers.... And Frenchmen. - -It chanced that when the war came, this regiment fought in its own -homeland. The men knew every foot of the hills they defended, the -ravines which they turned into death traps, the forests through which -they marched, the meadows where they skirmished. They knew this land, -and by the same token, they loved it. It was as though they had their -roots in the soil. They could not be torn from it. They waited for the -Germans at ten kilometres from the frontier--you remember, my friends, -how we waited for them there so that they might not say we had provoked -the conflict--and when the Germans came, this regiment stopped its -immediate foe and held the Germans in their tracks. - -At this time, the French invasion toward Muelhausen was prospering; but -at the same time, the Germans were crushing Belgium, and pouring -through, so that they turned our flank and we were forced to go back. -That was unpleasant, and for a little time, at the very first, it was -dangerous. But in a few days we were safely disengaged, and the enemy -was exhausting himself to come up with us, and our counter stroke was -preparing. - -But to give us time for this retreat and preparation, certain -organizations had to be sacrificed. This regiment was one. It was -ordered to stand firm, to hold.... It held. The enemy attacked on the -front and was repulsed; but on either side, our lines gave way, and the -second day saw the regiment attacked on the right flank, and the left. - -It was well posted, upon a hill that dominated two good roads, and it -held.... - -But the Germans poured past them on either side; and in the press of -more important matters to the southward, the work of overwhelming this -regiment was delayed. A containing force was left to hold them, starve -them.... And the main battle swept away and left them stranded there. - -The men had fought tirelessly; they were prepared to fight on, and to -die. But when it became apparent that the Germans did not propose to -push matters, and when it became clear that another day would see hunger -among them, the commander determined to strike. He had, at this time, -some three hundred fit men of the regiment remaining. They were no -longer of use where they stood. And the regiment was not accustomed to -be idle. - -Therefore, that night, a little after mid-night, when it was very dark -and only the occasional flashes from the German positions illumined the -blackness, the regiment attacked. They went down in three lines, a -hundred men to a line, with their commander and their officers ahead, -gentlemen. And they flung themselves upon the Germans. - -The Germans were surprised. They had expected another day or two of -waiting, and then an easy surrender. Instead, they found themselves -beset by swarming enemies, stout men with long bayonets who sweated and -swore and struck. The first charge of the French cut through the -encircling lines; the remnant of the regiment might have escaped even -then. But there had been no orders to escape, so they turned to right -and left along the German positions, and flung the huddled enemy back -and back and back. - -The word was passed that their commander had fallen; and this man--he -was my very good friend and comrade, gentlemen--had been beloved by -them. Therefore they continued to fight with bitterness in their hearts -until the resistance melted before them. There may have been a thousand -Germans left to hold this battered remnant of a regiment; but those who -lived, out of that thousand, fled before the three hundred. - -They fled, and were lost in the night; and the flame from a fired straw -stack nearby illumined the field, so that the Frenchmen could look into -each other’s eyes and consider what was to be done. - -Their commissioned officers were dead, gentlemen; but there was an under -officer in that regiment named Jacques Fontaine. He was a big man, a -farmer; and he was a very serious and practical and thrifty man. Also, -he knew that country, and many of the men of the regiment were his -neighbors, and all of them knew him for what he was. - -Therefore it seemed natural that he should take the command that night. -He called to a man named Lupec, and spoke with him. This Lupec was a -little, wry-necked man, as shrewd as a fox. And Lupec advised Jacques -Fontaine, and the big farmer shouted aloud to the panting men of the -regiment, where they stood about him in the red trousers and the blue -coats that had made our army so vulnerable in that first rush of war. He -looked about him, and he shouted to them.... - -He bade them strip cartridges and rifles from the dead; and he told them -to take what provisions they could find. And when this was done, they -were to scatter, and rendezvous the next night but one in a certain -ravine which all that country knew. - -This ravine was in the heart of the forest. It was well hidden; it might -be defended. There was water in it; and there were farms upon the -borders of the forest where food might be had. - -When, a little before dawn, a German force came back and descended upon -them, the men melted before it like the morning mists before the sun; -and the Germans did not know what to do, so they made camp, and cooked, -and ate, and slept. And the men of the regiment made their way, singly, -and by twos and threes, through the forest toward the ravine that was -the rendezvous. - -This spot was called in your tongue, gentlemen, the Ravine of the Cold -Tooth. - - -III - -Now modern warfare, gentlemen, is a curious and inconsistent thing. It -is vast, and yet it is minute. - -This battered regiment, added to the French armies at that moment, would -have been of small account. A burst of shrapnel, a mine, an unimportant -counter thrust might have accounted for them all. Their weight in an -attack would have been inconsiderable. - -But this regiment which did not know how to surrender, and which was at -large behind the German lines, was another matter, my friends. It was -worth well nigh a division to France. For an army is as vulnerable as it -is vast, gentlemen; and it can do only one thing at a time. - -The Emperor discovered this truth, long ago, in Spain. When he scattered -his army to overcome the guerillas, he exposed himself to the blows of -the Iron Duke; and when he effected a concentration to attack -Wellington, the Spanish peasants sliced off every straggler. He was -incessantly harassed, and he lost that campaign; and that was his first -defeat. - -The warfare of today--or, let us say, the warfare of yesterday, which we -hope will never be the warfare of tomorrow--the warfare of yesterday was -like that. The army’s front is like the front of a dam, vast and -impregnable; but behind, that front is bolstered and strengthened and -buttressed by many little lines of communication and supply, just as a -dam may be buttressed on the lower side. A division may shatter itself -in vain against the army’s front; a hundred men may cut one of those -little lines behind. - -This was the fact which aided Jacques Fontaine and his men, the -regiment. - -You must understand, also, gentlemen, that in the heat of open battle, a -fighting line is an unstable thing. It sways, and bends, and yields, and -rebounds; and fragments are broken off from it. They return to their -places, or they do not return. At times, the line itself is shattered, -when it grows too thin. And when the line is shattered, its component -parts are thrown to every side. In open country, these component -parts--men, gentlemen--may be run down and sabred by the cavalry, or -they may surrender. - -In wooded land, however, it is hard to exterminate men who will yield to -nothing less than extermination. Cavalry can work through the forest -only in small patrols, and along defined paths and roads. And for -infantry, the currying of a wood is slow and painful work. - -Therefore, when an army makes a considerable advance, it leaves in its -rear many small and scattered parties of the enemy. It was so when the -Germans thrust down into France, gentlemen. There were many Frenchmen -left behind to wander and hide in the forest, to starve, or yield, or -die.... Or, perhaps, to survive. - -This will explain to you, my friends, the growth of the regiment under -Jacques Fontaine’s command. When they scattered, after dispersing the -German force which had been set to hold them, there were scarce a -hundred of them without wounds. When they gathered at the Ravine of the -Cold Tooth, straggling parties had swelled that number so that Jacques -Fontaine, counting, with his big forefinger pointing in turn toward each -man and his lips mumbling as he counted, found that he had a force of -two hundred and seven hardy and energetic men. - -And he was pleased. - -The first thing this man did, gentlemen, was to reconstitute the -regiment. A regiment, you understand, is an immortal thing. It cannot -die. When every man of it is dead, the regiment still lives; because a -regiment is an idea, and ideas are eternal. Jacques Fontaine was a slow -man, my friends; and you would have considered him a dull man. -Nevertheless, this conception of the immortality of the regiment was a -part of his heart and his soul. If you had told him the regiment was -destroyed, he would have been very sorry for you. - -They had saved their regimental colors, you understand; the banner with -its honorable decorations. They had saved this, and Jacques Fontaine’s -first act was to assign six men to guard this banner. He explained to -them, carefully, that they were to seclude themselves. They were to -engage in no enterprise involving hazard; and they were to keep the -standard immaculate and unstained. They were to fight only to defend it; -and they were to save it by evasion and flight when they could, and -fight only when they must. - -Jacques Fontaine understood, gentlemen, that the banner is the regiment. - -When he had made this arrangement, he called Lupec, and they found a man -skilled in writing, and they prepared a regimental roll. Those -stragglers from other regiments who had joined them were mustered in -after a formula which Jacques Fontaine devised. In the end, the two -hundred and seven men were one body and one soul, and Jacques Fontaine -was satisfied with the arrangement. - -Having counted his men, he began, thriftily, to consider their -equipment. - -He found that these two hundred and seven men had two hundred and -fifty-four rifles. A hundred or so of these rifles were German; and for -these weapons there was a plentiful supply of German ammunition. But -there were very few cartridges for the French rifles; there were only -the long, needle-like bayonets. - -Jacques Fontaine was vexed with this discovery. He was one of those -penurious peasants whom De Maupassant knew how to paint, my friends. He -could not bear poverty, or waste. He derived a solid satisfaction from -the mere possession of wealth; and his conception of wealth was -strictly in accord with academic economic principles. Any useful article -was wealth to him. - -He perceived that while his command was wealthy in rifles and bayonets, -it was very badly off indeed for cartridges. - -He sat down on a big rock at the head of the ravine, while the men with -little fires cooked supper in the deeps below him; and he took off his -hat and scratched his head and considered what to do. Another man might -have chosen his course more swiftly; it required some hours for Jacques -Fontaine to make up his mind. - -But when he rose from the rock, this man had laid out before his feet -the path they were to follow through the four interminable and glorious -years which were to come. - -Any other man would have been wise enough to know that the plan he had -chosen was impossible. Jacques Fontaine was valorously stupid. He did -not know he could not do that which he planned to do, gentlemen. - -Therefore, he did the impossible. - - -IV - -The German armies, at this time, were throwing themselves against our -barricade of steel and fire along the Marne; and by every possible -avenue, they were hurrying forward munitions and guns and all supplies. -They gave little thought to the stragglers in the forests behind them. -They knew that stragglers are not dangerous to an organized force. It -is only when the stragglers organize that they become a peril. - -Jacques Fontaine had organized these stragglers. At dawn, on the third -day after that first rendezvous, he flung his men upon a wagon train -that threaded one of the forest roads. - -This train was escorted by a troop of some five score Uhlans; it was -upon a road which was guarded by patrols of three and four men stationed -at every farm. Yet in a dip between two hills, the single Uhlan in -advance found his way blocked by felled trees in the road, and at the -same time other trees, cut almost through and held erect by ropes until -the appointed time, crashed down upon his comrades behind. - -With the crashing of these trees was mingled the crashing discharge of -two hundred rifles. And after the first discharge, out of a hundred -troopers scarce fifty remained upon their horses; and after the second -volley, not thirty men were still unharmed. And after the third, there -were only fugitive Uhlans galloping headlong back to give the alarm. - -Before these fugitives were out of sight, Jacques Fontaine and his men -flung themselves upon the loaded wagons. The two foremost wagons bore -cartridges. They laid open the boxes with axe and bayonet; and they -plunged in their hands. - -It was hopeless to attempt to make away with the wagons themselves. -Thick forest lay on every hand. Therefore, by Jacques’ order, each man -took all the cartridges he could bear, and raced back into the wood, and -hid the precious things between rocks, and beneath logs, and in every -cranny he could find; and when he had disposed of his burden he returned -and took as many more as he could carry. The men filled their pockets, -their belts, their pouches, their hats.... Some of them dropped the -cartridges inside the legs of their trousers, so that the things hung -heavy about their knees. And when this was done, of the two wagon loads, -no cartridges remained. - -The men took also the rifles and revolvers of the fallen Germans; and -they stripped their own few dead of weapons. And then they slipped into -the forest, and scattered, and fled away. - -The hunt began within the hour; and for a week, the men were chivvied -through the woods like hares. Dogs bayed upon their trails; they hid in -caves, in trees, in the thick-growing underbrush; they lay for hours in -the pools with only mouth and nose and eyes exposed above the water. And -some of them were shot, and some were taken alive.... And some took -Germans with them when they died. - -Lupec was one of those who was captured. On the fourth day, weary and -utterly exhausted, he fell asleep in a crevice beneath two boulders; and -a German stumbled on him. His captor took him, at gun point, back -through the forest toward a cross-road where the Germans were encamped. - -When they came in sight of this place, his captor halted to stare, and -Lupec also looked. The Germans were busy; they were engaged in hanging -three Frenchmen by the necks to a beech tree beside the farmhouse there. - -Lupec had no desire to thrust his wry-neck into a noose. Therefore he -turned, and plunged into the man who had captured him, and knocked the -man down. Even then he found time to snatch up the German’s rifle and -turn and fire; and he saw the German officer who was watching the -hangings pitch drunkenly forward on his saddle. So that Lupec was -grinning as he plunged into the forest again. - -He made good his escape; and thus he was able to bring to Jacques -Fontaine, when the pursuit relaxed, the word of the hangings. - -The big farmer was displeased with this news; because you understand, my -friends, he had reconstituted the regiment, so that he considered that -he and his comrades were soldiers of France, and as such entitled to -better treatment than a noose. He frowned blackly at Lupec’s report; and -he sent out men to discover if there had been other hangings. - -They found that eleven Frenchmen had been murdered in this fashion, -gentlemen; and Jacques Fontaine nodded at this, and made a calculation -upon his fingers. He was slow at figures, you understand; but he knew -what he wished to do. He made his calculation; and he sent out his men -to the farms and the cross-roads, and he gave them careful orders.... - -They obeyed him so well, my friends, that on the second day after he was -able to hang twenty-two Germans, two for each Frenchman, upon the same -tree where the men of his regiment had been hung. - -When the Germans discovered these pendant figures, looking like sacks of -old clothes in their dirty, baggy uniforms, they were violently -wrathful; and for two weeks more the forests were scoured in an effort -to exterminate the remnants of the regiment. - -But there were no more Frenchmen hanged. - - -V - -To understand the history of the four years which followed, gentlemen, -it is necessary to understand the man Jacques Fontaine; it is necessary -to understand the spirit of Frenchmen. It is necessary, in short, to -comprehend France. - -I believe I may be forgiven for holding that valor is a trait of most -Frenchmen. And by valor I do not mean the bravery which can be taught, -which is merely a form of habit. You may take the most craven material -and teach it the habit of obedience, and you have what passes for a -brave soldier; but the Frenchman is valorous before he is a soldier, and -he is valorous when he is no longer a soldier. The whining beggar has -valor; so has the peasant, and the comfortable bourgeois, and the man of -birth and breeding. You will find it universally, my friends. - -This is perhaps because the French are the great phrase-makers of the -world. The turn of a phrase comes easily to them; and the turn of a -phrase captivates and conquers them, so that they will die for it. -Danton made a phrase that saved France. Verdun made another. Combine the -two, my friends, and you have the spirit of France. Dare--and yield not. -The valor of France is the valor that will die rather than violate those -mighty phrases.... - -Thus I say Jacques Fontaine was valorous. Bravery is a tangible thing; -valor defends the intangible. Bravery is steadfast, and it is sensible. -Valor may be foolhardy. Valor is a form of pride. And Jacques Fontaine -was proud. Thus, when the Germans hanged men of the regiment, he hanged -Germans. He would have done the same, knowing that he himself must be -hanged forthwith thereafter. For valor does not consider consequences. - -But Jacques Fontaine was not only valorous; he was thrifty. And it was -the combination of these two characteristics that enabled him to -survive. It is this same combination which has enabled France to -survive, my friends. She is valorous; but she is thrifty. She is -audacious; but she is pre-eminently logical. Thus Jacques Fontaine; -valorous and thrifty, audacious and logical. - -Thrift was bred in him. It was thrift which enabled him to survive and -keep his regiment alive. He saved supplies, munitions, guns, men.... He -had no other belongings save the things of war; therefore he hoarded -these things, and when his stores ran short, he secured fresh supplies. - -When his stores ran short, he foraged through the land, and he raided -the German trains. When munitions threatened to fail, he watched his -opportunity to replenish them. When guns wore out, he got new ones. And -when the wastage of these operations, the unceasing perils of this life -reduced the numbers in his command, he attacked and liberated a convoy -of prisoners and recruited his regiment once more. - -Through it all, he kept careful records of his regimental life. These -records show that at one time, this man and his tattered remnant of a -regiment possessed three German machine guns, four hundred rifles, and -almost fifty thousand cartridges. Besides clothing, and stores of food, -all hidden in caches in the forest depths. - -It was inevitable that he should be hunted. There were at least four -determined attempts by the Germans to exterminate the regiment. One of -these occupied six weeks; it cut the roll from a hundred and eighty men -down to less than sixty; it reduced weapons and supplies to a minimum; -and for the full six weeks, the men saw each other only now and then, in -groups of two or three. For this was the secret of their survival; they -scattered before the hunt, they became units, as difficult to find as -the beasts of the forest in which they dwelt. - -Yet always they survived. That is to say, a nucleus of men always -survived; and the regiment could never die. The regimental colors were -never captured; the regimental records were never found. And Jacques -Fontaine, and Lupec, and a handful of others of the original regiment, -preserved themselves and held the rest together. - -Picture it to yourselves, my friends, if you can; this handful of men, -cohering, enduring; and all around them by the hundred thousand, the -enemy. Behind every tree, a possible rifle; in every wood, a potential -ambush; in every comrade, the danger of a spy.... - -There were three spies in the regiment during those four years. The -first was suspected and killed before he had reached the rendezvous. -The second was detected on the third day when he stiffened at a barked -command in German. The third, alone, was clever; he deceived them, he -lived among them, he learned their plans, and when the chance came, he -brought down a German force upon the rendezvous when almost the full -command was there. - -But Jaques Fontaine had never grown careless; he had made it a rule from -the beginning to post twenty guards in a wide circle about the Ravine of -the Cold Tooth when the regiment was assembled. And one of these guards -escaped the attempt to overcome him, and gave warning just in time. The -regiment flung out of the ravine, broke boldly through the jaws of the -German trap, left half its strength in German hands ... - -But the remnant escaped, and lived. - -In the winter of 1915, this regiment was reduced to twenty-seven men. -The next winter, at the time of the great hunt, when the men were -tracked through the snow, they were cut down to fifty-four. The fall of -1917 was the time of the spy; and some seventy men went through that -winter like the beasts, some of them nursing wounds for months on end. -They stirred from their hiding places only once, and that was when they -cut off a German patrol in which the spy rode, and took him from his -comrades and hanged him to the beams of a barn. - -They had been forced to leave the Ravine of the Cold Tooth, since the -Germans knew that spot; they hid now under the shoulder of one of the -little mountains. And there, that winter and the next spring, their -numbers grew again.... - -They had ninety men in March; and the friendly peasants brought to them -by devious ways soldiers of England and of France who were cut off in -the great offensive of that year, so that in May they numbered a hundred -and fifty men; and in June, close to two hundred.... And the Germans -were too much concerned with other matters to divert so much as a -regiment to run them down.... - -When in due time the hour came for them to fulfil their destiny, my -friends, this regiment which Jacques Fontaine had kept alive numbered -three hundred and ninety men, with rifles for all, and two machine guns, -and cartridges to feed those clamoring things.... And Jacques prepared -to strike his blow for France. - - -VI - -It is certain, my friends, that I have failed to give you any -comprehensive picture of the life of this poor regiment during the years -of its isolation. It is impossible for you, who have always been well -fed and comfortable, to imagine the hunger, the cold, the loneliness, -the misery. Some of you have faced peril, perhaps for hours on end. But -these men, gentlemen, faced death for years on end. There was never a -moment when their lives were secure. They were like the animals in the -forest about them; they slept fitfully; they squatted on their haunches -while they ate, and were alert to spring to their feet at the least -alarm. They subsisted on berries, on nuts, on uncooked grain pilfered -from the fields which the Germans forced the peasants to cultivate; they -snared rabbits, they were able, now and then, to kill larger game. And -when desperation drove them, they attacked the Germans and wrested food -from them at price of blood. - -This existence was at best an ordeal; and when the Germans found time to -try to hunt them down, it became torment. Regiments encircled them, -beating through the woods, searching every brake and gully and ravine. -Dogs tracked them, baying on their trails; their footprints in the snow, -bloody and stumbling, led their pursuers through the forest. At one -time, one of the little German princelings gave great sport to his -friends by organizing a hunt for these men as he would have organized a -hunt for the wild boars. When the beaters overcame a Frenchman, they -took his weapons and let him go, and then the princeling and his friends -charged the unarmed man with levelled lance, and ran him through. - -The Frenchmen spoiled this sport by a stubborn refusal to run before the -horses. Robbed of their weapons, they stood erect and faced their foe -and took the steel in their breasts, so that the princeling was furious, -and those with him were shamed, and the sport was broken off.... - -Of such things as this was existence for these men.... - -But I have been unjust in failing, before this, to speak of the peasants -who helped them. Word of this regiment had gone abroad through the -forest and the mountains. And wherever they went, they were welcomed, -and given food, and shelter, and clothed.... And the peasants brought -recruits to them, and brought them warnings, and information. They made -endurance possible.... - -It was the peasants, in the end, who brought the word to Jacques -Fontaine that told him his hour had come to strike. They came and they -said the great battle to the southward was rolling nearer every day. -This was at the time, you understand, when we had begun to push the -German back; it was at the time when he was giving way each time a -little more easily than the time before. We advanced one mile today, two -miles tomorrow, three the day after.... - -And the word of this was abroad among the peasants in that part of -France and of Belgium which the German still held. They were fermenting, -as though these rumors of approaching liberation had been yeast cast -among them.... - -They came, and they told Jacques Fontaine. And Jacques Fontaine, and -wry-necked Lupec, cast about them to find a task for their hands. - -The Germans were making up their mind, at this time, to draw back to a -new defensive line, where, they counted on being able to hold us at -last. And they were withdrawing slowly, a little here, and a little -there, and a little yonder, day by day. Behind them they left a ruined -country, every house destroyed, every fruit tree cut off at the -roots.... But they were going back and back.... - -There was one line of railroad, along which the trains were pounding, -day by day; and this line ran north and south past the fringe of the -forest and the mountains where Jacques Fontaine and his regiment were -hiding. The regiment was scattered, groups of four men and five and six -dwelt here and there among the ravines. But when Jacques Fontaine and -Lupec had considered, and had secretly scouted back and forth, and had -decided upon what they wished to do, they sent runners to gather the -regiment together. - -There was a spot where the railroad line which the Germans were -burdening so heavily crossed a little stream. On the north bank of this -stream, and overlooking the bridge which spanned it, there rose a rocky -hillock; and this hillock was topped by one of those ancient, ruined -chateaus which were the chief beauty of France before the war. On three -sides, sheer precipices fell away from the walls of this old chateau; on -the other side, the way of ascent was steep and hard. - -A dozen men could hold this spot against an army, so long as cannon were -not concerned in the affair. And Jacques Fontaine believed the Germans -had other uses for their cannon at this time. - -So he gathered his regiment, and drew them near the spot he had chosen, -and waited his time to strike. - -There was, you understand, a guard set about this bridge. But the guard -was not strong, for a strong guard was not considered necessary. There -were soldiers passing constantly, working slowly northward in the great -retreat; and the long trains of stores and supplies crossed one after -another, through every day. - -It was like a river of men and of supplies; one of the rivers of war. -And on a certain night, Jacques Fontaine dammed that river. His men -swept down, they overwhelmed the guard upon the bridge.... And they -fired the petard which the Germans had themselves laid, to destroy that -bridge when their forces should be across. They fired the petard, and -the bridge disappeared in a great flame of orange fire; and Jacques -Fontaine and his men fell back swiftly into the night. When dawn came, -they were all within the walls of the old chateau, high above the -bridge, commanding it. And when the German pioneers swarmed out to -repair the bridge, Jacques and his men began to fire. - -They swept the pioneers away, for they were marksmen, all. They had been -trained for four years never to waste a cartridge; that was the thrift -of Jacques Fontaine. And they wasted none now. They did not use the two -machine guns. Those were reserved to repel the attack that was sure to -come. They used their rifles, and they strove to make every bullet take -its toll. - -A troop train came north in the morning, and the Germans flung the men -against the old chateau, up the steep path. The Frenchmen slaughtered -them; they built a barricade of German bodies before the very muzzles of -their guns. And more trains came, and were held up by the destroyed -bridge. The dammed river began to rise, and grumble, and fret and -fume.... The pioneers, down by the ruined bridge, strove fruitlessly -under the hail of balls. - -The second day, the Germans brought guns to bear. At first, there was -only shrapnel, and it spattered harmlessly. But after that came high -explosive; and each great shell, detonating amid the ruined walls of the -chateau, turned every stone and pebble into a missile that swept to -right and left and all about in a storm of death. - -When three hundred men are huddled in a narrow area, a single shell will -kill half of them. This happened, on that day. An hour after the -bombardment began, not a hundred men remained alive upon the top of the -little peak; an hour after that, scarce fifty remained, ... - -But while it was easy to kill the first hundred, and while it was not -difficult to kill the second hundred, it was very hard indeed to -complete the extermination of the force. A dozen men may live where a -hundred would perish; and at noon, the riflemen in the ruins of the old -chateau still kept the ruined bridge cleared of men and none could toil -there. - -By that time, the congestion on the southern bank of the river had -become so great that that tide overflowed. And Jacques Fontaine, with a -scarf bound around his chest to crush back the blood that was leaking -from his great body, could see and hear the roar of the French guns, ten -miles away, harassing the fleeing enemy.... - -By mid-afternoon, French shells began to fall amid the huddle on the -southern bank of the river; and at nightfall, the Germans broke, -there.... - -They broke; they poured across the stream, wading, swimming, drowning. -They broke in flight to escape the merciless guns. And the French planes -overhead till dark was fully fallen marked their going, and signalled -the guns that harassed the fleeing men. - -Before that, the Frenchmen had been silenced; the Frenchmen of Jacques -Fontaine, in the old chateau. There were some few of them still -unwounded; there were others who breathed and groaned as they slowly -died. There were not enough of them to keep the bridge clear; but that -duty no longer was required of them. They had held up a division, till -the French armies could come up and rout it. And the Germans, flinging -one last charge against the old chateau, drew off to the north and left -Jacques Fontaine and his men, masters of the field. - - -VII - -I was with the army that came up to that bridge at dawn, my friends. And -I was one of those who saw, floating in the first light above the ruined -walls of the old chateau, a flicker of glorious color.... A banner, -floating there.... - -Our skirmishers were flung across, pressing northward. Our engineers -swarmed upon the ruined bridge, rebuilding.... - -And one patrol of men turned aside, by the road that led toward the -chateau. They went to solve this riddle, gentlemen. They went to -discover who it was that had set there, the banner of France. - -They went carefully, one man ahead, others behind. They feared a trap; -they did not understand.... - -I was with them. We came, thus, to a turn in the road; and we rounded -it, and we saw our advance man at the halt, upon his horse, in the road -ahead. - -Toward this man were marching, down the road from the chateau, four men. - -One of these men was tall, and strong, and bulky. And there was a scarf -about his chest; and the scarf was red. Of the others, two marched -proudly; two who had come unscathed through that hell where the chateau -had stood. And the fourth, though there was a smeared bandage about his -face and eyes, so that he held to the arm of Jacques Fontaine; this -fourth man, my friends, held his head as high as any; and his shoulders -were erect, and his steps were firm. - -It was this fourth man who bore, resting it against his hip and -steadying it with his other hand, the flag. They came on, these four, -heads high. And though they were haggard, and stained, and worn, the -banner above them was unsullied and unsoiled.... - -As they came toward us, we could hear them singing, in cracked and -hoarse voices. Singing those immortal words of Rouget de l’Isle.... - -When they came near our vidette, where he sat his horse so quietly, they -halted. And I saw then that these men still wore the red trousers and -the blue coats of their ancient uniforms, which they had preserved for -this occasion through the years. And we were all very still as we -listened so that we heard the vidette challenge, in a ringing voice: - -“Qui vive?” - -There was, for me, something splendidly symbolic in the scene. For to -that challenge, those battered but unconquerable men gave answer with -one voice, one word. - -“Qui vive?” the vidette challenged. - -And the four answered hoarsely: “France!” - - - - -THE RIGHT WHALE’S FLUKES - - ’Ware th’ sparm whale’s jaw, an’ th’ right whale’s flukes! - - --_Old Whaling Maxim._ - - -I - -In the old whaling museum on Johnny Cake Hill, there is a big room with -a fireplace where, on a rainy or stormy day, the whaling captains like -to gather; and when storms or cold keep him from his rocking chair on -the after deck of his Fannie, Cap’n Mark Brackett climbs the hill to the -old museum and establishes himself in a chair before the fire. From the -windows, you may look down a short, steep street to the piers where -great heaps of empty oil casks, brown with the grime of years of -service, block the way. Tied up to the piers there may be an old -square-rigger, her top hamper removed, and empty so that she rides high -in the water and curtsies to every gust; and you will see squat little -auxiliary schooners preparing for the summer’s cruising off Hatteras; -and beyond these again the eye reaches across the lovely harbor to Fair -Haven, gleaming in the sun. - -The museum is rich with the treasures of the sea; and this room where -the captains like to gather is the central treasure-house. An enormous -secretary of mahogany veneer stands against one wall; and in cases -about the room you will find old ship’s papers bearing the names of -presidents a hundred years dead, pie-crimpers carved from the solid -heart of a whale’s tooth, a little chest made by one of the Pitcairn -Island mutineers, canes fashioned from a shark’s backbone or the jawbone -of the cachalot, enormous locks, half a dozen careful models of whaling -craft with the last rope and spar in place, and the famous English -frigate, in its glass case at one side. - -I found Cap’n Brackett there one afternoon, in an old chair before the -fire, his black pipe humming like a kettle, his stout body relaxed in -comfortable ease. He had advised me to read “Moby Dick,” and had loaned -me the book; and when I entered, he looked up, a welcoming twinkle in -the keen old eyes that lurk behind their ambush of leathery wrinkles, -and saw the book in my hand. - -“Read it?” he asked, between puffs. - -“End to end,” I assured him. - -“A great book. A classic, I say.” - -I nodded, and drew up a chair beside him, and opened the volume to -glance again across its pages and to dip here and there into that -splendid chronicle of the hunt for the great white whale. The old man -watched me over his pipe, and I looked up once and caught his eye. - -“He’s stretching it a bit, of course,” I suggested. “You would never -meet the same whale twice, in all the wastes of the Seven Seas.” - -The cap’n’s eyes gleamed faintly. “Why not?” he asked. - -“It’s too much of a coincidence.” - -“It happens.” - -One certain method to provoke Cap’n Brackett to narration is to pretend -incredulity. I smiled in a wary fashion, and said nothing. - -“There was one whale I saw four times, myself,” he asserted. - -“How do you know it was the same?” - -“He was marked.... And the hand of Fate was in it, too.” - -I turned the leaves of the book, and chuckled provokingly, watching -covertly the captain’s countenance; and, as I expected, he began -presently to tell the story that was in his mind. His gruff old voice -ran quietly along; the fire puffed and flared as the wind whistled down -the chimney, the snow flurried past the windows and hid the harbor below -us. Cap’n Brackett’s voice droned on. - - -II - -“You never heard of Eric Scarf,” the old man thoughtfully began. “Not -more’n three or four men alive now that knew him. He were mate of the -Thomas Pownal when I knew him; a big, straight, fiery man, powerful and -strong. He came of some Northland breed, with a great shock of yellow -hair, and eyes as blue as the sea; but he was not like most Norsemen in -being slow of speech and dull of wit. Quick he was; quick to speak, and -quick to think, and quick to act; quick to anger, quick to take hurt, -and quick to know Joan for the one woman, when she began that v’y’ge on -the Thomas Pownal. - -“James Tobbey was the captain of the Pownal; Joan was his daughter. She -was a laughing girl, always laughing; a child. Her hair was fine-spun -and golden, and it curled. When the fog got into it, it kinked into -ringlets as crisp as blubber scraps. You wanted to rub them in your -hands, and hear them crinkle and crackle between your palms. And her -voice, when she laughed, was the same way, crisp and clean and strong; -and her eyes were brown. Give a girl light curly hair and dark brown -eyes, and any man’s heart will skip a beat or so at seeing her. - -“She used to be everywhere about the ship, always laughing; and little -Jem Marvel forever hobbling at her heels. Jem was a baby, a little -crippled baby, the son of a sister of Joan’s who had died when Jem was -born; and Jem’s father was dead before that, although no one knew it -till the Andrew Thomes came back without him, two years after. - -“Thomes had been a hard, bitter man; and little Jem took after him. The -baby was black, black hair, black eyes, a swart skin; and when he -dragged his withered leg about the deck at Joan’s heels, his face worked -and grimaced with spleen that was terrible to watch. Maybe six or seven -he was then; and for all Joan tended him like a mother, I’ve known him -to rip out at her the black oaths that would rot a grown man’s lips. - -“Cap’n Tobbey kept his eyes away from the boy; but Joan loved the little -thing. None but her could bear with him. - -“Eric Scarf was the only man aboard that ever tried to win the baby. -I’ve seen him work for weeks at some dinkus he was making for the boy, -only to have Jem scorn it when it was done. He put six months of -whittling into a little model of the Pownal, with every rope in place; -and when he gave it to Jem at last, the boy smashed it on the deck, and -stamped upon the splinters. - -“Eric but laughed. The mate was a hard man with men, quick with them; -but with the child he was as gentle as Joan herself. - -“He loved Joan. I loved Joan. Every man aboard the Pownal loved the -girl; but Eric more than most of us. He sought ways to please her, and -when he bungled it, it was a fight with him to hide his grief. One of -the greenies, when the Pownal was but a few days out, bumped against the -girl in the waist of the ship at the lurch of a wave; and Eric knocked -the man halfway to the fo’c’s’le scuttle with one cuff. But while the -greenie was scrambling to his feet, nursing his mouth with one tooth -gone, Joan flamed at Eric. - -“‘Why was that?’ she demanded, her voice very steady and hot. - -“‘He bumped you!’ Eric tells her. - -“‘I did not complain. Only a coward hits men who cannot hit back.’ - -“Eric’s face crimsoned; he whirled to the man. ‘Here,’ he shouted. -‘Forget I’m the mate. Do you want the chance to get even?’ - -“The man stared affrightedly, then ducked down the scuttle like a -rabbit, with Eric glaring after him. But when Eric turned, Joan had gone -aft without another word, and he was left to grope for understanding of -her. - -“Scarf was the strongest, quickest man I ever saw. He was tall and -powerful, and built slim and flat like a whalebone spring. He was -boiling with his own strength all the time. He suffered for a vent for -it; and he trod the deck on his toes like a tiger, his fists swinging, -not from any lust for battle so much as from the excess of his own power -and vigor. - -“I’ve seen him set his hands to tackle and brush the fo’mast hands -aside, and do three men’s work himself for the mere peace and joy it -gave him to put forth all his strength for a space; his shoulders and -back and arms would knot and swell and bulge with his efforts, and his -lungs would shout with gladness at the task. - -“Eric was never still. On deck, where others would lean against the rail -with an eye to the ship and their thoughts somewhere off across the -water, he was always moving, pacing up and down, climbing into the -rigging, shifting this and stirring that, restless like a caged beast. -Something drove him. He could not rest. The springs of life and energy -in the man would have torn him to bits if you had held him motionless -for an hour. He had to move, to act, to do; and when he buffeted the -men, it was neither native cruelty nor bullying. It was but the outburst -of his own impatient, restless power. - -“It was a strange thing to see such a man gentling little Jem Marvel, or -wooing the boy to a romp about the deck; and it was strange to see Scarf -stand near Joan, watching her, and the muscles in him twitching and -straining with the agony of inaction. Eric worshipped Joan; and she -bewildered him. He used to plan little pleasant surprises for her, and -watch her joy at them and take his reward in watching. He never spoke -love to her, never so much as touched her hand unless it might be to -help her along the deck when the ship was wallowing; and when the things -he planned failed to delight her, a man watching him could see that his -very soul was writhing. - -“I said Scarf was a quick man, quick of thought and quick of deed. But -where Joan was concerned, he was very dull and slow. He never could -learn, try as he would, to please her; and his own impotence and his -strength combined to drive him to feats which he meant for wooing, but -which the girl abhorred. - -“He trapped a little sea bird once, and made a tiny cage for it, and -left it for her to find; and when the girl discovered it, she cried out -with pity for the captive, and ran on deck with the cage and set the -little creature free. Eric Scarf saw her, and she knew it was he who had -done it, and pitied him. - -“‘I’m really grateful,’ she said, smiling very gently at the big man. -‘But he is so unhappy in a cage.’ - -“Eric tried to speak, and saw one of the men by the tryworks grinning at -him; so he went forward and drove the man with blows to the knight’s -heads, and Joan scorned him for days thereafter. - -“I’ve seen a cock pa’tridge ruffle his feathers and beat and drum with -his wings, all glory and strength and vigor in his wooing; and no doubt -the hen liked it. But if the pa’tridge had tried such measures in the -courting of a singing thrush, he would only have frighted and dismayed -her whom he sought to please. It was so with Eric. His courting would -have pleased some women; Joan it but disgusted and disturbed. - -“Eric Scarf and I were closer friends than you would think; and I knew -the big, strong man to be as shy and as easy to take hurt as a child. -But it was his way when he was hurt or shamed to strike out at the -nearest, and so to those without understanding he seemed a mere bully, -cruel and exultant in his strength. - -“Lucky for us on the Pownal, Scarf delighted in the whaling. There was -no other task in the world so fitted to the man. So strong he was that -nothing short of a whale could give him the fierce joy of battle which -soothed him. He drove his men as he drove himself, and they either broke -under it or became hard-bitten and enduring hands, fit to match him. His -boat was always first away; and he would strike and kill one whale and -then another while other officers were content with a single catch. I’ve -known him to do what few attempt; to lower at night when moonlight -revealed a spout, and make his kill, and tow the fish to the ship by -dawn. Cap’n Tobbey never interfered with Eric, for the mate was too -valuable; and when the mate’s watch was on deck, he would lower and kill -without ever calling the Old Man from his cabin at all. - -“I had heard of Scarf before this v’y’ge, but never watched him work -before; and many a time I found myself biting my lip and holding the -breath in my chest at the daring of him. In any weather short of a gale, -he would lower; and once two boats were swamped in lowering before he -took the third mate’s and got away--and got the whale. - -“With such an officer, and decent luck, a quick voyage was sure; and so -it was this time. Before we’d been out two years, the casks were filled, -oil was stored in everything that would hold it, and the Old Man gave -the word to fly the Blue Peter and put for home. We threw the bricks of -the tryworks overboard to lighten ship that much, and struck across the -South Pacific, fought our way around the Horn, and took a long slant -north’ard toward Tristan. - -“There was no place to store more oil if we had it, and we could not try -out if we had the blubber; so, though we sighted fish now and then, we -let them go--though I could see Eric was fretting at it, and wishing the -ship empty again. - -“For months now, Eric had been wooing Joan in his own wild, longing way; -but the girl would have none of him. He must have known it, and he -bridled his tongue as he could. But the word was bound to come one day; -and it came at last when we were rocking in a calm, with an island two -or three miles to starboard, and the sun hissing on the sea that sighed -and swelled like the bosom of a sleeping woman whose dreams are troubled -and disturbed. - -“The ship was idle, the men squatting forward in what shade they could -discover, and the rigging slatting back and forth as the Pownal rocked -on the long swells. Eric had the deck, the Old Man was asleep below, and -Joan and the boy, Jem, were sitting aft, the girl sewing at something -she held in her lap. - -“Scarf, with nothing in the world to do, fretted and paced about, his -eyes never leaving her, and a worship in them that all the world could -see. The afternoon droned away, the Pownal creaked and swung in the -cradle of the sea, and the sun burned down endlessly. Scarf could not -bear it. He strode across to where the girl sat; and she looked up at -him to see what he had come for, and at the look in his eyes rose -quickly to face him, her face setting hard. - -“Eric must have seen; but he blundered blindly on. The words came -awkwardly. He lifted no hand to touch her. ‘I love you. I love you,’ he -said, in a dry, husky voice. ‘I love you. I want you to marry me.’ - -“Black little Jem looked up at them and, with the quick perception of -the child, grinned malignantly. Joan’s face turned white beneath the -soft bronze the sun and wind had given her cheeks. She could not help -pitying the big man; but she could not love him. - -“‘I’m sorry, Eric,’ she said. ‘I do not love you.’ - -“‘I love you,’ he repeated, as though it were an argument he were -advancing. - -“‘I’m sorry,’ she told him again. ‘I’m sorry to hurt you. I don’t want -to hurt you. But I don’t love you.’ - -“His eyes were quivering and trembling like the raw flesh of a wound, -but he stood impassively before her, staring down into her eyes, -searching there for something he would never find. Little Jem chuckled, -and the sound broke the spell upon the man. He turned rigidly away; and -as it always was with him when his heart was torn, his great body -clamored for action. His fingers bit at his palms. - -“And then one of the boatsteerers, standing in the waist, uttered a low -ejaculation; and Eric turned and saw the man was pointing toward the -shore, where a misty spout was just dissolving against the dark -background of the cliffs that dipped to the water there. - -“It was the vent Eric wanted for the torment that was tearing him. -Without a word, he leaped to his boat; and his men, well trained, came -tumbling at his heels. In a minute’s time, Eric had caught up some gear -that had been removed from the boats when the fishing was finished, and -gave the order to lower. - -“Joan came softly to him. ‘You are not going to kill that whale, are -you?’ she asked. ‘We have no need for it.’ - -“Eric did not hear her; for the boat had split the water and was bobbing -there below him, and he dropped with his men and in a moment was away. -Joan, her eyes burning angrily, watched him go; and presently she -brought the glass to see what was to come. - -“The whale inshore was lying quietly, but Eric sent the boat along as -though his life hung on success; he drove the men till the oars bent -like whip-shafts; he drove them and he drove himself; and they ran fair -upon the creature before they realized their speed. Then, at Eric’s cry, -the boatsteerer in the bow leaped up and drove the harpoons home, and -the boat sheered off while Eric changed places with the man. - -“They had struck a cow whale, a right whale, with a calf not a week old -tucked under her fin; and the little thing lay there, lifting its tiny -spout against its mother’s side; its fins feebly fanning. - -“A cow whale is the easiest of game; and there is no sentiment in the -whaling ships. If the Pownal had been empty, she would have been counted -clear gain. With the Pownal full to brimming, this that Eric was doing -was mere murderous slaughter. - -“When Eric saw that he was cheated of the battle he had craved, a fury -seized him. He shouted hoarsely to his boatsteerer, and the man swung -them in alongside the whale. The great mother had not stirred, save for -a trembling shudder of her whole bulk when the irons seized upon her. -The calf was fighting to escape, but the mother’s great fin pinioned it -against her side, soothingly, assuringly, as though she promised it -should be safe there. - -“Eric lifted his lance and pierced the mother, driving home the slender -steel into the great body; and he withdrew it, and prodded the vitals of -the whale again and again, with a desperate energy, pouring out the fire -of his own strength in his efforts. - -“It was like piercing butter with a hatpin; and this dull acquiescence -on the creature’s part only whetted Eric’s blind rage. When at last the -great flukes lifted once, his heart leaped with the hope that at the end -there might come the struggle and the opposition for which he hungered; -but agony had lifted the flukes, and the bursting heart of the mother -brought them gently down again, never even disturbing the little -creature at her side. - -“She died; a thrust killed the calf. The boat sheered out; and then the -boatsteerer shouted a warning from the stern. - -“Eric whirled and saw a great bull whale just emerging from the depths; -and the whale headed for them furiously. - -“I do not say the creature was the dead cow’s mate. It would not be -strange if this was so; but it need not be asserted. I do not say the -bull attacked the boat. He was badly gallied, he was running blindly. - -“But whatever the explanation, he charged them; and Eric shouted -triumphantly at thought that here was the adversary he had desired. - -“The boatsteerer swung the boat about to meet the onrush; and Eric -snatched a harpoon. They swerved out of the path of the bull. As he -roared past them in a smother of foam, Eric sent the harpoon home. - -“But the next instant the smashing flukes struck them, and the boat’s -whole bottom was driven away. Eric chopped the line loose to save them; -and in ten seconds from the appearance of the bull, they were to their -necks in water, the boat beneath them. - -“The bull charged on and disappeared. I lowered and went after the men -in the water; and we got them aboard. Eric was reacting from his fury -now; he was shamed at what he had done; and he looked back once at the -body of the cow, about which sharks were already fighting, with -something like apology in his eyes. - -“The men were talking. ‘Did ye see the cross on the bull’s head?’ the -tub oarsman asked; the steerer assented. - -“‘A white scar in the blubber,’ he agreed. - -“The others nodded; and Eric looked at me and said quietly: ‘The old -bull was marked.’ - -“It was when we were all aboard again, and Eric had changed to dry -garments, that Joan came up to where he stood with me. Her eyes were -blazing; and little Jem, at her heels, was chuckling blackly. - -“‘That was murder,’ said the girl, trembling with her own anger. - -“Eric flushed, and his head bowed a little. - -“‘A cow and a calf--killed uselessly!’ Joan exclaimed. - -“The big man, uneasy, shy, not knowing where to turn, saw little Jem -beside him; and he turned to the boy and caught the lad under his arms, -and swung him high in the air. ‘Up you go!’ he cried, trying to laugh. - -“He meant only to start a romp--anything to divert the girl’s searing -scorn; but the malignant spirit of little Jem converted the movement -into black tragedy. The child screamed indignantly, and kicked down at -Eric’s upturned face with his sound foot. - -“Eric was standing a yard from the rail, his back to it. The kick in his -face made him lose his balance, and he staggered backward, and before I -could stir, with the boy extended above his head, he had fallen -overboard. - -“Joan screamed; and together we leaped to the rail. I reached for a coil -of rope. The two had sunk in a smother of bubbles; and in the second -that we waited for Eric to fight his way to the surface again, a -sinister shadow shot like fire along the ship’s side, and I saw the -flicker of a silver-white belly, and heard Joan scream again. - -“The water turned crimson; and then Eric came to the surface with empty -hands. He dove instantly, furiously; and I got a boat into the water. -Eric broke to the surface again, his face convulsed with the anguish -that tore him; and two of us grabbed him and dragged him, fighting, into -the boat. - -“‘Let go, let go,’ he screamed, and struck us back. ‘Let me go. I can -get him.’ - -“He was mad; and we caught him, and he broke and dropped, sobbing, in -the bottom of the boat. I saw that one of his arms was rasped raw by the -shark’s rough skin. - -“Joan met him like a fury when he stepped upon the deck again, and I -thought she would strike him. He stood before her, drooping and crushed; -and the girl caught herself. But I heard the word she said. - -“‘Thrice murderer!’ she told him softly. ‘Thrice murderer! A mother and -child--and now my baby! Oh curse you, curse you! May you be always -accursed until you die!’ - -“She held him for a moment, and then turned away from the man; and Eric -Scarf drooped sick and weak where he stood, until I dragged him below to -tend his wounded arm.” - - -III - -The old man paused, and stared into the fire; and when I had waited -fruitlessly for another word from him, I asked: - -“Is that all?” - -He looked up at me quietly. “No,” he said. “No--that is not the whole of -it.” - -Still he did not continue, so I prompted him. “You said the whale was -seen four times,” I suggested. - -He nodded; and so drifted into his story again. “Aye, four times,” he -agreed. “The old bull with the cross upon his skull. Four times. I’ve -but told the first.” - -He puffed silently for a little, shifted his great bulk in the chair, -rose and crossed to the window to look down toward the harbor, and -returned at last to me. - -“Joan kept to her cabin much, from that day,” he said. “She kept to her -cabin; and Eric Scarf did his tasks and held aloof from her. We came -smoothly northward, and presently were at our pier, unloading the casks -that filled our holds. Eric had slowly recovered something of the old -strength and power that moved him; and though he avoided the girl, and -though I could see how he suffered and what agony he was enduring, he -kept a steady face to the men, and drove them as he always drove. - -“Cap’n Tobbey was a quiet, stern man; but he was just. He blamed Eric -for taking out the boat, but he knew the other for what it was, an -accident of Fate; and when time came for the next cruise, Eric was too -good a man to stay ashore. He shipped as mate, and I was second mate -again. - -“This time, Joan stayed behind. She had had enough of the sea for a -lifetime, she told me; and from a girl, she was become a woman. Lovely -as ever, her laughter as sweet and crisp as a spring wind, yet there was -a depth in her that had not been there before, and at times her eyes -shrank as though they gazed upon awful, tragic happenings. - -“She was on the pier the day we sailed; and I saw Eric Scarf watching -her with the hopeless longing in his eyes that tears at the vitals of a -man. - -“There was a shadow over the mate from the beginning of that cruise. Any -man could see it; and the fo’mast hands used to watch him, and whisper -among themselves. Outwardly he was the same; strong and quick and proud, -alive, alert, his body uplifted with the energy it housed. He trod the -decks lightly, he moved with the quick precision of an animal; and he -plunged into his work in a fashion that would have worn another man to -threads. - -“A sprinkling of our old crew was aboard; so Eric’s story was no secret. -But it was never mentioned by him or in his presence. He seemed to find -a joy in his toil that allowed him to forget; and the man’s eyes -brightened and his cheeks set in their old firm, fine lines as we drove -southward. There is no better index to a man than the cheeks of him. -Flabbiness of body or soul shows quickest there, and there all other -vices and all virtues first appear. Eric’s face was neither gaunt nor -round, but it had a chiseled perfection of contour that was like a song. - -“There is a deal of superstition that hangs about the sea; and a whaler -has her share of it, and more. But it is never allowed to interfere with -the work at hand. And so if the men wished Eric off the ship, they kept -their wishes to themselves; and if they were reluctant to serve in his -boat, they hid this reluctance. For Eric was a quick man, quick to -anger, with a quick fist to him. In his place, I should have moved -tremblingly, fearful of a blow from behind during the watch on deck at -night. But Eric strode fearlessly about the ship; and none laid hand to -him. - -“The sea is a grim thing, and inscrutable. No man can look out across -its smooth bosom day and day, and remember the vast multitude of lives -which go their way beneath that smiling surface, without a sense of -mystery and wonder of it all. The sea in a storm may be terrible and -appalling, when its broad expanse is cut up into myriad gulleys and -mountains in which the ship is lost as in a labyrinth; but to me it has -always been even more terrible and menacing when it is calm. In time of -storm, its fury rages without curb; the worst is with you. But when the -sea is quiet, all its energies hidden, it is like the smiling mask of -Fate which conceals unguessed and unpredicted blows. - -“Thus, when we sailed southward over smooth and smiling seas, I fell -victim to an unrest that harassed me. I rose and looked abroad each day -with eyes that searched eagerly for a threat of the fate that seemed -impending; and even as I watched the sea, in like manner did I watch -Eric Scarf, to discover if I could what it was that hung so -threateningly over the man’s smiling head. - -“If Eric felt any uneasiness, he gave at first no sign. He was as he had -always been, confident, and quick, and strong. But the day came when a -hint was given us, just as the impalpable atmospheric changes reveal -through the glass the approach of storm. - -“We had sighted whales more than once, and made a fair beginning on the -long task ahead of us; and then one day in the South Atlantic, the boats -were lowered for a pod that lay far off to southward. Eric got fast, and -the third mate likewise. But the whale I had chosen as my goal took -alarm, and whirled toward us, and then fled before our irons could reach -him. - -“There had been time, however, for us to see upon his head a dull scar, -in the form of a cross, and I heard a cry from Eric’s boat, that was -just getting fast, and turned to see Eric staring toward the spot where -the old bull had disappeared. - -“Then I remembered what the men had said about the whale which had stove -Eric’s boat after the kill on the other voyage; and when we were aboard -again, the cutting-in done, and the tryworks boiling and smoking, I was -not surprised that Eric came to me. - -“‘Mark,’ he whispered huskily, ‘was there a cross on the bull that got -away?’ - -“I nodded. ‘On his head,’ I said. ‘An old scar, gouged into the -blubber.’ - -“I saw his jaw set hard. ‘It can’t be!’ he exclaimed, half to himself. I -said nothing; and he looked at me a moment later, with an agony of -doubt in his eyes. - -“‘Well, what of it, Eric?’ I asked, knowing, but thinking that to talk -might ease the man. - -“‘It was a scarred bull stove my boat--that day,’ he told me. - -“‘Every old bull has his scars,’ I said easily. - -“‘Aye--but--this was the same, Mark!’ - -“‘What matter?’ - -“He flushed and stammered like a child. ‘Her curse is on me,’ he -declared. ‘The old bull is going to wait for me!’ - -“‘He’ll suffer by it,’ I laughed. ‘He’s a fat old duke, too.’ - -“Eric looked forward where the men were working, and looked aft, and -then out across the sea; and then he looked at me at last with an appeal -in his eyes. ‘Are you calling me “murderer” as she did, Mark?’ he asked. - -“I shook my head. ‘She’s but a girl,’ I told him. ‘There was no need of -killing the cow. But what matter for that? And the other--was no one’s -blame.’ - -“His hand gripped my arm till I winced. ‘You mean it?’ he begged, -hungrily. - -“I clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Forget it all,’ I urged. ‘No harm will -come.’ - -“‘It is not that I’m afraid,’ he told me swiftly; and I saw that I had -roused him as I hoped to do. - -“‘Sure of that?’ I asked. - -“His eyes flamed. ‘I fear nothing,--except myself,’ he exclaimed. ‘But I -hear her word always; and I cannot bear it, Mark.’ - -“Before more could be said, Cap’n Tobbey came toward us; and Eric -laughed as though at some jest of mine. His laughter was not a pleasant -thing to hear, and I would have wished to reassure the man. But -thereafter he gave me no further opportunity. - -“I could see the thing was on his mind through the days that followed. -He could not forget it; and he took to standing watch at the masthead -when there was no need. I asked him once why he did this. - -“‘To get the scarred bull, Mark,’ he told me. ‘That will end it.’ - -“‘You’ll never see him again!’ - -“He shook his head, and smiled grimly. ‘No fear,’ he said. ‘He’s about -us.’ - -“And Eric was right; for the day we were finishing the trying out, the -scarred bull was sighted again, this time so near the ship that his mark -could be discerned through the glass as he rose to spout. Eric was -aloft; and he tumbled down the rigging like a madman, and lowered; but -there was a fog, and in the fog the bull was lost for that time. - -“That was thrice he had been seen; and the fourth time came swiftly. - -“Eric was never a man to fear or avoid conflict, even with the forces of -the universe itself; and after this third appearance of the scarred bull -whale, he scarce slept at all, but held himself and his boat’s crew -ready for battle the day long. He was aloft from dawn till dark, -endlessly scouring the seas for a spout that would reveal the creature -which personified to him the thing he was fighting. He became silent, -thoughtful; and strength flowed into him and nerved him to a hard and -efficient readiness. He was like an athlete in training for a contest, -every nerve and muscle tuned. - -“We sighted the scarred whale for the fourth time on a Sunday morning; a -day when the sea was just rippled by the gentlest breezes, when the sun -shone warmly and comfortingly upon the world, when the boats danced upon -the waves with a soothing and caressing motion. The water was blue as -turquoise, and the sky above it; and the two met at the horizon with the -sea’s deeper blue below the sky’s, and the whitecaps gleaming like -silver in the wind. - -“It was not Eric who sighted the whale, but one of the men on the -foret’gallant crosstrees; and his long ‘Blo-o-o-o-o-ow’ came droning -down to us on the decks and snatched each one to his post like -machinery. Cap’n Tobbey turned his glass on the distant spouts, and -ordered the boats away; and Eric’s hard and seasoned men made his boat -swing ahead of the others instantly, and steadily increase the lead. - -“There was no way of knowing whether or no this was the old, scarred -bull; but his spout told us it was a right whale, and not a sperm whale. -Nevertheless, either Eric knew it was his enemy he went to meet, or else -he was eager to discover whether it was or no, for he drove his men -unsparingly, and was more than a quarter of a mile ahead of us when he -reached the monster, and ran alongside. - -“Over the water came to us the sound of his shouted command: ‘Let ‘im -have it!’ And I saw the boatsteerer, standing in the bow with his knee -in the clumsy-cleat, put all the strength of back and arms into the -stroke, and snatch the second iron and send that home even as the whale -leaped forward. - -“While Eric and the boatsteerer were changing places, the great whale -up-ended ponderously, his flukes lifting gently toward the sky full -thirty feet clear of the water, and slid down out of sight. He had -sounded; and I spurred my men to harder efforts so that we might be at -hand to help if need arose. - -“Ahead of us, the boat lay idle on the waves. I could see Eric in the -bow, his hand on the line where it ran through the notch, bending to -peer down into the depths; and I could see he was putting a strain upon -the line, for the bow was down and almost dipping in the waves. - -“Then suddenly the bow bobbed up, the strain relaxed; and Eric bent -further over in an effort to pierce the depths below him. The whale was -coming up; and if by chance he came up under the boat, the fight would -be done, forthwith. Eric shouted a command; and the men began to haul in -the line desperately, dropping it in a loose coil astern. The -boatsteerer leaned upon his oar, alert, bending to hear the word from -Eric, and himself looking overside for any sign of the monster who was -rushing up from the depths toward them. - -“Then a shout from Eric, the boat swung around as though on a pivot; and -next instant the whale breached between his boat and mine. - -“There is no more splendid sight in the world than this; to see the -biggest creature that breathes flinging his four or five score tons -clear out of the water to hang, a black bulk against the sky, for an -instant before he falls resoundingly. Imagine a leaping trout, magnify -the trout’s size a millionfold or more, and you have some faint notion -of the monstrous majesty and grace of the breaching whale. - -“I had seen whales breach before, sometimes with terror, sometimes with -wonder at the beauty of the spectacle; but when this whale leaped clear -into the sky and seemed to hang for an instant fair above us, a thrill -of horror shot through me. - -“For as he was in the air, fair to all to see, the scar upon his head -was revealed; a scar like a sunken cross, mark of some ancient wound. It -was the scarred bull to which Eric’s boat was fast. - -“I looked toward him, and saw that Eric had seen the scar; but Eric -loved battle. He shouted to his men, and even as the great whale fell -into the water again, Eric’s men hauled in till they were alongside the -monster, and Eric drove home his lance. - -“The whale, at the prick of steel, redoubled the furious struggle of the -breach; and he rolled away and away from the boat, upon the surface, in -a smother of foam and spray. The men were forced to loose the line again -to avoid capsizing; but Eric himself set his hand to it, and by his own -strength held the nose of the boat so near the rolling whale that when -the enormous creature straightened out at last to run, half a dozen -pulls brought them again alongside. - -“They were in some fashion safer there than elsewhere. The harpoons had -struck well behind the fin, and the whale’s rolling had wrapped the line -about him in such fashion that when the boat pulled alongside it lay -safely behind the fin, and yet safely forward of the flukes. If the -whale rolled toward them, they would be crushed beneath his bulk; but -short of such a move, the monster could not shake them off. - -“And Eric was working his lance like mad. I had never seen such frantic -energy. He sent the six-foot steel into the soft body again and again, -not with a long shove, but with a single stabbing thrust to each attack. -His target was the whale’s greatest girth, and the lower part of the -body; and although the battle seemed an endless flurry and strife of -bloody foam, it was only a matter of seconds before the whale’s labored -spouting crimsoned--sure sign he had received a mortal wound. - -“I caught the sound of an exultant shout from Eric, and his boat sheered -away. The monster had suddenly halted in its flight; it lay momentarily -motionless, as though testing its own strength against this attack which -had pierced its vitals. Then in a desperate and panic-stricken flurry it -leaped forward and away, the boat, with line running free, trailing -safely behind. - -“They drove past where my boat lay; and Eric turned to look toward me. -He was a heroic figure in the bow of the little craft, erect and tall, -his bright hair and his naked torso crimson with the flood from the -whale’s bloody spout. He was gleaming wet with spray and red foam; and -he waved his long lance as he passed and shouted: - -“‘The scarred whale, Mark! I’ve killed him!’ - -“Before I could reply, he was beyond the sound of my voice; and then the -great beast whirled and came back toward us. He must have seen my boat -and supposed it that of his tormentor; for he charged at us, and only -the swiftest swerve took us out of his path in time. Beyond me, I saw -him wallow over the third mate’s boat and on; and I hurried to pick up -the men in the water. - -“Save for their bruises and their drenching, they were uninjured. We -dragged them aboard, set a waif in the boat, tied its oars to keep it -afloat, and set out after Eric and the whale. The great creature was -circling in its last flurry; and as we drew near, with a tremendous -spasm it threw its mighty bulk in a swift, short circle and was still. - -“We drove ahead, toward Eric’s boat; and Eric’s countenance was burning -with a splendid triumph. This last moment of victorious pride Fate -allowed him. - -“He was ahead; his boat ran alongside the huge carcass, and Eric bent -over the bow with the short boat spade to cut a hole in the whale’s tail -for towing it to the ship. - -“The boat spade is a steel blade, razor sharp, spade-shaped, attached to -a stout wooden handle. Eric leaned far out and drove it into the tough -fiber of the tail. - -“And then the right whale’s flukes whirled in a last, spasmodic -struggle; up they whirled, and over, and down. They missed the boat by -inches; but from Eric’s strong hands the boat spade was torn. It twisted -in the air, its steel blade flashing crimson. Under the blow of the -flukes it twisted and sang, and then chocked home. The steel struck -Eric squarely in the face; and it split his skull as you split a -walnut.” - - -IV - -The old captain leaned forward to knock the dottel from his pipe upon -the andirons, and settled in his chair again. For a little time we sat -without speaking; but I asked at last: - -“Joan--did she forgive him in the end?” - -Cap’n Brackett’s grim old countenance softened. “Oh, aye,” he said. -“She’d forgiven him before. She warned me when we started on the cruise -to watch over him.” He filled and lighted his ancient pipe again, then -softly finished: “She’s gone, long since. But our daughter looks very -like her now.” - - - - -NOTE - - -It was, if memory may be relied upon, Aristotle who initiated the Greeks -into the delights of classification, analysis and definition. Since -then, the love of pasting names on things has become so universal that -it may almost be classed as an instinct. The ordinary man, in the -presence of a new mountain, river, brook, hill, tree, flower, house, -automobile, puppy or kitten infallibly asks himself: “What shall I call -it?” And having labelled and catalogued his new discovery or -acquisition, he is content. - -There would appear to be some need of more accurate classification and -definition in the field of prose fiction. The word “novel” has come to -be as capacious as an omnibus. A story of twenty thousand words is -labelled “novelette” in a magazine; then makes its bow between boards as -a full-fledged novel. This same confusion extends in the other -direction; and it is not infrequent to see stories of twenty thousand -words and upward called “short stories.” A manuscript which is a short -story in one magazine is a novelette in another, and a novel later on. -This confusion has no doubt arisen from the custom, fairly general among -the book-buying public, of preferring a “thick” book. Print a short -story in large type, with wide margins, and call it a novel; thus is the -demand for bulk most easily satisfied. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Thrifty Stock and other Stories, by -Ben Ames Williams - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THRIFTY STOCK AND OTHER STORIES *** - -***** This file should be named 63184-0.txt or 63184-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/1/8/63184/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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/license - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/63184-0.zip b/old/63184-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 64b9271..0000000 --- a/old/63184-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/63184-h.zip b/old/63184-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e47f57f..0000000 --- a/old/63184-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/63184-h/63184-h.htm b/old/63184-h/63184-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 70605f3..0000000 --- a/old/63184-h/63184-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11016 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" -"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> - <head> <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> -<title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Thrifty Stock -and Other Stories, by Ben Ames Williams. -</title> -<style type="text/css"> - -a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - - link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - -a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} - -a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} - -big {font-size: 130%;} - -.blockquot {margin:1em auto;font-size:90%;} - -body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} - -.bbox {border:solid 2px black; -margin:1em auto;max-width:35%;padding:1em;} - -.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.cb {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;} - - h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both; -font-weight:bold;} - - h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:100%;font-weight:normal;} - - h3 {margin:4% auto 2% auto;text-align:center;clear:both; -font-weight:normal;} - - hr {width:100%;margin:.5em auto .52em auto;clear:both;color:black;} - - hr.full {width: 60%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; -padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} - - img {border:none;} - -.lftspc {margin-left:.25em;} - -.letra {font-size:250%;float:left;margin-top:-1%;} - @media print, handheld - { .letra - {font-size:250%;padding:0%;} - } - -.lspcc {letter-spacing:.15em;} - -.nind {text-indent:0%;} - - p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} - -.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; -left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; -background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} -@media print, handheld -{.pagenum - {display: none;} - } - -.r {text-align:right;margin-right: 5%;} - -.rt {text-align:right;} - -small {font-size: 70%;} - -.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} - -table {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;} - -div.poetry {text-align:center;} -div.poem {font-size:90%;margin:auto auto;text-indent:0%; -display: inline-block; text-align: left;} -.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} -.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: .45em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i17 {display: block; margin-left: 17em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -</style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -Project Gutenberg's Thrifty Stock and other Stories, by Ben Ames Williams - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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/license - - -Title: Thrifty Stock and other Stories - -Author: Ben Ames Williams - -Release Date: September 12, 2020 [EBook #63184] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THRIFTY STOCK AND OTHER STORIES *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="c"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" height="550" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_i" id="page_i">{i}</a></span></p> - -<p class="c">THRIFTY STOCK<br /> -AND OTHER STORIES</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ii" id="page_ii">{ii}</a></span></p> - -<div class="bbox"> -<p class="c">BY THE SAME AUTHOR</p> -<hr /> - -<p class="nind">EVERED</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Story of the Famous Red Bull</span></p> - -<p>“I read this through from first page to last without leaving my chair. -It is a powerful story.”—<i>William Lyon Phelps.</i></p> - -<p class="nind">BLACK PAWL</p> - -<p>“Ben Ames Williams has chosen a theme such as might have appealed to one -of the old Greek dramatists, and has handled it with a skill that -entitles him to high rank among the novelists of today.”—<i>The New York -Times.</i></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="c">E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iii" id="page_iii">{iii}</a></span></p> - -<h1><span class="lspcc"> -THRIFTY STOCK</span> -<br /><small> -AND OTHER STORIES</small></h1> -<p class="cb"> -BY<br /> -<br /> -BEN AMES WILLIAMS<br /> -<br /><small> -AUTHOR OF “EVERED,” “BLACK PAWL,” ETC.</small><br /> -<br /><br /> -<img src="images/colophon.jpg" -height="150" -alt="" -/><br /> -<br /><br /> -NEW YORK<br /> -E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY<br /> -<span class="smcap">681 Fifth Avenue</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iv" id="page_iv">{iv}</a></span><br /> -<br /> -Copyright, 1923<br /> -By E. P. Dutton & Company<br /> -<br /> -<i>All Rights Reserved</i><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -PRINTED IN THE UNITED<br /> -STATES OF AMERICA<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_v" id="page_v">{v}</a></span><br /><br /><br /> -To<br /> -<br /> -ROBERT H. DAVIS<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vi" id="page_vi">{vi}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vii" id="page_vii">{vii}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="ACKNOWLEDGMENTS" id="ACKNOWLEDGMENTS"></a>ACKNOWLEDGMENTS</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> following stories of this collection have been previously published: -“Old Tantrybogus” and “One Crowded Hour,” in <i>The Saturday Evening -Post</i>; “They Grind Exceeding Small,” in <i>The Saturday Evening Post</i> and -<i>Current Opinion</i>, and in one of the O. Henry Memorial Volumes; “Mine -Enemy’s Dog,” “Not a Drum was Heard,” “Success” (under the title of “So -My Luck Began”) and “Sheener,” in <i>Collier’s Weekly</i>; “His Honor,” “The -Coward” and “The Man Who Looked Like Edison,” in <i>Cosmopolitan -Magazine</i>; “Jeshurun Waxed Fat,” in <i>The Century Magazine</i>; “The Field -of Honor,” in <i>The American Magazine;</i> “Thrifty Stock,” in <i>McCall’s -Magazine</i>; and “The Right Whale’s Flukes,” in <i>The Bellman</i>. To the -editors of these magazines the author makes the customary -acknowledgement.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ix" id="page_ix">{ix}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_viii" id="page_viii">{viii}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> first seven stories in this volume have either locale or characters -in common. The village called Fraternity is an actual one; and the -surrounding countryside has a beauty which grows with long acquaintance. -It is perhaps unnecessary to say that the characters are—with one -exception—fictitious. The exception is Mr. A. L. McCorrison, better -known as Bert McCorrison, who introduced me to the trout brooks and the -woodcock covers thereabouts. To him I here make affectionate -acknowledgment for all that introduction has meant to me. He appears in -some of the stories, under the name of Chet McAusland.</p> - -<p>The third story in the book, “Old Tantrybogus,” is—so far as the dog is -concerned—a true story. I never saw old Job, but Bert has told me many -things about him, and his exploits are well attested. For the excessive -length of this story, an ancient fondness for dogs is my only apology.</p> - -<p>The last two stories in the Fraternity group, “Jeshurun Waxed Fat” and -“Epitome,” together with the succeeding seven, are each less than four -thousand words in length. These stories represent successive attempts to -combine brevity with other and more elusive attributes.</p> - -<p>It is, perhaps, unnecessary to say that “The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_x" id="page_x">{x}</a></span> Field of Honor” and “The -Unconquered” were written during the summer of 1918.</p> - -<p>Two of the stories in this book have not been published in any magazine. -The two are “Epitome” and the allegory, “A Dream.” In each case, the -story has been rejected by numerous editors; the fact that the author -has still a stubborn faith in them is his only excuse for including them -in this volume.</p> - -<p class="r"> -B. A. W.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xi" id="page_xi">{xi}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><td> </td><td><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#THRIFTY_STOCK">Thrifty Stock</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1">1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#THEY_GRIND_EXCEEDING_SMALL">They Grind Exceeding Small</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_21">21</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#OLD_TANTRYBOGUS">Old Tantrybogus</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_39">39</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#ONE_CROWDED_HOUR">One Crowded Hour</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_74">74</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#MINE_ENEMYS_DOG">Mine Enemy’s Dog</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_113">113</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#JESHURUN_WAXED_FAT">“Jeshurun Waxed Fat”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_145">145</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#EPITOME">Epitome</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_158">158</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#A_DREAM">A Dream</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_169">169</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#HIS_HONOR">His Honor</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_185">185</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#THE_COWARD">The Coward</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_199">199</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#NOT_A_DRUM_WAS_HEARD">Not a Drum Was Heard</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_211">211</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#THE_MAN_WHO_LOOKED_LIKE_EDISON">The Man Who Looked Like Edison</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_226">226</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#SUCCESS">Success</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_239">239</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#SHEENER">Sheener</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_254">254</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#THE_FIELD_OF_HONOR">The Field of Honor</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_268">268</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#THE_UNCONQUERED">The Unconquered</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_293">293</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#THE_RIGHT_WHALES_FLUKES">The Right Whale’s Flukes</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_319">319</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#NOTE">Note</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_346">346</a></td></tr> - -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xii" id="page_xii">{xii}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xiii" id="page_xiii">{xiii}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="cb"> -THRIFTY STOCK<br /> -AND OTHER STORIES<br /></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xiv" id="page_xiv">{xiv}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="THRIFTY_STOCK" id="THRIFTY_STOCK"></a>THRIFTY STOCK</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE girl, stormful and rebellious, had come out of the old farmhouse -above Fraternity, and without much caring in which direction she turned, -walked across the stubble of the freshly cut meadow toward the edge of -the woods at the crest of the hill. This meadow was really a high -plateau; it was fringed with bushes which grew along the crumbling stone -wall which bordered it, and with birch and wild cherry trees here and -there along its edge. Between these trees she could look abroad across a -wooded valley, down whose middle meandered the dead water of the -George’s River, backed up by the mill dam at the village. There had been -a light shower at dawn, scarce sufficient to settle the dust; and the -air, thus clarified, lent lovely colors to the countryside. Deep green -of hemlock and spruce and pine, straggling tracery of hackmatack, -lighter green of the birch tops almost yellow in the heart of the woods; -the blue of distant hillsides; the blue of the sky; the yellow glory of -sunlight drenching everything. In an uncut strip of meadow white daisies -bloomed. There were birds about. But to all these matters, Lucia Moore -was oblivious. She knew only that her father was stubborn and -unreasonable, her mother supine, the world at an ill turn. Drops of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span> -water on the stubble wet her ankles; dust and water combined to muddy -her impracticable shoes; an occasional bramble tore at her silken -stockings. She came to the stone wall at the brink of the hill and chose -a large boulder half-shaded by an apple tree that was all run to -suckers, and sat down on it, her feet propped upon a stone below, her -elbows on her knees, her chin cupped in her hands. The girl’s eyes were -sulky, and her lips pouted. There was a hint of color not their own upon -these lips of hers, and her eyebrows were plucked to a thin line, their -smooth arch distorted by the frown she wore. Her gingham dress was -short, and her present posture revealed her thin, unformed legs, which -confirmed the almost emaciated slimness of her figure. She stared -unseeingly across the lovely land.</p> - -<p>Down the slope below her and to the right, Johnny Dree was dusting his -orchard. His well-trained team knew their work; they drew the sledge on -which he had secured the dusting machine up and down between the -wide-spaced rows; and Johnny himself controlled and directed the blast -of dust which smothered the trees, depositing itself on every leaf and -twig. Now and then, at the turnings, he called a command to the horses; -or ran ahead to tug at their reins. He was doing two men’s work, and -doing it with very little effort. His voice, pitched musically, carried -far across the still hillside on this quiet morning; and the whir of the -duster carried further. The spouting clouds of heavy dust rose above the -trees, to settle swiftly down again. Lucia Moore heard his voice, heard -the duster’s purring, punctuated by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> the bark of the exhaust; she looked -in his direction and saw the violently spouting dust, and wondered who -he was and what he was doing. She had an uncontrolled curiosity, and -after a few moments her awakened interest brought her down the hill. She -entered the orchard at the side where the Wolf Rivers were planted, a -hundred trees of them, the fruit already filling and coloring. Johnny’s -father had set out this small orchard with discretion; a hundred Wolf -Rivers, a hundred Starks, a hundred Ben Davises. Hardy apples, easily -tended, easily handled, easily marketed. Wolf Rivers for fancy trade, -for the great city hotels to bake and to serve, crisply browned, with -rich cream; Starks and Ben Davises for keeping through the winter. -Johnny was in the middle of the Starks when he saw Lucia coming toward -him among the trees. After the fashion of the countryside, he looked at -her with frank curiosity. He had seen her, at some distance, once or -twice before, since Walter Moore bought the run-down farm on the hilltop -above his orchard. Had summarized his impressions of rouge, plucked -brows, short dresses in a single phrase, “A city girl.” There was no -malice in the appellation; it was simply a classification. Her approach -now did not embarrass him; there is a self respect in such men, not -easily disturbed. She had paused between two trees at a point he was -approaching, and when he came near where she stood, he stopped the -horses and waited for her to speak her errand.</p> - -<p>Lucia looked at him curiously. She was just twenty years old, but he was -only two or three years older, and she was used to boys. His over<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span>alls -were patched and faded from much washing; his blue shirt seemed fresh -and clean; she thought him nice looking, and when she was sure of this, -smiled most dazzlingly. Johnny tugged off his cap at that smile, and -Lucia said precisely:</p> - -<p>“How do you do?”</p> - -<p>“Howdo, Miss Moore,” Johnny replied.</p> - -<p>Her eyes widened in a pretty affectation. “Oh, how did you know my -name?”</p> - -<p>His lips were inscrutable, but his eyes were amused. “I guess everybody -around here knows you.”</p> - -<p>She pouted a little. “That doesn’t sound nice.”</p> - -<p>“It don’t do any harm,” he said equably; and she was a little -disappointed, had expected flattery. She pointed to the machine, whose -engine still racketed.</p> - -<p>“What’s that?”</p> - -<p>“A duster,” he told her. “Kills the bugs on the trees.”</p> - -<p>She made a grimace. “I should think it would. But what a nasty way to -do. Smother them with that dust.”</p> - -<p>He did smile this time. “The dust’s poison,” he explained. “It sticks to -the leaves, and they eat it with the leaves, and it kills them.”</p> - -<p>“Why?” she asked.</p> - -<p>He understood that she was interested not in the process but the reason -for it. “So they won’t hurt the trees; so the trees will bear better,” -he told her.</p> - -<p>“Papa doesn’t do that to our trees,” she said.</p> - -<p>He turned away, and she thought he smiled. “That’s right,” he agreed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span></p> - -<p>She looked around her. “And there are lots more apples on your trees -than on ours, too.”</p> - -<p>“That’s because I dust ’em and spray ’em and take care of them,” he -said. “You’ve got to treat an apple tree right if you want it to bear -right.”</p> - -<p>She came gingerly to his side and inspected the duster and asked -questions about it, wrinkling her nose at the smell of the dust; and he -answered her questions, warming a little at her interest in that which -was dear to him. She perceived that she pleased him, and pretended even -greater interest, and smiled at him in her most charming fashion. Turned -from the machine to the trees about them, plucked an apple and bit into -it and threw it away with a grimace. His engine still coughed and -barked; he showed no disposition to shut off its ignition and give his -time to her. She discovered a waxy bandage upon one of the trees and -asked what it was and he told her it was a graft, and would have added -some explanation, but her attention flitted elsewhere.</p> - -<p>“Where do you live?” she asked presently. “That house up there?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Is it your house?”</p> - -<p>“My mother’s and mine,” he replied.</p> - -<p>She turned the full battery of her eyes upon him. “Why haven’t you come -up to see a fellow?” she asked. “I’ve been awfully lonesome here.”</p> - -<p>He was not at all disconcerted, as she had expected him to be. “I hadn’t -thought of it,” he said. “I’m pretty busy.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll think of it now, won’t you?” she begged<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span> prettily. She was, this -morning, in a reckless mood; she had been, was still, a spoiled child.</p> - -<p>“I might,” he assented, and she thought again there was a smile deep -hidden in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“I’m used to having boys crazy to come and see me,” she said wistfully; -and he did smile; and she was satisfied with this much of victory, and -turned and ran away. She ran prettily, and she knew her skirts were none -too long. From the border of the orchard, she looked back and lifted her -hand to him. He touched his hat in a restrained fashion by way of -response; and she ascended the hill, at peace with the world again.</p> - -<p>And this was the first encounter between the tender of trees and Lucia -Moore.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>Her father had bought the farm during the winter from Dan Howe, who -moved away to Augusta. Dan, Fraternity said, made a good thing out of -it. He had paid eighteen hundred, two years before, and had sold off -three hundred dollars’ worth of hard wood for ship timbers, carted to -Camden. The price Moore paid him was thirty-three hundred dollars. Moore -had thought the figure high; but there was in the man a hunger for -contact with the soil. His father had been a farm boy, had harked back -to his youthful days in reminiscence during his later years. His death -left Moore some fifty-two hundred dollars, and made it possible for him -to escape from the small store he had run for years in Somerville, at a -yearly profit less than he might have earned<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span> as salary. He and his wife -had perceived, by that time, that Lucia—they had christened her -Lucy—was a problem in need of solving. Lucia liked moving pictures, and -dancing, and boys, and she was not strong. Country life, they thought, -would be good for her; and Moore did not cavil at Dan Howe’s price. Save -for a few hundred dollars, he put the remainder of his legacy, and his -own savings, into a newly organized automobile company which seemed to -him promising, and came to the hills above Fraternity.</p> - -<p>Since then, he had been learning by experience that a horse which can be -bought for seventy dollars is probably not worth it, and that pigs -cannot profitably be raised with no milk to feed them, and that the -directions in printed manuals of the art of farming are not so complete -and so reliable as they seem. He was not a practical man. Even the -automobile investment had turned out badly; the company was now quietly -defunct, without even the formality of a receiver. And he owed a -mounting bill at Will Bissell’s store. If it had been possible, he would -have escaped from the farm and returned to bondage; but no one would buy -the place, and his debts anchored him.</p> - -<p>It was Lucia—she had, it appeared, some grain of sense in her—who -suggested one day that he might raise apples. “Johnny Dree does,” she -explained. This was in early fall, and she had seen Johnny once or twice -since that first encounter—at her instance, and not at his. Also she -had asked questions, surprisingly shrewd.</p> - -<p>Her father nodded. “He’s got a good orchard,” he agreed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span></p> - -<p>“He’s been picking Wolf Rivers right along,” said Lucia wisely. “He says -you can pick the big ones, and the others will grow to make up for it, -and he’s going to have hundreds of barrels to sell next month.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve looked at our trees,” her father told her. “The apples aren’t good -for anything but cider. Full of worms and things.”</p> - -<p>“Johnny Dree says you’ve got to take care of a tree,” she insisted -impatiently. “But he says—” She hesitated, seeking to remember the word -he had used. “He says your trees are good, thrifty stock.”</p> - -<p>“It takes years to make an orchard, Lucy,” he said wearily. “You’re -talking about impossible things.”</p> - -<p>The swift temper which sometimes possessed the girl flamed up at him. -“You make me sick!” she cried. “You just sit back and let the world walk -over you. You’ve stuck yourself with this damned farm, and now you’re -going to sit still and let it smother you. Why don’t you try to do -something, anyway? Johnny says you’ve got good orchard land as there is. -But you just look wise and think you know it all, and won’t do -anything.”</p> - -<p>Her mother said wearily: “Lucy, you oughtn’t to swear at your father.”</p> - -<p>“Well, he makes me mad!” the girl cried, furiously defiant. “He’s such a -damned stubborn fool!”</p> - -<p>Moore wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and smiled weakly. “I -guess I’m a failure, all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span> right, Lucia,” he agreed. “You’re right to -swear at a father like me.”</p> - -<p>At his humility, her revulsion was as swift as her anger had been; -tenderness swept her. She pressed against him, where he sat beside the -table, and with her thin arm drew his head against her fleshless bosom. -“You’re not, either, papa!” she cried passionately. “You’re always so -patient with me. But I do wish you’d talk to Johnny Dree!”</p> - -<p>He reached up to touch her cheek caressingly. “That’s all right, honey,” -he said.</p> - -<p>“But you will talk to Johnny?”</p> - -<p>The man nodded, at last. “All right, Lucy. Yes, I’ll talk to him.”</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Johnny Dree found a little time, even during the busy weeks of the apple -picking, to go with Moore through his orchard, and to search out the -trees scattered along the stone walls. He began the work of pruning and -trimming them, showed Moore, and showed Lucy, how to continue it. Bade -Moore plow under the thick sod around the base of each tree. “Nothing -like grass to steal the water an apple tree needs,” he explained. “Grass -is worse than weeds.” Before the snow came, much had been done. Moore -said once, diffidently:</p> - -<p>“I’d like to hire you to help me along with this, Dree!”</p> - -<p>But Johnny shook his head. “You don’t want to hire help only when you -have to,” he said. “I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span> just come up when I’m not busy at home. You can -help me with haying and things, some time.”</p> - -<p>The seasons marched monotonously on. The crisp sunshine of fall days, -with frost tingling in the air, gave way to bleaker weather, and then to -the full rigors of harsh cold, when snow lay thick across the hills, -blanketing everything. The routine of little tasks laid itself upon -Moore, and upon his wife. Even Lucia, in greater and greater degree, -submitted to it. But revolt was always very near the surface in the -girl. One day she met Johnny Dree upon the road, and he asked in a -friendly way: “Well, you getting to like it here?”</p> - -<p>She was in ill humor that morning, and she flamed at him. “Oh, I hate -it! I hate it!” she cried. “I wish to God I’d never seen this damned -hole. But papa’s got us into it, and we can’t get out, and there’s -nothing to do but work and work. Sometimes I wish I were dead.”</p> - -<p>He had never heard her swear before; and he looked at her in some -astonishment. She was, he thought, so small, and so serenely sweet to -look upon that there was something incongruous in her profanity. But he -did not speak of his thought at that time; said merely:</p> - -<p>“Why, that’s too bad. I thought you were getting to like it, maybe.” And -so passed on, leaving her curiously chastened by his very mildness.</p> - -<p>There was an interminable sameness in the days. To rise early, to do the -morning chores, and cook, and eat, and wash dishes, and dust, and cook, -and eat, and wash dishes, and sew, and cook, and eat, and wash dishes, -and read the paper, and go fumingly to bed. This was Lucia’s bitter -life. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span> because it is impossible to hold indignation always at its -highest pitch, there were hours when she forgot to be unhappy; there -were hours when she found something like pleasure in this ordered -simplicity of life. Now and then Johnny came in of an evening, and sat -in the dining room with them all and talked with her father about apple -trees; and Lucia liked, at first, to practice her small cajoleries upon -him. He quickly began to call her Lucia, then Lucy as her father and -mother did. She preferred the simpler name, upon his simple lips. When -the snow thinned and disappeared, and new grass pushed greenly up -through the brown that clothed the fields, she was stronger than she had -ever been. Her arms were rounding, her figure assuming the proportions -for which it was designed; and her color no longer required external -application. When Johnny took Moore into his own orchards and showed him -how to apply the dormant spray, and how to search out the borers in the -base of the trees and kill them with a bit of wire, or with a plug of -poisoned cotton, and all the other mysteries of orchardry, Lucy liked to -go along, and learned to do these tasks as well as Johnny, and better -than her father did. The trees, fed with well-rotted manure which Johnny -preferred to any chemical preparation, and freed from the competition of -the grass and weeds which had surrounded them and blanketed their -thirsty roots, throve and put out a great burst of bloom, and all the -hillside was aglow with color. Lucy began to see hope of release from -this long bondage here. When the apples were sold, if the market was -good, Johnny thought they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span> might make five or six hundred dollars in a -year....</p> - -<p>Then one midnight she awoke shivering in a sharp blast from her open -window, and drew fresh blankets over her; and in the morning there was -white frost on the ground, and Johnny came up the hill with a -philosophic smile upon his face. Moore met him at the kitchen door.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Johnny slowly. “We won’t do well this year. This frost has -nipped them. I guess not bearing will give your trees a chance to get a -better start.”</p> - -<p>Moore accepted the calamity with mild protest. Said blankly: “No apples. -Why, I’ve got to have something....”</p> - -<p>But Lucy was not so mild. From the kitchen behind her father she pushed -past him and out upon the porch, her eyes ablaze. “No apples!” she -cried, in a voice like a scream. “Why not?”</p> - -<p>“This frost has killed them,” said Johnny, his eyes hardening.</p> - -<p>She almost sprang at him, beat on his broad chest with her fists, and -tears streamed down her face. “You fool! You damned fool!” she cried. -“There’ve got to be apples. There’ve got to be! You said there would be! -You said if we worked, there would be! If we sprayed the damned trees! -Oh, you make me sick, with your lies! Oh, I hate this farm! I hate the -damned trees....”</p> - -<p>Johnny surprised her. He took her by the shoulders, gripping them till -she winced. “Stop it, Lucy,” he commanded.</p> - -<p>“I won’t!” she cried. “Let go of me....”</p> - -<p>“Be still your noise,” he said, no more loudly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span> than before. But the -insistence in his voice constrained her, and she began to weep bitterly, -and slumped against him, shaken and half fainting. “You can’t talk that -way,” he told her. “It’s no way to talk. You got to be a sport. It’s a -part of the business, Lucy. Now you go in the house and wash your face -and help with breakfast. I want to talk to your father. Go along.”</p> - -<p>Her father watched her; and his face was white with surprise and -consternation. But Lucy turned and went obediently into the house, and -he looked after her, and looked at Johnny Dree; and Johnny grinned, a -little sheepishly.</p> - -<p>“You see,” he said, ignoring what had happened. “Thing is, you can raise -some garden stuff, and some chickens and things, and get along. We’re -due for a good year next year.”</p> - -<p>Walter Moore nodded. “That’s all right,” he assented, and looked again -at the door through which Lucy had gone. “But I’d like to shake hands -with you, Dree. I’d like to shake your hand.”</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>The stoic patience of the farmer, who serves a capricious master and -finds his most treasured works casually destroyed by that master’s -slightest whim, takes time to learn, but is a mighty armor, when it has -been put on. It was Johnny Dree’s heritage; it was, in remoter line, the -heritage also of Walter Moore. It bore them through that summer, and -through the frost-hued glory of the fall. There is a pleasure in a task -well done, regardless of reward; and when Moore surveyed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span> his trees, he -found this pleasure. Johnny Dree confirmed it. “They’re like money in -the bank, Mr. Moore,” he said. “You can’t lose it, and it pays you -interest right along. We’re due for a good apple year, next year.”</p> - -<p>Moore nodded. “I’m beginning to like it here,” he assented. “It was -tough, at first. But I’m no worse in debt than I was last year, and I -ought to pull out when the trees begin to bear.”</p> - -<p>“Aye,” said Johnny Dree. “You’ve got something to build on, now. It’ll -go easier, from now on.”</p> - -<p>Moore had learned many things, in these months that had gone; and so had -Lucy. And so had Johnny Dree. Lucy was teaching him a thing he had never -had time to learn; she was teaching him to play. When snow came, he -brought her, one day, snow-shoes; and thereafter they occasionally -tramped the woods together, following the meandering trails of the small -creatures of the forest, marking where a partridge had left a delicate -tracery of footprints in the snow, exploring the great swamp below the -hill where the cedars had been stripped of browse by the moose that -wintered there. He found where deer were yarded, and took her to the -place, and once they caught glimpses of the startled creatures, bounding -away through the cumbering snow. There was a deepening understanding -between these two; when they were together she talked almost constantly, -and he scarce at all; but she could read his silences, and he understood -her fountain-like loquacity. Through a keener understanding, she found -matters to love in these hills and woods which were his world;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span> she was, -by slow degrees, forgetting the more obvious pleasures of her life -before she came to Fraternity to dwell. They were, for the most part, as -much isolated as though they lived upon an island in the sea; for, save -for the nightly gatherings at Will Bissell’s store, Fraternity folk are -not overly social in their inclinations. Once he took her to a grange -dance, and she found him surprisingly adequate in this new rôle, found -an unsuspected pleasure in the rustic merry-making she would, two years -before, have scorned. Johnny did not smoke, and she asked him why; he -said he didn’t want to waste the money. Yet once when he went to East -Harbor, he brought her a flower, in a pot; and when she asked him if -that wasn’t wasting money, he smiled a little and said he did not think -it was. One day, to torment him, she cried: “I’d give a lot for a -cigarette. I haven’t had one for days. Will you get me some, next time -you’re at the store. I don’t dare buy them there.”</p> - -<p>Johnny merely smiled at her and replied: “I guess if you ever did smoke -them, you don’t any more.”</p> - -<p>One day her snow-shoe caught on a broken stub and threw her forward into -the snow. She said: “Oh, damn!” More in jest than in anger. Lifting her -to her feet, he commented:</p> - -<p>“I shouldn’t think a girl would swear much.”</p> - -<p>“I like to,” she insisted. “It makes me feel good when I’m mad.”</p> - -<p>“I never could see it helped me any,” he rejoined, mildly enough. But -she thereafter guarded her tongue, until the necessity for restraint -had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span> disappeared. Self discipline was one of the things she learned from -Johnny.</p> - -<p>You could hardly say they had a romance. They grew together, as -naturally as stock and scion grafted by his skilful hands. They had this -great community of interest in the trees which were his work, which she -had come to love. Their forward looking eyes were centered on the -harvest time, now a scant year away, when the fruition of their labors -could be expected; and their anticipations were tranquil and serene.</p> - -<p>They talked, sometimes, of what he meant to make of his life. “You won’t -always be a farmer, will you?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“I guess I will,” he told her.</p> - -<p>“Slaving away here!”</p> - -<p>He smiled a little. “There’s a man up in Winterport,” he said. “He -planted some apple trees twenty years ago, and more and more since, and -he’s got ten thousand trees, now. I went up there two years ago on the -orchard tour the Farm Bureau runs. He cleared over twenty thousand -dollars, that year, on his apples. Ten thousand trees. I’ve only got -four hundred; but I’m putting in two hundred more next spring, and more -when I can, and my land is better than his, and there’s more around me I -can buy. It’s clean work. You can learn a lot from an apple tree, and -eating apples never did anybody much harm. And you’ve time for thinking, -while you work on the trees....”</p> - -<p>She slipped her hand through his arm in understanding, as they tramped -along.</p> - -<p>In December his mother, who had suffered for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span> half a dozen years from a -mysterious weakness of the heart, was taken sick with what at first -seemed a slight cold. In early January, she died. Walter Moore and his -wife and Lucy were among those who followed the little cortege to the -receiving tomb where—because the frost had fortified the earth against -the digging of a grave—his mother’s body would lie till spring. Lucy -was mysteriously moved by the pity of this; that a woman should die, and -yet be kept waiting for her final sweet repose in the bosom of earth. -After supper that evening, she drew on coat and heavy overshoes and -muffled her head against the bitter wind that blew. “I’m going down to -cheer up Johnny, mama,” she said.</p> - -<p>Moore and his wife, when the door had closed behind her, looked at each -other with deep understanding. “Well,” he said, “I guess Lucy’s gone.”</p> - -<p>But his wife smiled through misty eyes. “She’s come back to us these -last two years,” she said. “No matter what happens, she can’t really go -away again.”</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>Down at Johnny’s house, Lucy knocked at the kitchen door and Johnny let -her in. He was washing dishes and putting them away. “I’ve finished -supper, just finished supper,” he said awkwardly.</p> - -<p>“I wanted to comfort you, Johnny,” Lucy told him.</p> - -<p>He looked at her, rubbing his plate in his hands with the cloth. -“That’s—mighty nice,” he said.</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t be unhappy. I don’t want you to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span> be unhappy,” she -explained, still standing just within the door. She was plucking away -her wraps, laid her coat aside.</p> - -<p>“You’re a mighty sweet girl,” Johnny told her, rubbing his plate as -though the motion of his hands had hypnotized him.</p> - -<p>“I want to take care of you,” said Lucy.</p> - -<p>Johnny considered, and saw that she had come a little nearer where he -stood. “I guess it would be nice if we got married,” he suggested. -“Wouldn’t it?”</p> - -<p>Lucy suddenly smiled, tenderly amused at him. Her eyes, full of tears, -were dancing. “I think it would be nice, Johnny,” she agreed. And moved -a little nearer still. She did not have to go all the way.</p> - -<p>The plate, unbroken by its fall, rolled across the floor toward the -stove, and tilted over there, and whirled to rest like a dying top, -oscillating to and fro on its rim with a sound faintly like the sound of -bells.</p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>They were married in March; and as though upon a signal, winter drew -back from the land, taking with it the snow; and in due time the grass -burst up through the sod, and the buds swelled more swiftly, it seemed -to these two, than they had ever swelled before. Yet it was not too -warm; the blossoms in the orchards came in their season, and not before. -And the air was full of the hum of the bees as they went to and fro upon -their mysterious mating of the trees. The color of the blossoms, faintly -glowing, was in Lucy’s cheeks;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span> the wonder of the springtime in her eyes -while she walked here and there with Johnny about his tasks. When the -petals fluttered down, it became at once apparent that the apples had -set in great profusion; and through the summer they watched the fruit -swell and take form and color, and now and then they pared the skin away -from an apple to see the white, sweet meat inside.</p> - -<p>Johnny began to pick Wolf Rivers early, choosing the largest and reddest -fruit; yet it seemed he had no sooner picked one apple than another -swelled to take the place of two. Toward the summer’s end, they knew -that the crop would be enormous. And this was one of those years when -elsewhere the orchards had failed, so that prices were enhanced and -buyers were eager.</p> - -<p>One day in early October, one Sunday afternoon, when Johnny and Lucy had -gone up the hill to have dinner with the older folk, Johnny and Walter -Moore walked into the orchard and surveyed the trees.</p> - -<p>“A big year,” Johnny said. “The biggest I ever saw. Your apples will -bring you close to seven hundred dollars.”</p> - -<p>Moore nodded. “It makes me—kind of humble,” he said. “It doesn’t seem -possible. And—it’s so different from what my life has been. So great a -change, these last two years....”</p> - -<p>Johnny looked up at him. “You’ve told me,” he assented. And he smiled a -little. “You know, I’ve said to Lucy some times, you can learn a lot -from an apple tree. If it’s got grass and weeds around its roots, they -starve it for water; and the scale and the aphis and the borer hurt it;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span> -and the suckers waste its strength. You were kind of like that, when you -came up here. You’d been crowded in with a lot of other folks—grass and -weeds around you, cutting off the air and the good things you needed. -And the way you lived, there were all sorts of things hurting you; no -exercise, and no time to yourself, and Lucy’s dancing all night, and -smoking, and your inside work and all, the way the bugs hurt a tree.” He -smiled apologetically. “And things like that automobile stock of yours, -sucking your money the way suckers drain a tree....”</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” Moore agreed. “I couldn’t see it then; but I felt it, -even then. And I couldn’t believe these trees would come back, any more -than I expected to be so different, myself, up here. I feel new, and -strong, now. Like the trees. The suckers and the bugs and all the -wasteful things trimmed out of our lives. Mrs. Moore was never so well. -And Lucy ... I have to thank you for Lucy, Dree. She used to worry me. -She doesn’t, now.”</p> - -<p>Johnny, looking off across the orchard, saw his wife and her mother -coming toward them. Mrs. Moore erect where she had drooped, laughing -where she had been sad; and Lucy, full with the promise of the greatest -fruition of all. “Aye,” he said, with the reverent honesty of a man who -sees beauty in all the growth of life. “Aye, Lucy’s like the trees. -She’s come to bearing now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="THEY_GRIND_EXCEEDING_SMALL" id="THEY_GRIND_EXCEEDING_SMALL"></a>THEY GRIND EXCEEDING SMALL</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>I telephoned down the hill to Hazen Kinch. “Hazen,” I asked, “are you -going to town today?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” he said abruptly in his quick, harsh fashion. “Of course I’m -going to town.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve a matter of business,” I suggested.</p> - -<p>“Come along,” he invited brusquely. “Come along.”</p> - -<p>There was not another man within forty miles to whom he would have given -that invitation.</p> - -<p>“I’ll be down in ten minutes,” I promised him; and I went to pull on my -Pontiacs and heavy half boots over them and started downhill through the -sandy snow. It was bitterly cold; it had been a cold winter. The bay—I -could see it from my window—was frozen over for a dozen miles east and -west and thirty north and south; and that had not happened in close to a -score of years. Men were freighting across to the islands with heavy -teams. Automobiles had beaten a rough road along the course the steamers -took in summer. A man who had ventured to stock one of the lower islands -with foxes for the sake of their fur, counting on the water to hold them -prisoners, had gone<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span> bankrupt when his stock in trade escaped across the -ice. Bitterly cold and steadily cold, and deep snow lay upon the hills, -blue-white in the distance. The evergreens were blue-black blotches on -this whiteness. The birches, almost indistinguishable, were like trees -in camouflage. To me the hills about Fraternity are never so grand as in -this winter coat they wear. It is easy to believe that a brooding God -dwells upon them. I wondered as I plowed my way down to Hazen Kinch’s -farm whether God did indeed dwell among these hills; and I wondered what -He thought of Hazen Kinch.</p> - -<p>This was no new matter of thought with me. I had given some thought to -Hazen in the past. I was interested in the man and in that which should -come to him. He was, it seemed to me, a problem in fundamental ethics; -he was, as matters stood, a demonstration of the essential uprightness -of things as they are. The biologist would have called him a sport, a -deviation from type, a violation of all the proper laws of life. That -such a man should live and grow great and prosper was not fitting; in a -well-regulated world it could not be. Yet Hazen Kinch did live; he had -grown—in his small way—great; and by our lights he had prospered. -Therefore I watched him. There was about the man the fascination which -clothes a tight-rope walker above Niagara, an aeronaut in the midst of -the nose dive. The spectator stares with half-caught breath, afraid to -see and afraid to miss seeing the ultimate catastrophe. Sometimes I -wondered whether Hazen Kinch suspected this attitude on my part. It was -not impossible. There was a cynical courage in the man; it might have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span> -amused him. Certainly I was the only man who had in any degree his -confidence. I have said there was not another within forty miles whom he -would have given a lift to town; I doubt if there was another man -anywhere for whom he would have done this small favor. He seemed to find -a mocking sort of pleasure in my company.</p> - -<p>When I came to his house he was in the barn harnessing his mare to the -sleigh. The mare was a good animal, fast and strong. She feared and she -hated Hazen. I could see her roll her eyes backward at him as he -adjusted the traces. He called to me without turning:</p> - -<p>“Shut the door! Shut the door! Damn the cold!”</p> - -<p>I slid the door shut behind me. There was within the barn the curious -chill warmth which housed animals generate to protect themselves against -our winters.</p> - -<p>“It will snow,” I told Hazen. “I was not sure you would go.”</p> - -<p>He laughed crookedly, jerking at the trace.</p> - -<p>“Snow!” he exclaimed. “A man would think you were personal manager of -the weather. Why do you say it will snow?”</p> - -<p>“The drift of the clouds—and it’s warmer,” I told him.</p> - -<p>“I’ll not have it snowing,” he said, and looked at me and cackled. He -was a little, thin, old man with meager whiskers and a curious precision -of speech; and I think he got some enjoyment out of watching my -expression at such remarks as this. He elaborated his assumption that -the universe was conducted for his benefit, in order to see my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span> silent -revolt at the suggestion. “I’ll not have it snowing,” he said. “Open the -door.”</p> - -<p>He led the mare out and stopped by the kitchen door.</p> - -<p>“Come in,” he said. “A hot drink.”</p> - -<p>I went with him into the kitchen. His wife was there, and their child. -The woman was lean and frail; and she was afraid of him. The countryside -said he had taken her in payment of a bad debt. Her father had owed him -money which he could not pay.</p> - -<p>“I decided it was time I had a wife,” Hazen used to say to me.</p> - -<p>The child was on the floor. The woman had a drink of milk and egg and -rum, hot and ready for us. We drank, and Hazen knelt beside the child. A -boy baby, not yet two years old. It is an ugly thing to say, but I hated -this child. There was an evil malevolence in his baby eyes. I have -sometimes thought the gray devils must have left just such hate-bred -babes as this in France. Also, he was deformed—a twisted leg. The women -of the neighborhood sometimes said he would be better dead. But Hazen -Kinch loved him. He lifted him in his arms now with a curious passion in -his movement, and the child stared at him sullenly. When the mother came -near, the baby squalled at her, and Hazen said roughly:</p> - -<p>“Stand away! Leave him alone!”</p> - -<p>She moved back furtively; and Hazen asked me, displaying the child: “A -fine boy, eh?”</p> - -<p>I said nothing, and in his cracked old voice he mumbled endearments to -the baby. I had often wondered whether his love for the child redeemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span> -the man; or merely made him vulnerable. Certainly any harm that might -come to the baby would be a crushing blow to Hazen.</p> - -<p>He put the baby down on the floor again and said to the woman curtly: -“Tend him well.” She nodded. There was a dumb submission in her eyes; -but through this blank veil I had seen now and then a blaze of pain.</p> - -<p>Hazen went out of the door without further word to her, and I followed -him. We got into the sleigh, bundling ourselves into the robes for the -six-mile drive along the drifted road to East Harbor. There was a -feeling of storm in the air. I looked at the sky and so did Hazen Kinch. -He guessed what I would have said and he answered me before I could -speak.</p> - -<p>“I’ll not have it snowing,” he said, and leered at me.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, I knew the storm would come. The mare turned out of the -barnyard and plowed through a drift and struck hard-packed road. Her -hoofs beat a swift tattoo; our runners sang beneath us. We dropped to -the little bridge and across and began the mile-long climb to the top of -Rayborn Hill. The road from Hazen’s house to town is compounded of such -ups and downs.</p> - -<p>At the top of the hill we paused for a moment to breathe the mare; -paused just in front of the big old Rayborn house, that has stood there -for more years than most of us remember. It was closed and shuttered and -deserted; and Hazen dipped his whip toward it and said meanly:</p> - -<p>“An ugly, improvident lot, the Rayborns were.”</p> - -<p>I had known only one of them—the eldest son.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span> A fine man, I had thought -him. Picking apples in his orchard, he fell one October and broke his -neck. His widow tried to make a go of the place, but she borrowed of -Hazen and he had evicted her this three months back. It was one of the -lesser evils he had done. I looked at the house and at him, and he -clucked to the mare and we dipped down into the steep valley below the -hill.</p> - -<p>The wind had a sweep in that valley and there was a drift of snow across -it and across the road. This drift was well packed by the wind, but when -we drove over its top our left-hand runner broke through the coaming and -we tumbled into the snow, Hazen and I. We were well entangled in the -rugs. The mare gave a frightened start, but Hazen had held the reins and -the whip so that she could not break away. We got up together, he and I, -and we righted the sleigh and set it upon the road again. I remember -that it was becoming bitter cold and the sun was no longer shining. -There was a steel-grey veil drawn across the bay.</p> - -<p>When the sleigh was upright Hazen went forward and stood beside the -mare. Some men, blaming the beast without reason, would have beaten her. -They would have cursed, cried out upon her. That was not the cut of -Hazen Kinch, But I could see that he was angry and I was not surprised -when he reached up and gripped the horse’s ear. He pulled the mare’s -head down and twisted the ear viciously. All in a silence that was -deadly.</p> - -<p>The mare snorted and tried to rear back and Hazen clapped the butt of -his whip across her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span> knees. She stood still, quivering, and he wrenched -at her ear again.</p> - -<p>“Now,” he said softly, “keep the road.”</p> - -<p>And he returned and climbed to his place beside me in the sleigh. I said -nothing. I might have interfered, but something had always impelled me -to keep back my hand from Hazen Kinch.</p> - -<p>We drove on and the mare was lame. Though Hazen pushed her, we were slow -in coming to town and before we reached Hazen’s office the snow was -whirling down—a pressure of driving, swirling flakes like a heavy white -hand.</p> - -<p>I left Hazen at the stair that led to his office and I went about my -business of the day. He said as I turned away:</p> - -<p>“Be here at three.”</p> - -<p>I nodded. But I did not think we should drive home that afternoon. I had -some knowledge of storms.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>That which had brought me to town was not engrossing. I found time to go -to the stable and see Hazen’s mare. There was an ugly welt across her -knees and some blood had flowed. The stablemen had tended the welt, and -cursed Hazen in my hearing. It was still snowing, and the stable boss, -looking out at the driving flakes, spat upon the ground and said to me:</p> - -<p>“Them legs’ll go stiff. That mare won’t go home to-night.”</p> - -<p>“I think you are right,” I agreed.</p> - -<p>“The white-whiskered skunk!” he said, and I knew he spoke of Hazen.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span></p> - -<p>At a quarter of three I took myself to Hazen Kinch’s office. It was not -much of an office; not that Hazen could not have afforded a better. But -it was up two flights—an attic room ill lighted. A small air-tight -stove kept the room stifling hot. The room was also air-tight. Hazen had -a table and two chairs, and an iron safe in the corner. He put a -pathetic trust in that safe. I believe I could have opened it with a -screwdriver. I met him as I climbed the stairs. He said harshly:</p> - -<p>“I’m going to telephone. They say the road’s impassable.”</p> - -<p>He had no telephone in his office; he used one in the store below. A -small economy fairly typical of Hazen.</p> - -<p>“I’ll wait in the office,” I told him.</p> - -<p>“Go ahead,” he agreed, halfway down the stairs.</p> - -<p>I went up to his office and closed the drafts of the stove—it was -red-hot—and tried to open the one window, but it was nailed fast. Then -Hazen came back up the stairs grumbling.</p> - -<p>“Damn the snow!” he said. “The wire is down.”</p> - -<p>“Where to?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“My house, man! To my house!”</p> - -<p>“You wanted to telephone home that you—”</p> - -<p>“I can’t get home to-night. You’ll have to go to the hotel.”</p> - -<p>I nodded good-naturedly.</p> - -<p>“All right. You, too, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll sleep here,” he said.</p> - -<p>I looked round. There was no bed, no cot, nothing but the two stiff -chairs. He saw my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span> glance and said angrily: “I’ve slept on the floor -before.”</p> - -<p>I was always interested in the man’s mental processes.</p> - -<p>“You wanted to telephone Mrs. Kinch not to worry?” I suggested.</p> - -<p>“Pshaw, let her fret!” said Hazen. “I wanted to ask after my boy.” His -eyes expanded, he rubbed his hands a little, cackling. “A fine boy, sir! -A fine boy!”</p> - -<p>It was then we heard Doan Marshey coming up the stairs. We heard his -stumbling steps as he began the last flight and Hazen seemed to cock his -ears as he listened. Then he sat still and watched the door. The steps -climbed nearer; they stopped in the dim little hall outside the door and -someone fumbled with the knob. When the door opened we saw who it was. I -knew Marshey. He lived a little beyond Hazen on the same road. Lived in -a two-room cabin—it was little more—with his wife and his five -children; lived meanly and pitiably, groveling in the soil for daily -bread, sweating life out of the earth—life and no more. A thin man, -racking thin; a forward-thrusting neck and a bony face and a sad and -drooping mustache about his mouth. His eyes were meek and weary.</p> - -<p>He stood in the doorway blinking at us; and with his gloved hands—they -were stiff and awkward with the cold—he unwound the ragged muffler that -was about his neck and brushed weakly at the snow upon his head and his -shoulders. Hazen said angrily:</p> - -<p>“Come in! Do you want my stove to heat the town?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Doan shuffled in and he shut the door behind him. He said: “Howdy, Mr. -Kinch.” And he smiled in a humble and placating way.</p> - -<p>Hazen said: “What’s your business? Your interest is due.”</p> - -<p>Doan nodded.</p> - -<p>“Yeah. I know, Mr. Kinch. I cain’t pay it all.”</p> - -<p>Kinch exclaimed impatiently: “An old story! How much can you pay?”</p> - -<p>“Eleven dollars and fifty cents,” said Doan.</p> - -<p>“You owe twenty.”</p> - -<p>“I aim to pay it when the hens begin to lay.”</p> - -<p>Hazen laughed scornfully.</p> - -<p>“You aim to pay! Damn you, Marshey, if your old farm was worth taking -I’d have you out in this snow, you old scamp!”</p> - -<p>Doan pleaded dully: “Don’t you do that, Mr. Kinch! I aim to pay.”</p> - -<p>Hazen clapped his hand on the table.</p> - -<p>“Rats! Come! Give me what you’ve got! And Marshey, you’ll have to get -the rest. I’m sick of waiting on you.”</p> - -<p>Marshey came shuffling toward the table. Hazen was sitting with the -table between him and the man, and I was a little behind Hazen at one -side. Marshey blinked as he came nearer, and his weak nearsighted eyes -turned from Hazen to me. I could see that the man was stiff with the -cold.</p> - -<p>When he came to the table in front of Hazen he took off his thick -gloves. His hands were blue. He laid the gloves on the table and reached -into an inner pocket of his torn coat and drew out a little cloth pouch -and he fumbled into this and I heard the clink of coins. He drew out two -quarters<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span> and laid them on the table before Hazen, and Hazen picked them -up. I saw that Marshey’s fingers moved stiffly; I could almost hear them -creak with the cold. Then he reached into the pouch again.</p> - -<p>Something dropped out of the mouth of the little cloth bag and fell -soundlessly on the table. It looked to me like a bill, a piece of paper -currency. I was about to speak, but Hazen without an instant’s -hesitation had dropped his hand on the thing and drawn it -unostentatiously toward him. When he lifted his hand the money—if it -was money—was gone.</p> - -<p>Marshey drew out a little roll of worn bills. Hazen took them out of his -hand and counted them swiftly.</p> - -<p>“All right,” he said. “Eleven-fifty. I’ll give you a receipt. But you -mind me, Doan Marshey, you get the rest before the month’s out. I’ve -been too slack with you.”</p> - -<p>Marshey, his dull eyes watching Hazen write the receipt, was folding the -little pouch and putting it away. Hazen tore off the bit of paper and -gave it to him. Doan took it and he said humbly: “Thank’e, sir.”</p> - -<p>Hazen nodded.</p> - -<p>“Mind now,” he exclaimed, and Marshey said: “I’ll do my best, Mr. -Kinch.”</p> - -<p>Then he turned and shuffled across the room and out into the hall and we -heard him descending the stairs.</p> - -<p>When he was gone I asked Hazen casually: “What was it that he dropped -upon the table?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“A dollar,” said Hazen promptly. “A dollar bill. The miserable fool!”</p> - -<p>Hazen’s mental processes were always of interest to me.</p> - -<p>“You mean to give it back to him?” I asked.</p> - -<p>He stared at me and laughed. “No! If he can’t take care of his own -money—that’s why he is what he is.”</p> - -<p>“Still, it is his money.”</p> - -<p>“He owes me more than that.”</p> - -<p>“Going to give him credit for it?”</p> - -<p>“Am I a fool!” Hazen asked me. “Do I look like so much of a fool?”</p> - -<p>“He may charge you with finding it?”</p> - -<p>“He loses a dollar; I find one. Can he prove ownership? Pshaw!” Hazen -laughed again.</p> - -<p>“If there is any spine in him he will lay the thing to you as a theft,” -I suggested. I was not afraid of angering Hazen. He allowed me open -speech; he seemed to find a grim pleasure in my distaste for him and for -his way of life.</p> - -<p>“If there were any backbone in the man he would not be paying me eighty -dollars a year on a five-hundred-dollar loan—discounted.”</p> - -<p>Hazen grinned at me triumphantly.</p> - -<p>“I wonder if he will come back,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Besides,” Hazen continued, “he lied to me. He told me the eleven-fifty -was all he had.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I agreed. “There is no doubt he lied to you.”</p> - -<p>Hazen had a letter to write and he bent to it. I sat by the stove and -watched him and considered. He had not yet finished the letter when we -heard Marshey returning. His dragging feet on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span> stair were -unmistakable. At the sound of his weary feet some tide of indignation -surged up in me. I was minded to do violence to Hazen Kinch. But again a -deeper impulse held my hand from the man.</p> - -<p>Marshey came in and his weary eyes wandered about the room. They -inspected the floor; they inspected me; they inspected Hazen Kinch’s -table, and they rose at last humbly to Hazen Kinch.</p> - -<p>“Well?” said Hazen.</p> - -<p>“I lost a dollar,” Marshey told him. “I ’lowed I might have dropped it -here.”</p> - -<p>Hazen frowned.</p> - -<p>“You told me eleven-fifty was all you had.”</p> - -<p>“This here dollar wa’n’t mine.”</p> - -<p>The money-lender laughed.</p> - -<p>“Likely! Who would give you a dollar? You lied to me; or you’re lying -now. I don’t believe you lost a dollar.”</p> - -<p>Marshey reiterated weakly: “I lost a dollar.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Hazen, “there’s no dollar of yours here.”</p> - -<p>“It was to git medicine,” Marshey said. “It wa’n’t mine.”</p> - -<p>Hazen Kinch exclaimed: “By God, I believe you’re accusing me!”</p> - -<p>Marshey lifted both hands placatingly.</p> - -<p>“No, Mr. Kinch. No, sir.” His eyes once more wandered about the room. -“Mebbe I dropped it in the snow,” he said.</p> - -<p>He turned to the door. Even in his slow shuffle there was a hint of -trembling eagerness to escape. He went out and down the stairs. Hazen -looked at me, his old face wrinkling mirthfully.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span></p> - -<p>“You see?” he said.</p> - -<p>I left him a little later and went out into the street. On the way to -the hotel I stopped for a cigar at the drug store. Marshey was there, -talking with the druggist.</p> - -<p>I heard the druggist say: “No, Marshey, I’m sorry. I’ve been stung too -often.”</p> - -<p>Marshey nodded, humbly.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t ’low you’d figure to trust me,” he agreed. “It’s all right. I -didn’t ’low you would.”</p> - -<p>It was my impulse to give him the dollar he needed, but I did not do it. -An overpowering compulsion bade me keep my hands off in this matter. I -did not know what I expected but I felt the imminence of the fates. When -I went out into the snow it seemed to me the groan of the gale was like -the slow grind of millstones, one upon the other.</p> - -<p>I thought long upon the matter of Hazen Kinch before sleep came that -night.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Toward morning the snow must have stopped; and the wind increased and -carved the drifts till sunrise, then abruptly died. I met Hazen at the -post office at ten and he said: “I’m starting home.”</p> - -<p>I asked: “Can you get through?”</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>“I will get through,” he told me.</p> - -<p>“You’re in haste.”</p> - -<p>“I want to see that boy of mine,” said Hazen Kinch. “A fine boy, man! A -fine boy!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I’m ready,” I said.</p> - -<p>When we took the road the mare was limping. But she seemed to work out -the stiffness in her knees and after a mile or so of the hard going she -was moving smoothly enough. We made good time.</p> - -<p>The day, as often happens after a storm, was full of blinding sunlight. -The glare of the sun upon the snow was almost unbearable. I kept my eyes -all but closed, but there was so much beauty abroad in the land that I -could not bear to close them altogether. The snow clung to twigs and to -fences and to wires, and a thousand flames glinted from every crystal -when the sun struck down upon the drifts. The pine wood upon the eastern -slope of Rayborn Hill was a checkerboard of rich color. Green and blue -and black and white, indescribably brilliant. When we crossed the bridge -at the foot of the hill we could hear the brook playing beneath the ice -that sheathed it. On the white pages of the snow wild things had writ -here and there the fine-traced tale of their morning’s adventuring. We -saw once where a fox had pinned a big snowshoe rabbit in a drift.</p> - -<p>Hazen talked much of that child of his on the homeward way. I said -little. From the top of the Rayborn Hill we sighted his house and he -laid the whip along the mare and we went down that last long descent at -a speed that left me breathless. I shut my eyes and huddled low in the -robes for protection against the bitter wind, and I did not open them -again till we turned into Hazen’s barnyard, plowing through the unpacked -snow.</p> - -<p>When we stopped Hazen laughed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ha!” he said. “Now, come in, man, and warm yourself and see the baby! A -fine boy!”</p> - -<p>He was ahead of me at the door; I went in upon his heels. We came into -the kitchen together.</p> - -<p>Hazen’s kitchen was also living room and bedroom in the cold of winter. -The arrangement saved firewood. There was a bed against the wall -opposite the door. As we came in a woman got up stiffly from this bed -and I saw that this woman was Hazen’s wife. But there was a change in -her. She was bleak as cold iron and she was somehow strong.</p> - -<p>Hazen rasped at this woman impatiently: “Well, I’m home! Where is the -boy?”</p> - -<p>She looked at him and her lips moved soundlessly. She closed them, -opened them again. This time she was able to speak.</p> - -<p>“The boy?” she said to Hazen. “The boy is dead!”</p> - -<p>The dim-lit kitchen was very quiet for a little time. I felt myself -breathe deeply, almost with relief. The thing for which I had waited—it -had come. And I looked at Hazen Kinch.</p> - -<p>He had always been a little thin man. He was shrunken now and very white -and very still. Only his face twitched. A muscle in one cheek jerked and -jerked and jerked at his mouth. It was as though he controlled a desire -to smile. That jerking, suppressed smile upon his white and tortured -countenance was terrible. I could see the blood drain down from his -forehead, down from his cheeks. He became white as death itself.</p> - -<p>After a little he tried to speak. I do not know what he meant to say. -But what he did was to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span> repeat—as though he had not heard her -words—the question which he had flung at her in the beginning. He said -huskily: “Where is the boy?”</p> - -<p>She looked toward the bed and Hazen looked that way; and then he went -across to the bed with uncertain little steps. I followed him. I saw the -little twisted body there. The woman had been keeping it warm, with her -own body. It must have been in her arms when we came in. The tumbled -coverings, the crushed pillows spoke mutely of a ferocious intensity of -grief.</p> - -<p>Hazen looked down at the little body. He made no move to touch it, but I -heard him whisper to himself: “Fine boy.”</p> - -<p>After a while he looked at the woman. She seemed to feel an accusation -in his eyes. She said: “I did all I could.”</p> - -<p>He asked: “What was it?”</p> - -<p>I had it in me—though I had reason enough to despise the little man—to -pity Hazen Kinch.</p> - -<p>“He coughed,” said the woman. “I knew it was croup. You know I asked you -to get the medicine—ipecac. You said no matter—no need—and you had -gone.”</p> - -<p>She looked out of the window.</p> - -<p>“I went for help—to Anne Marshey. Her babies had had it. Her husband -was going to town and she said he would get the medicine for me. She did -not tell him it was for me. He would not have done it for you. He did -not know. So I gave her a dollar to give him—to bring it out to me.</p> - -<p>“He came home in the snow last night. Baby was bad by that time, so I -was watching for Doan. I stopped him in the road and I asked for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span> -medicine. When he understood, he told me. He had not brought it.”</p> - -<p>The woman was speaking dully, without emotion.</p> - -<p>“It would have been in time, even then,” she said. “But after a while, -after that, baby died.”</p> - -<p>I understood in that moment the working of the mills. And when I looked -at Hazen Kinch I saw that he, too, was beginning to understand. There is -a just mercilessness in an aroused God. Hazen Kinch was driven to -questions.</p> - -<p>“Why—didn’t Marshey fetch it?” he asked.</p> - -<p>She said slowly: “They would not trust him—at the store.”</p> - -<p>His mouth twitched, he raised his hands.</p> - -<p>“The money!” he cried. “The money! What did he do with that?”</p> - -<p>“He said,” the woman answered, “that he lost it—in your office; lost -the money there.”</p> - -<p>After a little the old money-lender leaned far back like a man wrenched -with agony. His body was contorted, his face was terrible. His dry mouth -opened wide.</p> - -<p>He screamed!</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>Halfway up the hill to my house I stopped to look back and all round. -The vast hills in their snowy garments looked down upon the land, upon -the house of Hazen Kinch. Still and silent and inscrutable.</p> - -<p>I knew now that a just and brooding God dwelt among these hills.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="OLD_TANTRYBOGUS" id="OLD_TANTRYBOGUS"></a>OLD TANTRYBOGUS</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>O this day, when Chet McAusland tells the tale his voice becomes husky -and his eyes are likely to fill—and, “It was murder,” he will say when -he is done. “I felt like a murderer and that’s what I was. But it was -too late then.” Sometimes his listeners are silent, appearing to agree -with him. More often, those to whom he speaks seek to reassure him, for -it is plain to any man that there is no murder in Chet, nor any malice -nor anything but a very human large-heartedness toward every man and -beast.</p> - -<p>In Tantry’s time Chet was a bachelor living alone at his farm above -Fraternity, cooking and caring for himself, managing well enough. He had -been a granite cutter, a fisherman upon the Banks, a keeper of bees. Now -he farmed his rocky hillside farm. He was a man of middle age—a small -man with a firm jaw and a pair of bushy eyebrows and deep-set piercing -eyes. When he laughed he had a way of setting his head firmly back upon -his neck, his chin pressed down, and his laughter was robust and free -and fine. I have spoken of his occupations; he had also avocations. All -his life he had fished, had hunted, had traversed the forests far and -wide. A man who loved the open, loved the woods, loved the very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span> imprint -of a deer’s hoof in the mud along the river. A good companion, -open-hearted, with never an evil word for any man.</p> - -<p>He was, as has been said, a bachelor; but this was not of Chet’s own -choosing, as at least one person in Fraternity well knew. Old -Tantrybogus knew also—knew even in the days when he was called young -Job. He knew his mistress as well as he knew his master; knew her as -truly as though she dwelt already at the farm upon the hill. Between her -and Chet was his allegiance divided. None other shared it ever, even to -the end.</p> - -<p>Chet as a bachelor kept open house at his farm upon the hill and this -was especially true when there was fishing or gunning to be had. A -Rockland man came one October for the woodcock shooting. He and Chet -found sport together and found—each in the other—a friend. The -Rockland man had fetched with him a she dog of marvelous craft and from -her next litter he sent a pup to Chet. In honor of the giver Chet called -the dog Job. And Job—Old Tantrybogus that was to be—learned that the -farm upon the hill was his world and his home.</p> - -<p>Chet’s farm, numbering some eighty acres, included meadows that cut -thirty or forty tons of hay; it included ample pasturage for a dozen -cows; and it ran down to the George’s River behind the barn, through a -patch of hardwood growth that furnished Chet with firewood for the -cutting—a farm fairly typical of Fraternity. No man might grow rich -upon its fruits, but any man with a fair measure of industry could draw -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span> pleasant living from it and find time for venturing along the brooks -for trout or through the alder runs after woodcock or into the swamps -for deer, according to the season. From the wall that bounds the orchard -you may look down to where the little village lies along the river. A -dozen or so of houses, each scrupulously neat and scrupulously painted; -a white church with its white spire rising above the trees; the mill -straddling the river just below the bridge, and a store or two. Will -Bissell’s store is just above the bridge, serving as market place and -forum. The post office is there, and there after supper the year round -Fraternity foregathers.</p> - -<p>In Fraternity most men own dogs; not the cross-bred and worthless brutes -characteristic of small towns in less favored countrysides, but setters -of ancient stock or hounds used to the trail of fox or rabbit. Now and -then you will see a collie or a pointer, though these breeds are rare. -Utilitarian dogs—dogs which have tasks to do and know their tasks and -do them.</p> - -<p>Most men in Fraternity own or have owned some single wonderful dog of -which they love to tell—a dog above all other dogs for them, a dog -whose exploits they lovingly recount. And it was to come to pass that -Job, better known as Old Tantrybogus, should be such a dog to Chet -McAusland.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>Your true setter is born, not made. The instincts of his craft are a -part of his birthright. Nevertheless they must be guided and cultivated<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span> -and developed. There are men whose profession it is to train bird dogs, -or as the phrase goes, to break them. With some of these men it is a -breaking indeed, for they carry a lash into the field, nor spare to use -it. Others work more gently to a better end. But any man may make his -dog what he will if he have patience coupled with the gift of teaching -the dog to understand his wishes.</p> - -<p>Chet decided to train Job himself. He set about it when the pup was some -six months old, at a season when winter was settling down upon the farm -and there were idle hours on his hands. He had kept as trophies of the -gunning season just past the head and the wings of a woodcock. These he -bound into a ball of soft and woolly yarn and on a certain day he called -Job to his knee and made him sniff and smell this ball until the puppy -knew the scent of it. Job wished to tear and rend the pleasantly soft -and yielding plaything, but Chet forbade this by stern word, backed by -restraining hand, till the pup seemed to understand.</p> - -<p>Then he looped about the dog’s neck a stout cord and he held this cord -in his hand, the pup at his feet, while he tossed the woolen ball across -the kitchen floor. The pup turned and leaped after the ball.</p> - -<p>Before he could make a second jump Chet said sharply, “Whoa!”</p> - -<p>And he snubbed the cord he held so that Job was brought up short in a -tumbling heap, his toe nails scratching on the floor.</p> - -<p>Chet got up and crossed and picked up the ball; he returned to his -chair, called the pup to his knee, tossed the ball again. Again Job -darted after it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span> and again Chet said, “Whoa,” and checked Job with the -cord. At which the puppy, with the utmost singleness of purpose, caught -the cord in his mouth, squatted on the floor and set about gnawing his -bonds in two. Chet laughed at him, called him in, fetched the ball, and -tried again.</p> - -<p>After Chet had checked him half a dozen times with voice and string the -pup sat on its small haunches, looked at Chet with his head on one side -and wrinkled its furry brow in thought. And Chet repeated slowly over -and over:</p> - -<p>“Whoa, Job! Whoa! Whoa!”</p> - -<p>The lesson was not learned on the first day or the second or the third. -But before the week was gone Job had learned this much: That when Chet -said “Whoa” he must stop, or be stopped painfully. Being a creature of -intelligence, Job thereafter stopped; and when he was sure the pup -understood, Chet applauded him and fed him and made much of him.</p> - -<p>One day in the middle of the second week, Job having checked at the word -of command, Chet waited for a moment and then said, “Go on!”</p> - -<p>Job looked round at Chet, and the man motioned with his hand and -repeated, “Go on, Job!”</p> - -<p>The pup a little doubtfully moved toward where lay the woolly ball. When -he was within a yard of it Chet said again, “Whoa!”</p> - -<p>When he stopped this time he did not look back at Chet but watched the -ball, and Chet after a single glance threw back his head and laughed -aloud and cried to himself, “Now ain’t that comical?”</p> - -<p>For Job, a six-months’ puppy, was on his first<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span> point. Head low and -flattened, nose on a line toward the ball, legs stiff, tail straight out -behind with faintly drooping tip, the pup was motionless as a graven -dog—a true setter in every line.</p> - -<p>And Chet laughed aloud.</p> - -<p>This laughter was a mistake, for at the sound the pup leaped forward, -the cord slipped through Chet’s fingers and the dog caught the woolly -ball and began to worry it. Chet, still laughing, took the ball from -him, caressed him, praised him and ended the lesson for that day. And by -so doing he permitted the birth in Job of one fault which he would never -be able to overcome. The pup supposed he had been applauded for -capturing the woolly ball and that notion would never altogether die in -his dog brain. Job would break shot, as the gunners say, till the end of -his days.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>By October of his second year Job was sufficiently educated to be called -a good working dog. He would stop at the word of command; he would -swerve to right or left at a hand gesture; he would come to heel; he -would point and hold his point as long as the bird would lie. He was a -natural retriever, though Chet had to correct a tendency to chop the -object that was retrieved. The man did this by thrusting through and -through the woolen teaching ball a dozen long darning needles. When the -dog, retrieving this ball, closed his jaws too harshly these needles -pricked his tender mouth. He learned to lift the ball as lightly as a -feather; he developed a mouth as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span> soft as a woman’s hand; and even in -his second year he would at command retrieve an egg which Chet rolled -across the kitchen floor and never chip the shell.</p> - -<p>His one fault, his trick of breaking shot, was buttressed and built into -the dog’s very soul by an incident which occurred in his first year’s -hunting. He and Chet left the farmhouse one afternoon and started down -through the fringe of woodland toward the river. It was near sunset. -Chet had his gun, and as he expected, they found game; Chet had ample -warning when he saw Job stiffen at half point, his tail twitching. He -watched until the dog began to move forward with slow steps, and he said -to himself, “He’s roding a pa’tridge. I knew there’d be one here.”</p> - -<p>Job’s head was high, evidence in itself that he had located partridge -rather than woodcock. Chet skirted the fringe in the open land, studying -the ground well ahead of the dog, alert for the burst of drumming wings. -He moved quietly and Job moved among the trees, his feet stirring the -leaves. The dog was tense; so was the man. And presently the dog froze -again, this time in true point, tail rigid as an iron bar.</p> - -<p>Chet knew that meant the partridge had squatted, would run no more. -Forced to move now, the bird would fly. He waited for a long half -minute, but the partridge waited also. So Chet, rather than walk in -among the trees and spoil his chance for a shot, stooped to pick up a -stone, intending to toss it in and frighten the bird to wing.</p> - -<p>When he stooped, out of position to shoot, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span> heard the drum of pinions -and saw rise not one partridge but two. They swept across the open below -him, unbelievably swift, and Chet whipped up his gun and fired once and -then again. And never a feather fell. The birds on set wings glided out -of his sight into the edge of an evergreen growth down the hill where it -would be hopeless to try for a shot at them again.</p> - -<p>And Job pursued them. As the birds rose the dog had raced forward. As -they disappeared among the tops of the low hemlocks the dog went out of -sight after them. Ejecting the empty shells from his gun, Chet swore at -himself for his poor shooting and swore at Job for breaking shot and -loudly commanded the dog to return. Job did not do so; did not even -respond when Chet put his whistle to his lips and blew. So the man -started after the dog, whose bell he could faintly hear, and promised to -find Job and teach him a thing he needed to know. He started toward the -cover, whistling and shouting for Job to come to heel.</p> - -<p>When he was half way across the open Job did emerge from the shelter of -the evergreens, and he came toward Chet at a swift trot, head held high. -Chet started to abuse him. And then when the dog was still half a dozen -rods away he saw that Job carried a cock partridge in his mouth. The -bird, wounded unto death, had flown to the last wing beat far into the -wood. And Job pursuing had found the game and was fetching it in.</p> - -<p>For consistency’s sake and for the dog’s sake Chet should still have -punished Job—should still<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span> have made him understand that to break shot -was iniquity. But—Chet was human and much too warm-hearted to be a -disciplinarian. Perhaps he is not to be blamed for praising Job after -all. Certainly the man did praise the dog, so that Job’s dog brain was -given again to understand that if he chased a bird and caught it he -would be applauded. The fault dwelt in him thereafter.</p> - -<p>“I tried to break him all his life,” Chet will say. “I put a rope on him -and a choke collar and I shook him up—everything I knew. It wan’t no -good. But it was my fault in the beginning. I never really blamed Old -Tantry—never could.”</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>This is not properly the story of Job’s youth or of his life, but of his -aging and the death of him. Nevertheless there was much in his life that -was worth the telling. His reputation rests not on Chet’s word -alone—the village knew him and was proud of him. His renown began in -his third year in deep winter when Chet and Jim Saladine went fishing -one day through the ice on Sebacook Pond. Chet and Saladine became -separated, one on either side of the lower end of the pond, and Jim had -the pail of bait. Chet made Job go after the pail clear across the pond -and fetch it to him and take it back to Saladine again. The dog’s -sagacity and understanding, evidenced then and chronicled by Saladine at -Bissell’s store that night, were to wax thereafter for half a dozen -years; and even when the dog grew old his understanding never waned.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was in his ninth year that Job had his greatest day—a day into which -he crowded epic deeds enough to make heroes of half a dozen dogs. And -the tale of that day may perhaps be worth the telling.</p> - -<p>Chet had taken Job out the night before to try for a partridge in the -fringes of the wood below the farm. They were late in starting, but -within fifteen minutes Job was marking game and just at sunset the bird -rose and wheeled toward the thickets of the wood. Chet had a snap shot; -he took it and he saw the bird’s legs drop and dangle before it -disappeared. He knew what that meant. A body wound, a deadly wound. The -bird would fly so long as its wings would function, then set its pinions -and glide in a long slant to earth, and when it struck ground it would -be dead.</p> - -<p>He sent Job into the wood, himself followed the dog, and he was in -haste, for dark was already coming down. He hunted till he could no -longer see—found nothing. In the end he called Job in, and the dog -reluctantly abandoned the search at Chet’s command and followed his -master back to the farm.</p> - -<p>Two Rockland men telephoned that evening asking if they might come to -the farm next day and try for birds; and Chet, who can always find time -for a day’s gunning, bade them come. Doctor Gunther, who was -telephoning, said: “Hayes and I’ll be there by half past eight. Mind if -we bring our dogs?”</p> - -<p>“Mind? No,” said Chet. “Sure!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“They’re wild,” said the doctor, “but I’d like to have them work with -Job—do them good.”</p> - -<p>“Best thing in the world for them,” Chet agreed. “Let them back him on a -few points and it’ll steady them. I’ll look for you.”</p> - -<p>In the morning he rose early and busied himself with his chores so that -he might be ready when the hunters came. It was not an ideal hunting -day. The morning was lowery and overcast and warm and there was a wind -from the east that promised fog or rain. With an eye on the clouds Chet -worked swiftly. He fed Job in the shed where the dog usually slept and -it chanced that he left the door latched so that Job was a prisoner -until the others arrived. They were a little ahead of time and Chet -asked them to wait a little. He had been picking apples in the orchard -behind the shed and he took them out there to see the full barrels of -firm fruit. Job went out into the orchard with them and no one of the -men noticed that the dog slipped away beyond the barn toward the woods.</p> - -<p>When a little later they were ready to start Chet missed the dog. He is -a profane man, and he swore and whistled and called. Hayes, the man who -had come with Gunther, winked at the doctor and asked Chet: “Is he a -self-hunter? Has he gone off on his own?”</p> - -<p>“Never did before,” Chet said hotly. His heat was for Job, not for -Hayes. “I’ll teach him something!”</p> - -<p>He went out behind the barn, still whistling and calling, and the others -followed him. Their dogs were in the car in which they had come from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span> -Rockland. The three men walked across the garden to the brow of the hill -above the river and Chet blew his whistle till he was purple of -countenance. The other two were secretly amused, as men are apt to be -amused when they find that an idol has feet of clay. For Job was a -famous dog.</p> - -<p>Hayes it was who caught first sight of him and said, “There he comes -now.”</p> - -<p>They all looked and saw Job loping heavily up the slope through an open -fringe of birches. But it was not till he scrambled over the wall that -they saw he bore something in his mouth.</p> - -<p>Hayes said, “He’s got a woodchuck.”</p> - -<p>Chet, with keener eyes, stared for a moment, then exclaimed exultantly: -“He’s got that partridge I killed down there last night! I knew that -bird was dead.”</p> - -<p>They were still incredulous, even after he told them how he had shot the -bird the night before.</p> - -<p>They were incredulous until Job came near enough for them all to see, -came trotting to Chet and proudly dropped the splendid bird at his -master’s feet. When they could no longer doubt they exclaimed. For such -a feat is alone enough to found a dog reputation on.</p> - -<p>As for Chet, though he was swelled with pride, he made light of the -matter.</p> - -<p>“You’ll see him work to-day though,” he said. “The scent lies on a day -like this. But it’ll rain by noon—we want to get started.”</p> - -<p>They did get started and without more delay. They went in the car, and -after a mile or so stopped on a rocky ledge beside the road at what<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span> -Chet was used to call the Dummy Cover—an expanse of half a dozen acres -tangled with alders and birches and thorn and dotted with wild apple -trees here and there. Two or three low knolls lifted their heads above -the muck of the lower land—an ideal place for woodcock when the flight -was on.</p> - -<p>The men got out and belled their dogs and old Job stood quietly at -Chet’s heel while Chet filled his pockets with shells. The other dogs -were racing and plunging, breaking across the wall, returning -impatiently at command, racing away again. When they were ready the -three men went through the bars, and with a gesture Chet sent Job into -an alder run to the right. The great dog began his systematic zigzagging -progress, designed to cover every foot of the ground, while the younger -dogs circled and scuffled and darted about him, nosing here and there, -wild with the excitement of the hunt.</p> - -<p>Such dogs flush many birds and one of these dogs flushed a woodcock now -fifty yards ahead of where old Job was working. The bird started to -circle back, saw the men and veered away again. Though the range was -never less than forty yards, Chet, who had a heavy far-shooting gun, -took a snap shot through the alder tops as the bird turned in flight and -he saw it jump slightly in the air as though the sound of the gun had -startled it. Chet knew what that little break in its flight had meant -and he watched the bird as long as he could see it and marked where it -scaled to earth at last in the deeps of the cover ahead of them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was while his attention was thus distracted that Job disappeared. -When Chet had reloaded he looked round for the dog and Job was gone. He -listened and heard no sound of Job’s bell. He blew his whistle and blew -again. The other two dogs came galloping to their masters, heads up, -eyes questioning, but Job did not appear.</p> - -<p>The man Hayes said: “He’s gone off alone. I wouldn’t have a dog I -couldn’t keep in.”</p> - -<p>Chet looked at him with a flare of his native temper in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“He’s got a bird,” said Chet. “He’s right here somewhere and he’s got a -bird.”</p> - -<p>He turned and began to push his way into the alders and the other two -men kept pace with him, one on either side. It was hard going; they -could see only a little way. Now and then Chet whistled again, but for -the most part they went quietly. Woodcock may not be found in open -stubble like the obliging quail. You will come upon them singly or by -twos in wet alder runs or upon birch-clad knolls or even in the shelter -of a clump of evergreens—in thick cover almost always, where it is -difficult for a man to shoot; and the bird must usually be killed before -it has gone twenty yards in flight or it goes scot-free.</p> - -<p>In such a cover as this the men were now hunting for Job; and at the end -of fifteen minutes, in which they had worked back and forth and to and -fro without discovering the dog, Hayes and the doctor were ready to give -up.</p> - -<p>“Call him in,” Hayes told Chet. “Maybe we’ll see the bird get up. We -can’t find him and we’re wasting time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Chet hesitated, then he said: “I’ll shoot. Maybe that’ll scare up the -bird.”</p> - -<p>On the last word his gun roared and through its very echoes each of the -three men heard the tinkle of a bell, and Chet, who was nearest, cried: -“There he is! Careful! The bird’s moving.”</p> - -<p>The dog was in the very center of the cover they had traversed—in a -little depression where he chanced to be well hidden. They had passed -within twenty feet of him, yet had he held his point. Hayes was the -first to do homage.</p> - -<p>“By gad,” he cried, “that is some dog, McAusland!”</p> - -<p>“You be ready to shoot,” Chet retorted. “I’ll walk up the bird.”</p> - -<p>They said they were ready; he moved in to one side of Job and the -woodcock got up on whistling wings. Hayes’ first shot knocked him down.</p> - -<p>Job found another bird a little farther on and Chet killed it before it -topped the alders. Then they approached the spot where he had marked -down that first woodcock, the one which had been flushed by the -too-rangy dogs. He called Job, pointed, said briefly: “Find dead bird, -Job.”</p> - -<p>The dog went in, began to work. When the other men came up Chet said: “I -think I hurt that first bird. He dropped in here. Job will find him.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s send the other dogs in, too,” Hayes suggested. “Mine hasn’t -learned retrieving yet.”</p> - -<p>Chet nodded and the other two dogs plunged into the cover to one side of -Job and began to circle, loping noisily. Job looked toward them<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span> with an -air of almost human disgust at such incompetency, then went on with his -business of finding the bird.</p> - -<p>The men, watching, saw then a curious thing: they saw old Job freeze in -a point and as he did so the other dogs charged toward him. One, -Gunther’s, caught the scent ten feet away and froze. The other -hesitated, then came on—and Job growled, a warning deadly growl. The -other dog stopped still.</p> - -<p>Chet exclaimed: “Now ain’t that comical? Hear old Job tell him to -freeze?”</p> - -<p>Hayes nodded and the three stood for a moment, watching the motionless -dogs, silent. Then the young dog stirred again and Job moved forward two -paces and flattened his head so low it almost touched the ground -and—growled again.</p> - -<p>Chet laughed.</p> - -<p>“All right, Job,” he called. “Dead bird! Fetch it in!”</p> - -<p>Job did not move, and Hayes said: “Maybe it’s not dead.</p> - -<p>“I’ll walk in,” Chet told him. “I won’t shoot. You do the shooting.”</p> - -<p>They nodded and he began to work in through the alders toward where Job -stood. The others waited in vantage points outside. Chet came abreast of -Job and stopped. But the dog stood still, and this surprised Chet, for -Job was accustomed to rush forward, flushing up the bird as soon as he -knew that Chet was near at hand. So the man studied the ground ahead of -Job’s nose, trying to locate the bird; and he moved forward a step or -two cautiously and at last began to beat<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span> to and fro, expecting every -minute to hear the whistle of the woodcock’s wings as it rose.</p> - -<p>Nothing happened. The two younger dogs broke point with a careless air -as though to say they had not been pointing at all; that they had merely -been considering the matter. They began to move about in the alders. And -at last Chet, half convinced that Job was on a false point, turned to -his dog and said harshly: “There’s nothing here, Job. Come out of it. -Come along. Come in.”</p> - -<p>Job watched Chet, but did not move. His lower jaw was fairly resting on -the ground, and Chet exclaimed impatiently and stooped and caught his -collar to drag him away. When he did this he saw the bird—saw its -spreading wing beneath Job’s very jaw—and he reached down and lifted -it, stone dead, from where it lay. Not till Chet had taken up the -woodcock did Job stir, but when he saw it safe in his master’s hand he -shook himself, looked at the other dogs with a triumphant cock of his -ears and turned and trotted on down the run.</p> - -<p>They left that cover presently, put in an hour in the Fuller pasture, -where a partridge and two woodcock fell to their guns, and then drove -back to the farm. It was beginning to rain—the thick brush soaked them. -Chet bade them come and have dinner at the farm and wait on the chance -that the afternoon would see a clearing sky. So they had a dinner of -Chet’s cooking, and afterward they sat upon the side veranda watching -the rain, smoking.</p> - -<p>Chet McAusland is an extravagantly generous<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span> man. If you go fishing with -him you take home both your fish and his own. He will not have it -otherwise. Likewise if you go into the covers the birds are yours.</p> - -<p>“Sho, I can get woodcock any time! You take them,” he will say. “Go on -now.”</p> - -<p>And it is so obvious that he is happier in giving than in keeping that -he usually has his way.</p> - -<p>After dinner he brought out the birds that had been killed in the -morning and laid them on an empty chair beside him and began to tie -their legs together so that they could be conveniently handled. Job was -on the floor a yard away, apparently asleep. The men were talking. And -Job growled.</p> - -<p>Chet looked down, saw there were kittens about—there were always -kittens at the farm—and reproved Job for growling at the kits. He was a -little surprised, for Job usually paid no attention to them, even -permitted them to eat from his plate. He said good-naturedly: “What are -you doing, Job? Scaring that little kitten? Ain’t you ashamed!”</p> - -<p>Job was so far from being ashamed that he barked loudly and Chet bent to -cuff him into silence. Then he saw and laughed aloud. “Now ain’t that -comical!” he demanded. “Look a-there!”</p> - -<p>One of the kittens under Chet’s very chair was laboring heavily, trying -to drag away a woodcock that seemed twice as large as itself. The other -men laughed; Chet rescued the woodcock; the kitten fled and Job beamed -with satisfaction and slapped his tail upon the floor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span></p> - -<p>Hayes cried: “By gad, McAusland, that dog has sense! I’d like to buy -him.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t want to buy him. He’s getting old. He won’t be able to hunt -much longer.”</p> - -<p>“Is he for sale?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you don’t want him,” Chet said uncomfortably. He hated to refuse -any man anything.</p> - -<p>“I’ll give you three hundred for him,” said Hayes.</p> - -<p>Now three hundred dollars was as much cash as Chet was like to see in a -year’s time, but—Job was Job. He hesitated, not because the offer -attracted him but because he did not wish to refuse Hayes. He hesitated, -but in the end he said, “You don’t want old Job.”</p> - -<p>Gunther touched Hayes’ arm, caught his eye, shook his head; and Hayes -forbore to push the matter. But he could not refrain from praising Job.</p> - -<p>“I never saw as good a dog!” he declared.</p> - -<p>“He is a good dog,” Chet agreed. “He’ll break shot, but that’s his only -out. He’s staunch, he’ll mind, he works close in and he’s the best -retriever in the County.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t lose many birds with him,” Hayes agreed.</p> - -<p>“I can throw a pebble from here right over the barn and he’ll fetch it -in,” said Chet. “There’s nothing he won’t bring—if I tell him to.”</p> - -<p>Gunther laughed.</p> - -<p>“You’re taking in a good deal of territory, Chet.”</p> - -<p>“I could tell you some things he’s done that would surprise you,” Chet -declared.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span></p> - -<p>Hayes chuckled.</p> - -<p>“Let’s try him out,” he suggested.</p> - -<p>“All right.”</p> - -<p>Hayes pointed toward the barn. The great doors were open and a yellow -and black cat was coming through the barn toward them. As Hayes pointed -her out she sat down in the doorway and began to lick her breast fur -down.</p> - -<p>“Have him fetch the cat,” said Hayes.</p> - -<p>Chet laughed. He stooped and touched the dog’s head.</p> - -<p>“Job,” he said, “come here.”</p> - -<p>Job got up and stood at Chet’s knee, looking up into his master’s face, -tail wagging slowly to and fro. Chet waved his hand toward the barn.</p> - -<p>“Go fetch the cat,” he said. “Go fetch the cat, Job.” The dog looked -toward the barn, looked up at Chet again. Chet repeated, “Fetch the cat, -Job.”</p> - -<p>And the dog, a little doubtfully, left them and walked toward the barn. -The cat saw Job coming, but was not afraid. They were old friends. All -creatures were friends on Chet’s farm. It rose as Job approached and -rubbed against his legs. Job stood still, uncertain; he looked back at -Chet, looked down at the cat, looked back at Chet.</p> - -<p>“Fetch, Job!” Chet called.</p> - -<p>Then the dog in a matter of fact way that delighted the three men on the -porch closed his jaws over the cat’s back, at the shoulder. The cat may -have been astonished, but it is cat instinct to hang quietly when lifted -in this wise. It made no more than a muffled protest; it hung<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span> in a -furry ball, head drawn up, paws close against its body.</p> - -<p>Job brought the cat gravely to Chet’s knee, and Chet took it from his -mouth and soothed it and applauded Job.</p> - -<p>“I’ll give you five hundred for that dog,” said Hayes.</p> - -<p>“You don’t want to buy him,” Chet replied slowly, and the two men saw -that there was a fierce pride in his eyes.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>A dog does not live as long as a man and this natural law is the fount -of many tears. If boy and puppy might grow to manhood and doghood -together, and together grow old, and so in due course die, full many a -heartache might be avoided. But the world is not so ordered, and dogs -will die and men will weep for them so long as there are dogs and men.</p> - -<p>A setter may live a dozen years—may live fifteen. Job lived fourteen -years. But the years of his prime were only seven, less than his share, -for in his sixth year he had distemper and hunted not at all then or the -year thereafter. For months through his long convalescence he was too -weak to walk and Chet used to go in the morning and lift the dog from -his bed in the barn into a wheelbarrow; and he would wheel Job around -into the sun where he might lie quietly the long day through. But in his -eighth year he was himself again—and in his ninth and tenth he hunted.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span></p> - -<p>When he was eleven years old his eyes failed him. The eye is the first -target of old age in a setter. It fails while the nose is still keen. In -August of Job’s eleventh year he went into the fields with Chet one day -when Chet was haying, and because the day was fine the dog was full of -life, went at a gallop to and fro across the field.</p> - -<p>Chet had begun to fear that Job was aging; he watched the dog now, -somewhat reassured; and he said to Jim Saladine, who was helping him, -“There’s life in the old dog yet.”</p> - -<p>“Look at that!” said Saladine.</p> - -<p>But Chet had seen. Job going full tilt across the field had run headlong -into a bowlder as big as a barrel, which rose three feet above the -stubble. He should have seen it clear across the field; he had not seen -it at all. They heard his yelp of pain at the blow upon his tender nose -and saw him get up and totter in aimless circles. Chet ran toward him, -comforted him.</p> - -<p>The dog was not stone blind, but his sight was almost gone. It must have -gone suddenly, though Chet looking backward could see that he should -have guessed before. Job was half stunned by the blow he had received -and he followed Chet to the barn and lay down on a litter of hay there -and seemed glad to rest. Chet, his eyes opened by what had happened, -seemed to see the marks of age very plain upon the old dog of a sudden.</p> - -<p>He took him into the covers that fall once or twice and Job’s nose -functioned as marvelously as ever. But Chet could not bear to see the -old dog blundering here and there, colliding with every obstacle that -offered itself. After the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span> third trial he gave up and hunted no more -that fall. He even refused to go out with others when they brought their -dogs.</p> - -<p>“My old Job can’t hunt any more,” he would say. “I don’t seem to enjoy -it any more myself. I guess I’ll not go out to-day.”</p> - -<p>Hayes was one of those who tried to persuade Chet to take the field. An -abiding friendship had grown up between these two. And late in October -Hayes brought another puppy to the farm.</p> - -<p>“He’ll never be the dog Job was,” he told Chet. “But he’s a well-blooded -dog.”</p> - -<p>“There won’t ever be another Job,” Chet agreed. “But—I’m obliged for -the puppy—and he’ll be company for Job.”</p> - -<p>He called the new dog Mac and he set about Mac’s training that winter, -but his heart was not in it. That Job should grow old made Chet feel his -own years heavy upon him. He was still in middle life, as hale as any -man of twenty. But—Job was growing old and Chet’s heart was heavy.</p> - -<p>Mary Thurman in the village—it was she whom Job called his -mistress—saw the sorrow in Chet. She was full of sympathetic -understanding of the man. They were as truly one as though they had been -married these dozen years.</p> - -<p>Annie Bissell, Will Bissell’s wife, said to her once: “Why don’t you -marry him, Mary? Land knows, you’ve loved him long enough.”</p> - -<p>Mary Thurman told her: “He don’t need me. He’s always lived alone and -been comfortable enough and never known the need of a woman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span> I’ll marry -no man that don’t know he needs me and tells me so.”</p> - -<p>“Land knows, he needs someone to rid up that house of his. It’s a mess,” -the other woman said.</p> - -<p>“Chet don’t need me,” Mary insisted. “When he needs me I reckon I’ll go -to him.”</p> - -<p>She saw now the sorrow in Chet’s eyes and she tried to talk him out of -it and to some extent succeeded.</p> - -<p>Chet laughed a little, rubbed Job’s head, said slowly: “I hate to see -the old dog get old, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“Sho,” said Mary, “he’s just beginning to enjoy living. Don’t have to -work any more.”</p> - -<p>In the end she did bring some measure of comfort to Chet. And it was she -who christened Job anew. He and Chet came down one evening, stopped on -their way for the mail, and she greeted Chet and to the dog said, -“Hello, Old Tantrybogus.”</p> - -<p>Chet looked at her, asked what she meant.</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” Mary told him. “He just looks like an old tantrybogus, that’s -all.”</p> - -<p>“What is a tantrybogus?” Chet asked. “I don’t believe there’s any such -thing.”</p> - -<p>“Well, if there was he’d look like one,” said Mary.</p> - -<p>The name took hold. Mary always used it; Chet himself took it up. By the -time Job was twelve years old he was seldom called anything else.</p> - -<p>Chet had expected that Mac, the young dog, would prove a companion for -Job, but at first it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span> seemed he would be disappointed. To begin with, -Job was jealous; he sulked when Chet paid Mac attention and was a -scornful spectator at Mac’s training sessions. This early jealousy came -to a head about the time Mac got his full stature—in a fight over a -field mouse. It happened in the orchard, where Chet was piling hay round -his trees. Mac dug the mouse out of the grass, Old Tantrybogus stole it -and Mac went for him.</p> - -<p>Tantry was old, but strength was still in him, and some measure of -craft. He got a neck hold and it is probable he would have killed Mac -then and there if Chet had not interfered. As it was, Chet broke the -hold, punished both dogs and chained them up for days till by every -language a dog can muster they promised him to behave themselves. They -never fought again. Mac had for Tantry a deep respect; Job had for -Mac—having established his ascendancy—a mild and elderly affection.</p> - -<p>In Tantry’s thirteenth year during the haying Mac caught a mouse one day -and brought it and gave it to the older dog; and Chet, who saw the -incident, slapped his knee and cried, “Now ain’t that comical?”</p> - -<p>About his twelfth year old Tantry’s bark had begun to change. Little by -little it lost the deeper notes of the years of his prime; it lost the -certainty and decision which were always a part of the dog. It began to -crack, as an old man’s voice quavers and cracks. A shrill querulous note -was born in it. Before he was thirteen his bark had an inhuman sound and -Chet could hardly bear to hear it. On gunning days while Chet was -pre<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span>paring to take the field with Mac, Old Tantrybogus would dance -unsteadily round him, barking this hoarse, shrill, delighted bark.</p> - -<p>It was like seeing an old man gamboling; it was age aping youth. There -was something pitiful in it, and Chet used to swear and chain Tantry to -his kennel and bid him—abusively—be still.</p> - -<p>The chain always silenced Tantry. He would lie in the kennel, head on -his paws in the doorway, and watch Chet and Mac start away, with never a -sound. And at night when they came home Chet would show him the birds -and Tantry would snuffle at them eagerly, then hide his longing under a -mask of condescension as though to say that woodcock had been of better -quality in his day.</p> - -<p>In his thirteenth year age overpowered Tantry. His coat by this time was -long; it hung in fringes from his thin flanks, through which the arched -ribs showed. His head drooped, his tail dragged; his long hair was -clotted into tangles here and there, because he was grown too old to -keep himself in order. The joints of his legs were weak and he was -splayfooted, his feet spreading out like braces on either side of him. -When he walked he weaved like a drunken man; when he ran he collided -with anything from a fence post to the barn itself. His eyes were -rheumy. And he was pathetically affectionate, pushing his nose along -Chet’s knee, smearing Chet’s trousers with his long white hairs. In his -prime he had been a proud dog, caring little for caresses. This senile -craving for the touch of Chet’s hand made Chet cry—and swear. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span> -at this time that Mary Thurman told Chet he ought to put Tantrybogus -away.</p> - -<p>“He’s too old for his own good,” she said—“half sick, and sore and -uncomfortable. He ain’t happy, Chet.”</p> - -<p>Chet told her that he would—some day. But the day did not come, and -Mary knew it would not come. Nevertheless she urged Chet more than once -to do the thing.</p> - -<p>“You ought to. He’d be happier,” she said—“and so would you. You ain’t -happy with him around.”</p> - -<p>Chet laughed at her.</p> - -<p>“I guess Old Tantry won’t bother me long as he wants to live,” he said.</p> - -<p>“He makes you feel like an old man, Chet McAusland, just to look at -him,” she protested. But Chet shook his head.</p> - -<p>“I won’t feel old long as I can see you,” he told her.</p> - -<p>So Old Tantry lived on and grew more decrepit. One day in the winter of -his thirteenth year he followed Chet down into the wood lot and hunted -him out there—and was so weary from his own exertions that Chet had to -carry the dog up the hill and home and put him to bed in the barn.</p> - -<p>“I ought to put you away, Tantry,” he said to himself as he gave the -weary old creature a plate of supper. “It’s time you were going, old -dog. But I can’t—I can’t.”</p> - -<p>His fourteenth year saw Tantrybogus dragging out a weary life. Till then -there had been nothing the matter with him save old age, but in his -fourteenth summer a lump appeared on his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span> right side against the ribs, -and it was as large as a nut before Chet one day discovered it. -Thereafter it grew. And at times when the old dog lay down on that side -he would yelp with pain and get up hurriedly and lie down on the other -side. By September the lump was half as large as an apple. And when Chet -touched it Tantry whined and licked Chet’s hand in a pitiful appeal. -Even then Chet would not do that which Mary wished him to do.</p> - -<p>“He’ll go away some day and I’ll never see him again,” he told her. “But -as long as he wants to stay—he’ll stay.”</p> - -<p>“It’s cruel to the dog,” Mary told him. “You keep him, but you won’t let -him do what he wants to do. I’m ashamed of you, Chet McAusland.”</p> - -<p>Chet laughed uncomfortably.</p> - -<p>“I can’t help it, Mary,” he said.</p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>October came—the month of birds, the month when a dog scents the air -and feels a quickening in his blood and watches to see his master oil -the gun and break out a box of shells and fetch down the bell from the -attic. And on the third day of the season, a crisp day, frost upon the -ground and the sun bright in the sky, Chet decided to go down toward the -river and try to find a bird.</p> - -<p>When the bell tinkled Mac came from the barn at a gallop and danced on -tiptoe round his master so that Chet had difficulty in making him<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span> stand -quietly for as long as it took to adjust the bell on his collar. Old -Tantrybogus had been asleep in the barn, and he was as near deaf as he -was blind by this time, so that he heard nothing. But the stir of Mac’s -rush past him roused the old dog and he climbed unsteadily to his feet -and came weaving like a drunken man to where Chet stood. And he barked -his shrill, senile, pitiful bark and he tried in his poor old way to -dance as Mac was dancing.</p> - -<p>Chet looked down at the old dog and because there were tears in his eyes -he spoke harshly.</p> - -<p>“Tantry, you old fool,” he said, “go lie down. You’re not going. You -couldn’t walk from here to the woods. Go lie down and rest, Tantry.”</p> - -<p>Tantry paid not the least attention; he barked more shrilly than ever. -He pretended that it was a matter of course that Chet would bell him and -take him along. This is one of the favorite ruses of the dog—to pretend -to be sure of the treat in store for him until his master must have a -heart of iron to deny him.</p> - -<p>Tantry continued to dance until Chet walked to the kennel and pointed in -and said sternly, “Get in there, Tantry!”</p> - -<p>Then and only then the old dog obeyed. He did not sulk; he went in with -a certain dignity, and once inside he turned and lay with his head in -the door, watching Chet and Mac prepare to go. Chet did not chain him. -There was no need, he thought. Tantry could scarce walk at all, much -less follow him to the fringe of woodland down the hill.</p> - -<p>When he was ready he and Mac went through<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span> the barn and across the -garden into the meadow and across this meadow and the wall beyond till -the hill dropped steeply toward the river. Repeated commands kept Mac to -heel, though the dog was fretting with impatience. Not till they were at -the edge of the wood did Chet wave his hand and bid the dog go on.</p> - -<p>“Now find a bird, Mac,” Chet commanded. “Go find a bird.”</p> - -<p>And Mac responded, moving into the cover at a trot, nosing to and fro. -They began to work along the fringe down toward the river, where in an -alder run or two Chet hoped to find a woodcock. Neither of them looked -back toward the farm and so it was that neither of them saw Old -Tantrybogus like a shadow of white slip through the barn and come -lumbering unsteadily along their trail. That was a hard journey for -Tantry. He was old and weak and he could not see and the lump upon his -side was more painful than it had ever been before. He passed through -the barn without mishap, for that was familiar ground. Between the barn -and the garden he brushed an apple tree that his old eyes saw too late. -In the garden he blundered among the dead tops of the carrots and -turnips, which Chet had not yet harvested. He was traveling by scent -alone, his nose to the ground, picking out Chet’s footsteps. He had not -been so far away from the farm for months; it was an adventure and a -stiff one. The wall between the garden and the meadow seemed intolerably -high and a rock rolled under him so that he fell painfully. The old dog -only whimpered a little and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span> tried again and passed the wall and started -along Chet’s trail across the meadow.</p> - -<p>Midway of this open his strength failed him so that he fell forward and -lay still for a considerable time, tongue out, panting heavily. But when -he was rested he climbed to his feet again—it was a terrible effort, -even this—and took up his progress.</p> - -<p>The second wall, which inclosed Chet’s pasture, was higher and there was -a single strand of barbed wire atop it. Tantry failed twice in his -effort to leap to the top of the unsteady rank of stones and after that -he turned aside and moved along the wall looking for an easier passage. -He came to a bowlder that helped him, scrambled to the top, cut his nose -on the barbed wire, slid under it and half jumped, half fell to the -ground. He was across the wall.</p> - -<p>Even in the trembling elation of this victory the old dog’s sagacity did -not fail him. Another dog might have blundered down into the wood on a -blind search for his master. Tantrybogus did not do this. He worked back -along the wall until he picked up the trail, then followed it as -painstakingly as before. He was increasingly weary, however, and more -than once he stopped to rest. But always when a thin trickle of strength -flowed back into his legs he rose and followed on.</p> - -<p>Chet and Mac had found no partridges in the fringe of the woods, so at -the river they turned to the right, pushed through some evergreens and -came into a little alder run where woodcock were accustomed to nest and -where Chet ex<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span>pected to find birds lying on this day. Almost at once Mac -began to mark game, standing motionless for seconds on end, moving -forward with care, making little side casts to and fro. Chet’s attention -was all on the dog; his gun was ready; he was alert for the whistle of -the woodcock’s wings, every nerve strung in readiness to fling up his -gun and pull.</p> - -<p>If Mac had not found game in this run, if Chet and the dog had kept up -their swift hunter’s gait, Old Tantrybogus would never have overtaken -them, for the old dog’s strength was almost utterly gone. But Chet -halted for perhaps five minutes in the little run, following slowly as -Mac worked uphill, and this halt gave Old Tantry time to come up with -them. He lumbered out of the cover of the evergreens and saw Chet, and -the old dog barked aloud with joy and scrambled and tottered to where -Chet stood. He was so manifestly exhausted that Chet’s eyes filled with -frank tears—they flowed down his cheeks. He had not the heart to scold -Tantry for breaking orders and following them.</p> - -<p>He reached down and patted the grizzled old head and said huskily: “You -damned old fool, Tantry! What are you doing down here?”</p> - -<p>Tantry looked up at him and barked again and again and there was a -rending ring of triumph in the old dog’s cackling voice.</p> - -<p>Chet said gently: “There now, be still. You’ll scare the birds, Tantry. -Behave yourself. Mac’s got a bird here somewhere. Be still—you’ll scare -the birds.”</p> - -<p>For answer, as though his deaf old ears had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span> caught the familiar word -and read it as an order, Tantry shuffled past his master and worked in -among the alders toward where Mac was casting slowly to and fro. Chet -watched him for a minute through eyes so blurred he could hardly see and -he brushed his tears away with the back of his hand.</p> - -<p>“The poor old fool,” he said. “Hell, let him have his fun!”</p> - -<p>He took one step forward to follow the dogs—and stopped. For old -Tantrybogus, a dog of dogs in his day, had proved that he was not yet -too old to know his craft. Unerringly, where Mac had blundered for a -minute or more, he had located the woodcock—he was on point. And Mac, -turning, saw him and stiffened to back the other dog.</p> - -<p>Tantrybogus’ last point was not beautiful; it would have taken no prize -in field trials. His splayfeet were spread, the better to support his -body on his tottering legs. His tail drooped to the ground instead of -being stiffened out behind. His head was on one side, cocked knowingly, -and it was still as still. When Chet, frankly weeping, worked in behind -him he saw that the old dog was trembling like a leaf and he knew this -was no tremor of weakness but a shivering ecstacy of joy in finding game -again.</p> - -<p>Chet came up close behind Old Tantry and stopped and looked down at the -dog. He paid no heed to Mac. Mac was young, unproved. But he and Tantry, -they were old friends and tried; they knew each the other.</p> - -<p>“You’re happier now than you’ve been for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span> long time, Tantry,” said -Chet softly, as much to himself as to the dog. “Happy old boy! It’s a -shame to make you stay at home.”</p> - -<p>And of a sudden, without thought or plan but on the unconsidered impulse -of the moment, Chet dropped his gun till the muzzle was just behind Old -Tantry’s head. At the roar of it a woodcock rose on shrilling -wings—rose and flew swiftly up the run with never a charge of shot -pursuing. Chet had not even seen it go.</p> - -<p>The man was on his knees, cradling the old dog in his arms, crying out -as though Tantry still could hear: “Tantry! Tantry! Why did I have to go -and—I’m a murderer, Tantry! Plain murderer! That’s what I am, old dog!”</p> - -<p>He sat back on his heels, laid the white body down and folded his arms -across his face as a boy does, weeping. In the still crisp air a sound -seemed still ringing—the sound of a dog’s bark—the bark of Old -Tantrybogus, yet strangely different too. Stronger, richer, with a new -and youthful timbre in its tones; like the bark of a young strong dog -setting forth on an eternal hunt with a well-loved master through alder -runs where woodcock were as thick as autumn leaves.</p> - -<h3>VII</h3> - -<p>Half an hour after that Will Bissell chanced by Chet’s farm and saw Chet -fetching pick and shovel from the shed, and something in the other’s -bearing made him ask: “What’s the matter, Chet? Something wrong?”</p> - -<p>Chet looked at him slowly, said in a hoarse<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span> voice: “I’ve killed Old -Tantrybogus. I’m going down to put him away.”</p> - -<p>And he went through the barn and left Will standing there, down into the -wood to a spot where the partridges love to come in the late fall for -feed, and made a bed there and lined it thick with boughs and so at last -laid Old Tantry to sleep.</p> - -<p>His supper that night was solitary and cheerless and dreary and alone. -But—Will Bissell must have spread the news, for while Chet was washing -the dishes someone knocked, and when he turned Mary Thurman opened the -door and came in.</p> - -<p>Chet could not bear to look at her. He turned awkwardly and sat down at -the kitchen table and buried his head in his arms. And Mary, smiling -though her eyes were wet, came toward him. There was the mother light in -her eyes, the mother radiance in Mary Thurman’s face. And she took -Chet’s lonely head in her arms.</p> - -<p>“There, Chet, there!” she whispered softly. “I reckon you need me now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="ONE_CROWDED_HOUR" id="ONE_CROWDED_HOUR"></a>ONE CROWDED HOUR</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">J</span>EFF RANNEY lived on the road from East Harbor to Fraternity, some eight -miles from the bay. He was, at the period of which I write, a man -fifty-seven years old, and his life had been as completely uneventful as -life can be. He had never had an adventure, had never suffered a -catastrophe, had never achieved any great thing, had never even been -called upon to endure a particularly poignant grief. He was born in the -house where he still lived and save for one trip to Portland had never -crossed the county line. He married the daughter of a man whose farm lay -on the other side of Fraternity. She was not particularly pretty at any -time; and he had never any passion for her, though he had always liked -her well enough, and had always been kind. His father and mother lived -till he was in his forties, then died peaceably in their beds. He had -been a child of their later years, and before they died they had become -almost completely helpless, so that he felt it was time for them to go. -He and his wife had three children, all of whom grew to maturity. The -oldest, a girl, married an East Harbor boy who later moved to Augusta; -the other two, boys, went to Augusta to work in a factory there, -pre<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span>ferring the ordered hours of confined toil to the long and irregular -tasks upon the farm.</p> - -<p>Now and then Jeff’s wife departed to visit her daughter, leaving him to -keep bachelor hall alone. He managed comfortably enough; his life, then -as always, followed a well-ordered and familiar routine. He rose at -daylight, cared for his stock, made his own breakfast, did whatever -tasks lay before him for the day, finished his chores before cooking -supper at night, washed the dishes, read the evening paper till he fell -asleep in his chair, and then went to bed. Now and then in the spring -and summer months he found time to catch a mess of trout; now and then -in the fall or winter he shot a partridge or a rabbit. When there was a -circus in East Harbor, or a fair, he went to town for the day. When -there was a dance in the Grange Hall he and his wife had used to go; but -they had long since ceased these frivolities.</p> - -<p>Jeff’s farm was well kept; he had a profitable orchard, his cows were of -good stock. When the price of feed made the enterprise worth while he -raised a few pigs. There was no mortgage on the farm, his taxes were -paid, he owed no bills, his buildings were in good condition, he owned a -secondhand automobile and a piano, and he had some few hundred dollars -in the bank. It is fair to say that by the standards of the community in -which he lived he was a prosperous man. He was also a just man, and he -had a native sense and wit which his neighbors respected.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span></p><p>One November day, some years before this time of which I propose to -write, he woke early and looked from his kitchen window and saw a deer -feeding on the windfalls in his orchard. He shot the animal through the -open window; and the spike horns, still attached to a fragment of the -skull, were kept on the marble-topped table in the parlor of the -farmhouse. The shooting of this deer was the most exciting, the most -interesting thing that had ever happened to Jeff until that series of -incidents in which romance and drama were so absorbingly mingled, and -which is to be here set down.</p> - -<p>It was a day in October. He had planned to go down into his woodlot and -manufacture stove wood, to be stored for use during the winter that was -still twelve months away. But when he awoke in the morning a cold rain -was lashing his window, and a glance at the sky assured him the rain -would continue all that day. He decided to postpone the outdoor task. A -few errands in town wanted doing, so he put before his animals -sufficient water for their needs till night, threw a thing or two into -the tonneau of his car, secured the curtains, cranked the engine and -started for East Harbor. Since the road was muddy and somewhat rutted, -and he had no chains, it was necessary for him to drive slowly; and his -late start made it almost noon when he slid down the steep and muddy -hill into the town. He parked his car at an angle in the middle of the -street and went to the restaurant presided over by Bob Bumpass for his -midday meal. Eating at a restaurant on his trips to town was one of the -things Jeff accounted luxuries.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span></p> - -<p>Bob, fat and amiable as a Mine Host out of Dickens, asked Jeff what he -wanted; and Jeff ordered Regular Dinner Number Three: Vegetable soup, -fried haddock, pie and coffee; thirty-five cents. Not till he had given -his order did Jeff perceive that a certain excitement was in the air.</p> - -<p>There were two other customers having lunch near where he sat. One was -Dolph Bullen, whose haberdashery was among the most prosperous of East -Harbor mercantile establishments; the other was the chief of police, Sam -Gallop, a wordy man. Bob Bumpass, having taken Jeff’s order and served -his soup, leaned against the counter to talk with these two men. Jeff -perceived that Sam was telling over again a story that had evidently -been told before.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Sam, “he came right along when I took a hold of him. -And he had the necklace in a kind of a leather case in his pocket the -whole time.”</p> - -<p>“You took him right off the Boston boat, didn’t you?” Dolph asked.</p> - -<p>“Yep,” said Sam. “Right out of his stateroom. He had his suitcase open -on the bunk when I knocked on the door. I didn’t wait for him to let me -in. Just opened her right up and went in; and he looked at me kind of -impudent; and he says, ‘Hullo,’ he says. ‘What’s the matter?’ Cool as -you want.”</p> - -<p>“He come in here one day this summer, when the yacht was in here,” Bob -commented. “I kind of liked his looks.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Sam shook his head ponderously. “Them’s the worst kind. But he didn’t -fool me.”</p> - -<p>“Name’s Gardner, isn’t it?” Dolph asked.</p> - -<p>Bob nodded. “Frank Gardner. He’s worked for old Viles for six-seven -years, he said.”</p> - -<p>The chief of police was not willing that his part in the affair should -be forgotten. He was a round-faced, bald, easy-going man; but he knew -his rights, knew that in this drama which had been played he had a -leading rôle.</p> - -<p>“I says to him, ‘Matter enough,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> he continued importantly. “<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I got a -warrant for you,’ I says. And he asked me what for; and I told him for -stealing Mrs. Viles’ jewels. He got red enough at that, and mad looking, -I’ll tell you. And he started to say something. But I shut him up. ‘You -can tell that to someone else,’ I says. ‘My job’s to take you up to -jail.’ Then he asked who swore out the warrant; and I told him old Viles -did; and at that he shut up like a clam, and snapped his suitcase shut, -and came along. I found the things when I went through his clothes, up’t -the jail.”</p> - -<p>He had more to tell, and when Bob Bumpass had brought Jeff his fried -haddock and resumed his place as auditor Sam took up the telling. How -Leander Viles had come to him, demanding the arrest of his secretary; -how he had insisted that the millionaire swear out a warrant; how -incensed Viles had become at this insistence.</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you,” said Sam emphatically, “he got right purple, till I -thought the man’d burst; and he sort of fell down in a chair, grabbing -at his chest; and then he got white as can be.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Dolph nodded. “Men like him, big and fat, and full of whisky all the -time—they go that way. He’s got a temper too. Some day when he’s good -and mad that heart of his will crack on him.”</p> - -<p>Their talk continued, and Jeff continued to listen. In any issue it is -instinctive for mankind to take sides. Dolph and Bob Bumpass were -inclined to think a mistake had been made. “I don’t believe he aimed to -steal that necklace at all,” said Bob; and Jeff found himself agreeing -with the restaurant man. The three were still discussing the matter when -Jeff finished his pie, paid his score and went his way.</p> - -<p>His errands kept him busy all that afternoon. An ax handle, two or three -pounds of nails, four feet of strap iron and a box of shells from the -hardware store; a pair of overalls from Dolph Bullen; oatmeal, coffee, -sugar and salt from the grocer; a bag of feed from the hay and grain -market at the foot of the street. These errands were attended with much -casual conversation, chiefly concerned with the arrest of the jewel -thief. Late in the afternoon Jeff sought out Ed Whalen, who dealt in -coal and wood, and made a deal by which Ed would buy from him a dozen -cords of stove wood, to be delivered while snow was on the ground. Ed’s -office was near the water front; and when Jeff came out he perceived the -Viles yacht at her anchorage a little above the steamboat wharf. Jeff -studied the craft for a while admiringly, and he wondered how much she -had cost. “As much as my whole farm,” he guessed. “Or mebbe more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Night was coming swiftly; the lights aboard the yacht were turned on -while he stood there, and her portholes appeared like round and luminous -eyes. He could dimly see a sailor or two, in oilskins, under the deck -lamps. Rain was still falling, cold and implacable. “Guess the folks -that live on her are keeping dry, inside,” he hazarded. He tried to -picture to himself their manner of life, so different from his own, as -he went back up the hill toward where he had left his car.</p> - -<p>A farmer from Winterport, whom he had not seen for years, halted him on -the corner above Dolph’s store, and they talked together for a space in -the shelter of the entrance to the bank. A whistle down the harbor -announced the coming of the Boston boat; and before they separated -another whistle told of her departure. Then Jeff had trouble cranking -his car. He had forgotten to cover the hood, and the ignition wires and -plugs were wet. One cylinder caught at last; and then another; and -finally all four. He had already loaded in his purchases on the floor -and seat of the tonneau. The bag of feed lay along the seat.</p> - -<p>The Winterport man had reported that the steamship line would make a new -rate for apples by the barrel to Boston that fall; and Jeff decided to -go down to the wharf and make inquiries. He parked his car on the edge -of the wharf, in the lee of the freight sheds, and this time threw an -old rubber blanket over the hood to keep the plugs dry, before turning -toward the office. With the departure of the boat, business hereabouts -was done for the day; and save for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span> light in the office, and another -on the pier toward shore, the wharf was dark. Jeff’s errand occupied -some ten minutes’ time; and while he was inside a fiercer squall of rain -burst over the harbor. He could hear the water drumming on the roof.</p> - -<p>When the squall had passed he returned to his car and took the blanket -off the hood and threw it into the dark cavern of the tonneau, then -cranked the engine and turned around and started home. His lights, run -from the magneto, were dim and uncertain; his attention was all upon the -road. The car skidded and slid and slued and bumped; but it came to no -disaster. He drove into his own barn toward seven o’clock in the -evening, and left his purchases untouched while he went into the house -to change into overalls, so that he might do his chores.</p> - -<p>When he came back into the barn he saw someone standing motionless -beside the machine. He lifted the lantern which he carried, so that its -light flooded the still figure, and perceived that the person who stood -there, facing him, was a woman.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>This woman, in these surroundings, was an amazing apparition. Against -the background of his old hayrick, still half full of hay, Jeff saw her -outlined. She wore a sailor’s oilskin coat, buttoned about her throat; -and beneath the skirts of the draggled coat he glimpsed slim silk-clad -ankles and badly soiled white satin pumps. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span> wore no hat; her hair -was wet and all awry; and there was a thin streak of blood from a -scratch upon her temple that had trickled down across the bridge of her -nose in a slanting direction. Yet in spite of these difficulties he -perceived that she was very beautiful.</p> - -<p>At sight of her Jeff had stopped in his tracks and still stood -motionless with surprise, the lantern in his lifted hand. The woman’s -white fingers fumbled nervously at the fastenings of the oilskin coat -she wore; she waited for a moment in silence; but when he did not speak -she nodded in an uneasy little way and stammeringly said to him, “Good -evening!” Her voice was full and throaty and pleasantly modulated.</p> - -<p>Jeff replied, “Howdo!”</p> - -<p>She began to speak very rapidly.</p> - -<p>“You’re probably wondering how I came here. I was in your car. On the -floor of the back seat. Almost crushed. That big bag fell off the seat -on top of me when you hit that terrible bump. It banged my head down on -a piece of iron. I’m afraid it has bled a little. I was almost -smothered. The road was so rough.”</p> - -<p>She was panting as though she had run a race; and Jeff watched her -steadfastly for a moment, and then, for sheer relief from his -astonishment, gripped the commonplace with both hands.</p> - -<p>“You better come in the house and wash up,” he told her slowly, “and get -warm. I guess you’re kind of wet.”</p> - -<p>She nodded. “Yes. I’d like that. I’d like to do that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>He perceived that she was fighting for self-control, putting down the -revolt of jangling nerves.</p> - -<p>“Come through here, ma’am,” he bade her, and led the way through the -woodshed and into the kitchen. There he set his lantern on the table and -brought fresh water from the pump. “I’ve been away since morning,” he -explained. “The water in the tank is cold. You want to wait till I heat -some up?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head. “This will do finely.”</p> - -<p>He went through into the bedroom and returned with a heavy porcelain -bowl, which he set in the sink, removing the granite-ware wash-basin. -The woman had sunk down limply in a chair beside the table. Jeff, -careful not to distress her by his scrutiny, unwrapped a fresh bar of -soap, brought out a clean towel. Then with half a dozen motions he threw -shavings and bits of kindling into the stove, touched a match to them, -laid a stick or two of hardwood atop. “That’ll warm the kitchen up -pretty quick,” he told her. He understood that she wished to be alone, -yet was not sure what he should do. At last he said awkwardly, “I’ll be -doing the chores,” and lighted a lamp for her, then took the lantern and -departed through the shed again.</p> - -<p>When he had gone only a few steps he stopped, considered, then returned -and knocked upon the door through which he had come out. She bade him -enter; and when he did so he found her on her feet, unfastening the long -black coat.</p> - -<p>“You could go into the bedroom,” he said tentatively.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span></p> - -<p>She shook her head, smiling gratefully. “I’m sure this is fine. But I -would like a comb.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll get my wife’s for you,” he replied; and brought it to her. Mrs. -Ranney was a good housekeeper; the comb was as clean as new. “Would -there be anything else?” he asked when she had thanked him for it.</p> - -<p>“No. But you’re very kind to me.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll get the chores done,” he replied uncomfortably, and this time -departed in good earnest to the barn.</p> - -<p>When he had fed and watered the stock, finding a relief in the familiar -routine, he removed his purchases from the car. Saw where the woman had -crouched on the floor. The rubber blanket which he had thrown in at the -wharf must have fallen across her back; the heavy sack of feed might -well have crushed her. “Lucky she wa’n’t worse hurt,” he told himself. -He was full of speculations, full of questions, half dazed with wonder. -Women of such a sort as this were as though they lived in another world. -Yet she was in his kitchen now.</p> - -<p>It was necessary for him to go back to the house to get the milking -pails. Again he knocked upon the door, and the woman bade him come in. -She had laid aside the oilskins; he was not able at once to understand -just what it was she wore. A dress, but of a sort unfamiliar to his -eyes. He had seen magazine pictures of such things. An evening gown, -décolletté. Her hair was loose in a warm cloud about her smooth -shoulders, and she was leaning above the stove.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” she apologized, flushing with some confusion. “I’m trying -to get it dry.”</p> - -<p>He would have backed out of the kitchen. “I’m not in a hurry, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>But she cried warmly, “No, no, it’s all right. Come in.”</p> - -<p>“I come to get the milk pails,” he explained. “I scalded them out this -morning.” He took them from the draining board at one end of the sink. -“I’ll go milk now.”</p> - -<p>She asked diffidently, “Can’t I be starting supper while you’re doing -that?”</p> - -<p>Jeff smiled faintly. “I’m used to cooking. I know where the things are.”</p> - -<p>“I can cook,” she assured him. “What are we going to have for supper?” -She was beginning to see some humor in the situation.</p> - -<p>“Why I just figured to scramble some eggs, and make coffee,” Jeff -confessed. “The things are in the pantry, in through the dining room,” -he added.</p> - -<p>“I’ll have supper all ready when you come back,” she promised.</p> - -<p>He said reluctantly, “Well, all right,” and left her there.</p> - -<p>When he returned, half an hour later, he found her, her hair in a loose -braid, wearing one of his wife’s aprons, busy about the kitchen table. -“I’ve everything ready,” she told him, “but I waited, so that things -would be nice and hot.”</p> - -<p>“I got to separate the milk first,” he explained.</p> - -<p>She nodded and, while he performed that operation, busied herself with -egg beater and mixing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span> bowl. He took the cream down cellar, set the skim -milk in the shed for his hogs. When he had washed his hands and face she -summoned him to supper in the dining room. She had made an omelet and -toast, and her coffee was better than his. He ate with the silent -intentness of a hungry man. Afterward she insisted on washing the -dishes, while he read, fitfully enough, yet with an appearance of -absorption, the paper that had been left that afternoon in the mail box -before the door. There was something grotesquely domestic in the -situation, and Jeff’s pulses were pounding with wonder at it all.</p> - -<p>He had asked the woman no single question. There were a thousand -questions he desired to ask, but an innate delicacy restrained him. The -glamour of the hour had dazed this man; his senses were confused. There -was an unreality about the whole experience. The dishes, rattling in the -sink, sounded no differently than when his wife washed them. The -illusion that it was his wife who had come home in this guise had for a -moment dominion over him. The lines of newsprint staggered and swam -before his inattentive eyes. He wondered, wondered, wondered. But he -asked no question of his guest.</p> - -<p>When she had finished her self-appointed task and come into the dining -room where he was sitting she seemed to expect a catechism; but Jeff -kept his eyes upon his paper, as a man clings to a safe anchorage, till -at last she was forced to speak.</p> - -<p>“I’ve been expecting you to question me,” she said uncertainly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span></p> - -<p>Jeff looked up at her and then found some reassurance in the fact that -the silence was thus broken. “I’ve been expecting you’d tell me without -asking,” he said, smiling faintly at her.</p> - -<p>“I ought to,” she nodded. “But there’s so much to tell; and it must -sound so incredible to you. I hid in your car at the wharf, blindly, not -knowing who you were. I had to get away; wanted to get away. Anywhere. -To hide. For a little while. I can pay you.” She spoke uncertainly, -unwilling to give offense.</p> - -<p>Jeff shook his head good-humoredly. “I don’t run a boarding house, -ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“I have to find some place where I can stay.”</p> - -<p>He was thoughtfully silent for a little, then asked, “How long?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. Perhaps only a little while.”</p> - -<p>“I guess you can stay here a while,” he said.</p> - -<p>“You spoke of your wife?” she suggested.</p> - -<p>“She’s visiting my daughter, over in Augusta,” Jeff explained. “Won’t be -back for a week anyways. I reckon it’d be easier for you if she was -here; but you’re welcome anyways.”</p> - -<p>She looked down helplessly at the gown she wore. “It was a mad thing to -do,” she whispered, half to herself. Jeff guessed what she was thinking.</p> - -<p>“I reckon you could wear some of my wife’s things,” he suggested.</p> - -<p>“Have you room for me?”</p> - -<p>There were two bedrooms on the ground floor of the farmhouse; but he -thought she would prefer a measure of isolation. “I can make the bed in -the room upstairs,” he replied.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Won’t your neighbors be surprised that I am here?”</p> - -<p>Jeff considered that for a long time in silence, till she began to be -afraid the obstacle was insuperable. Then his eyes lighted with -recollection, and he said slowly, “My brother moved to California and -married there, and his girl has been talking about coming to see us. We -can let on you’re her.”</p> - -<p>She cried with sudden friendly warmth in her tones, “You’re ever so kind -to me. I appreciate it. Your taking me in so unquestioningly.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” he told her.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to take you at your word,” she exclaimed. “I’m going to -stay.”</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Jeff Ranney was a man habituated to routine; he fell naturally into a -regular way of doing even irregular things. The next morning his life -was on the surface as it had always been. He rose to his chores, -returned to his breakfast, went into the woodlot and set about the task -he had postponed the day before. The woman cooked breakfast and did the -work about the kitchen that his wife might have done. It would have been -easy for any outsider to accept as fact her pretended status as Jeff’s -niece from California.</p> - -<p>But Jeff was not deceived by the apparent normality of this new -existence. The man was immensely curious about her, absorbed in the -mystery which she personified. His thoughts all that day were full of -conjectures, full of hypoth<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span>eses, formed and as quickly thrown away. One -guess he clung to as probable fact. It seemed to him certain she had -come ashore from that yacht which he had seen lying in East Harbor the -night before; had come ashore as one who flees. But to the questions who -she might be and why she had fled, he found a thousand answers and -accepted none of them.</p> - -<p>The question of her identity was solved that night, for on the first -page of his Boston paper a headline caught his eye. It read thus:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Millionaire Viles’</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Wife is a Suicide</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>His eyes moved down the closely printed column, intent on each word. -Save for journalistic padding the first paragraph told the story:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">East Harbor, Me.</span>, Oct. 18—Lucia Viles, wife of Leander Viles, the -millionaire banker, committed suicide here last night by drowning. -She left the Viles’ yacht, which is anchored in the harbor, in a -small rowboat, at a moment when a heavy squall of rain had driven -the crew to shelter; and it is presumed that she threw herself into -the water as soon as she had reached a sufficient distance so that -she would not be seen. The tide was running out; and the rowboat -was picked up by an incoming fisherman early this morning, down -below the bell buoy, three miles from the yacht’s anchorage. The -body has not been recovered. Mr. Viles, millionaire husband of the -dead woman, said to-day that she had been subject to fits of -melancholy for some time.</p></div> - -<p>Jeff read this while his guest was washing the dishes after supper. She -had thrown herself zealously into these household tasks, as though<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span> her -overstrained nerves found relief in them. When she came into the dining -room afterward he laid the paper down in such a manner that she must see -the headline which had caught his eye.</p> - -<p>She did see it, caught up the paper, read hurriedly, looked up when she -was done, to find him watching her.</p> - -<p>“You’ve read it?” she asked. He nodded. “I didn’t think they’d have it -in the papers,” she cried, as though appalled at what she had done.</p> - -<p>“Guess you didn’t make your boat fast when you landed,” Jeff suggested.</p> - -<p>She shook her head. “No. I pushed it off. I hoped they would think -this.”</p> - -<p>He studied her, surprised and thoughtful. “Won’t your husband be kind of -worried about you?” he suggested mildly, and was startled at the fierce -anger behind her reply.</p> - -<p>“I want him to be worried! Oh, I want him to be tortured!” she cried, -and became absorbed once more in that which was printed on the page -before her. “The body has not been recovered,” she read aloud after a -moment; and with a quick change of mood laughed at him, shuddering -faintly. “It does give me a creepy feeling,” she said.</p> - -<p>“I should think it might,” Jeff assented mildly. “Yes, I should think it -would.”</p> - -<p>She was wearing a gingham dress belonging to his wife, which he had -found at her request. Now, sitting across the table from him, she began -to tremble and to laugh in nervous bursts of sound.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span></p> - -<p>Jeff asked, “What’s the matter! What you laughing at?”</p> - -<p>“I can’t stop,” she told him helplessly. “It just strikes me as funny. I -can’t help laughing. If I didn’t laugh I should cry. They think I’m -dead. Dead!” The word was high pitched, almost like a scream.</p> - -<p>Jeff had seen feminine hysteria before; he said sternly, “You got to -stop. Now you be still.”</p> - -<p>The woman controlled herself at once, nodding reassuringly. “Yes, I’ll -be still. I will be still,” she promised. “You won’t let them find me -here, will you? You won’t let them know I’m here?”</p> - -<p>“Andy Wattles stopped here this morning, in the truck,” Jeff answered. -“I told him you’d come. He’d heard me say you was thinking of coming. It -was safest to tell him.”</p> - -<p>“But I wasn’t thinking of coming!” she cried, appalled.</p> - -<p>“My brother’s girl from California was,” he reminded her; and she nodded -over and over, as a child nods, to show her understanding and her -acquiescence. Her trembling had ceased; her fright was passing. She went -to bed at last, somewhat reassured.</p> - -<p>But the paper next day, in even larger headlines, announced that doubt -was cast upon the theory that she was a suicide.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Viles,” the reporter wrote, “said to-day he thought it possible his -wife might have become temporarily insane; that she was subject to hours -of extreme nervous depression. It is known that she took a considerable -sum of money from a safe in her cabin before she left<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span> the yacht. It is -possible that she went ashore upon some errand and was assaulted and -robbed. The three possibilities which the police of East Harbor are -considering are suicide, robbery and murder, or an insane flight.” Jeff -smiled at the picture of Sam Gallop, the “police of East Harbor,” -considering anything. “In order to enlist every possible helper in the -search for the missing woman,” the reporter added, “Mr. Viles has -offered a reward of a thousand dollars for her body or of ten thousand -for information that will lead to her discovery alive.”</p> - -<p>The woman, when she read this, shivered with dread. “They will find me,” -she told Jeff wearily. “Oh, I hoped they would believe me dead.”</p> - -<p>“I dunno as they’ll find you,” Jeff argued. “They’re not apt to look out -this way. They’re more likely to think you headed for Boston or -somewheres.”</p> - -<p>“It’s hopeless,” she insisted. “I think you’d better go tell them where -I am, and get the money. The ten thousand dollars. Some good will come -out of it, that way. I’d like you to have the money. You’ve been kind to -me.”</p> - -<p>The man laughed reassuringly. “Shucks, ma’am,” he said. “What would I do -with a lot of money like that? It’s no good except to buy things with, -and I’ve got more things than I can take care of now. Don’t you fret -yourself. They ain’t going to find you, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“Everyone knows I’m here. Those women who came to-day—” She moved her -hands drearily. “Someone will tell.”</p> - -<p>Jeff shook his head. “No, they won’t. That<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span> was Will Bissell’s wife and -Mrs. McAusland. They heard from the store that you was here; and they’d -heard my wife say you was coming.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, they must have seen that I was—” She paused, unwilling to hurt -him.</p> - -<p>“Different from us folks?” he asked, smiling at her understandingly. -“Well, California folks are different from people around here. They’d -have thought it was funny if you was like us.”</p> - -<p>“And my wearing your wife’s dress.”</p> - -<p>“I told ’em your trunk was lost. You had to have something to work -around the house in.”</p> - -<p>She was, in the end, unwillingly persuaded to a more hopeful point of -view. But when she had gone up the stairs to her room Jeff sat for a -long time, turning the newspaper in his hands, reading over and over -that which was written there. She was so beautiful, so much more -beautiful than anyone he had ever seen; and the gown she wore when she -came to the farm had stamped itself upon his visual memory as a part of -her beauty. That a reward of ten thousand dollars should have been -offered for her discovery did not surprise Jeff; though it added to the -glamour which cloaked her in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“She’s worth more,” he told himself softly. “If she was mine I’d give a -hundred times that much to get her back again.” And he thought of this -husband of hers, whom she wished to torture, and wondered what he had -done to her, and hated this man he had never seen because the woman -hated him. “He’s not going to get her back,” Jeff swore in his thoughts. -“If I can help her keep away from him he’ll not get her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span> again.” There -was nothing possessive in the feeling which was awakening in him. His -devotion to her was a completely unselfish force.</p> - -<p>It was also the most powerful emotion Jeff had felt in all his -fifty-seven years.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>Will Belter stopped at the farm next morning, and lingered, talking with -Jeff, watching furtively for a glimpse of the woman; asked at last, -point-blank, if it was true that Jeff’s niece had come to visit him. He -and Jeff were on the porch, outside the kitchen door; and Jeff nodded -and, raising his voice, called to the woman, who was inside. He called -her by his niece’s name.</p> - -<p>“Mary!”</p> - -<p>She came slowly to the door, dreading this contact with a stranger.</p> - -<p>“This here’s Will Belter, one of our neighbors,” Jeff said by way of -introduction. “He lives up on the ridge beyond the village.”</p> - -<p>Will, greedy eyes upon her, said, “Howdo, ma’am!”</p> - -<p>The woman watched him through the screen door, and answered, “How do you -do!”</p> - -<p>He said no more, and after a moment she turned back into the obscurity -of the kitchen.</p> - -<p>Will told Jeff, “She’s older than I figured she’d be.”</p> - -<p>“She looks older,” Jeff agreed. “That long train trip was pretty hard; -and she was kind of sick.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Ain’t but twenty-two or three, is she? I’d think she was thirty, -anyway.”</p> - -<p>“Twenty-four,” Jeff told him.</p> - -<p>When Will presently went on his way Jeff watched his disappearing figure -with stern eyes, and there was trouble in his countenance when he turned -and saw the woman standing inside the screen door and also watching.</p> - -<p>“Who was that?”</p> - -<p>“I’d as soon he hadn’t come here,” Jeff confessed. “He’s a mean hound. A -natural-born talebearer. Maybe we fooled him though.”</p> - -<p>She made no comment, but both understood that her desire to remain -hidden was imperiled by this man’s appearance. The shadow hung over them -all that day. In the evening they read the paper together, found in it -little that was new.</p> - -<p>Afterwards the woman sat for a long time, thoughtfully silent, and at -last said abruptly, “I think I’d better tell you why I ran away.”</p> - -<p>Jeff looked across at her in surprise, hesitated. Then: “You needn’t, -’less you’re a mind to,” he assured her. “It don’t matter a bit in the -world to me.”</p> - -<p>“It is your right to know,” she decided. “And—I’d like to be able to -talk about it with you. It would be a relief, I believe.”</p> - -<p>Jeff nodded. “I expect that’s so,” he assented.</p> - -<p>She took the paper from him, opened it to an inner page and pointed to a -paragraph under a separate headline, beneath the story of her own -disappearance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span></p> - -<p>“You saw this about Mr. Viles’ secretary being arrested?” she asked.</p> - -<p>Jeff looked at the paper. The paragraph recited the fact that after a -preliminary hearing Franklin Gardner, secretary to Leander Viles, had -been held for the grand jury on a charge of stealing gems belonging to -the missing woman.</p> - -<p>Ranney nodded. “I heard about his being arrested, in town that day,” he -told her.</p> - -<p>“That was why I had to run away!” she cried, a sudden passion in her -tones. “That was why I had to get away. Because it was I who saw him -take them, and if they made me tell he would have to go to jail.”</p> - -<p>She was leaning across the table, resting on her elbows, her fingers -twisting together; and she watched Jeff anxiously, hungrily, as though -to be sure he understood.</p> - -<p>Jeff considered what she had said for a moment, and at length asked -slowly, “Saw him steal them?”</p> - -<p>“It’s a necklace,” she explained desperately. “Pearls, and a pendant set -with diamonds, very beautifully. Mr. Viles used to boast how much he -paid for it. He was ever so proud of it, you see. He wanted to show it -to a man who is on the yacht with him, and that’s why he asked me to go -down to the cabin and get it from the safe.”</p> - -<p>Jeff was trying to fill out the gaps in her story. “That’s when you -found out the necklace was gone, eh?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>She nodded. Her words came in a rush:</p> - -<p>“I saw Mr. Gardner come out of my cabin door, with the leather case in -his hand. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span> dodged away; and I suppose he thought I had not seen him. -And when I opened the little safe in my cabin the necklace was gone.”</p> - -<p>Jeff grinned a little at that. “So your husband didn’t get to show it -off, and brag about it, after all?”</p> - -<p>His antipathy toward this husband of hers was increasing.</p> - -<p>The woman shook her head. “I had to go back and tell him it was gone,” -she assented. “And he went into one of his terrible rages. I was -frightened. The doctors have warned him. So I tried to reassure him, -told him that Mr. Gardner had the necklace.” Her hands were tightly -clasped, the knuckles white. “Oh, I shouldn’t have let him know!” she -cried wearily. “But I thought he must have asked Mr. Gardner to get it, -must have given him the combination of the safe. Only he and I had it.”</p> - -<p>Memories silenced her; and Jeff had to prompt her with a question: “But -he hadn’t done that?”</p> - -<p>“He hadn’t! He hadn’t!” she assented in a voice like a wail. “And when -we tried to find Mr. Gardner he was gone. Gone off the yacht. Had run -away. So then Mr. Viles went ashore himself, and by and by he came back, -very well pleased, and said they had caught Mr. Gardner on the boat and -had the necklace back again.”</p> - -<p>“Did you run away right then?” he asked, when he saw she had forgotten -to go on.</p> - -<p>She hesitated, as though choosing her words.</p> - -<p>“No,” she told him. “That was the day before. I was very unhappy even -then. But until the next day I did not realize. Mr. Viles made<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span> me see. -It was just before dinner, and I met him in the main cabin. He was very -expansive and very good-humored and triumphant. He spoke of Mr. Gardner. -And he said this to me.”</p> - -<p>She repeated the words in a curious, parrot-like tone, as though they -were engraved upon her memory. “He said: ‘It’s lucky you saw him, Lucia. -If you hadn’t actually seen him come out of your cabin with the necklace -in his hands we probably couldn’t send him to jail, even now!’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>Jeff was watching her attentively, waiting.</p> - -<p>“I hadn’t really understood, before, that they would send him to jail,” -the woman cried. “I asked Mr. Viles if he meant to do that, and begged -him not to; and he just laughed at me. He said: ‘He’ll do ten years for -this little piece of work, Lucia. And you’ll be the one whose testimony -will send him up. That ought to be a satisfaction to you.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>She added, with a movement of her hands as though everything were -explained, “So I ran away. There was a sailor who helped me and gave me -his coat, and I ran away, and got in your car because it was raining so -hard and that was the first place I saw where I could hide and be -sheltered from the rain.”</p> - -<p>She broke off abruptly; and neither of them spoke for a period, while -Jeff considered that which she had told him.</p> - -<p>At length he asked gently, “You didn’t want to see this here Gardner in -jail?”</p> - -<p>The woman cried passionately, “No! No! Oh, he was wrong to steal. If I -had not seen him I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span> would never have believed—But I didn’t want to put -him in jail!”</p> - -<p>“I guess you liked him pretty well,” Jeff said. His tone was -sympathetic, not inquisitive.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she nodded sadly, as though she spoke of one who were dead. “Yes, -I did.” With a sudden confidence she added, “Why, he was my best friend. -We knew each other so well. It was through him I met Mr. Viles. And then -Frank had to go to Europe on business for Mr. Viles, and he was away so -long, and I did not hear from him. I used to work, you know. I was a -buyer in one of the New York stores. And Mr. Viles was ever so good to -me, and I was tired, and he begged me so. That was how I came to marry -him.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t figure you ever loved him very much,” Jeff suggested after an -interval.</p> - -<p>“He was good to me at first,” she protested. “I think he meant to be -good to me.”</p> - -<p>Silence fell upon them both once more, and this time it persisted. By -and by Jeff rose from his chair, passed behind hers and touched her -shoulder roughly with his heavy hand.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t worry too much,” he said cheerfully. “I wouldn’t worry too -much if I was you.”</p> - -<p>She looked up at him and smiled through sudden tears. “You’re good to -me,” she told him.</p> - -<p>“You run along to bed,” Jeff bade her. “Just forget your bothers and run -along to bed.”</p> - -<p>But when she had gone upstairs the man remained for a long time in his -chair beside the warm lamp, thinking over what she had told him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span> -supplying for himself the things she had not told. Jeff had a shrewd -common sense; he was able to fill in many of the gaps, to see the truths -to which even Lucia was blind. And as he thought, his eyes clouded with -slow anger and his brows drew somewhat together; and when he got up at -last to turn toward his bedroom there was a ferocity in his expression -that no one had ever seen on Jeff Ranney’s face in all his fifty-seven -years. He spoke slowly, half aloud, addressing no one at all.</p> - -<p>“Damn the man,” he muttered. “I’d like to bust him a good one. It’d do -him good.”</p> - -<p>Upon this wish, which had a solemnity about it almost like a prayer, -Jeff went to bed.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>Next morning, when Andy Wattles drove by the farm with Will Bissell’s -truck on his way to East Harbor, Jeff saw that Andy had a passenger. -Will Belter was riding to town with Andy. They hailed him as they passed -the barn, and Andy waved a hand in greeting as they disappeared. Jeff’s -perceptions were quick; it was no more than half a dozen seconds before -he understood that there was menace in this move on Belter’s part. His -first thought was to stop the man and bring him back, but the truck was -already far away along the townward road. He shook his head; there was -nothing he could do. If Belter meant harm the harm was done.</p> - -<p>But the incident put Jeff on his guard, so that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span> he made it his business -to stay about the house that day; and when, in the early afternoon, an -automobile stopped in the road before the farm he saw it and was ready. -He had given the woman no warning, but she heard the machine, and came -to his side in the dining room and looked out through the window. -Themselves hidden, they could see the car. Three men were in it—the -chauffeur, Will Belter and another. Jeff knew this other man; it needed -not the woman’s exclamation to inform him. Her husband had found her -hiding place.</p> - -<p>When Lucia saw him she sank weakly in a chair beside the table, said in -a voice like a moan, “He’s found me! He’s found me!”</p> - -<p>But for this crisis of his adventure Jeff was ready; he rose to meet the -moment, gripped her shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Just mind this,” he told her swiftly. “Keep your head, ma’am, and mind -what I say. You don’t have to go back with him unless you want. He can’t -make you, ha’n’t no legal way to make you; and if you don’t want to go -you don’t have to go. I’ll see he don’t take you unless you say the -word.”</p> - -<p>She looked up at him in swift gratitude; and he smiled at her and asked, -“Now can’t you take a little heart from that, ma’am?”</p> - -<p>“He’s coming,” she whispered.</p> - -<p>And Jeff looked through the window again and saw that Viles had left -Belter and the chauffeur in the car he had hired in East Harbor. He -himself came steadily toward the kitchen door, while the two other men -watched him from the road.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span> Jeff and the woman heard his loud knock upon -the door.</p> - -<p>At this summons Jeff left her where she sat, her strength returning. He -opened the kitchen door and faced the man he had learned to hate so -blindingly that the passion intoxicated him. Yet his countenance was -calm, his features all composed.</p> - -<p>Viles was a large man without being fat; one of those men who have about -them the apparent solidity of flesh which is the attribute of such dogs -as Boston terriers. He may have been six feet tall, but he was inches -broader across the shoulders than most men of his height. His -countenance was peculiarly pink, as though rich blood coursed too near -the surface of his skin. Jeff marked that he was subject to a certain -shortness of breath, that his eyes were too small, and that even now a -little pulse was beating in the man’s throat.</p> - -<p>Yet Viles spoke in a smooth and pleasant voice, said a jovial good -afternoon and asked if this was Jeff Ranney’s farm. Jeff said it was.</p> - -<p>Viles asked, “Are you Ranney?”</p> - -<p>“I’m Ranney,” Jeff assented. He had not asked the other to come in; the -screen door still separated them.</p> - -<p>“Ah,” said Viles. “I am told your niece from California is visiting you. -I have a rather important bit of business to transact with her.”</p> - -<p>Jeff shook his head. “She ain’t my niece,” he answered frankly. “She’s -your wife, that had to run away from you.”</p> - -<p>His voice was stony; but at his words Viles<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span> moved backward a step, as -though under the impact of a blow, and Jeff saw the swift rage mount his -cheeks in a purple flood. Then the rich man laid his hand upon the -screen door, opened it.</p> - -<p>Jeff did not move to one side, and Viles said hoarsely, “Get out of my -way, you impudent fool!”</p> - -<p>Jeff shook his head. “Listen, mister,” he said softly. “This is my -house. You can’t come in here on your own say-so. I’m not fooling with -you either. If you want to come in, you ask.”</p> - -<p>Viles lifted one clenched hand as though to sweep the other aside; and -Jeff added, “I’ve heard enough about you so I’d like right well to mix -it up with you a little bit—if you want to try anything like that. Do -you?”</p> - -<p>“I want to come in,” said Viles hoarsely.</p> - -<p>Jeff considered this for a moment, then he spoke to the woman, over his -shoulder. “Do you want to see him?” he asked her.</p> - -<p>“I suppose so,” she told him wearily.</p> - -<p>Jeff nodded. “All right, mister,” he said to Viles. “Come in and take a -chair.”</p> - -<p>Viles had somewhat recovered himself. He followed Jeff’s indifferent -back into the dining room. The woman did not rise. Jeff set a chair -across the table from her, and Viles sat down in it while Jeff himself -crossed to shut the door that led into the parlor, then came back and -leaned against the kitchen door, watching this husband and wife, waiting -for what they would say.</p> - -<p>Viles had drawn a velvet glove over the iron hand. He asked the woman -gently, “Are you all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span> right, my dear?” She nodded. “You are well?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, I am well.”</p> - -<p>He looked toward Jeff. “Mrs. Viles is unfortunately subject to moments -of great depression,” he explained courteously. “In these moments—” He -stopped, arched his eyebrows meaningly, as though Jeff must understand.</p> - -<p>“You mean she has crazy spells?” Jeff asked bluntly. Viles protested -wordlessly. “She don’t act crazy to me,” Jeff commented. “But you may be -right. She married you.”</p> - -<p>He was seeking quite deliberately to goad the other man into violence, -but Viles controlled himself, said across the table to his wife, “We -have been greatly concerned, my dear.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” she said unconvincingly.</p> - -<p>“It is a relief to know that you have not suffered. That scratch across -your temple—”</p> - -<p>Lucia touched with her fingers the slight wound. “It is nothing.”</p> - -<p>“You must have a good rest in bed when we get back to the yacht,” he -told her. There was an elephantine sportiveness in the man’s demeanor. -“I’m going to enjoy taking care of you.”</p> - -<p>She was silent for a moment, then slowly shook her head. “I don’t think -I’ll go back,” she told him. “I don’t think I’ll go back at all.”</p> - -<p>He tried to laugh easily. “You’re fancying things, Lucia. It is your -home. You belong there.”</p> - -<p>She faced him with a moment of decision. “If you withdraw the charge -against Frank I’ll go back with you, Leander.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Withdraw it?” he asked in pretended astonishment.</p> - -<p>“I can’t bear to have him go to jail,” she cried softly.</p> - -<p>“But, my dear, the man’s a thief; has betrayed the trust I reposed in -him.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t help it. I can’t help it. I don’t want him to go to jail.”</p> - -<p>Viles dropped his eyes to the oilcloth that covered the table and -drummed upon it with his fingers for a moment, then turned to Jeff.</p> - -<p>“I’d be obliged for a few moments’ talk with my wife alone,” he said, a -sardonic note in his tone.</p> - -<p>Jeff held his eyes for a minute, then looked toward the woman. “What -shall I do, ma’am?” he asked, as though it were a matter of course that -he should defer to her.</p> - -<p>She made a weary gesture. “He has a right to that,” she said.</p> - -<p>Jeff nodded. “I’ll come back in fifteen minutes, mister,” he told Viles -menacingly.</p> - -<p>But Viles smiled in affable assent. “That will do finely,” he agreed.</p> - -<p>Jeff went out through the kitchen into the shed. When he was gone Viles -rose and crossed to listen at the door, and heard Jeff go on into the -barn. He returned to the dining room and stood above his wife, and when -she did not move he gripped her chin harshly and turned her face up to -his. No velvet glove upon the iron hand now. She winced a little with -the pain, but made no sound. There was triumph and malice in his grin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Thought you could get away with it, did you, Lucia?” he asked. She said -nothing. “Thought I wouldn’t find you?” Still she made no sound. -“Where’d you pick up this rural squire of yours?”</p> - -<p>His tone was insult, and her continued silence seemed to anger him; he -loosed her chin with a gesture as though he flung her aside; rounded the -table again and sat down facing her and lighted a cigar, watching his -wife through the smoke. For a long minute neither of them moved or -spoke; then she lifted her head, very slowly, and met his eyes.</p> - -<p>After an instant he laughed at her mockingly and leaned forward, -gesturing with the cigar, dropping flecks of ash upon the oilcloth.</p> - -<p>“Lucia, my dear,” he said, “you haven’t played fair with me. You and -that tame cat of yours. And now I’m going to even the score. If you -loved him you shouldn’t have married me. Or having married me you should -have ceased to love him. Isn’t that a fair statement of the ethics of -the case?”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t know, Leander,” she said pitifully. “He had been so long -away.”</p> - -<p>“I sent him away,” the man admitted harshly. “I wanted a clear field, -and got it and got you. Thought I was getting the whole of you. But when -he came back I saw within six months’ time that it was only the husk of -you I had won.”</p> - -<p>“You’re unfair!” she cried. “Frank never spoke to me—there was never -anything—”</p> - -<p>“What do I care?” Viles demanded. “Don’t you suppose I know that? Don’t -you suppose<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span> I’ve seen to it that you were both pretty closely looked -after? But you loved him, and he loved you. A blind man could see that -whenever you were together.”</p> - -<p>“I played fair with you,” his wife pleaded. “And he did too.”</p> - -<p>“That’s because you were afraid to do anything else,” he assured her -scornfully. “That’s because you’re weaklings. I’m not a weakling, my -dear. In his place I’d have you. In my place I’ve evened the -score—against both of you.”</p> - -<p>She began to sense that there was something more, something she did not -know. “What?” she asked faintly. “What have you done to him?”</p> - -<p>He puffed at his cigar, relishing it, relishing the situation. “You two -blind fools! Did you think I was also blind?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head helplessly. “What are you trying to say?”</p> - -<p>The man swung around for a moment to look toward the road and make sure -the two men who had come with him were still in the car, then leaned -across the table toward her, speaking softly.</p> - -<p>“I gave Frank the combination of your safe,” he told her, grinning with -delight in this moment of his triumph. “I told him to get the necklace, -and take it to Boston. To have it restrung; a surprise for you. Told him -not to let you see him, not to let you know. The poor fool believed me.”</p> - -<p>She was staring at him, half understanding. “He didn’t steal it? He -didn’t steal it, then?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“And the pretty part of it was the way I rang you in,” her husband -assured her mockingly. “Sending you down to the cabin at a moment when I -knew he would be there. So that you might catch him in the very doing of -it. So that your own testimony, my dear, might send this sweetheart of -yours to jail.” Her eyes widened, she was white as snow; and he threw -back his head and laughed aloud. “Ah, you see it now?”</p> - -<p>Lucia came swiftly to her feet. “He didn’t steal it? He didn’t steal -it?” she cried. “Oh, he won’t have to go to jail!”</p> - -<p>Her husband chuckled, watching her narrowly. “Not so quick on the -trigger, Lucia. Not so fast. He’ll go to jail, right enough. Don’t worry -about that. And you’ll send him there.”</p> - -<p>“But he didn’t do it, Leander?” she urged pleadingly. “He’s not a thief -at all!”</p> - -<p>“Of course he isn’t,” Viles assented. “That’s the beauty of the little -trap I laid.”</p> - -<p>Flames were burning in her cheeks now; her head was high. “I won’t -testify against him,” she said swiftly. “You can’t do it without me, and -I won’t—”</p> - -<p>“That was why you ran away?” he asked casually. “To avoid testifying? I -thought as much.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t go back!” she cried. “I’ll go away again!”</p> - -<p>He smiled. “There were others who saw,” he told her mildly. “Do you -suppose I would be content with so loose a plan? They saw him, as well -as you. Saw you also.” He leaned toward her ferociously. “You’ll -testify, and you’ll tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span> the truth, or I’ll convict you of perjury on -your own lie, my dear. He’ll go to jail certainly; and you also if you -choose.”</p> - -<p>The woman was very intent, her thoughts racing. And suddenly she laughed -in his face. “And I’ll tell what you’ve just told me,” she reminded him. -“How long will your scheme stand then?”</p> - -<p>He shook his head. “Oh, no, you won’t, my dear.”</p> - -<p>“I will.”</p> - -<p>“There is,” he said equably, “a little provision in the law of evidence -which will prevent you. A wife cannot testify to any private -conversation between herself and her husband. Did you suppose I would be -so mad as to let you slip out of this trap so easily? The judge himself -will forbid your saying one word as to what I have told you here.”</p> - -<p>She was trembling with despair. “I won’t obey him!” she cried. “I’ll -tell anyway. The jurymen will believe me.”</p> - -<p>“If you blurt out such a thing against the order of the court you will -be jailed for contempt, and the jury will be forbidden to believe you, -will be told to forget what you have said.” He shook his head mockingly. -“No, Lucia, my dear, there’s no way out. I have told you this simply in -order that you might appreciate the pains I have taken.” He laughed a -little. “What a thoughtful husband you have!”</p> - -<p>He was still sitting, watching her with a cruel satisfaction; but she -was trembling, broken, her knees yielding beneath her. By littles she -sank<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span> into her chair, and put her head down upon her arms and wept -bitterly.</p> - -<p>Her husband watched her from across the table and puffed at his cigar.</p> - -<p>Then Jeff Ranney opened the parlor door and came into the room. Viles, -at the sound of the opening door, looked up in surprise, looked toward -the kitchen through which Jeff had disappeared, looked at Jeff again.</p> - -<p>“What were you doing there?” he demanded, coming to his feet in sudden -anger.</p> - -<p>“Listening to you talk,” said Jeff equably.</p> - -<p>“Listening? How long?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I came right around the house and in the front door, soon as I went -out the back. Heard all you said, I guess.”</p> - -<p>Lucia had stopped crying; she lifted her head and dried her eyes and -looked at Jeff. He looked down at her and smiled, a reassuring smile -that gave her somehow comfort.</p> - -<p>Viles swung toward him, cried aloud, “You dog! I’ll teach you manners!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Jeff slowly. “I’d like right well to mix it up with -you.”</p> - -<p>Viles stopped in his tracks; the man was convulsed and shaking with his -own ferocious rage. “But it ain’t fair to pick on you,” Jeff decided; -“you’re such a fool.”</p> - -<p>Lucia came to her feet, turned to Jeff appealingly. “You heard what he -said?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“Is it true? Can he do this? Is the law that way?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span></p><p>Viles reached toward his wife, would have taken her arm. “Lucia!” he -cried. “Come away from here. Come away from here with me.”</p> - -<p>But Jeff put an arm between them, swept the big man back against the -table. For an instant no one of them moved. Then Jeff said slowly, “I -had a lawsuit once, so I happen to know. What he says is all right. On -private conversations. But you see, this wa’n’t private. I heard.”</p> - -<p>“You heard?” she whispered, not understanding.</p> - -<p>Jeff nodded. “Sure. And I can tell anything I heard; and I guess—not -sure, but it don’t matter much, anyhow—I guess you can tell it, too, if -I heard what he said.”</p> - -<p>He was looking down at her, had for the moment forgotten her husband. -But Lucia had not forgotten, and it was Lucia’s cry that warned Jeff. -Viles was tugging a pistol from his pocket.</p> - -<p>Jeff swung his right leg upward, kicked cunningly at the big man’s hand. -The pistol flew across the room; and Viles, roaring with pain, swung in -at Jeff to grapple him. They came breast to breast, stood thus for an -instant, each straining terribly, exerting utmost strength.</p> - -<p>Then Viles’ big head drooped with a little snapping jerk as all his body -let go; and he slid limply through Jeff’s arms to the floor. Jeff’s one -great hour was done.</p> - -<p>An hour later Jeff drove Lucia back to town. He would send a man who -made such matters his profession, to care for what was left of Leander -Viles.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span></p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>A day or two later Mrs. Ranney came home from Augusta. By that time Jeff -had settled into the old routine once more. His life had become again as -uneventful as any life can be. Save for one or two echoes of his great -adventure—when Lucia wrote that she and Gardner were to wed, and when -their first baby was born—his existence continued in its old accustomed -way. He lived some dozen years or so on his farm eight miles out of East -Harbor. Last winter, while working in his woodlot, he became overheated -and then chilled with the coming of night; and a few days later he -died.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="MINE_ENEMYS_DOG" id="MINE_ENEMYS_DOG"></a>MINE ENEMY’S DOG</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">F</span>RATERNITY has not changed in a hundred years; yet is there always some -new thing in Fraternity. It may be only that Lee Motley’s sow has killed -her pigs, or that choleric Old Man Varney has larruped his -thirty-year-old son with an ax helve, or that Jean Bubier has bought six -yearling steers. But there is always some word of news, for the nightly -interchange in Will Bissell’s store, before the stage comes in with the -mail. You may see the men gather there, a little after milking time, -coming from the clean, white houses that are strung like beads along the -five roads which lead into the village. A muscular, competent lot of men -in their comfortable, homely garments. And they sit about the stove, and -talk, and smoke, and spit, and laugh at the tales that are told.</p> - -<p>Fraternity lies in a country of little towns and villages, with curious -names something more than a century old. Liberty is west of Fraternity, -Union is to the southward, Freedom lies northwest. Well enough named, -these villages, too. Life in them flows easily; there is no great -striving after more things than one man can use. The men are content to -get their gardening quickly done so that they may trail the brooks for -trout;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span> they hurry with their winter’s wood to find free time for -woodcock and partridge; and when the snow lies, they go into the woods -with trap for mink or hound for fox.</p> - -<p>Thirty years ago there were farms around Fraternity, and the land was -clear; but young men have gone, and old men have died, and the birches -and the alders and the pines have taken back the land. There are moose -and deer in the swamps, and a wildcat or two, and up in Freedom a man -killed a bear a year ago....</p> - -<p>The hills brood over these villages, blue and deeper blue from range to -farther range. There is a bold loveliness about the land. The forests, -blotched darkly with evergreens, or lightly splattered with the gay tops -of the birches, clothe the ridges in garments of somber beauty. Toward -sunset a man may stand upon these hilltops and look westward into the -purple of the hills and the crimson of the sky until his eyes are drunk -with looking. Or in the dark shadows down along the river he may listen -to the trembling silences until he hears his pulses pound. And now and -then, with a sense of unreality, you will come upon a deer along some -old wood road; or a rabbit will fluster from some bush and rise on -haunches, twenty yards away.</p> - -<p>The talk in Will Bissell’s store turns, night by night, upon these -creatures of the woods that lie about the town; and by the same token -the talk is filled with speech concerning dogs. The cult of the dog is -strong in Fraternity. Every man has one dog, some have two. These, you -will understand, are real dogs. No mongrels here; no<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span> sneaking, hungry, -yapping curs. Predominant, the English setter, gentlest and kindest and -best-natured of all breeds; and, in second place, the lop-eared hounds. -A rabbit hound here and there; but not many of these. Foxhounds more -often. Awkward, low-bodied, heavy dogs that will nevertheless nose out a -fox and push him hard for mile on mile. These are not such fox-hounds as -run in packs for the sport of red-coated men. These are utilitarian -dogs; their function is to keep the fox moving until the hunter can post -himself for a shot. A fox skin is worth money; and cash money is scarce -in Fraternity, as in all such little towns, and very hard to come by.</p> - -<p>There are few sheep in Fraternity, so the dogs are free of that -temptation; but there are deer. The deer is sacrosanct, to be taken only -with rifle and ball, and by a woodcraft that bests the wild thing at its -own game. No dog may justly chase a deer; and a dog so pursuing is -outlawed and may legally be shot by any man. Men without conscience and -dogs without honor will thus pursue the deer, in season and out; -nevertheless, deer running is for the dogs of Fraternity the black and -shameful crime.</p> - -<p>They were talking dogs, on a certain night in late September, in Will -Bissell’s store. A dozen men were there; most of them from the village -itself, two or three from outlying farms. Jim and Bert Saladine, both -keen hunters of the deer, who killed their legal quota year by year, -leaned side by side against the candy counter, and Andy Wattles sold -them licorice sticks. Lee Motley<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span> had driven down from his farm above -the Whitcher Swamp; and Jean Bubier had come in from the head of the -Pond; and there was Gay Hunt; and there was George Freeland, and two or -three besides. Proutt was one of these others, Proutt of South -Fraternity, a farmer, a fox hunter, and a trainer of setter dogs. -Finally, Nick Westley, a North Fraternity man, appointed within six -months’ time to be game warden for the district; a gentle man, well -liked in spite of his thankless job; a man with a sense of humor, a -steady and persistent courage, and a kindly tongue.</p> - -<p>This night, as it happened, was to be the beginning of the enmity -between Proutt and Westley. One-sided at first, this ill feeling. -Two-sided at the last, and bitter enough on either side. A strange -thing, dramatic enough in its development, fit to be numbered among the -old men’s tales that were told around the stove....</p> - -<p>Proutt, the dog breaker, was a man who knew dogs. None denied him that. -“Yes,” they would say; “Proutt’ll break a dog for you. And when he gits -done with your dog, your dog’ll mind.” If you scented some reservation -in word or tone, and asked a question, you got no explanation. But your -informant might say casually: “Hepperton’s a good man with a dog, too. -Over in Liberty. Gentles ’em.”</p> - -<p>Persistent inquiry might have brought out the fact that Hepperton never -whipped a dog; that Proutt knew no other method. Lee Motley, who loved -dogs, used to tell an incident. “Went out with Proutt once,” he would -explain. “After<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span> woodcock, we was. He was breaking a two-year-old. Nice -a dog as I ever see. First bird, she took a nice point; but she broke -shot. He had him a rawhide strap; and he called her in and I never see a -dog hurt worse. And after that he, couldn’t get her out from under his -legs. Ain’t been out with him since. Not me.”</p> - -<p>Proutt was not liked. He was a morose man, and severe, and known to -nurse a grudge. But he turned out dogs which knew their business, and -none denied him this. So had he his measure of respect; and his -neighbors minded their own affairs and kept out of the man’s harsh path.</p> - -<p>Curiously enough, though he trained setters, Proutt did not like them. -He preferred the hound; and his own dog—a lop-eared brown-and-white -named Dan—was his particular pride. This pride was like the pride of a -new father; it showed itself in much talk of Dan’s deeds and Dan’s -virtues, so that Fraternity’s ears were wearied with the name of Dan, -and it was the fashion to grin in one’s sleeve at Proutt’s tales and to -discredit them.</p> - -<p>Proutt spoke, this night, of a day’s hunting of the winter before. How, -coursing the woods, he had heard a hound’s bay far below him, and had -taken post upon a ledge across which he thought the fox would come. “Dan -’uz with me,” he said, in his hoarse loud voice. “I says to Dan: ‘Set’ -and he set on his ha’nches, right aside me, cocking his nose down where -t’other dog was baying, waiting, wise as an owl.</p> - -<p>“I had my old gun, with Number Threes in both bar’ls; and me and Dan -stayed there, await<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span>ing; and the baying come nearer all the time, till I -see the fox would come acrost that ledge, sure.</p> - -<p>“Cold it was. Wind ablowing, and the snow acutting past my ears. Not -much snow on the ground; but it was froze hard as sand. I figured Dan’d -get uneasy; but he never stirred. Set where I’d told him to set; and us -awaiting.</p> - -<p>“Time come, I see the fox, sneaking up the ledge at that long, easy lope -o’ theirs. Dan see him too. His ears lifted and he looked my way. I -says: ‘Set.’ And he let his ears down again, and stayed still. Fox come -along, ’bout five rods below us. Crossed over there. So fur away I -knowed I couldn’t drop him. Never pulled; and he never saw me; and old -Dan set where he was. Never moved a mite.</p> - -<p>“After a spell, Will Belter’s hound come past; and then come Will -himself, cutting down from where he’d been waiting. Says: ‘See a fox go -by?’ And I told him I did. He ast why I didn’t shoot; and I says the fox -was too fur off. And he says: ‘Where was your dog?’ So I told him Dan -was setting right by me.”</p> - -<p>Proutt laughed harshly, and slapped a triumphant hand upon his knee. -“Will wouldn’t believe me,” he declared, “till I showed him tracks, -where he wuz, and where the fox went by.”</p> - -<p>He looked around for their admiration; but no one spoke at all. Only one -or two glanced sidewise at each other, and slowly grinned. The tale was -all right, except for a thing or two. In the first place, Proutt was no -man to let a fox go by, no matter how long the shot; and, in the second -place, Dan was known to be a surly dog, not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span> overly obedient, unruly as -his master. And, in the third place, this incident, thoroughly -authenticated, had happened two years before to another man and another -dog, as everyone in the store knew. Proutt had borrowed his tale from a -source too close home....</p> - -<p>So they knew he lied; but no one cared to tell him so. Only, after a -little silence, Nick Westley, the game warden, said with a slow twinkle -in his eye: “Proutt, that reminds me of a story my father used to tell.”</p> - -<p>Proutt grunted something or other, disgusted with their lack of -appreciation; and Westley took it for encouragement, and began to -whittle slow, fine shavings from a sliver of pine which he held in hand, -and told the tale.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>“It was when he was younger,” he explained, “before he was married, -while he still lived at home. But I’ve heard him tell the story many a -time.</p> - -<p>“My Uncle Jim was living then; and he and my father had a hound. Good -dog he was, too. Good as Dan, I think, Proutt.</p> - -<p>“Well, one winter morning, with six or eight inches of loose snow on the -ground, they were working up some old wood in the shed; and they saw the -old hound drift off into the pasture and up the hill. And after a spell -they heard him yelling down by the river.</p> - -<p>“Jim said to my father: ‘He’s got a fox.’ And father said: ‘Jim, let’s -go get that fox.’ So they dropped their axes, and went in and got their -guns, and they worked up through the pas<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span>ture and over the hill till -they located the dog’s noise, and they figured the fox would come up -around the hill by a certain way; and so they posted themselves there, -one on either side of the path they thought he would take. And set to -waiting. And it was cold as could be, and cold waiting, and they stamped -their feet a little, but they couldn’t move much for fear the fox would -see them.</p> - -<p>“So they were both well pleased when they saw the fox coming; and they -both shot when he came in range, because they were cold and in a hurry -and anxious to be done.</p> - -<p>“Well, they shot into each other. Jim yelled: ‘Damn it, my legs are full -of shot!’ And my father said: ‘Mine too, you clumsy coot!’ So they made -remarks to each other for a spell; and then Jim said: ‘Well, anyway, -there’s the fox; and I’m full of your shot, and I’m half froze. Let’s -skin the darn critter and get home.’</p> - -<p>“So father agreed; and they went at it. The old dog had come up by then, -and was sitting there with an eye on the fox, as a dog will. And father -took the front legs and Jim took the hind legs, and they worked fast. -And they kept cussing their hurts, and the cold, and each other. But -they slit the legs down, and skinned out the tail, and trimmed up the -ears and all, knives flying. And when they got about done, Jim, he said:</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Look ahere, there’s not a bullet in this fox.’</p> - -<p>“Well, they looked, and they couldn’t find a hole. Only there was a blue -streak across the fox’s head where a bullet had gone. And that was queer -enough, but father said: ‘I don’t give<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span> a hoot. There’s bullets enough -in me. Skin out his nose and let’s go.’</p> - -<p>“So they cussed each other some more, and finished it up; and Jim, he -heaved the carcass out into the brush, and father slung the skin over -his shoulder, and they turned around to start home.</p> - -<p>“Well, just about then the old dog let out behind them, and they whirled -around. And father always used to say that, mad as they were at each -other, they forgot all about it then; and they bust out laughing. He -said you couldn’t blame them. He said you never saw anything funnier.</p> - -<p>“You see, that fox was just stunned. The cold snow must have revived -him. Because when my father and Uncle Jim looked around, that skinless -fox was going up over the hill like a cat up a tree—and the old dog hot -on his heels.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The store rocked with their mirth as Westley stopped. Lee Motley roared, -and the Saladines laughed in their silent fashion, and Will Bissell -chuckled discreetly behind Proutt’s back. Westley himself displayed such -surprise at their mirth that they laughed the more; and fat little Jean -Bubier shook a finger at Proutt and cried:</p> - -<p>“And that will put the bee to your Dan, M’sieu Proutt. That will hold -your Dan for one leetle while, I t’ink.”</p> - -<p>Proutt himself was brick-red with fury; and his eyes were black on -Westley; but he pulled himself together, and he laughed ... shortly.</p> - -<p>His eyes did not leave Westley’s face. And Lee Motley found a chance to -warn the warden a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span> little later. “It was a good joke,” he said. “You -handed it to him right. But look out for the man, Westley. He’s mad.”</p> - -<p>Westley, still smiling, was nevertheless faintly troubled. “I’m sorry,” -he said. “I did it for a joke.”</p> - -<p>“He can’t take a joke,” said Motley.</p> - -<p>The warden nodded, considering. “I’ll tell you,” he told Motley. “I’ll -square it with him.”</p> - -<p>“If it was me,” Motley agreed, “I would.”</p> - -<p>Westley did not like to make enemies. And there had been only the -friendliest malice in his jest. He took his measures to soothe Proutt -before they left the store that night.</p> - -<p>Westley had a dog, a setter, clean-blooded, from one of the country’s -finest kennels. A New York man who had shot woodcock with the warden the -year before had sent the dog as a friendly gift, and Westley accepted it -in the same spirit. In its second year and still untrained, it had -nevertheless won Westley and won his wife and his children. They all -loved the dog, as they loved each other....</p> - -<p>Originally this dog had been called Rex. The Westleys changed this name -to Reck, which may be short for Reckless, or may be a name by itself. At -any rate, it pleased them, and it pleased the dog....</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The dog was untrained, and Westley had no time for the arduous work of -training. He had meant to send Reck, this fall, to Hepperton, in -Liberty; but, to make his amends to Proutt, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span> took the latter aside -this night and asked Proutt to take the training of the dog.</p> - -<p>On longer consideration, he might not have done this; but Westley was a -man of impulse and, as has been said, he was anxious to keep Proutt as a -friend. Nevertheless, he had no sooner asked Proutt to take the dog than -he regretted it, and hoped Proutt would refuse. But the dog trainer only -gave a moment to slow consideration, with downcast eyes.</p> - -<p>Then he said huskily: “I charge fifty dollars.”</p> - -<p>“Sure,” said Westley.</p> - -<p>“He’s a well-blooded dog,” said Proutt. “I’ll come to-morrow and fetch -him.”</p> - -<p>And with no further word—they were outside the store—he drove away. -Westley, watching him go, was filled with vague disquiet. He wished he -might withdraw; he wished Proutt would change his mind; he wished the -trainer might not come next day....</p> - -<p>But Proutt did come, and Westley himself bade Reck into the trainer’s -buggy and watched the dog ride away with wistful eyes turned backward.</p> - -<p>Westley’s wife was more concerned than he; and he forgot his own anxiety -in reassuring her.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>There are a thousand methods for the training of a bird dog, and each -man prefers his own. There are some dogs which need much training; there -are others which require little or none.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span></p> - -<p>Reck was so nobly blooded that the instincts of his craft were deeply -bedded in him. On his first day in the alder swamps with Proutt he -proved himself to the full. Proutt was a dog beater, as all men know, -but he did not beat dogs which obeyed him, and he did not beat Reck. -This first day he was merely trying the dog.</p> - -<p>Reck found a bird, and took stanch point, steady as a rock. It was not -yet October, the season was not yet open; and so Proutt had no right to -shoot. Nevertheless he did walk up this bird, and flushed it from where -it lay six feet before Reck’s nose, and knocked it over before it topped -the alders.</p> - -<p>Reck stood at point till the bird rose; when its whistling wings lifted -it, his nose followed it upward, followed its fall.... But he did not -stir, did not break shot; and Proutt, watching, knew that this was -indeed a dog.</p> - -<p>When the bird had fallen, Proutt said softly: “Reck! Fetch dead bird.”</p> - -<p>Now, this is in some measure the test of a setter. There are many -setters which take a natural point and hold it; there are some few which -are also natural retrievers, without training. Reck had been taught by -Westley’s children to fetch sticks or rocks at command. He knew the -word.</p> - -<p>He went swiftly forward and brought the woodcock, scarce ruffled, and -laid it in Proutt’s hand. And Proutt took the bird, and stood still, -looking down at Reck with a darkly brooding face. Considering, -weighing.... After a little he began to curse softly, under his breath; -and he turned and stamped out of the alder run, and bade Reck<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span> to heel, -and went home. And Reck trotted at his heels, tongue out, panting -happily....</p> - -<p>There are many ways by which the Devil may come at a man. One of them is -through hatred, and another way is to put a helpless thing in that man’s -hands. If the good in him outweighs the bad, well enough; but if the -evil has ascendancy, then that man is utterly lost and damned.</p> - -<p>Proutt hated Westley; Proutt had in his hands Reck, a dog by Westley -well-beloved. And Reck was pliant in Proutt’s hands, both because Proutt -knew dogs and because Reck was by nature tractable, eager to please, -anxious to do that which he was asked to do. The combination presented -itself to Proutt full clearly, as he walked his homeward way that day, -and it is to be supposed that he fought out what fight there was within -himself, during that long walk, and through the evening that followed.</p> - -<p>That Proutt had some battle with himself cannot be denied. No man sets -out to destroy a soul without first overcoming the scruples which bind -him; and there were scruples in Proutt. There must have been. He loved -dogs, loved fine dogs, and Reck was fine. Yet the destruction of Reck’s -honor and reputation and life—these were the ends which Proutt set -himself to bring about—at what pain to his own heart no man may fully -guess. It can only be known that in the end his hatred outweighed all -else—that he threw himself into the thing he meant to do.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Reck, as has been shown, needed no training for his appointed work. Yet -Proutt kept him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span> labored with him daily, for close to four long weeks, -as all Fraternity men knew. None saw that training. It was known that -Proutt took Reck far over the Sheepscot Ridge, where farms were all -deserted, and no man was like to come upon him. But he had done that -with dogs before, for woodcock lay thick in Sheepscot Valley. Once or -twice men heard the barking of a dog in that valley; and there was a -measure of pain in the notes. And three times men met Proutt driving -homeward, with Reck lying weary and subdued upon the floor of the buggy, -scarce fit to lift his head. It was remarked that Proutt was more dour -and morose than ever; and Lee Motley thought the man was aging....</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>One man only, and that man Jim Saladine, caught some inkling of that -which was afoot. Jim was a deer hunter; and toward mid-October, with a -shotgun under his arm for luck’s sake, but never a buckshot in his -cartridge pocket, he went one day into the Sheepscot Valley to search -out the land. Deer lay in the swamps there; and Jim sought to locate -them against the coming season. He moved slowly and quietly, as his -custom was; ears and eyes open. And he saw many things which another man -would never have seen.</p> - -<p>Two things he saw which had significance. Once, in a muddy patch along -the Sheepscot’s brim, he came upon a deer’s track; and other tracks -beside it. A man’s track, and a dog’s.</p> - -<p>Jim studied these tracks. They were sadly muddled; and he could make -little of them. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span> he was sure of this much—that man and dog had been -attentive to the tracks of the deer. And this stayed in Jim’s mind, -because no dog in Fraternity has any business with the track of a deer, -and no man may justly set a dog upon such track.</p> - -<p>Later that day Jim was to find some explanation for what he had seen. -Where Fuller’s brook comes into the Sheepscot, there lies an open meadow -half a mile long, and half as broad; and near the lower end of the -meadow half a dozen alders group about a lone tree in the open. Deer and -moose, coming up the Sheepscot Valley, are like to cross the stream -below and then traverse this meadow; and Jim Saladine stopped under -cover at the meadow’s head—it was near dusk—to see what he should see.</p> - -<p>He saw what you may see any day along the Sheepscot, and what, by the -same token, you may go a weary year without seeing. He saw a deer, a -proud buck, come up from the stream and follow the meadow toward where -he lay. It passed the isolated alder clump, and something there gave it -alarm; for Jim saw its head lift—saw then the quick leap and rush which -carried the creature to cover and away....</p> - -<p>Saw something else. Out from the alder clump burst a man, driving before -him a dog. Dusk was falling, Jim could see their figures only dimly. But -this much he saw. The man urged the dog after the deer, with waving -arms; and the dog, ever looking backward shame-facedly, trotted slowly -off upon the trail, the man still urging from behind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span></p> - -<p>They slipped into the brush where the deer had gone, and Jim caught no -further glimpse of them.</p> - -<p>Now, Saladine was an honest man, who loved the deer he hunted; and he -was angry. But he was also a just man; and he could not be sure whom he -had seen. So it was that he kept a still tongue, and waited, and through -the weeks that followed he watched, patiently enough, for what should -come.</p> - -<p>He meant, in that hour, to take a hand.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>With a week of October left, Proutt took Reck home to Westley. Westley -was not there, but Mrs. Westley marked Proutt’s lowering eye, and was -frightened of the man, and told Westley so when he came. But Westley was -well enough pleased to have Reck back again; and he bade her forget -Proutt.</p> - -<p>Proutt had been, thus far, somewhat favored by fortune. The business of -his office had taken Westley away from Fraternity for two weeks at a -time, so that Proutt had had full time to do with Reck as he chose. -Fraternity knew nothing of what had happened, though Jim Saladine may -have guessed. There was one night at Will’s store when Jim and Proutt -were near fisticuffs. Proutt had brought Dan with him to the store; and -Jim, studying the surly dog, asked:</p> - -<p>“Dan ever notice a deer, Proutt?”</p> - -<p>Proutt exclaimed profanely. “No,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I was over in the Sheepscot, t’other day,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span>” said Jim evenly. “See -tracks where a dog had been after a deer.”</p> - -<p>“More like it was one of these setters,” Proutt declared, watching them -all from beneath lowered lids. “They’ll kill a deer, or a sheep, give -’em a chance.”</p> - -<p>“It was hound’s tracks,” Jim persisted mildly; and something in Jim’s -tone, or in Proutt’s own heart, made the trainer boil into fury, so that -he strode toward Saladine. But Will Bissell came between, and the matter -passed.</p> - -<p>Proutt, before this, had taken Reck home; and the Westleys made much of -the dog. Reck had affable and endearing little tricks of his own. He had -a way of giving welcome, drawing back his upper lip so that his teeth -showed as though in a snarl, yet panting with dog laughter all the time; -and he had a way of talking, with high whines of delight, or throaty -growls that ran the scale. And he would lie beside Westley, or beside -Westley’s wife, and paw at them until they held his paw in their hands, -when he would go contentedly enough to sleep.</p> - -<p>They thought the dog was unhappy when he came home to them. He had a -slinking, shamed way about him. At first Westley supposed Proutt had -whipped him; but Reck showed no fear of a whip in Westley’s hands. After -two or three days this furtiveness passed away and Reck was the joyously -affectionate creature he had always been. So the Westleys forgot his -first attitude of guilt, and loved him ardently as men and women will -love a dog.</p> - -<p>Westley had opportunity for one day’s hunting<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span> with him, and Reck never -faltered at the task to which he had been born and bred.</p> - -<p>He had one fault. Chained, he would bark at the least alarm, in a manner -to wake the neighborhood. So Westley had never kept him chained. It was -not the way of Fraternity to keep dogs in the house of nights; so Reck -slept in the woodshed, and Westley knocked a plank loose and propped it, -leaving Reck an easy avenue to go out or in. It was this custom of -Westley’s which gave Proutt the chance for which he had laid his plans.</p> - -<p>October had gone; November had come. This was in the days when woodcock -might be shot in November if you could find them. But most men who went -into the woods bore rifles; for it was open season for deer. Now and -then you might hear the snapping crash of a thirty-thirty in Whitcher -Swamp, or at one of the crossings, or—if you went so far—in the alder -vales along the Sheepscot. And one day in the middle of the month, when -the ground was frozen hard, Proutt came to Nick Westley’s home.</p> - -<p>He came at noon, driving his old buggy. Westley was at dinner when he -heard Proutt drive into the yard; and he went to the door and bade the -dog trainer come in. But Proutt shook his head, and his eyes were -somber.</p> - -<p>“You come out, Westley,” he said. “I’ve a word for you.”</p> - -<p>There was something in Proutt’s tone which disturbed Westley. He put on -his mackinaw, and drew his cap down about his ears, and went out into -the yard. Reck had been asleep on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span> doorstep when Proutt appeared; he -had barked a single bark. But now he was gone into the shed, out of -sight; and when Westley came near Proutt’s buggy, the dog trainer asked:</p> - -<p>“Did you see Reck sneak away?”</p> - -<p>Westley was angry; and he was also shaken by a sudden tremor of alarm. -He said hotly enough: “Reck never sneaks. He did not sneak away.”</p> - -<p>“He knows I saw him,” said Proutt. “He heard me yell.”</p> - -<p>Westley asked, with narrowing eyes: “What are you talking about? Where -did you see him?”</p> - -<p>“This morning,” Proutt declared. “Scant daylight. Down in the Swamp.”</p> - -<p>Westley stood very still, trying to remember whether he had seen Reck -early that morning. And he could only remember, with a shocking -certainty, that Reck had not been at home when he came out of the house -to do his chores. He had called and got no answer; and it may have been -half an hour before the dog appeared. It had disturbed Westley at the -time; and he scolded Reck for self-hunting. But any dog will range the -home farm in the morning hours, and Westley had not taken the matter -seriously.</p> - -<p>Proutt’s words, and his tone more than his words, made the matter very -serious indeed. Westley forced himself to ask: “What were you doing in -the Swamp?”</p> - -<p>“I was after a deer,” said Proutt; and when Westley remained silent, -Proutt added huskily: “So was Reck.”</p> - -<p>Westley cried: “That’s a lie.” But his own voice sounded strange and -unnatural in his ears.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span> He would not believe. Yet he knew that other -dogs had chased deer in the past, and would again. He had himself shot -half a dozen. It was the law; and he was the instrument of the law. And -this was the very bitterness of Proutt’s accusation; for if it were -true, then he must shoot Reck. And Westley would as soon have shot one -of his own blood as the dog he loved.</p> - -<p>In the little instant of silence that followed upon his word, he saw all -this, too clearly. And in spite of his love for Reck, and in spite of -his ardent longing to believe that Proutt had lied, he feared -desperately that the man spoke truth. Westley’s wife would never have -believed; for a woman refuses to believe any evil of those she loves. -She is loyal by refusing to believe; a man may believe and be loyal -still.</p> - -<p>Westley did not know whether to believe or not; but he knew that he was -terribly afraid. He told Proutt: “That’s a lie!” And Proutt, after a -long moment, clucked to his horse and started on. Westley called after -him: “Wait!”</p> - -<p>Proutt stopped his horse; and Westley asked: “What are you going to do?”</p> - -<p>“You’re game warden,” Proutt told him sullenly. “Nobody around here can -make you do anything, less’n you’re a mind to. But I’ve told you what’s -going on.”</p> - -<p>Westley was sweating in the cold, and said pitifully: “Proutt, are you -sure?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Proutt; and Westley cried: “What did you see?”</p> - -<p>“I had a deer marked,” said Proutt slowly. “He’d been feeding under an -old apple tree<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span> down there. I was there before day this morning, -figuring to get a shot at him. Crep’ in quiet. Come day, I couldn’t see -him. But after a spell I heard a smashing in the brush, and he come out -through an open, and was away before I could shoot. And hot after him -came Reck.”</p> - -<p>“How far away?” Westley asked.</p> - -<p>“Not more’n ten rod.”</p> - -<p>“You couldn’t be sure.”</p> - -<p>“Damn it, man, I know Reck. Besides, I wouldn’t want to say it was him, -would I? He’s a grand dog.”</p> - -<p>“What did you do?” Westley asked.</p> - -<p>“Yelled at him to come in.”</p> - -<p>“Did he stop?”</p> - -<p>“Stopped for one look, and then one jump into the brush and away he -went.”</p> - -<p>Westley was almost convinced; he turned to call Reck, with some curious -and half-formed notion that he might catechize the dog himself. But when -he turned, he found Reck at his side; and the setter was standing -steadily, legs stiff and proud like a dog on show, eyes fixed on Proutt. -There was no guilt in his attitude; nor was there accusation. There was -only steady pride and self-respect; and Westley, at sight of him, could -not believe this damning thing.</p> - -<p>He said slowly: “Look at him, Proutt. If this were true, he’d be -ashamed, and crawling. You saw some other dog.”</p> - -<p>Proutt shook his head. “He’s a wise, bold dog, is Reck. Wise as you and -me. He’ll face it out if he can.”</p> - -<p>Westley pulled himself together, dropping one<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span> hand on Reck’s head. “I -don’t believe it, Proutt,” he said. “But I’m going to make sure.”</p> - -<p>“I am sure,” said Proutt. “You can do as you please. But don’t ask me to -keep my mouth shut. You was quick enough to shoot Jackson’s dog when you -caught her on that doe.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” said Westley; and his face was white. “I’ll be as quick with -Reck, when I’m sure.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll take pains not to get sure.”</p> - -<p>Westley held his voice steady. “Did you ever have to call Reck off deer -tracks?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Then he’s never been taught not to run them?”</p> - -<p>“Neither had Jackson’s dog.”</p> - -<p>“What I mean,” said Westley, “is this. He doesn’t know it’s wrong to run -deer.”</p> - -<p>“That’s no excuse.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not excusing him.”</p> - -<p>Proutt swore. “Well, what are you doing?”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to take him into the swamp and find a deer,” said Westley -slowly. “See what he does. He’s never been taught not to run them. So -he’ll run any that we find. If it’s in him to do it, he’ll take after -them—”</p> - -<p>Proutt nodded; and there was a certain triumph in his eyes. “You take -your gun along,” he said. “You’re going to need that gun.”</p> - -<p>Westley, white and steady, said: “I’ll take the gun. Will you come -along?”</p> - -<p>“Sure.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know where we can find a deer?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“No; not this time o’ day.”</p> - -<p>Westley turned toward the house. “Wait,” he said. “I’ll get my gun; and -we’ll go pick up Jim Saladine. He’ll know.”</p> - -<p>Proutt nodded. “I’ll wait,” he agreed.</p> - -<p>Westley went into the house. Reck stood on the doorstep. Proutt, -waiting, watched Reck with a flickering, deadly light in his sullen -eyes.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>Saladine listened silently to Westley’s request; but he looked at Proutt -with an eye before which Proutt uneasily turned away his head. -Nevertheless, being by nature a taciturn man, he made no comment or -suggestion. He only said: “I can find a deer.”</p> - -<p>“Where?” Westley asked.</p> - -<p>“Over in the Sheepscot,” said Saladine. “I’ve got mine for this season; -but I know some hardwood ridges over there where they’re like to be -feeding, come evening.”</p> - -<p>Proutt said uneasily: “Hell, there’s a deer nearer than Sheepscot.”</p> - -<p>“Where?” Westley asked.</p> - -<p>“Everywhere.”</p> - -<p>“We ain’t got time to cover that much territory to-day,” the hunter said -mildly. “If the Sheepscot suits, I’ll go along. I’m most sure well pick -up deer.”</p> - -<p>Westley asked: “Do you think I’m testing Reck fair?”</p> - -<p>Saladine spat. “Yes, I’d say so,” he agreed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’ve got work to do,” Proutt still objected. “Sheepscot’s a danged long -way.”</p> - -<p>“I want you to come,” said Westley.</p> - -<p>So Proutt assented at last; and they set off in his team. He and Westley -in the front seat, Saladine and Reck behind. A five-mile drive over the -Sheepscot Ridge. “Past Mac’s Corner,” Saladine told them; and they went -that way.</p> - -<p>The road took them by Proutt’s house; and old Dan, Proutt’s hound, came -out to bark at them, and saw Proutt, and tried to get into the buggy. -Proutt bade him back to the house; then, as an afterthought, got out and -shut the hound indoors. “Don’t want him following,” he said.</p> - -<p>Saladine’s eyes were narrow with thought, but he made no comment, and -they moved on their way.</p> - -<p>That part of Maine in which Fraternity lies is a curious study for -geologists. A good many centuries ago, when the great glaciers graved -this land, they slid down from north to south into the sea, and in their -sliding plowed deep furrows, so that the country is cut up by ridges, -running almost true north and south, and ending in peninsulas with bays -between. Thus the coast line is jagged as a saw.</p> - -<p>These ridges run far up into the State; and the Sheepscot Ridge is as -bold as any one of them. There is no break in it; and it herds the -little waterways down into Sheepscot River, and guides the river itself -south till it meets the sea. There are trout in Sheepscot; and thirty -years ago the valley was full of farms and mills; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span> these farms are -for the most part deserted now, and the mills are gone, leaving only -shattered dams to mark the spots where they stood. The valley is a -tangle of second-growth timber, broken here and there by ancient meadows -through which brooks meander. Here dwells every wild thing that the -region knows.</p> - -<p>Proutt’s old buggy climbed the long road up the eastern slope of the -ridge; and the somber beauty of the countryside lay outspread behind -them. The sun was falling lower; the shadows were lengthening; and a -cold wind blew across the land. Across George’s Valley and George’s Lake -lay the lower hills, the Appleton Ridge beyond, and far southeast the -higher domes of Megunticook and the Camden Hills. The bay itself could -not be seen, but the dark top of Blue Hill showed, twenty miles beyond -the bay; and Mount Desert, ten miles farther still....</p> - -<p>The men had no eyes for these beauties. They rode in silence, watching -the road ahead. And they passed through Liberty, and past Mac’s Corner, -and so up to top the ridge at last. Paused there to breathe Proutt’s -horse.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Back at Proutt’s home, about the time they were in Liberty, some one had -opened the door of the shed in which old Dan was locked; and the hound, -watching his chance, scuttled out into the open. What well-founded habit -prompted him can only be guessed; certain it is that he wheeled, never -heeding the calls from behind him, and took the road by which Proutt had -gone, hard on his master’s trail.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span></p> - -<p>If the dog trainer had known this, matters might have turned out -differently. But Proutt could not know.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>The roads from Sheepscot Ridge down into Sheepscot Valley are for the -most part rough and little used. An occasional farmer comes this way; an -occasional fisherman drops from the steep descent to the bridge. But the -frost has thrown boulders up across the road; and grass grows between -the ruts, and the young hardwood crowds close on either side. Down this -road, at Saladine’s direction, Proutt turned; and the westering sun -shone through the leafless branches and laid a bright mosaic before the -feet of the horse.</p> - -<p>Halfway down the hill Saladine spoke. “Let’s light out,” he said. “We’ll -find something up along this slope.”</p> - -<p>Westley nodded; and Proutt, after a moment’s hesitation, stopped his -horse. They got out, and Reck danced about their feet. Proutt tied the -horse to a sapling beside the road; and they climbed the ruined stone -wall and turned into the wood. Westley alone had a gun; the others were -unarmed.</p> - -<p>The course Saladine set for them was straight along the slope, moving -neither up nor down; and the three men, accustomed to the woods, went -quickly. Westley spoke to Reck now and then. His only word was the -hunter’s command. “Get in there,” he said. “Get in. Go on.” And<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span> Reck -ranged forward, and up, and down, covering a front of half a dozen rods -as they advanced. Westley was in the middle, Saladine was below, Proutt -above the other two.</p> - -<p>Westley had suggested putting his hunting bell on Reck; but Proutt -negatived that with a caustic word. “He’d know, then, you wanted birds,” -he said. “And, anyways, it’d scare the deer.” So they followed the dog -by sight or by the stirring of his feet among the leaves; and at times -he was well ahead of them, and at times when he moved more slowly they -were close upon his heels. At such moments Westley held them back till -Reck should work ahead.</p> - -<p>Whether Reck had any knowledge of what was in their minds, no man can -say. There were moments when they saw he was uncertain, when he turned -to look inquiringly back at them. But for the most part he worked -steadily back and forth as a good dog will, quartering the ground by -inches. And always he progressed along the ridge, and always they -followed him. And Saladine, down the slope, watched Proutt as they moved -on.</p> - -<p>No man spoke, save that Westley urged Reck softly on when the dog turned -back to look at them. And at the last, when he saw that Reck had found -game, it needed no word to bring the three together, two or three rods -behind the dog.</p> - -<p>Reck, as the gunners say, was “marking game.” Nose down, he moved -forward, foot by foot; and now and then he stopped for long seconds -motionless, as though at point; but always he moved forward again. And -Westley felt the cold sweat upon his forehead; and he looked at Proutt -and saw<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span> the dog trainer licking his tight lips. Only Saladine kept a -steady eye upon the dog and searched the thickets ahead.</p> - -<p>After a rod or two Reck stopped, and this time he did not move. And -Westley whispered to the others: “Walk it up, whatever it is. Move in.” -So the men went slowly forward, eyes aching with the strain of staring -into the shadows of the wood.</p> - -<p>When Reck took his point he was well ahead of them. He held it while -they came up beside him; and then, as they passed where the dog stood, -something plunged in the brush ahead, and they all saw the swift flash -of brown and the bobbing white tail as a buck deer drove straight away -from them along the slope. And Proutt cried triumphantly:</p> - -<p>“A deer, by God! I said it. I told you so. Shoot, Westley. Damn you, -shoot!”</p> - -<p>Westley stood still as still, and his heart was sunk a hundred fathoms -deep. His hand was shaking and his eyes were blurred with tears. For -Reck, who had no rightful concern with anything that roved the woods -save the creatures which go on the wing, had marked a deer. Enough to -damn him! Had hunted deer!...</p> - -<p>He tried to lift the gun, but Saladine spoke sharply. “Hold on. Look at -the dog. He didn’t chase the deer.”</p> - -<p>Westley realized then that Reck was, in fact, still marking game, moving -slowly on ahead of them. But Proutt cried: “He’d smelled it; he didn’t -see it go. Or there’s another ahead.”</p> - -<p>“He didn’t chase the deer,” said Saladine. Westley, without speaking, -moved forward be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span>hind the dog. And of a second his heart could beat -again.</p> - -<p>For they came to where the buck had been lying, to his bed, still warm. -And Reck passed over this warm bed, where the deer scent was so strong -the men could almost catch it themselves; passed over this scent as -though it did not exist, and swung, beyond, to the right, and up the -slope. The buck had gone forward and down.</p> - -<p>“He’s not after deer,” said Saladine.</p> - -<p>They knew what he was after in the next instant; for wings drummed ahead -of them, and four partridges got up, huge, fleeting shadows in the -darkening woods. And Reck’s nose followed them in flight till they were -gone, then swung back to Westley, wrinkling curiously, as though he -asked:</p> - -<p>“Why did you not shoot?”</p> - -<p>Westley went down on his knees and put his arms about the dog’s neck; -and then he came to his feet uncertainly as Proutt exclaimed: “Hell, he -was after deer. He knew we were watching. Took the birds.”</p> - -<p>Westley tried to find a word, but Saladine, that silent man, stepped -forward.</p> - -<p>“Westley,” he said, “wait a minute. You, Proutt, be still.”</p> - -<p>They looked at him uncertainly, Proutt growling. And Saladine spat on -the ground as though he tasted the unclean. “I’ve kept my mouth shut. -Wanted to see. Meant to tell it in the end. Westley, Proutt broke your -dog.”</p> - -<p>Westley nodded. “Yes.” He looked at Proutt.</p> - -<p>“He broke him to run deer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Westley began to tremble, and he could not take his eyes from Saladine; -and Proutt broke out in a roaring oath, till Saladine turned slowly upon -him.</p> - -<p>The deer hunter went on: “I waited to see. I knowed what would come; but -I wanted to see. A bird dog’s bred to birds. If he’s bred right, it’s in -him. Reck’s bred right. You can make him run deer. Proutt did. But you -can’t make him like it. Birds is his meat. You saw that just now. He -didn’t pay any heed to that buck; but he did pay heed to the pa’tridge.”</p> - -<p>Proutt cried: “Damn you, Saladine, you can’t say a thing like that.”</p> - -<p>Saladine cut in: “I saw you. Month ago. Down by Fuller’s Brook. A deer -crossed there, up into the meadow. You was in the alders with Reck, and -you tried to set him on. He wouldn’t run, and you drove him. I saw you, -Proutt.”</p> - -<p>Westley looked down at Reck; and he looked at Proutt, the trainer; and -he looked back at Reck again. There was something in Reck’s eyes which -made him hot and angry; there was a pleading something in Reck’s slowly -wagging tail.... And Westley turned to Proutt, cool enough now; and he -said:</p> - -<p>“I can see it now, Proutt. I’ve known there was something, felt there -was something.” He laughed joyously. “Why, Proutt, you man who knows -dogs. Didn’t you know you could not kill the soul and the honor of a dog -like mine? Reck is a thoroughbred. He knows his work. And you—”</p> - -<p>He moved a little toward the other. “Proutt,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span>” he said, “I’m going to -lick you till you can’t stand.”</p> - -<p>Proutt’s big head lowered between his shoulders. “So—” he said.</p> - -<p>And Westley stepped toward him.</p> - -<p>Saladine said nothing; Reck did not stir; and the woods about them were -as still as still. It was in this silence, before a blow could be -struck, that they heard the sound of running feet in the timber above -them; and Saladine said swiftly: “Deer!”</p> - -<p>He moved, with the word, half a dozen paces back by the way they had -come, to an old wood road they had crossed, and stood there, looking up -the slope. Westley and Proutt forgot each other and followed him; and -Reck stayed close at Westley’s heel. They could hear the beating feet -more plainly now; and Saladine muttered:</p> - -<p>“Scared. Something chasing it.”</p> - -<p>On the word, abruptly startling them, the deer came into view—a doe, -running swiftly and unwearied. Striking the wood road, the creature -followed the easier going, down the slope toward them; and because they -were so still it failed to discover the men till it was scarce two rods -away. Sighting them then, the doe stopped an instant, then lightly -leaped into the brush at one side, and was gone.</p> - -<p>The men did not look after the deer; they waited to see what pursued it. -And after a moment Saladine’s face grimly hardened, and Westley’s became -somber and grave, and Proutt turned pale as ashes.</p> - -<p>For, lumbering down the hill upon the dee<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span>r’s hot trail, came Dan, that -hound which Proutt had shut away at home—came Dan, hot on the trail as -Proutt had taught him.</p> - -<p>The dog saw them, as the deer had done, and would have swung aside. But -Proutt cried, in a broken voice: “Dan, come in.”</p> - -<p>So came the hound to heel, sullenly and slowly, eyes off into the wood -where the doe had gone; and for a moment no one spoke, till Saladine -slowly drawled:</p> - -<p>“Westley, give Proutt your gun.”</p> - -<p>Westley did not speak. He was immensely sorry for Proutt, and all his -anger at the man had gone. Proutt looked old, and shaken, and weary; and -he had dropped his heavy hand across Dan’s neck. He caught Westley’s eye -and said harshly: “To hell with your gun. I’ll use my own.”</p> - -<p>An instant more they stood; then Westley turned to Saladine. “Jim, let’s -go,” he said. And Saladine nodded, and they moved away, Reck at -Westley’s heels. After a moment, an odd panic in his voice, Proutt -called after them: “Wait, I’ll ride you home.”</p> - -<p>But Saladine answered: “I’ll walk!” And Westley did not speak at all. He -and Reck and the deer hunter went steadily upon their way.</p> - -<p>The sun was setting; and dark shadows filtered through the trees to hide -old Proutt where he still stood close beside his dog.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="JESHURUN_WAXED_FAT" id="JESHURUN_WAXED_FAT"></a>“JESHURUN WAXED FAT”</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>T was an evening at Chet McAusland’s farm, on the hill above -Fraternity. Chet and I had been all day in the woodcock covers with the -dogs, Reck and Frenchy, and with the ghost of old Tantrybogus going on -before us. We had come home to a heaping supper of fried woodcock, -boiled potatoes, sweet salt pork, squash, doughnuts, cheese, and Mrs. -McAusland’s incomparable biscuits, with pie to follow after. When Chet’s -chores were done, we went down to Will Bissell’s store to brag about our -day’s bag and get the mail; and now we were at home again, and Chet, to -confirm his recollection in connection with an ancient catch of trout of -which he spoke, brought from the desk in the front room an old -leather-backed account-book and conned its yellowing pages.</p> - -<p>When he had found that which he sought, he laid the book down between -us, and as he talked, I picked it up and looked it through, idly. The -covers were worn and ragged with age, and there was a flap upon the one -that entered a slit upon the other, holding the book securely closed. -The pages were filled with entries in pencil or in pen, and some of -these were concerned with matters of business concluded twenty years -before; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span> some recorded the results of days with rod or gun; while -here and there, dropped at random, were paragraphs or pages devoted to -casual incidents that had struck Chet’s fancy through a space of forty -years. On one such series I chanced, and read the entries through, first -to myself, and then, with some amusement, aloud. They ran in this wise:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>June 6, 1883. Jed was taken sick to-day with a pain in his stomach. -He seems very weak. The old man won’t last long.</p> - -<p>March, 1887. The old man’s stomach is bothering him again. He has -to stay in bed right along.</p> - -<p>September 2, 1892. Abbie Grant says Uncle Jed’s pain is worse. He’s -not long for this world.</p> - -<p>July, 1895. That pain in Uncle Jed’s insides still hangs on. It -will be the death of him.</p> - -<p>August 2, 1898. Deborah Grant was here to-day. The old man still -breathes.</p> - -<p>May, 1900. Uncle Jed is still alive and kicking.</p></div> - -<p>When I had finished reading these items aloud, Chet drew his chin back -against his neck and laughed with that robust vigor which is -characteristic of him; and I, without at all understanding the jest, -nevertheless laughed in sympathy.</p> - -<p>“But it seems to me,” I suggested, “that the record ends here a bit -abruptly. What happened to the old man, anyway?”</p> - -<p>“That was old Uncle Jed Grant,” Chet told me, tears of mirth in his -eyes. “I could tell you things about Uncle Jed that ’u’d surprise you.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. McAusland called from the kitchen to warn me that if I didn’t look -out I’d get Chet started; but I reassured her, and bade Chet tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span> on. -That which follows is the substance of his telling.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>This Jedidiah Grant, so Chet assured me, was by all odds the meanest man -that ever dwelt in Fraternity, where to be mean and to be miserly are -synonymous.</p> - -<p>“Why,” said Chet, “he was so mean he wouldn’t let you see him laugh; -fear it ’u’d tickle you.” And he began to chuckle at some recollection, -so that it was necessary to spur him before he would go on.</p> - -<p>“I was thinking,” he explained, “of the time Jed went down to Boston. -Went to turn some gold into greenbacks. This was after the war, when the -greenbacks was ’way down. Jed had made some money boot-legging in -Bangor, and he see a chance to make some more. Trip didn’t cost him a -thing, because a couple of Boston men asked him to come down.”</p> - -<p>He had met these men in Bangor, it appeared.</p> - -<p>“They ’lowed I uz a side-show,” Jed told Chet. “I knowed they thought -so, but long as they paid my way, I didn’t mind. Went along down and did -my business at the bank. Then they took me to supper at a tavern and -tried to git me drunk; got drunk theirselves. Then we went to a show. -Say, Chet, they was the funniest man in that show I ever see. I set -between these two, and they kep’ a-looking at me, and I was like to -bust, I wanted to laugh so bad. I never did see such a funny man. But I -didn’t much as grin; it near killed me. Say, when I got<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span> into bed that -night, I like’ to died laughing, just thinking about him. But they -didn’t know that.”</p> - -<p>“I asked him,” Chet explained, “why he didn’t want to laugh in the -theater, and he says, ‘I wouldn’t give them two that much satisfaction.’ -So he saved it up till he got alone. That’s how mean he was.”</p> - -<p>This man had been born in Fraternity, and his brother Nehemiah and his -sisters Abigail and Deborah always lived in the town. No one of them was -ever to marry. They were dwelling together in the house where their -father and mother had lived when Jed came back to Fraternity and settled -down to a business in usury, lending out money on iron-clad notes, and -collecting on the nail. He was a timorous man, forever fearful lest by -force or by stealth he be robbed of the tin box of paper that -represented his fortune; therefore he hid the box ingeniously, sharing -the secret with no living man.</p> - -<p>Jed was already old, and his sixtieth birthday came in 1881. He had -bought a little hillside farm, where he lived alone; but in that year -his loneliness became oppressive to him, and he sought out his brother -’Miah with a proposal that he had carefully planned.</p> - -<p>Before ’Miah’s eyes old Jed spread out all the kingdoms of the world. -That is to say, he showed his brother the tin box of notes, showed all -his wealth to the other man. He was worth at this time twenty thousand -dollars, a fortune in Fraternity.</p> - -<p>“It’s this a-way, ’Miah,” he explained. “I’m a-getting old, and mighty -feeble sometimes. Ca<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span>n’t do for myself like I used. I could hire -somebody to take care of me, but that don’t look just right. Seems like -what I got ought to stay in the family, ’Miah. Don’t it look that way to -you?”</p> - -<p>It did. ’Miah had no love for his brother; there was no basis for any -such love, since Jed had gouged him as hungrily as he had gouged other -men. Nevertheless, there was in Jed’s money a powerful conciliatory -factor, and ’Miah, though weaker, was as avaricious as the older man. He -asked:</p> - -<p>“What are you heading at, anyway?”</p> - -<p>“This here, ’Miah,” Jed replied. “You come on over here and fix to live -with me and look out for me. You’re younger than I be, and I ain’t a -well man, anyway. You do for me long as I live, and I’ll fix it so you -heir my prop’ty. Ain’t that a right fair thing?”</p> - -<p>’Miah did not consider over-long. The duties proposed to him were -burdensome, but the rewards were proportionately great. He did insist on -a formal will, which Jed drew and signed and delivered into ’Miah’s -custody. Thereafter the younger brother moved from the home farm, -leaving the sisters to dwell there alone with a hired man for help, and -came to live with the old miser.</p> - -<p>Jed began almost at once to prosper on this care. He contributed to the -support of the household nothing whatever.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tain’t in the bargain,” he insisted when ’Miah complained. “And, -besides,” he added, “all I got is a-going to come to you.” He -contributed nothing, yet demanded everything: vic<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span>tuals of his choice -and plenty of them, the daily paper to read, and a regular allowance of -gin. He demanded these things, and got them. Passers used to see him -sitting in the sun before the house door, as slothful as a serpent, his -little black eyes twisting this way and that in a beady fashion that -completed the likeness. He had been spare and thin; he began to put on -flesh. But as the angles of his frame became more rounded, the edges of -his tongue became keener, and he cut ’Miah with sharp words day by day.</p> - -<p>’Miah was a spineless man; nevertheless the hour came when he rebelled. -It is impossible to say how this ultimate dissension was begun; the -sources of such quarrels are often lost in the flood of recriminations -which arise from them. ’Miah, in a futile, shrill-voiced manner, lost -his temper, but Jed did not. The older man goaded the other with edged -words, observing with malign amusement his brother’s rising anger, till -’Miah suddenly became silent, turned away, and without word began to -gather his few belongings. Jed, having watched him for a time, asked:</p> - -<p>“What you a-doing, ’Miah?”</p> - -<p>“I got enough of you,” ’Miah told him, sullenly. “I’m going back home.”</p> - -<p>Persisting in a stubborn silence, he continued his preparations all that -morning; and Jed, at first jeering and incredulous, was forced to accept -the other’s intentions. It was in this crisis that he conceived the -artifice that was to become a part of his life. ’Miah, in the bedroom, -heard Jed groan; he paid no heed, and his brother<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span> groaned again. This -time the younger man came to the door and looked at Jed, suspiciously. -The miser was bent forward in his chair, hugging himself and groaning -more and more. ’Miah asked petulantly:</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with you?” And Jed gasped, as though in agony:</p> - -<p>“Git Doctor Crapo, ’Miah. I’m a-dying. I got a turrible pain in my -stummick.”</p> - -<p>’Miah studied him; he said incredulously:</p> - -<p>“It’s belly-ache.”</p> - -<p>Jed wagged his wicked old head and groaned again.</p> - -<p>“All right, ’Miah; but git the doctor, anyhow. I’m a-dying, sure.”</p> - -<p>There was always a chance that this might be true. ’Miah sent for the -doctor, and Doctor Crapo, a young man then and not so wise as he would -later be, questioned Jed, and took pulse and temperature, and said with -some solemnity:</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. You’ve got no fever, but your heart is jumpy. I -guess—Well, you’re getting along, you know. If this pain is what you -say, it’s just the beginning of one of those ailments that come on old -men sometimes. Nothing I can do for it at your age.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a-killing me,” Jed pleaded weakly, and the doctor said:</p> - -<p>“Well, I can physic you, of course; but if it’s just a stomach-ache, it -will stop anyway, and if it’s something worse, physic won’t do a bit of -good.”</p> - -<p>“This ain’t no stummick-ache,” said Jed and groaned again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span></p> - -<p>The doctor nodded, and he and ’Miah went out of the room together. ’Miah -took this chance to ask:</p> - -<p>“How about it, Doc?”</p> - -<p>“May be bad,” the doctor told him. “Looks like the beginning of one of -those torturing deaths that some men die. Months, maybe years, of that -pain, getting worse all the time. And—his heart is bad.”</p> - -<p>“He’ll maybe die?”</p> - -<p>“Might go any time,” said Doctor Crapo, and drove away.</p> - -<p>Now, this was in 1883. Chet McAusland had recorded the first appearance -of that pain in the old note-book that I still held in my hand. The -effect of Jed’s artifice was that ’Miah did not, after all, desert his -brother. Actuated by the avaricious thought that since he had endured -three years of servitude for no return, he might as well endure another -period, now that the reward was in sight, he stayed on at the little -hillside farm. The next spring he died and was laid away. Old Jed had -read his brother well; he grinned to himself because he had been able to -buy ’Miah’s services with empty promises and nothing more, and the -incident gave him confidence. He lived for a few months alone.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>But in 1885 Jed’s native sloth rebelled at the necessity for tending his -own bodily needs, and he sent for his sister Abigail, who lived with -Deborah on their father’s farm—sent for Abbie,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span> and showed her, as he -had showed ’Miah, that tin box of ugly treasure-trove.</p> - -<p>“I’m a-getting feeble, Abbie,” he told her, plaintively. “I’m too old to -do for myself.” With some inward appreciation of the satiric drama of -the situation, he parroted the phrases he had used to ’Miah four years -before. “I could hire somebody, but that don’t look right. What I got -ought to stay in the family. You come and take care of me.”</p> - -<p>This spinster sister was a humble little woman without strength or -assertiveness; she yielded not from greed, but from lack of strength to -resist his insistence, and so came to the farm upon the hill. Chet, -telling the story, struck his fist upon his knee at the recollection.</p> - -<p>“There’s nobody knows what he put her through, and Deborah after her,” -he told me. “That old heathen had to have his own way or he’d raise holy -Ned; and he got it. Abbie stood it longer than ’Miah; she never did kick -up and threaten to leave him. But after two years she took sick and -discouraged-like, and wanted to quit and go home. Then Jed he begun to -say again how sick he was; made her fetch the doctor again.”</p> - -<p>This time, it appeared, Doctor Crapo had been wholly convinced of the -miser’s honesty.</p> - -<p>“A pain like that,” he told Jed, “is always a sure sign. I’ve seen them -go. Specially men that eat heavy, like you do, and that get fat as they -go along. You’re going to have that pain the rest of your life, and -worse all the time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Abbie was in the room, and Jed asked plaintively:</p> - -<p>“Hev I got to suffer like this here for days and days, Doc?”</p> - -<p>“Months, maybe years,” said the doctor, implacably.</p> - -<p>Jed shook his head, turned wearily toward the wall.</p> - -<p>“It ain’t a-going to be that long,” he assured them. “I can’t stand it -so long as you say.”</p> - -<p>Before this pitiable resignation, Abbie had neither the courage nor the -selfishness to leave her brother alone; so she struggled on, tending the -dying man. But five years later he was still alive, as venomous and as -slothful as he had ever been, when Abigail at last gave way. She -suffered what would have passed as a nervous breakdown in a woman of -more sheltered life, and needed Jed’s care far more than he needed hers. -When she would have taken to her bed, however, Jed kept stubbornly to -his, so that she drove herself meekly to her round of tasks, and wept -with the agony of tight-wrung nerves. It was release when, in the -following spring, she died. Jed grinned at the fact that her years of -service had brought her no reward at all, and the day after the funeral -he sent for Deborah.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>“By that time,” Chet assured me, “everybody in town knowed about Uncle -Jed and this pain of his, and from now on he talked about it more. You -stop to see him any day, and he’d groan and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span> take on in a way that ’u’d -surprise you. He stayed in bed all the time, in a room all shut up -tight, reading his papers and drinking his gin and eating all the time. -Deborah took good care of him; she was that kind of a woman. She had -backbone, but she was built to take care of folks, and half the town had -had her in when folks was sick. There was times when she threatened to -leave him, but she never did, him always saying he was about to die.”</p> - -<p>There were skeptics, it appeared. Doctor Crapo himself was at last -beginning to suspect the old miser’s play-acting.</p> - -<p>“If he’d had that pain all this time,” he told Deborah, “he’d be howling -with it night and day or dead long ago. He’s a lazy hound; that’s all, -Miss Grant.”</p> - -<p>But Deborah would not altogether be convinced, and when Jed heard the -doctor’s words, he wagged his head and said pathetically:</p> - -<p>“That’s what I git for bearing it so brave’. If I’d yell and take on, -you’d believe me; but because I keep my mouth shut and stand these -torments, you think I’m lying.”</p> - -<p>So Deborah stayed with him. There was no avarice in her, but there was -the instinct for service, and some trace of blood affection for this -worthless brother, last of her kin alive. She gave him pitying and -tender care, and the old man, in his slothful bed, fattened enormously, -till it was scarcely possible for him to move at all. Yet in May, 1900, -he was, as Chet had recorded, still alive and kicking; and in June of -that year Deborah suddenly died.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span></p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>This woman was loved in Fraternity, and with reason. To the funeral -services in the little farmhouse came more men and women than could be -crowded within doors. Jed, abed in the next room, listened to the -minister’s slow and reverent words with a derisive grin. One or two -people came in to speak to him, charitably, as people do at such hours. -There was an element of martyrdom about the woman’s death that awed -them, glorifying even the ugly ceremonies of the funeral.</p> - -<p>Jed did not feel this at all. He was amusing himself with his own -reflections, and as the service drew toward its end he became so -absorbed in his own thoughts that he was not aware when the stirring of -feet marked the departure of the little cortège. The last man and the -last woman left the house to follow what was left of Deborah to her -grave, and five minutes after they were gone Jed realized that he was -alone.</p> - -<p>Not at first sure of this, he called out; but no one answered. When he -knew that he would not be overheard, the fat man began to chuckle and -shake with mirth at thought of how he had tricked his brother and -sisters; how, trading upon their avarice and their faint love for him, -he had bought their lives with empty promises, never to be fulfilled.</p> - -<p>But after a little this amusement passed; it gave way to a desire to -talk to some one, share this jest with them. He called out once more, -but no answer came to his call.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span></p> - -<p>The realization that he was in fact utterly alone, the abrupt -possibility that hereafter he would always be alone, with no tender -hands to serve him, startled the old man, and somewhat affrighted him. -He was aware of a tremor of fear at the prospect of the loneliness that -lay ahead, and because he wished to reassure himself, give evidence that -power still dwelt in him, he decided to get out of bed.</p> - -<p>With some effort he pushed away the heavy coverlets with which he was -accustomed to swaddle his vast body, and tried to swing his feet to the -floor, lift his bulk from the bed. He struggled for an instant, then -fell back with white face and staring eyes, and the sweat of fear upon -his forehead.</p> - -<p>For the first time in his life he had suddenly been stricken with a -terrific pain in his bowels. He had never suffered this agony before, -yet knew it for what it was; knew it for one of those shafts of anguish -that presage months or years of torment, with no relief save a torturous -death at the end.</p> - -<p>He whispered, with stiff and horror-stricken lips, “I’m a-dying.” This -time he spoke truth. He had, in fact, at last begun to die.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="EPITOME" id="EPITOME"></a>EPITOME</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span> MIGHT begin with a recital of the conversation that led up to his -remark; but Chet has taught me the value of selection, the importance of -elimination, by the way he has of setting before me just such a curt and -poignant drama as this one was. “The last time I had a fight,” said -Chet, “was with a boy that was my best friend.”</p> - -<p>We had been in the alder swamps and across the birch knolls all that day -after woodcock and partridge, tramping the countryside in a flood of -autumn sunshine that was more stimulating than any of man’s concoctions; -had brought home a partridge or two, and our fair allotment of woodcock; -and had dined thereafter on other birds, killed three days before, which -had been hanging since then in the cool of the deep cellar. Now our dogs -were asleep upon the rugs at our feet; our pipes were going; and the -best hour of the day was come.</p> - -<p>“What did you fight about?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Fishing,” Chet told me. “We used to always fish Marsh Brook, where you -and I went last summer. Where you caught the big trout in that hole in -the woods. Remember?”</p> - -<p>I nodded. The memory was very sweetly clear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span></p> - -<p>“That brook starts way in behind the mountain,” Chet reminded me. “It -swings down through the old meadow and into the woods, and through the -lower meadow there, and finally it runs into Marsh River. There weren’t -the trout in it then that there are now. It’s been stocked right along, -the last few years.... But there were trout there, even then. If I told -you the fish I’ve seen my father take out of some of those holes, it -would surprise you.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a beautiful brook,” I agreed.</p> - -<p>“Jim and I always used to fish it,” Chet went on. “When we started in, -we’d draw lots to see who’d take the first hole, and then take turns -after that. He took a pebble in one hand, this day; and I picked the -hand that had the pebble in it, so I had the choice. And we started up -the brook, me fishing the hole under that log above the bridge, and him -fishing the next bend where the bank has all fell in and spoiled the -hole, years ago. And I fished under the big rock below the fence; and so -on.</p> - -<p>“Jim was a fellow that loved fishing,” Chet continued; and I interrupted -long enough to ask:</p> - -<p>“Jim who?”</p> - -<p>“Jim Snow,” said Chet. “He loved fishing, and he liked getting into the -woods. He was a boy that always played a lot of games with himself, in -his imagination. We were only about ten years old. And this day he was -an Indian. You could see it in the way he walked, and the way he crawled -around, except when he got excited and forgot. There was always a change -in him when we climbed up out of the lower meadow<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span> into the real woods. -He’d begin to whisper, and his eyes to shine. And he’d talk to the trout -in the pools; and he was always seeing wildcat, or moose, or bear, in -the deeps of the woods.</p> - -<p>“I never knew any one it was more fun to go around the country with than -Jim.”</p> - -<p>He was still for a moment, tasting the sweets of memory; and he chuckled -to himself before he spoke again.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, “we come up out of the meadow into the woods. You’ve -fished there. It’s the best part of the brook now, and it was then. My -winning when we drew lots in the beginning made it my turn to fish when -we came to the big hole. And Jim knew it as well as me.” He chuckled -again. “You know the hole I mean. Where that old gray birch leans out -over.”</p> - -<p>I did know. The brook ran through the heart of a grove of old first -growth pine; and the big hole itself was dark and shadowed. The water -dropped into it over a ledge a few inches high; spread wide and deep -upon a clear and sandy bottom, and spilled out at the foot of the hole -over the gravel bar. There was an old pine on one bank, at the upper -end, leaning somewhat over the water; and on the opposite side of the -brook, a huge gray birch leaned to meet the pine. Except on sunny days, -the spot was gloomy. More than once I heard great owls hooting in -muffled tones among those pines; and the number and ferocity of the -mosquitoes which dwell thereabouts is unbelievable.</p> - -<p>“It hasn’t changed much, all this time,” Chet went on. “That slough on -the west bank, in that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span> spring hole, was there then, the same as it is -now. Maybe you’ve noticed an old stub, rotting away, right beside that -slough. That was a blasted hemlock; and it’s been dead a long time. -Wind, or lightning, or something knocked it down.</p> - -<p>“When we came up to that hole that day, I was on the side toward the -pine; and I crept in behind the big tree that leaned out over, and swung -my line in, and I had a bite right away. But I jerked too soon; didn’t -set the hook. And the line whished up and snarled in the branches over -my head.”</p> - -<p>He laughed to himself at the recollection, his head back, his chin down -upon his neck, deep-set eyes twinkling beneath his bushy eyebrows in the -fashion I like to see. “Well, sir,” he chuckled, “while I was untangling -my line, I heard a regular Indian hoot, and I turned around and see Jim -had caught a fish out of my pool. Quicker than a minute, I was mad as a -hat.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir. I didn’t stop for a thing. He was on the other side, by that -old hemlock; and I went after him. I waded right across the ledge, -running, and when he saw me coming, he jumped to meet me. Because he -knew I was mad. We come together right in the black mire of that spring -hole; and let me tell you, for a minute the fur flew. I guess we fought -there in them woods, nobody within a mile of us, for as much as five -minutes, maybe. Both of us grunting and cussing with every lick. Knee -deep in that stiff, black mud. And first I’d get him down in it, and -then he’d down me; and finally, when we kind of stopped for breath, he -yells:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span></p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I was only catching the fish for you, anyway, Chet.’</p> - -<p>“And I says: ‘I’ll catch my own trout!’ And I managed to roll him under, -and by that time we were both too tired to do any more.”</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>He tilted back in his chair, and we laughed together at the picture he -had drawn of two wet, mad, and muddy boys. “Rolled in that mud, till we -were smeared with it,” he said. And: “Didn’t speak to each other till it -come time to eat lunch and we remembered we’d left it at the big hole.” -He had laughed till there were tears in his eyes. Now the mirth passed; -and by and by he sighed aloud, said wistfully:</p> - -<p>“Ah, well. Poor old Jim. He drank himself to death. Died of the D T’s.”</p> - -<p>The words were like a shock of cold water; I shivered as though the -winds of tragedy had blown upon me. In my thoughts I had been seeing -this Jim Snow; freckled, and covered with mud, and fighting so long as -he had breath to fight; and protesting in hurt at the end: “I was only -catching the fish for you.” A likeable boy, Jim Snow.... And in an -instant the picture was shattered; there stood in its place the -apparition of a dreadful, sodden, wrecked and ruined man.... The thing -was horribly abrupt.</p> - -<p>“For God’s sake, Chet,” I protested.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said soberly. “Yes.”</p> - -<p>I tried by a callous tone to insulate myself<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span> against the impinging -tragedy. “Went to the devil?” I hazarded.</p> - -<p>“I guess his father drove him to it, ruined him,” Chet explained. “There -wasn’t any harm in Jim. Just a mischievous boy, full of high spirits and -fun, like a colt. His father was a churchly man; a religious man. A -sober man. And he used to beat Jim, for his pranks, awfully.” He shook -his head, seemed faintly to shudder at the recollection. “I’ve seen him -take Jim out into the barn; and I’ve heard Jim yell. Yell and screech. -‘Oh, father! Father!’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>My tongue seemed sticking in my mouth. I made a brave show of refilling -my pipe; the cheery flame of the match seemed to lighten the dark -shadows that oppressed us both. Chet laughed again, mindful of a new -incident. One of these practical jokes boys have played since there were -boys to play them. But as Chet told it, tragedy overhung the tale.</p> - -<p>“His father was a cobbler,” he explained. “A good one, too. He used to -make a good living out of his shop. Had a big family, and they did well. -Time Jim begun to be able to work, he used to work in the shop, -helping.”</p> - -<p>He warmed to his tale. “There was a bench, by the counter,” he -continued. “Folks used to sit down there when they had to wait. Jim was -always up to something; and one day when his father was at home, Jim -took a gimlet and bored a little hole in that bench. Then he fixed a -brad under that hole, with a spring, and a string on it. And he took -this string under the counter and back to the seat where he used to be -when he was work<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span>ing. He fixed it with a piece of wood, like a trigger, -there.”</p> - -<p>Chet, spreading his arms wide, illustrated the motion which a cobbler -makes in drawing his thread through the leather. “When his arm went out -like that,” he said, “he could just reach this piece of wood. And when -someone was sitting on the bench, some times he’d just give it a rap; -and the brad would come up through and stick into them, and they’d get -up in a hurry, I want to tell you.”</p> - -<p>“He couldn’t do that when his father was around,” I suggested.</p> - -<p>“He never did but once,” Chet agreed. “One day a boy came in that Jim -didn’t like. I was there that day; and I knew about this thing Jim had -fixed up; and when the other boy sat down on the bench, I kind of tipped -my head to Jim. I was sorry about that, after; because Jim was never one -to be dared. His father was there; but Jim winked back at me, and then -he gave that wooden trigger a good hard poke, and he must have rammed -that brad into the boy pretty hard, because he come right up into the -air, holding on to himself and yowling.”</p> - -<p>He slapped his knee at the memory. “Well, sir, he danced around there -like a crazy man. I remember his name was Elnathan Hodge. He danced -around and he yelled; and Jim’s father stood there looking at him and -frowning awfully, so that I was scared, and I edged over toward the -door. Jim’s father just stood, waiting for the boy to quiet down. He was -a stern, solemn man; and his voice used to be enough to make us boys -tremble.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span></p> - -<p>“By and by he said, slow and steady: ‘What’s the matter with you, -Elnathan?’</p> - -<p>“And Elnathan says: ‘Jim stuck a needle into me.’</p> - -<p>“The old man looked from him to Jim, and Jim was mighty busy, sewing on -a sole.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>How did he stick a needle into you, Elnathan?’ says the old man. And -Elnathan pointed to the bench. He was a big boy, bigger than us; but he -was always kind of a sissy. That’s why we never liked him.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Right up through that hole, it come,’ he told Jim’s father.”</p> - -<p>“A nice boy, Elnathan!” I commented.</p> - -<p>“Jim and me licked him for it afterwards,” Chet explained. “But that -didn’t do a bit of good then. The old man went and looked under the -bench and saw where the string went through under the counter; and then -he followed it out through the shop to the back. He took his time about -it, never looking toward Jim, pretending not to know he was there, like -a cat with a hurt bird. Traced the string all back till he come to where -Jim was sitting. And he didn’t say a word then, but just reached down -and got Jim by the collar and started for the back room, dragging Jim -after him; and Jim’s heels were clattering on the floor. After he’d shut -the door, we heard the first whacks of the strap he kept there, and -heard Jim yell; and then me and Elnathan put out the front door and ran -away. And we could hear Jim yelling, begging....<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>He broke off abruptly, shaking his head in sorrow at the recollection. -“Poor old Jim!” he murmured, under his breath. For an interval we were -silent; and then I suggested that Jim’s father must have done what he -thought best for the boy.</p> - -<p>Chet would not accept this suggestion. “He knew better,” he said. “Any -man knows better. There ought to be friendliness between a man and his -son. My father used to take me fishing with him, but Jim was afraid of -his father, and kept away from him, except when he had to work in the -shop.”</p> - -<p>“Yet I’ll bet your father tanned your hide, Chet,” I argued.</p> - -<p>Chet laughed at that. “Sure he did. But there are ways of licking a -boy.” He snapped his fingers to Frenchy, and the setter came to lay his -chin upon Chet’s knee. Reck, jealous of this attention, at once rose and -demanded a caress from me. “Take a dog,” said Chet. “You lick him to -hurt, so he yelps with the pain of it, and the helplessness, and you can -make a rogue dog out of him mighty quick. A pain that breaks down the -pride of a man, or a boy, or a dog, and makes him beg for mercy, does -bitter things to him. Man, or boy, or dog, he’s not what he was, after -that has happened to him. I’ve known dog breakers that whipped dogs, and -made rogues or cowards out of them. And that’s what Jim’s father did to -him.”</p> - -<p>He filled his pipe, slowly, wedging the crumbled tobacco firmly down. -“Jim used to go fishing with me and father, till his father stopped -him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span>” he said. “Then he used to run away and go with me.” He chuckled, -shamefacedly, “I remember one of those times, the first time he ever got -drunk, I guess.” There was something like guilt in his countenance. -“We’d been fishing in the rain, all morning; and when it come time to -eat our lunch, Jim pulled out a little bottle. I asked him what it was, -and he said: ‘It’s gin!’</p> - -<p>“He’d got it out of a big bottle his father had. ‘I filled the bottle up -with water,’ he told me. ‘So he’ll never know.’ We were soaking wet; and -we sat straddling a log that had fallen across the brook, and finished -that bottle between us. There couldn’t have been much more than half a -pint. We drank it, and then we began to sing; and Jim was wilder than -me. He got up to stand on the log, and fell off on his back in the -water; and I went to pull him out and he pulled me in. The gin didn’t -hit me the way it did him. I didn’t like it; and I only took a mouthful -or two; but it got hold of Jim.</p> - -<p>“He was seventeen years old, then; and getting big for his age. But his -father beat him awfully for that. The gin and water didn’t mix, so he -saw someone had got at his bottle. But that was the last time he beat -Jim. Jim got mad that time, and grabbed up an axe; and I guess it kind -of worried and frightened the old man.”</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>We puffed at our pipes in silence for a little while; and one of the -dogs rose to lay his chin upon my knee. “I can’t help feeling sorry for -his father, too,” I said at last.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span></p> - -<p>Chet nodded. “He was wrong all the time,” he replied. “But no one ever -regretted it more, when it was too late, and he saw what he had done to -Jim.” He was still for a moment, then wrote a swift “finis” to the tale.</p> - -<p>“The last time I saw Jim,” he said, “was down on the wharf at East -Harbor. He was drunk that day, and his father and his brother Charley -were trying to get him home. Jim was a big man then; and when he was -drunk, he was strong as a bull. I remember he took Charley around the -waist and threw him right off the edge of the wharf into the mud flats, -and Charley landed on his face in them.</p> - -<p>“His father tried to catch Jim’s arm, and Jim turned around and hit him -in the mouth and mashed his lips so they bled, and knocked him down.</p> - -<p>“That seemed to sober Jim a little, and he sat down with his back -against a pile and cried; and his father got up and came and was -kneeling down with his arm around Jim; and he was crying, too. They were -both crying. And it may have been the drink in Jim; but the old man -hadn’t been drinking.</p> - -<p>“That’s the last time I ever saw him. Crying there, with his father. -Probably they both saw, then, how bad things had gone.</p> - -<p>“But it was too late for anything to change Jim. The next year, I think -it was, he died.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="A_DREAM" id="A_DREAM"></a>A DREAM</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">B</span>ARNARD became conscious that he was dreaming. It was a bad dream, a -nightmare.</p> - -<p>He had been dreaming for a long time; but at first he had not understood -that it was all a dream. It had been too real. When he realized that it -was only a dream, he began, as dreamers do, to fight for wakefulness. -But sleep held him stubbornly.</p> - -<p>His dream was long; it dragged interminably. An endless procession of -scenes and events harassed his troubled slumbers. He appeared in these -scenes, participated in these events. He was at the same time an actor -in his dream, and a spectator.</p> - -<p>Some portions of the dream were gay, some were somber; some were happy, -some were tragic. But over gay and somber, happy and tragic, there hung -an uneasy Cloud. It haunted and harassed him. He tried to escape from -this dark Cloud, but he could not. Thus his dream was one long, futile -struggle....</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>When the dream began, Barnard seemed in it to be a boy. Yet as an actor -in the dream, he felt himself neither boy nor man, simply James Barnard. -He was—identity. He was himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was in one of the earliest scenes of his dream that he first -discovered the threatening Cloud which was to shadow all the rest.</p> - -<p>He seemed to be running desperately after an omnibus, with a door in its -rear end. He pursued it at the height of his speed; and yet it drew -continually further away, and at length disappeared, in a hazy fashion, -at a great distance from him. When at last he abandoned the pursuit, his -chest seemed like to burst with his labored breathing.</p> - -<p>Two faces looked back at him from the rear windows of this omnibus; and -a hand waved through the open door. And above the omnibus, smoothly, and -without effort, moved a faint shadow of misty Cloud. It seemed to -Barnard to grow darker as the omnibus drew further and further away; and -when the vehicle disappeared, the Cloud remained for a moment in his -sight before it, too, vanished. There was something menacing about this -drifting mist. Barnard thought of it, in his dream, as The Threat.</p> - -<p>When the omnibus was gone, he remembered the faces which had looked back -at him, and recognized them. His mother, and his brother. His brother -was a baby.</p> - -<p>Barnard, in his dream, felt an overpowering terror at this recognition, -and he shuddered.</p> - -<p>Then that misty, shadowy picture was gone, and another took its place.</p> - -<p>He saw himself at home, sitting in a low chair before a coal fire, with -his chin in his hand. His Aunt Joan stood beside him. She was crying, -and she kept patting his head.</p> - -<p>“You’re a brave boy, not to cry,” she said to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span> him, over and over. -“You’re a brave boy not to cry.”</p> - -<p>At the same time, she wept bitterly.</p> - -<p>Barnard, in his dream, had no desire to cry. He was puzzled and uneasy; -he groped for understanding.</p> - -<p>Understanding came with a last glimpse of the baby’s face in the -omnibus, and The Threat gliding above, and then he saw in his dream a -bit of yellow paper, and on it, written in a long, flowing, -telegrapher’s hand, the words:</p> - -<p>“Rob died today at noon.”</p> - -<p>He understood that Rob was his baby brother; and he understood, from -that time forward, the nature of The Threat....</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Thus, his dream, even while he was still a boy in it, was always -disturbing and perplexing. He was uneasy, rebellious. He chafed and -suffered and could not find relief. The dream world was hostile and -mocking, full of inscrutable forces which were stronger than himself.</p> - -<p>But he could not wake up. The dream dragged him inexorably onward. He -was like a man bound to the stirrup of a horse, jerked forward -constantly, and meeting each instant new blows and pains.</p> - -<p>Abruptly, at length, as when at dawn the sun strikes low and sweet -across the dewy fields, the complexion of his dream was altered. He -smiled in his sleep, and he felt warm and comforted. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span> did not know -why this was so, and at first he did not care.</p> - -<p>He had been conscious that his dreams were of a more pleasant hue for -some time before he discovered that this new aspect was shared with him -by another. A girl.</p> - -<p>He saw her very plainly, and there was something familiar about her, and -at the same time something baffling. He felt that he ought to recognize -her, that he ought to know her name. He tried to remember it, but he -could not.</p> - -<p>So he set this problem aside, and gave himself up to enjoyment of the -dream with her. He could see no more of her than her face, her eyes. -They were near each other, yet aloof. Their hands never touched, they -never spoke; yet their eyes met frequently.</p> - -<p>He had at first no desire to approach this girl more than closely; and -she, also, seemed content to go forward with him, side by side, near, -yet not together.</p> - -<p>After a time, the mists cleared a little, and he saw that they were -passing through a pleasant, rolling meadow. Her feet followed a little -pathway; and when he looked down, he saw that his feet, also, were set -upon a path.</p> - -<p>He felt his father and mother somewhere near him, but he could not see -them. He could only see the girl.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, he perceived that his path and the path the girl followed drew -ever nearer together. This frightened him; but when he looked toward the -girl and saw that she, too, was a little frightened, he smiled -reassuringly, and waved his hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span> to her, and went boldly forward along -the way that was before him.</p> - -<p>The girl had hesitated, but when she saw him go forward, she no longer -faltered. She moved with him.</p> - -<p>Their paths met at a little turnstile in a fence. Their paths met there, -and they met there.</p> - -<p>For a moment, they looked at each other. Then their eyes went forward -through the next field. There were no longer two paths before them. In -the next field, there was but one. Either they must now go forward -together, or one of them must fall behind forever.</p> - -<p>So they clasped hands and passed through the stile.</p> - -<p>The field disappeared. The girl stood beside him, her right hand in his -right hand, her eyes turned up to his. Her eyes were deep, his were lost -in them.</p> - -<p>A voice spoke, resonantly, in measured words. He heard his own voice; -then the girl’s.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he recognized the girl. She was Anne; she was his wife....</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>They went forward singing, for a little way. Their hands were lightly -clasped. The girl skipped and danced beside him; and though he walked -sedately, his heart sang and danced with hers.</p> - -<p>Then he felt a damp chill in the air, and Anne drew closer to his side, -and she no longer danced.</p> - -<p>At first he did not understand; but when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span> looked about them, and then -up into the skies, he saw the misty Cloud, The Threat....</p> - -<p>He had forgotten the very existence of this Cloud; and he rebelled -furiously at its coming now. But it paid no heed to him. It hung not -over his strong head, but over the head of Anne, his wife.</p> - -<p>Anne saw him looking up at it, and she lifted her head to see what he -had seen; but he drew her eyes quickly away so that she should not -understand, and with ice at his heart he went forward, watching the -thing above them.</p> - -<p>He began to reach upward, behind Anne’s back, and try to thrust The -Threat away; but it was beyond his reach. It hung relentlessly above -Anne’s head, and he could not touch it. He strove, he stood on tiptoe, -he pleaded....</p> - -<p>Anne turned and saw him; and she dropped her hand on his arm and -reassured him. But when he looked into her eyes, he saw the reflection -of The Threat there.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, they went bravely forward, shoulders touching; and when -presently the Cloud descended and cloaked them so that he could not see -Anne, he still held her hand, and they spoke to each other through the -shadows.</p> - -<p>Then the Cloud lifted, and when Barnard looked down, he saw a little -child walking by Anne’s side, holding her hand.</p> - -<p>He forgot The Threat in the air above them, and took the other hand of -the child, and hurried forward....<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span></p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>Thereafter, the threatening Cloud was never out of their sight. At times -it hung low above them, at times its cold fingers touched them; and in -the intervals it rode high above their heads, distant, but relentless.</p> - -<p>His dream was a constant apprehension; he kept a persistent vigil -against The Threat, even while his heart told him it was a hopeless one.</p> - -<p>When the Cloud hung low above them, he cast his arms about Anne and the -child until the mists lifted again. Once, when this happened, and when -they started forward once more, he found that not one boy-child, but two -walked between Anne and him. Their hands were clasped, and Anne held the -hand of one, and he of the other, so that they four went forward -together, each helping each.</p> - -<p>Their path was rocky and beset. The Threat never left them; and stones -rose to trip them, and thorny bushes clutched at them from either -side....</p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>For a long time, in his dream, he always felt his father and his mother -near at hand. Sometimes their fingers touched his. Sometimes, his -father’s firm clasp lifted him over an obstacle in the way; and -sometimes his mother’s smile tried to smooth away the bruises he -encountered in the path.</p> - -<p>His mother and his father loved to cast their arms about the two -children, while he and Anne watched proudly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span></p> - -<p>While they all stood thus one day, The Threat descended upon them, -lightly, gently; and thereafter Barnard was unable to find his father or -his mother. He looked for them and could not see them; but at times he -seemed to hear their voices, speaking to him....</p> - -<p>The Threat in the air seemed to mock him; and he perceived that it would -never leave him. He must walk forever in its shadow, till he should -awake.</p> - -<p>A great throng of memories roared down upon him; their wings buffeted -his head. They were memories of things he might have done and had not -done; of things he had done of which there was no need. They concerned -his father and his mother, and they tormented him.</p> - -<p>Then Anne’s hand lay lightly on his arm, and he was mysteriously -comforted and reassured.</p> - -<h3>VII</h3> - -<p>Once another child came to walk with them. This child was very little, -and it walked between his two tall sons, and they held it by the hands -and guided its stumbling and uncertain steps.</p> - -<p>This child laughed easily, and when it laughed, they laughed with it, -because they could not help themselves.</p> - -<p>In his dream, Barnard forgot for a moment The Threat which drifted above -them, and he began to sing, and Anne sang with him. And the three boys, -his sons, laughed as he and Anne sang. Their voices were like peals of -music.</p> - -<p>Then something brushed Barnard’s cheek, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span> before he could stir, The -Threat had engulfed them all. It crushed down upon them, stifling and -smothering and blinding them.</p> - -<p>He fumbled desperately through this Cloud, seeking the others. He found -Anne, and they clung together, and groped about....</p> - -<p>“Here is Dick,” she called, and laid the hand of his eldest son in his; -and a moment later he felt a straight, youthful shoulder, and when he -peered through the mists, he saw that he had found Charles, the second -son, and he called to Anne, as she had called to him:</p> - -<p>“Here is Charles!”</p> - -<p>They were glad at that; and they went more hopefully at their task of -finding the little child; but while they were still searching, the Cloud -lifted, and they saw that the little boy was gone.</p> - -<h3>VIII</h3> - -<p>Barnard, in his dream, began to feel old; and he began to feel lonely.</p> - -<p>He missed the laughter of the little child. Even though Anne, and Dick, -and Charles still walked with him, he missed the little child.</p> - -<p>He could see in Anne’s eyes that she, too, was lonely, but when he taxed -her with it, she gave him a gay denial.</p> - -<p>The two boys, however, soon forgot. At first Barnard resented this; then -he accepted it dumbly. Revolt was dying in him. He still went forward as -steadily as before, but the old, fierce defiance no longer burned in his -breast. He no longer sought to escape The Threat above them. He -ac<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span>cepted its presence. Submission was born in him.</p> - -<p>The Threat rode high and serene above their heads....</p> - -<p>In his dream, he thought they went forward for a long time together, -through the fields. There were not so many stones in their path, not so -many thorns to snatch at them. Barnard took pleasure in lifting the -stones and tossing them aside, and he found joy in lopping off the -thorns. He was, in some measure, happy.</p> - -<p>Then, one day, he spoke to Charles, and the lad did not hear him, did -not reply.</p> - -<p>He looked at the boy in surprise; and he saw that Charles was looking -off across the field through which they passed. His eyes followed his -son’s eyes, and fell upon a girl child walking in the field, a little -way off.</p> - -<p>She followed a path parallel to theirs, and she was answering Charles’ -eyes with her own.</p> - -<p>Barnard called to Charles again, more loudly; and this time the boy -heard, and turned, and answered him. But his eyes went back to the girl -as soon as he had answered.</p> - -<p>Then suddenly, they came to a place where a narrow path led off from the -broad one they were following, and went toward the girl’s path; and here -Charles stopped. He looked along the narrow way.</p> - -<p>“This is my path,” he said.</p> - -<p>Anne did not understand. She put her arm around Charles’ shoulder. “No, -son,” she said. “The broad way is ours.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Go on, Charles,” Barnard told his boy, impatiently. “The broad path, -Charles. Go on.”</p> - -<p>But their son shook his head stubbornly; and his eyes were meeting the -eyes of the girl, across the field. Barnard started to protest in anger; -but Anne looked at her son, and saw whither his eyes led; and she -followed his eyes and saw the girl.</p> - -<p>The girl smiled at Anne, very humbly and beseechingly; and Anne put her -hand to her throat and trembled.</p> - -<p>Then she turned to Barnard, nodding ever so little; and she reached up -to brush back a lock of hair upon the forehead of her tall son, and she -buttoned a button of his coat.</p> - -<p>“Go bravely, Charles,” she whispered. “Good-by.”</p> - -<p>He kissed her hurriedly. “I’ll be back,” he promised. “I’m not going far -away from you.”</p> - -<p>Anne shook her head wistfully; but Charles was already running down the -narrow path and did not see; and when Dick shouted after him, Charles -did not hear.</p> - -<p>They watched, and after a little they saw Charles and the girl come -together; and presently their son and the strange girl went happily off -across the meadow, out of their sight, hand in hand....</p> - -<h3>IX</h3> - -<p>When Barnard, and Anne, and Dick went on, Barnard thought in his dream -that he and Anne held Dick’s hands more tightly than before. And when, -presently, he saw another girl, walking<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span> alone upon a distant path, he -caught Anne’s eye behind Dick’s back, and pointed this girl out to her.</p> - -<p>Then he and Anne conspired against their son; they left the broad path -for another, narrower. They pointed out to Dick the wonders of the way, -and talked eagerly to him, and caressed him.</p> - -<p>But after a time, they saw that the girl’s path had curved to follow -them; and at length, while they spoke together, Dick turned to look -back, and his eyes met the eyes of the girl....</p> - -<h3>X</h3> - -<p>Thereafter Barnard and Anne moved alone together; and though Barnard, in -his dream, felt Anne’s hand in his, his heart ached with loneliness. -Anne smiled bravely beside him, but her smile was worse than tears.</p> - -<p>They seemed to have lost their path. They no longer went confidently -along a broad way, but wandered aimlessly this way and that. They tried -new paths that led nowhere; and there were times when they stood still, -clinging each to each.</p> - -<p>The Threat above them, Barnard saw, was floating lower.</p> - -<p>In his dream, Barnard thought that he and Anne came to a path which -followed the brink of a great precipice. They walked that way. His arm -was about her, hers clasped him. She was talking very gaily; she had -never been so beautiful.</p> - -<p>Barnard forgot The Threat for a moment; and when uneasy recollection -returned to him, and his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span> eyes sought for it, he saw that the cloudlike -thing had descended till it rode level with them, and at one side, above -the abyss at their left hand. It hung there, following them as they -followed the brink of the precipice.</p> - -<p>He was afraid, but he tried to tell himself this was a victory, that The -Threat was leaving them; and he pointed it out to Anne. In his dream, he -thought she looked up to him, and he saw pity in her eyes, and so he was -more afraid than before.</p> - -<p>He watched the cloudy thing more closely; and presently he saw that it -was drifting toward them. So he caught Anne’s hand, and hurried her -forward. She ran with him, as though to humor him; and she was speaking -comfortingly to him as they ran.</p> - -<p>The Cloud moved swiftly closer till it touched Anne. And her steps -faltered. He could no longer persuade her to run. He could only throw -his arms about her; and in his dream he shouted defiance at The Threat.</p> - -<p>Then he pleaded with it....</p> - -<p>Anne was being drawn from his arms. It was not that she was torn away; -it was just that he could no longer hold her. The solid substance of -her, to which he clung, melted in his arms. He tore off his coat and -wrapped it about her, but still she slipped away like sand through the -fingers.</p> - -<p>He begged; and her face came toward him, and her lips touched his. Her -fingers rested for an instant on his eyelids.</p> - -<p>When they were lifted, and he opened his eyes again, Anne was gone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span></p> - -<p>He threw himself toward the brink of that precipice to follow her; but -the chasm had disappeared. Where it had been, there was only a sweet -meadow, mockingly beautiful in the sun.</p> - -<p>He looked about him. All the world was beautiful as ice.</p> - -<h3>XI</h3> - -<p>The world in which Barnard walked when Anne was gone was full of people. -While Anne had been with him, there had seemed to be no one else in the -land save himself and Anne. But now the paths were full of folk who -moved steadily this way and that.</p> - -<p>They did not see Barnard. At first he spoke to them, but he found they -did not hear. They were absorbed, each in each. After a time he gave -over accosting these people and began to hunt for his sons. But he could -not find them.</p> - -<p>And so he went forward alone, and very lonely. This was the worst part -of Barnard’s dream.</p> - -<p>He was so much alone that even The Threat had left him. He missed it. -Its absence was more terrible than its presence had been. He longed for -it to return, and he sought for it; and then, one day, it appeared in -the air, high above him.</p> - -<p>It was very beautiful, much to be desired. He wondered that he had never -perceived its beauty in the past. It was no longer a threat; it was -something kinder.</p> - -<p>But it rode high above Barnard, seemed not to perceive him.</p> - -<p>Barnard tried to wake and could not; and then he saw that he could only -wake by coming closer<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span> to the Cloud that had been a threat. He climbed a -little hill and called to it; but it rode serenely on, not regarding -him.</p> - -<p>When it had passed the hill on which he stood, it went more swiftly, and -Barnard was fearful that it would vanish again. He ran after it. It was -the only friendly and familiar thing in this world without Anne. He -could not bear to lose it. By and by he seemed to be overtaking it; and -abruptly he plunged into the cool sweetness of its embrace.</p> - -<p>It blinded his eyes, and he began to fall; and at the end of his fall, -he awoke.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>For a moment after his waking, Barnard lay shuddering at the horror of -his dream. The loss of Anne had been so terribly real that at first he -scarce dared reach out in the darkness for her head upon the pillow -beside him.</p> - -<p>But after a moment he became conscious of the soft warmth of her body -there; and he caught the sound of her slow and pleasant breathing; so he -fumbled and found her hand and held it and was comforted.</p> - -<p>The touch of his hand seemed to wake her; her fingers answered his with -a loving pressure, and she said reassuringly to him:</p> - -<p>“All right, Jimmie.”</p> - -<p>He leaned in the darkness and found her lips and kissed her. “All right, -Anne,” he replied. “Just a bad dream.”</p> - -<p>He heard her laugh softly; and at the sound of her gentle mirth he felt -strangely humble. “What is it, Anne?” he begged.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I, too, dreamed,” she told him. “I woke before you; that is all. In the -morning you will understand.”</p> - -<p>“Understand?” he pleaded; and he was trembling with eagerness for this -understanding which was already in some parts revealed to him.</p> - -<p>“That though it seemed so long, and seemed so real, it was after all but -the matter of an instant’s dream,” she told him lovingly. Her hand was -on his hair as it had used to be....</p> - -<p>So he began to understand; and he held tight to Anne’s hand for a space; -and presently they slept for a little time, and woke in the glory of the -risen sun, to begin together the new Day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="HIS_HONOR" id="HIS_HONOR"></a>HIS HONOR</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">J</span>UDGE HOSMER’S study was on the second floor of his home. Not a -pretentious room. Calf-bound volumes on the shelves that lined the -walls; a comfortable chair under a reading light, a work table on which -books, papers, pen and ink were usually littered; and a more formal desk -where, in laborious longhand and disdaining the services of a -stenographer, the Judge wrought out his opinions. There was a homely -honesty about the room; a clean suggestion of common sense and -fundamental decency; a certain uprightness. Rooms much used do thus at -times reflect the characteristics of those who use them.</p> - -<p>The Judge was, this evening, at the desk and writing. He used a stiff, -stub pen; and he wrote slowly, forming the large characters with care, -forming the pellucid sentences with equal care. He consulted no notes; -it was his custom to clarify the issues in any case so thoroughly in his -own thoughts that there could be no hesitation when the moment came to -set those issues down. Half a dozen sheets, already covered with his -large hand, lay at his elbow. His pen was half-way down another when a -light knock sounded upon his closed door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span></p> - -<p>The Judge finished the sentence upon which he was engaged, then lifted -his eyes and looked across the room and called:</p> - -<p>“Come, Mary.”</p> - -<p>His wife opened the door and stepped inside. She shut it behind her, and -crossed to her husband’s chair, and dropped her hand lightly on his -head. He lifted his own hand to smooth hers caressingly.</p> - -<p>“Almost through?” she asked.</p> - -<p>He nodded. “Another line or two.”</p> - -<p>“Jim Cotterill is down-stairs,” she told him.</p> - -<p>The Judge seemed faintly surprised. “Jim?” he repeated. And added -thoughtfully, half to himself, “Well, now.”</p> - -<p>“He says there’s no hurry,” she explained. “Says he just dropped in for -a word or two. Just to say howdy.”</p> - -<p>“That’s—neighborly,” her husband commented. “Course, I’ve seen him -every day, in court. But I haven’t had a chance to talk to him. To ask -him how things are, down home.”</p> - -<p>She nodded, smiling. “Another of your scruples, Bob?”</p> - -<p>“It wouldn’t hardly have looked right,” he agreed. “The other side were -doubtful, anyway, knowing I’d been attorney for the Furnace a few years -ago, and knowing Jim and me were townsmen.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” she assented.</p> - -<p>“Case is finished, now, though,” he commented. “Tell Jim I’ll be through -in fifteen or twenty minutes. You entertain him, Mary.”</p> - -<p>She made a gesture of impatience. “He makes<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">{187}</a></span> me uncomfortable,” she -said. “I never liked him.”</p> - -<p>The Judge smiled. “Oh, Jim’s all right. He’s fat; and he’s a little bit -slick. But he means all right, I reckon. Give him a cigar and ask after -his folks. He’ll do the talking for both of you.”</p> - -<p>She nodded, moving toward the door. “Yes,” she assented; and asked: “I -haven’t bothered you?”</p> - -<p>The Judge smiled. “Lord, Honey, you never bother me.”</p> - -<p>But when the door had closed behind her, his countenance was faintly -shadowed. Concern showed in his eyes, dwelt there. He remained for a -little time motionless, absorbed in some thought that distressed him. In -the end, there was a suggestion of effort in his movements as he picked -up his pen and began again his slow and careful writing. Bethany Iron -Furnace against John Thomas, David Jones, et al. His decision.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>It was half an hour later that the Judge came out of his study to the -head of the stairs and shouted down them: “Hi, Jim!” Cotterill, a -certain impatience increasingly manifest in his eyes, had been talking -with Mrs. Hosmer. He answered, and the Judge called to him: “Come along -up.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Hosmer followed the attorney into the hall and watched him climb -the stairs. A short, bald man with a countenance that was always -good-natured, but never prepossessing. She saw him grip her husband’s -hand at the top, panting a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">{188}</a></span> from the ascent. They turned together -toward the Judge’s study, and she went back into the living room.</p> - -<p>“This is neighborly of you, Jim,” Judge Hosmer was saying, as he closed -the study door behind them. “Come in and set. Have a stogie. I’m glad -you didn’t hop back down home without coming to say hello.”</p> - -<p>Cotterill’s rather small eyes whipped toward the older man, then away -again. “I didn’t figure we ought to get together while the case was -going on,” he explained. Both men, meticulous and precise in their -professional utterances, dropped easily into the more colloquial idiom -of their daily life.</p> - -<p>“Right enough,” Judge Hosmer agreed. “Fair enough. But no harm now. -How’re tricks, anyhow? Folks well?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, well enough. Were when I left. I’ve been too busy to do much -letter writing, since I came up here.”</p> - -<p>“They have sort of kept you humping, haven’t they?” the Judge agreed.</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s my job,” Cotterill told him; and the Judge assented.</p> - -<p>“Sure, that’s your job.”</p> - -<p>A little silence fell between these two. The Judge, tall and lean, with -bushy brows above his wide-set eyes, studied the fat little man with -some curiosity. Cotterill seemed indisposed to speak; and the other -asked at last: “Family all well, Jim?”</p> - -<p>“Well? Sure. Fine.”</p> - -<p>“What’s the news, anyway?” the Judge in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">{189}</a></span>sisted. “I haven’t heard from -the folks lately.”</p> - -<p>The attorney leaned back in his chair, somewhat more at ease; and he -smiled. “Well,” he said. “Things go along about the same. Folks down -home are right proud of you, Judge.”</p> - -<p>“Sho,” said Hosmer, deprecatingly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, they are,” Cotterill insisted good-naturedly. “Yes, they are. I -was talking to old Tom Hughes, when he sent for me about this case, in -the beginning. He told me to give you my regards and good wishes.”</p> - -<p>“That was neighborly of him.”</p> - -<p>Cotterill nodded. “Tom’s always been proud of you, you know, Bob. -Course, being at the head of the Furnace the way he is, he runs a lot of -votes in the county; and he’s always kind of figured that he elected -you. Helped anyway. Feels like he’s done something to put you where you -are. He liked you, when you were handling their business, too. I guess -the Old Man kind of feels like you were his own son.”</p> - -<p>Hosmer’s thin, wide mouth drew into a smile. “A fatherly interest, eh? -Tom’s a good old man.”</p> - -<p>“Well, he’s not the only one down there that feels that way about you, -Bob. You know how the folks there stick together. The men that amount to -anything. Tom’s bunch. Old Charley Steele, and Dave Evans, and that -crowd. They’ve always been back of you. Sort of feel as though you were -one of them.”</p> - -<p>“Best friends I’ve got in the world,” Hosmer agreed.</p> - -<p>Cotterill chuckled. “Matter of fact, it’s right funny to see them watch -the papers when you’re<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">{190}</a></span> sitting in one of these big cases up here. -Bragging to strangers that you’re from there.”</p> - -<p>“Yeah,” Hosmer remarked encouragingly. He watched the fat little lawyer, -an ironic question in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“They’re all getting ready to get behind you and push, when you run -again,” Cotterill assured him. “Dave Evans said here, just the other -day, that you could get pretty near anything you wanted to, if you -watched your step. It means a lot to have the home town folks back of -you, you know. There’s a neat bunch of votes down there, Bob.”</p> - -<p>“Sure,” the Judge agreed.</p> - -<p>Cotterill opened his hands with a frank gesture. “Of course, they’re all -watching this case, right now. It’s pretty important to the Furnace, you -know. Not much in this one case, but it’s a precedent. Reckon it would -cut into the business they do down there quite a bit if things went -wrong. Tom says to me when we first talked about it: ‘You got to win -this case, Jim. If you don’t, it’s going to cost us money.’ And what -hurts the Furnace hurts the town.”</p> - -<p>He hesitated; and the Judge said slowly and pleasantly: “You’re dodging -around corners, Jim. What’s on your mind?”</p> - -<p>Cotterill swung toward the other, leaning a little forward in his chair. -“Well—” he began, then hesitated. “Bob, you know my reputation, I -guess?”</p> - -<p>“I know you’re reputed to be—successful,” said the Judge. If there was -in his word anything of criticism or of reproach, Cotterill paid no -heed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">{191}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I mean, you know, that I’ve the reputation of going right after what I -want. No wabbling around.”</p> - -<p>“Have you, Jim?”</p> - -<p>“And I’m coming right to the point now.”</p> - -<p>“Come ahead.”</p> - -<p>The fat little man hitched his chair a little nearer the other’s. His -voice was lowered. He gesticulated with a pudgy finger.</p> - -<p>“First thing,” he explained, “I want to be sure you understand just how -important this is. To us, and to you, too. It’s business with us; but -it’s a policy with you. That’s what I want you to understand. They -haven’t asked you for anything because they helped you get started; and -they don’t aim to. Not for what was done for you then. But we can’t -afford to lose this case now.”</p> - -<p>Hosmer said slowly: “Case is finished, Jim. Decision is all written. -It’s in that envelop there.” He pointed toward the top of his desk.</p> - -<p>Cotterill shot a glance in that direction; and beads of sweat started -upon his forehead. “That’s all right,” he said. “No need of going into -that. I know I’m not much as a trial lawyer. I know I fell down on this -case. Facts and law were with us; but I didn’t get the stuff into the -record the way I’d ought to, and some of our witnesses didn’t stand up -when Marston got after them. Marston’s a good lawyer; but there’s more -to trying a case than the court end of it. I’m trying my case right now, -Bob.”</p> - -<p>The Judge did not reply. He seemed to have settled into a certain stony -calm; his eyes were<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">{192}</a></span> steady and inscrutable. Cotterill waited for an -instant, then swung swiftly on.</p> - -<p>“Thing is,” he said. “You want to figure whether you’re going to stand -with us, and have us back of you; or whether you want to stand with this -other bunch. They were against you at the start. You know that. And -they’re not going to shift now, even if you’re good to them. They’ll -just figure you’re scared. You’re coming up for reelection one of these -days. Maybe for a bigger job. And if we’re solid back of you, you can -have anything you want. You know that, Bob. But if we split, you’re a -goner. There’s the whole thing. You stick with us, and we’ll stick with -you. You throw us, and we’ll—remember it. We’re not asking favors for -what we have done, but for what we figure to do. See?”</p> - -<p>He stopped short, watching the other shrewdly. The Judge at first made -no move, said no word. His eyes were thoughtful; and his glance was not -turned toward the other man.</p> - -<p>“Do you see?” Cotterill repeated.</p> - -<p>“I—see what you mean,” said the Judge, slowly.</p> - -<p>“Then what do you say?” the fat man insisted.</p> - -<p>Judge Hosmer swung slowly to face him. There was something judicial in -his tones, even and calm; and his colloquialisms were gone.</p> - -<p>“I’m not ambitious—in a political way,” he replied.</p> - -<p>Jim Cotterill watched him, marked the apparent hesitation in his answer; -and the fat man licked his lips, and looked behind him toward the door -with something furtive in his manner. Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">{193}</a></span> jerked his chair still -nearer to the other, with the buttonholing instinct always so strong in -his ilk. And laughed in an unpleasant way.</p> - -<p>“All right, Bob,” he said. “All right. I get you. We’re ready to meet -you on that ground, too.”</p> - -<p>“On what ground?” the Judge asked tonelessly.</p> - -<p>Cotterill whisperingly explained. “We know your affairs pretty well, -Bob,” he said, assuringly. “You’ve got a reasonable salary; but it’s -none too much. You like to live comfortable; and nobody blames you. -Everybody feels the same way. There are a lot of folks that’d like to be -friendly, help you out. If you wanted they should. And there are a lot -of ways they could help you. Any way you like.”</p> - -<p>“What way?” Judge Hosmer insisted.</p> - -<p>Cotterill’s embarrassed reluctance, if such an emotion can fairly be -attributed to the man, passed before the Judge’s encouraging inquiry. -“There’s that mortgage,” he suggested. “I know it’s a burden to you. It -ain’t that you need the money. You’re paying six per cent. on it, and -making more than that on the money it releases for you. Pays any man -with a business head to borrow at six per cent. That’s all right. But -maybe there are times when you fret a little bit about that mortgage. -Well, Judge, you don’t need to. Easiest thing in the world to have it -tore up. All you got to do is say the word.”</p> - -<p>The Judge did not say the word. Cotterill pursued the subject.</p> - -<p>“Maybe there’s something else,” he suggested. “I take it you’re a -business man, but I may be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">{194}</a></span> wrong. Maybe you don’t know where to get any -better than six per cent. for your money. If that’s the trouble, we can -help you, too. You don’t know the market. Not your business to. But -there are men that do know it. Fact is, they are the market, Judge. They -make it jump over a stick whenever they like. Old Tom is in with them. -And they’d be glad to show you the way. You wouldn’t have to worry. You -just open an account. Put in as much as you like. I can guarantee it’ll -double and double for you, pretty regular. Handled right. You can call -it a speculation; but it’s not that. Not when the market is trained, way -it is. You see how I mean?”</p> - -<p>The Judge said nothing at all; and Cotterill threw out his hands with an -insinuating gesture. “Or,” he suggested, “it may be you haven’t got any -loose money to put in. That’ll be all right. They’ll carry the account -for you. Carry it, and take care of it and whenever they make a -turnover, mail your check to you. You cash it, that’s all there is.” -There was no answering gleam in the Judge’s eye; and Cotterill added -hurriedly, “Maybe the notion of a check bothers you. It does leave a -trail. But cash don’t. And cash can be got. There won’t be any trouble -about that. Nor about how much. We’re responsible people. So are you. -Come on, Bob; what’s the answer?”</p> - -<p>The Judge said, almost abstractedly, and entirely without heat:</p> - -<p>“You’re interesting, Jim; but you’re not convincing. You see, it just -happens that I don’t take bribes.”</p> - -<p>Cotterill twisted in his chair as though under<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">{195}</a></span> a blow; and his fat face -purpled with anger. He struck his fist upon the edge of the desk before -him.</p> - -<p>“All right! All right, Bob!” he cried hotly. “If you won’t have it in -friendship, take it the other way. You can’t pull this high and mighty -on me. You can’t get away with it. What are you after, anyway? I haven’t -named a figure. You could have named your own, if you’d been reasonable. -’Stead of that, you’ve got to grow wings and fan ’em like an angel, or -something. You can’t pull that with me, Bob. I know too much.”</p> - -<p>“What do you know, Jim?” the Judge asked mildly.</p> - -<p>Cotterill laughed. “Getting under your skin, am I? Thought I would. You -think I’d go into this without making sure I had winning cards? I’ve -looked you up, Bob. I’ve had you looked up. I know you, inside out. And -I’ll tell you flat, either you come across now, or everybody’ll know you -as well as we do.”</p> - -<p>“How well do you know me?” Hosmer inquired.</p> - -<p>The attorney held up his left hand, the fingers outspread; and he ticked -off his points upon these fingers. “This well,” he declared. “Item one: -You sat in the Steel case. When the decision was announced, the market -went off. Robertson Brothers had you on their books, short a thousand -shares. You made a nice little pile. Legal enough, maybe, Judge; but not -right ethical. Would you say so?”</p> - -<p>“Go on,” said the Judge.</p> - -<p>The fat little man touched another finger.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">{196}</a></span> “Item two: Remember the -Daily trial, down home. Chet Thorne. Remember him? Witness for the other -side. You was defending Daily. He needed it, too. He was guilty as the -devil. Chet told the truth, first trial. But you got a disagreement, -just the same. Second trial, Chet lied. You got Daily off. Well, we’ve -got Chet. You can’t find him, but we know where he is. And we’ve got his -affidavit to why he changed his story. Oh, it was slick! Nobody could -get Chet for perjury. Change didn’t amount to enough for that. But it -was enough for what you needed. You got away with it then; but Chet’s -ready to tell how you got away with it, now.”</p> - -<p>He stopped again, and the Judge inquired: “Is that all?”</p> - -<p>Cotterill shook his head. “Not quite. Item three: The matter of the -Turner trust, and how it happened the trustee was short, and how the -thing was covered up. You were the trustee, Bob. One, Two, Three, and -there you have it.” He struck the desk again, triumph inflaming him. -“Furthermore,” he cried, voice suddenly shrill. “Furthermore, the -story’s ready to spring. This afternoon, petition for your disbarment -was filed down home. In a sealed envelop. And the whole story back of -it’s in type, right now, down town at the <i>Chronicle</i> office. When I -leave here, before midnight tonight, I’ll hit a telephone. If I say one -word, the envelop goes into the fire and the type is pied. If I don’t -say the word, the envelop’s opened in the morning, and the story’s on -the street in the <i>Chronicle</i> before breakfast. There’s the load, -Judge.” He shrugged, his hands outspread.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">{197}</a></span> “Look it over. Simple enough. -Be good and you’ll be happy. Now what do you say?”</p> - -<p>For a long moment, there was silence in the quiet room; and when the -Judge spoke, it was in a gentle, but a decisive tone.</p> - -<p>“Nor I’ve never permitted myself to be blackmailed, Cotterill,” he -replied.</p> - -<p>The lawyer stormed to his feet; he threw up his hands. “All right!” he -cried. “Then it’s bust for you.”</p> - -<p>The Judge nodded. “Maybe,” he agreed. “Of course, this is old stuff. A -little of it true, and a good deal of it lies. Dates back ten—twelve -years. Maybe you can make it go. I don’t know. But I do know one thing, -Jim. I know you’re a dirty specimen.” There was, abruptly, a hot ring in -his tones.</p> - -<p>Cotterill cried: “That’ll do! You’re through. No man can talk to me that -way....”</p> - -<p>Hosmer’s long arm shot out; his fingers twisted into the other’s collar. -“Talk to you? Talk to you?” he repeated quietly. “Why, Jim, I aim to do -considerable more than talk to you.” His right hand swung; he slapped -the squirming man across the cheek. Swung and cuffed Jim Cotterill to -and fro in a cold fire of rage....</p> - -<p>Urged him toward the door; half dragged, half thrust, half threw him -down the stairs; spurred his tumultuous exit from the house. A last -stinging blow, and: “Git,” he said.</p> - -<p>Cotterill was gone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">{198}</a></span></p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>The Judge’s wife had come into the hall. Hosmer slowly shut the door, -and he rubbed his hands as though they were soiled. There was trouble in -his eyes, where the anger died.</p> - -<p>Mary Hosmer touched his arm; asked softly: “What is it, Bob?”</p> - -<p>He looked down at her; slowly shook his head. “Trouble, Mary,” he said -frankly. “He wanted to beg, or buy, or steal the Furnace case. They’ve -raked up those old affairs. The <i>Chronicle</i> will print the whole -business in the morning. He’s gone to release the story now. I guess -folks will walk right by and never see us, tomorrow, Mary.”</p> - -<p>Comprehension came swiftly into her eyes; she cried rebelliously: -“You’ve lived those old tales down, Bob!” He shook his head. “Anyway,” -she told him, “I’m glad you—kicked him out as you did.”</p> - -<p>The Judge nodded. Then a slow smile crept into his eyes. “Matter of -fact, Mary,” he said, “this affair has its funny side.”</p> - -<p>“Funny?” she echoed.</p> - -<p>“Yeah.”</p> - -<p>“Why....”</p> - -<p>“I’d written my decision before he came upstairs,” he explained. “I’d -already decided the way he wanted me to.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">{199}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="THE_COWARD" id="THE_COWARD"></a>THE COWARD</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>Little old Bob Dungan, his coat off, his sleeves rolled to the elbow so -that they revealed the red-woolen underwear which he habitually wore, -sat at his typewriter in the furthest corner of the noisy City Room and -rattled off a cryptic sentence. He wrote:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“<i>The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.</i>”</p></div> - -<p>Now this is not a piece of information calculated to interest more than -a baker’s dozen of the half million readers of a metropolitan daily such -as that which Bob served. The sentence as a sentence has but one virtue; -it contains all of the letters of the alphabet. That is all you can say -for it. Nevertheless, having written the words, Bob studied them -profoundly, ticking off with his pencil each letter, from A to Izzard, -and when he was done, counted those that still remained.</p> - -<p>“Nine,” he said, half aloud. And he scratched his head. “Ought to get it -under that.” He put a fresh sheet in the typewriter and prepared to try -again. To the casual eye of any one who might be watching from across -the room, he looked like a very busy man.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, this was exactly the impres<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">{200}</a></span>sion Bob wished to -convey. He was anxious to appear busy and indispensable. For little old -Bob Dungan was desperately afraid of being fired.</p> - -<p>A newspaper staff is built to meet emergencies. That means that, left to -itself, it inevitably becomes top-heavy, and on days when news is slack, -the City Room is half full of men waiting for an assignment that never -comes. When such a condition develops, the veterans in the office know -what will follow. Some fine morning, the publisher drifts down stairs -and sees the idle men—idle because there is nothing for them to do. And -that afternoon, the order comes to cut the staff, cut to the bone.</p> - -<p>So faces once familiar begin to disappear. The latest comers are the -first to go, and only unusual ability will save them. Then the less -efficient among the regulars are dropped, and finally, in drastic cases, -those oldtimers who have begun to slow down. There was once a Saturday -afternoon when from a single City Room twenty-two men were discharged, -and the work went on, Monday morning, just the same. Men who have seemed -indispensable disappear—and leave no more of a hole than your finger -leaves in a bucket of water. The young reporters take these episodes -gaily, as a part of the game; those more experienced accept misfortune -with what resignation they can muster. But in the case of a man who has -served the paper for ten or fifteen or twenty years, the moment has its -black and tragic side.</p> - -<p>Old Bob Dungan was wise enough to know the signs. Three weeks before two -young reporters had disappeared. A week after, five men were<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201">{201}</a></span> “let go.” -Last Saturday seven old friends had stopped at his desk to say goodby. -And this morning, his half-admitted apprehensions had been brought to -focus. Fear had set its grip on him....</p> - -<p>Dade, the City Editor, a driver of a man who was himself driven by a -fierce affection for the paper which he served, was standing at Bob’s -desk, and they were talking together when Boswell, the publisher, came -in from the elevator. And Dade—the man had a kindly, human streak in -him which some people never discovered—whispered out of the side of his -mouth to Bob:</p> - -<p>“Look out, old man. For God’s sake, look busy as hell!”</p> - -<p>Then he went across to meet Boswell; and Bob began to write on his -machine, at top speed, over and over again:</p> - -<p>“<i>Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. Now -is the time for all good men to come....</i>”</p> - -<p>He shifted, after a while, to the other: “<i>The quick brown fox jumps -over the lazy dog.</i>” Meaningless enough; but Bob hoped, with all his -trembling soul, that he was succeeding in looking busy. He was, as has -been said, afraid of being fired.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>Bob could not afford to be fired. He had been a newspaper reporter all -his life, and always would be. His salary had always been small, and -always would be. His savings were spasmodic, disappearing like snow -patches on a sunny day<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202">{202}</a></span> before the occasional emergencies of life, and -emergencies insisted on arising. Emergencies do arise, when a man has a -family. Just now, for example, his wife was only two days out of -hospital, and the bill unpaid.... No, he could not afford the luxury of -being fired.</p> - -<p>So fear scourged and shook him. It was physical; there were certain -muscular and nervous reactions that went with it. His heels, tucked -under his chair, felt naked and chilled by the little currents of air -that circulated along the floor. His bowels were sick within him, as -though there were an actual, ponderable weight in his mid-section. His -ears, attuned to what went on in the room behind him, seemed unnaturally -enlarged, and there were pricklings in his scalp.</p> - -<p>He had known fear before. Such dull periods come to every newspaper -office. But Bob had always pulled through, escaped discharge. He had -worked at this same desk for a dozen years.... Had come here from the -<i>Journal</i>, feeling a little proudly that he was taking an upward step, -beginning at last to climb. It had meant more money. Thirty-five dollars -a week. He was getting forty, now. So little, yet enough to make a man a -coward.</p> - -<p>Bob had never been fired from any job. The process of discharge was -cloaked, in his thoughts, with an awful mystery. Sometimes men found a -note, in a blue envelope, in their mail boxes; sometimes Dade called -them to him, spoke to them, explained the necessity which forced him to -let them go. They took it variously; defiantly, calmly, humbly, as their -natures dictated. But it had never happened to Bob....<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203">{203}</a></span></p> - -<p>He was afraid, these days, to go to his box for mail lest the dreaded -note be there; and when Dade stopped at his desk or called him across -the room he cringed to his very soul with dread. He was, no doubt of it -at all, an arrant and an utter coward.</p> - -<p>So he sat, this morning, and wrote, over, and over again:</p> - -<p>“<i>Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. Now -is the....</i>” Or shifted, and tapped off: “<i>The quick brown fox jumps -over the lazy dog.</i>” He was still thus occupied when Dade called from -his broad desk by the window:</p> - -<p>“Bob!”</p> - -<p>The little old man looked fearfully around, and Dade beckoned. Bob’s -heart dropped into his boots; he was fairly white with fear. Perhaps -Boswell had told Dade to let him go....</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, he faced the music. Got up and went across the room toward -where the City Editor was standing. And he managed a smile. Beat down -his panic and smiled.</p> - -<p>Dade kept him waiting. The City Editor was giving some instructions to -Ingalls, the City Hall man. Bob, his thoughts misted and confused by his -own apprehensions, nevertheless heard what Dade was saying, and -subconsciously registered and filed it away.</p> - -<p>“ ...going to start something,” Dade explained to Ingalls. “Mr. Boswell -is interested, so you want to get results. The Building Department has -been slack. Not inspectors enough, maybe. Fire Department, too. There -were two girls caught in that fire in the South End ten days ago. Got -out, I know, but it was luck. We’re going to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204">{204}</a></span> cover every fire, from now -on. Going to watch the fire-escapes and the fire-doors and get the goods -on this bunch, if they’ve been falling down. You keep it to yourself, -but see what you can dig up. There must be stuff filed, up there. I’ll -let you know.... Don’t make any breaks till you hear from me, but keep -on the job....”</p> - -<p>Bob listened, finding some relief from his own apprehensions in doing -so. “Another crusade ...” he thought, idly. Abruptly, Dade dismissed -Ingalls and turned to him, and Bob turned pale, then colored with relief -when he understood that Dade simply wished to give him an assignment.</p> - -<p>“Jack Brenton,” Dade said, in the staccato sentences which were his -habit. “We hear his wife has run away from him. He lives out in -Hanbridge. Here’s the address. I sent the district man over. He says -Brenton’s drunk. Threatened to shoot him. You’ll have to handle him -right. Jack’s a bruiser, looking for trouble. Ask him if it’s true his -wife’s gone. Ask him who she went with, and why, and what he’s going to -do about it. Telephone me.”</p> - -<p>Bob nodded. “All right,” he said quickly. “I’ll phone in.” He swung back -to his desk for coat and hat, eager to be away, eager to be out of the -office and away from present peril.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Outside the building, Bob headed for the subway. He had no qualms at the -thought of Jack Brenton and his drunken pugnacity. Bob was an old hand, -a good leg man, a competent reporter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205">{205}</a></span> He had handled angry husbands -many times. He could handle Brenton.</p> - -<p>Yet he might have been forgiven for being afraid to encounter Jack -Brenton. The man was a professional pugilist of some local note, and his -record was bad. He had once, by ill luck, killed an opponent in the -ring; he was known to possess a sulky temper that flamed to murderous -heat, and it was said of him that when he was in his cups, he was better -left alone.... He was in his cups this morning. Bob knew this as soon as -he heard the other’s sulky shout that answered his knock at the -apartment door. The prize-fighter yelled: “Come in!” And Bob went in.</p> - -<p>Inside the door there was a little hallway, with a bathroom opening off -one side, and a living-room at the end. Brenton came into this passage -from the living-room as Bob entered from the hall, and they met face to -face. Brenton looked down at the little man; and he asked suspiciously:</p> - -<p>“What’re you after?”</p> - -<p>“Dungan’s my name,” said Bob pleasantly. “I’m from the <i>Chronicle</i>.”</p> - -<p>He saw the other’s scowl deepen. “I said what I’d do.... Next damn -reporter came out here. What you want, anyway?”</p> - -<p>“I want to ask you a few questions. About your wife....”</p> - -<p>The pugilist dropped his hand on little Bob Dungan’s shoulder. His left -hand. His right jerked into sight with a revolver; he thrust the muzzle -of it into Bob’s face. “You smell that,” he cried, truculently. “I’ll -blow your damn head off.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206">{206}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Bob—laughed. “Why, that’s all right,” he replied. If he had squirmed, -struggled, or even if he had been afraid, the other’s drunken anger -might have given him strength to shoot. There was very real and deadly -peril in the situation. But Bob, unafraid, laughed; and the -prize-fighter could see that there was no fear in the little man’s eyes. -“That’s all right,” said Bob. “Go ahead.”</p> - -<p>Brenton did not shoot. He hesitated uncertainly, his slow wits wavering. -And Bob asked sympathetically:</p> - -<p>“Did she treat you pretty bad?”</p> - -<p>“Bad?” Brenton echoed. “Why, the things she’s done to me—Why, say....”</p> - -<p>“That’s tough,” the reporter murmured.</p> - -<p>The fighter’s grip on his shoulder relaxed; the big man’s arm slid -around Bob’s neck. He became maudlin and unhappy, weeping for sympathy. -“Why, you jus’ lemme tell you....” he begged.</p> - -<p>“Sure,” Bob agreed. “Tell me all about it. Let’s go in and sit down.”</p> - -<p>They went into the living-room. “Y’see, it was this way....” the -pugilist began.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>When Bob left the prize-fighter, he called the office and reported to -Dade. “Dungan speaking,” he said.</p> - -<p>“What you got?” Dade asked hurriedly.</p> - -<p>“Jack Brenton. Got his story. About his wife. Good stuff....”</p> - -<p>Dade interrupted. “Never mind that now,” he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207">{207}</a></span> directed. “There’s a big -fire in that block of lofts on Chambers Street. Hop a taxi and get there -quick as you can. Get busy, Bob.”</p> - -<p>Bob said crisply: “<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Right!” He heard the receiver click as Dade hung up. -Five minutes later he had located a taxi and was racing toward the fire. -As he drew near, he saw the column of smoke that rose from the burning -building, black against the sky. “Two or three alarms,” he estimated, -out of his long experience in such matters. “Lot of girls working in -there, too. Probably caught some of them. Damned rat-hole....”</p> - -<p>He had not enough cash in his pocket to pay the taxi fare; so he showed -the man his badge and said curtly: “Charge <i>Chronicle</i>.” Then he began -to worm through the crowd toward the fire. His badge passed him through -the fire-lines, into the smother of smoke and the tumult of voices and -the throbbing rhythm of the engines. The loft building was five stories -high; and when Bob looked up, he saw, as the smoke thinned and left -vistas, the red of flames in every window on the upper floors. Beside an -empty hose-wagon, he came upon Brett of the <i>Journal</i>, and asked him: -“Anybody caught!”</p> - -<p>Brett shook his head. “Seven rescues,” he said. “Fire started on the top -floor, so they mostly had time to run.”</p> - -<p>“Got the names?” Bob asked.</p> - -<p>“Jake’s got ’em,” said Brett. Jake was the <i>Chronicle’s</i> police -reporter. “He’s gone to telephone them in.”</p> - -<p>Bob nodded. Jake was a good man. He would have picked up enough of -incident and accident to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208">{208}</a></span> make a story. The rewrite men in the office -would do the rest. His, Bob’s, job was to look for a feature the other -men might have overlooked.... And abruptly, he remembered Dade’s -instructions to Ingalls that morning. Fire escapes; fire-doors. Were -they adequate, on this old trap?</p> - -<p>There was an alley beside the burning building. He could work in through -there and find out, perhaps.... At the mouth of the alley a policeman -halted him. Bob showed his fire badge. The policeman said scornfully: “I -don’t give a damn for that. That wall in there is going to fall in a -minute.”</p> - -<p>Bob laughed. “I was covering fires when you were in the cradle, old -man,” he said, and slipped by, into the alley. The officer started to -pursue, swore, changed his mind, returned to his post. The alley was not -an attractive place to enter. It was full of smoke, and sprinkled with -bits of glass that still tinkled down in a steady rain from the -shattered windows above; and as he had said, the upper part of the wall -had been gnawed by the fire till it was like to fall at any moment.</p> - -<p>In spite of this, Bob went in. He was not afraid, and he was not -excited, and he was not valorous. He was simply matter of fact. The -smoke made him cough, and burned his eyes. Nevertheless he located the -fire-escape, where it came zigzagging down the wall. Its ladder swung -seven feet above the sidewalk. He got a barrel and climbed upon it and -so reached the ladder.</p> - -<p>He scaled the ladder to the second floor landing. He found there a -blank, iron-sheathed door. Locked. He could not move it. “But it -probably<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209">{209}</a></span> opens from the inside,” he reminded himself. “Let’s see.”</p> - -<p>There was no window on this floor; he looked up and discovered that from -the landing above he could reach a window. Flames were streaming thinly -out of windows ten feet above that landing. Nevertheless, Bob did not -hesitate. He climbed, straddled the iron rail, kicked in a pane of glass -and pushed the sash up. The room within was full of eddying smoke; Bob -crawled inside. He wished to reach the hall, test the doors that opened -upon the fire-escape from the inside.</p> - -<p>Smoke in the room was thick, so he crouched below it and slipped out -into the hall. When he reached the door, he found it adequately equipped -with patent bolts of the sort that yielded at a tug. He tried them; the -door swung open. The bolts, he saw, were recently installed and in good -condition.... The open door had created a draft. Smoke, with a hot -breath of fire in it, began to pour past him and out through the door.</p> - -<p>Fire-escapes all right; doors all right. No story. Time to get out, he -decided.</p> - -<p>To do so it was necessary to traverse the building. He did this. Bob had -seen fires before. Experience and instinct guided him safely. On the -stairs he found lines of hose leading up to where a squad of firemen -were fighting the fire from within. He followed the hose down and to the -front door and so to the street.</p> - -<p>The fire, for newspaper purposes, was over. Three alarms, seven rescues, -a hundred thousand damage.... Bob telephoned the office. Dade asked: -“How about fire-escapes?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210">{210}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I looked at them,” Bob said casually. “They’re O. K. Fire-doors all -right, too.” Dade said: “Well, you might as well come in.”</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>Bob brushed his clothes and washed his face and hands in a hotel -wash-room before he returned to the office. When he came into the City -Room, no one paid him any attention. He went to his desk and wrote the -story of Jack Brenton’s wife, and handed the manuscript to Dade. The -City Editor scanned the pages with swift eyes, said over his shoulder: -“Good stuff, Bob.” Then tossed the story to the copy-desk. “Top 7,” he -directed. “Good little local story. But you’d better cut it down. Half a -column’s enough.”</p> - -<p>Bob went back to his desk. He was beginning to feel the reaction; he was -somewhat tired. So for a little while he sat idly, doing nothing at all.</p> - -<p>Then Boswell, the publisher, came in from the corridor; and Bob saw him, -and turned to his typewriter, and inserted a sheet of paper, and began -to write. He wrote, over and over again:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p><i>“The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.”</i></p></div> - -<p>The little old reporter wished to appear busy. He was, you see, a good -deal of a coward; he was desperately afraid of being fired.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211">{211}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="NOT_A_DRUM_WAS_HEARD" id="NOT_A_DRUM_WAS_HEARD"></a>NOT A DRUM WAS HEARD</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HIS is, in all essentials, a true story. It came through an old friend -from the Southwest, a newspaper man, who telephoned an invitation to -lunch the other day. He says he remembers, as a boy, seeing the whole -population of his home town embark on horseback, in wagons, and afoot to -go to the hanging. That was in 1881; but it was not till twenty years -afterward that he heard from one Chris O’Neill the true inwardness of -that hanging, as he told it to me over our coffee. The thing happened in -a little frontier town in the cow country; and since swift justice and a -ready rope were characteristics of the time and the place, it occasioned -only passing comment in that day. Nevertheless, the tale may well bear -preserving.</p> - -<p>I cannot hope to reproduce my friend’s words, nor the atmosphere of -those reckless times, so long dead, which he brought back to life for -me. Nevertheless, here is the substance of the story that he told.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>There were two cowboys in the O K O outfit, otherwise called the -Hourglass; and these two men were pardners. This, I was given to -understand, is a very different thing from being part<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212">{212}</a></span>ners. In France, a -few years ago, they would have called themselves “buddies.” The -relationship is the same, though it appears under another name. The two -men were named Jack Mills and Bud Loupel. If you hired one, you hired -both. If one was fired, the other quit. If you licked one, the other -licked you; and if one became involved in a shooting affray, the other -was apt to be somewhere in the background with a gun in his hand and an -eye out for possible sharp practice by allies of the party of the second -part. The foreman of the Hourglass, being wise in his generation, -assigned the two to tasks at which they could work together; and they -stayed with that outfit for a length of time that was considered -extraordinary in those tempestuous days. That is to say, they labored in -the vineyard for the O K O for a matter of a year and a half. At the end -of that time Jack Mills was twenty-one and Bud Loupel was twenty-two.</p> - -<p>As they did their work jointly, so they took their pleasures together; -and it came to pass on a certain day that they rode away to town with -full pockets and lively plans for the evenings immediately before them. -Jack Mills, always the gayer spirit of the two, pulled his gun at the -edge of town and perforated the blue sky above him. At the same time he -emitted certain shrill sounds and spurred his horse to the gallop. Bud -was more given to a certain sobriety and decorum; he did not shoot and -he did not yell. But his horse kept close beside the other’s. They swung -into the wide and dusty main street with hats flapping, horses racing -like jack rabbits, holsters pounding<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213">{213}</a></span> against their thighs. They swept -up the street together, saw the same vision at the same instant, and -jerked their horses to a sliding, tail-grinding stop with a single -movement of their bridle hands.</p> - -<p>The vision’s name was Jeanie Ross. She was the daughter of old man Ross, -the storekeeper, and she had just come home from the East. The rattle of -the shots had brought her to the door of the store, and she stood there -when the two cowboys discovered her. She looked at them; they stared at -her. Then Jack Mills swung boldly to the ground and walked toward her, -grinning in his pleasantly likable way. He swept his wide hat low, and -he said: “Ma’am, I’m Jack Mills of the Hourglass.”</p> - -<p>The girl, though she had lived long in the East, was a daughter of the -West. She was amused and not displeased, for Jack was easy enough to -look at. She smiled, and this emboldened Bud Loupel, who was always -conservative, to imitate his pardner’s example. He, too, dismounted and -stepped forward, and Jack Mills bowed again to the girl and told her: -“Furthermore, ma’am, this here is my bashful friend, Bud Loupel. The cat -has got his tongue, but he’s a nice little fellow. Now you know -everybody worth knowing.”</p> - -<p>Jeanie Ross, still very much amused, asked: “Who were you shooting at?”</p> - -<p>“The man in the moon,” said Jack Mills. “But I missed him a mile.”</p> - -<p>She laughed and said she was glad of that. “I’d hate not to be able to -see him up there once in a while,” she told Jack.</p> - -<p>“Just to prove he ain’t hurt,” he assured her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214">{214}</a></span> “I’ll ride in and point -him out to you when the signs is right.”</p> - -<p>She shook her head, looking from one man to the other, withdrawing a -little into the doorway. Jack marked, even then, that her eyes rested -longest on Bud Loupel. “I’ve studied astronomy my own self,” she said, -and while he was still crushed by that she backed into the store and -disappeared.</p> - -<p>The two mounted in silence and continued more demurely down the street. -In front of Brady’s they hitched their horses, tramped dustily inside, -and touched elbows at the bar. The first drink was taken without speech; -the second followed it.</p> - -<p>After a while Bud Loupel said: “Jack!”</p> - -<p>“Huh?”</p> - -<p>“Me, you know what I aim to do?”</p> - -<p>Mills grinned. “I don’t know, but I’m waiting.”</p> - -<p>“I aim,” said Bud Loupel, “to quit the range and get me a job in this -here little old town.”</p> - -<p>Jack Mills banged his open hand upon the bar. “Bud, she sure is that and -more,” he cried. “Just make it the same for me.”</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>They had ridden into town, as has been said, with full pockets. They had -expected to ride out again in a day or two with empty ones. But the -encounter with Jeanie Ross and their subsequent abrupt decision made all -the difference in the world. The procedure of each one, in the -circumstances, was characteristic. Bud Loupel crossed the street to the -bank and opened an account, de<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215">{215}</a></span>positing his money. Jack Mills went into -Brady’s back room, where there was a bank of another kind, and set to -work to double his.</p> - -<p>The bank Bud patronized was owned by Sam Rand, who was also cashier, -president, and board of directors. There had been, till some three days -before, a teller, but Rand had let him go. Bud found the banker, as a -consequence, up to his eyes in unaccustomed work. Rand knew Loupel, knew -that the cowboy had a certain aptitude for figures. When Bud, in the -casual talk that followed his deposit, mentioned the fact that he was -hunting for a town job, Rand hired him on the spot.</p> - -<p>An hour or so later Bud went back to Brady’s to tell Jack of his good -fortune, and Mills rolled a cigarette and said cheerfully: “Then you’re -fixed to lend me five dollars.”</p> - -<p>“As quick as this?” Bud asked. “You must have picked ’em mighty scant.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t pick them,” Jack told him. “They picked me.”</p> - -<p>They went out together and sought a restaurant and food. By supper time -Jack had a job in the blacksmith shop. He was as good with horses as Bud -was with figures. That evening they hired a room, and Bud wrote a note -to the Hourglass foreman, telling him not to expect them back again. -Then they settled down to live the life of sober and substantial -citizens. Object matrimony.</p> - -<p>Now, this is not a story of how a woman came between two men and turned -good friends into enemies. Jeanie Ross did nothing of the kind. It is a -fact that they both loved her and that they both wooed her, but it is -also a fact that they con<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216">{216}</a></span>tinued to be pardners just the same. And it is -furthermore true that when Jeanie made up her mind between them, Jack -was the first one she told.</p> - -<p>She told him she was going to marry Bud. And Jack rolled a cigarette -with both hands, slowly and with care; he fashioned it neatly, and -stroked it between his fingers, and twisted the ends and lighted it -before he spoke at all.</p> - -<p>“Said so to him?” he asked then.</p> - -<p>Jeanie shook her head. “No. I wanted you to know first, because I want -you and Bud to keep on being friends. I like you, Jack. But -you’re—flighty. Bud’s steady. You’re more amusing sometimes, but he’s -more reliable. I couldn’t ever really count on you. I can count on Bud, -Jack. But you will go on being friends with him, won’t you? That’s why -I’m telling you.”</p> - -<p>“He’s steady, he’s reliable, and you can count on him,” Jack repeated, -ticking the points off upon his fingers. “Now, is there maybe any other -little thing besides?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Jeanie softly. “Yes. I love him, Jack.”</p> - -<p>He flicked his cigarette away. “Keno!” he exclaimed. “And Bud’s a good -scout too. I don’t reckon you’ll ever need to be sorry at all.” He -picked up his hat and started away.</p> - -<p>“Where are you going?” she asked softly, and there were tears in her -eyes for him.</p> - -<p>“I aim to tell Bud you’re a-waiting,” he said.</p> - -<p>And he did. Bud was working late that night at the bank. Jack bade him -go and find her. “And, Bud,” he warned good-humoredly, “I’ll aim to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217">{217}</a></span> -perforate you, sudden and complete, if you don’t name the first after -me.”</p> - -<p>When Bud was gone Jack stood very still for a while, whistling a little -tune between his teeth. Then he went across to Brady’s and had a drink -or two, but the liquor would not bite. It was still early in the evening -when he sought the room he shared with Bud, and went to bed. Bud, -returning two hours later, undressed quietly, because he thought his -pardner was asleep.</p> - -<p>But Jack Mills was not asleep.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>The first was a boy, and was well and duly named Jack Loupel; and Uncle -Jack used to go to the house for Sunday dinner and play bear all over -the floor of the sitting room. The next was a girl, and the next was a -boy again. Bud was by that time cashier of the bank, and Sam Rand left -most of the work to him. Jack Mills was just what he had always been; -that is to say, a likable, wild young chap with a quick gun and a -reckless eye and a fondness for the society he found at Brady’s. -Sometimes, after eating one of Jeanie’s dinners, he would take his horse -and ride out of town and be gone for a day or two. He was always alone -on these excursions; but ranging cowboys came across him now and then -and reported that he seemed to be just sitting around, smoking, doing -nothing at all. When he got ready he would drift back into town and go -to work again. Old man Ross liked him; Jeanie liked him; everybody liked -him. But the sober citizens were also in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218">{218}</a></span>clined to disapprove of him; -and some of the stories that came to Jeanie’s ears made her think that -when the children were a little older she had better quit asking Jack to -come to the house. She hated to think of doing this; and because she was -kind of heart, it is unlikely that she would ever have come to the -actual point. But that the possibility should occur to her is some -measure of the man’s standing in the town.</p> - -<p>One day, about seven years after Bud and Jeanie were married, Bud sought -out Jack Mills and asked him to get his horse and come for a ride. “Want -to tell you something, Jack,” he explained.</p> - -<p>Mills saw the trouble and distress in the other’s eyes, so he saddled -up, and they trotted out of town. When the last building was well behind -them, Jack asked mildly: “What’s on your mind, Bud?”</p> - -<p>Bud Loupel, with some hesitation, said: “I’m in trouble.”</p> - -<p>“Yeah! I judged so,” Mills told him. “Well, what brand?”</p> - -<p>“I’ve been putting money in the market at Wichita,” Loupel said. “I’ve -had rotten luck. It’s gone.”</p> - -<p>Jack nodded. “I got three-four hundred in the bank,” he suggested. “Take -that.”</p> - -<p>“It’s not enough.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe I could look around and raise five hundred more.”</p> - -<p>“It wouldn’t do a bit of good.”</p> - -<p>Mills produced tobacco and papers and rolled a slow cigarette while -their horses jogged along. At last: “How much?” he asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219">{219}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Forty-four hundred.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve saved a right smart, ain’t you?”</p> - -<p>“It’s the bank’s,” Loupel confessed, and Jack puffed deeply and expelled -the smoke in a cloud and remarked:</p> - -<p>“Well, at a guess, I’d say you were a damned fool.”</p> - -<p>“I know it.”</p> - -<p>Their horses plodded on, and the dust cloud rose and hovered in the air -behind them. For a space neither man spoke at all. Then Loupel bitterly -exclaimed: “I’m not whining for my own sake, Jack. If it was me, I’d hop -out. I’d take a chance. But Jeanie....”</p> - -<p>“Sure,” Jack Mills mildly agreed. “Sure.”</p> - -<p>“Damn it, Jack, Jeanie’s proud of me. She’s proud of me.”</p> - -<p>“Yeah!”</p> - -<p>“I can’t bear to think of her knowing. It would just about bust her.”</p> - -<p>Mills drawled: “Your sentiments does you credit, Bud.”</p> - -<p>There was a cold and scornful anger in his tone that kept the other for -the moment silent. They rode on, side by side, and Loupel, covertly -watching the younger man, waited for him to speak. Mills finished his -cigarette, eyes straight before him, face unchanging. Then he flicked -the butt away and turned in his saddle and looked at his pardner.</p> - -<p>“What’s Rand say?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“He’s been away. Due back to-morrow afternoon. He’ll spot it in a -minute.”</p> - -<p>Mills whistled for a moment, between his teeth,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220">{220}</a></span> a gallant little tune; -then he nodded, as though in decision, and he asked: “All right, Bud. -What’s your idea?”</p> - -<p>While they rode on at the trot toward the low hills south of the town -Bud Loupel outlined his idea; and when they turned back again at sunset -Jack had agreed to do what the other asked of him.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>At ten o’clock next morning the town lay still and shimmering in the -blistering sun of a summer day. There were one or two men in Brady’s, -and here and there along Main Street other figures lounged in the shade. -Jack Mills rode in from the south on a strange horse, wearing new -overalls and an indistinguishable hat. There was a red bandanna loosely -knotted about his neck. He encountered no one within recognizing -distance. In front of the bank he dropped off, hitched the horse, lifted -the handkerchief so that it hid his mouth and nose, and stepped into the -building. Two or three people at some distance saw him go in, and idly -wondered who the stranger was.</p> - -<p>He had hoped to find Loupel alone in the bank; but Jim Paine was there. -Paine had just cashed a check and stood with his back toward the door, -talking to Bud. When Bud saw the masked man he turned pale, and Jim -marked the change in his countenance and whirled around. But Jack’s gun -was leveled, so Bud and Jim Paine reached for the ceiling.</p> - -<p>Mills, with some attempt to disguise his voice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221">{221}</a></span> said harshly to Bud: -“Paper money. All of it. Quick!”</p> - -<p>Loupel, hands still in the air, started toward the safe. Jack looked -that way and saw that the safe door was open. He changed his mind.</p> - -<p>“Wait,” he commanded. With a gesture he bade Paine face the wall. Then -he leaped the counter, motioned Loupel aside, and himself approached the -safe. Paine, watching sidewise, saw the masked man drag out half a dozen -packets of bills and stuff them into the front of his shirt. Mills did -this with his left hand; his right hand held the gun, and his eyes -covered Paine and Loupel almost constantly. Loupel, backed into a -corner, watched in silence.</p> - -<p>When Mills had taken what he came for, he rose and turned toward the -counter again. At that instant a gun roared behind him, and something -tugged at his shirt, under the left arm. He whirled, saw Rand standing -in the back door of the bank building. Rand’s gun was going. Jack fanned -his hammer twice, and the banker fell.</p> - -<p>Paine had not moved. Mills swung, half crouching, toward Loupel. Loupel -had double-crossed him. That was the thought that tightened his finger -on the trigger. But—Jeanie! That was the thought which made his trigger -finger relax. He slid across the counter, made the door in one jump. -Five seconds after his shot, his horse was galloping out of town. And as -he passed the last house a rifle spoke, somewhere behind him.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Half a mile from town he looked back and saw three or four horsemen just -emerging from Main<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222">{222}</a></span> Street. On their heels others appeared. He laughed a -grim little laugh, and slid forward in his stirrups to help his horse to -greater speed. But when he reached the hills, some half a dozen miles -south of town, they were close behind him, and their rifles were -reaching out for him. He knew a certain cave, a narrow, shallow cover. -Poor refuge, but better than none.</p> - -<p>In this cave they brought him to bay. He lay prone behind the bowlder -that screened and half closed the entrance, and watched them draw off -and circle to inclose him. “Got a little while,” he said to himself. -“Fireworks won’t start right away.”</p> - -<p>Satisfied of this, he rolled a little on his side and drew from the -front of his shirt the packages he had taken from the safe. Strictly in -line with Bud Loupel’s well-laid plan, these were simply dummy packets -of waste paper, with a genuine bill on the outside of each bundle. Mills -laid them on the ground and studied them thoughtfully, considering their -significance.</p> - -<p>His situation was sufficiently desperate. Rand was dead. He had no doubt -of that, and he regretted it. He had always liked Rand, but there had -been no choice at the moment. The question was, what next! These fake -bundles of money had their place in the scheme of things. If he kept -them, told the true story, they might well save his life. Frontier -justice was swift, but it was also tempered by considerations not -accepted under a more rigid system of law. If he proved Bud Loupel’s -part in this, Bud would be damned, and he might himself be saved. And -the dummy bundles<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223">{223}</a></span> would prove Bud’s guilty foreknowledge of the -robbery.</p> - -<p>A rifle bullet spattered on the rock above him, and he postponed -decision. “Needs thinking over,” he told himself. “We’ll see what we -will see.”</p> - -<p>They held him in siege all that afternoon, and toward sunset brought a -barrel of kerosene from town. Men climbed the hill above the cave, where -the bullets could not reach them, and poured this oil so that it ran -down into a pool just in front of his retreat. Then they set fire to it. -He saw at once that he could not endure the smoke and gas, and after -some preparations shouted his surrender.</p> - -<p>They bade him come out with his hands in the air, and he did so. His -boots were somewhat scorched by the flames. Then they tied his hands -behind his back and his ankles beneath the horse’s belly, and took him -back to town. Toward dusk he was lodged in the calaboose there, and Nick -Russ, the deputy, went on guard outside.</p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>About nine o’clock that night Bud Loupel came to the calaboose and asked -if he could talk with Mills. Russ told him to go ahead. Bud asked -permission to talk privately; and, though Russ was inclined to protest, -he was at length persuaded. The deputy moved away from the little, -one-room building, and Bud went inside. Mills was confined in a rude -cell of two-by-four timbers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224">{224}</a></span> Bud approached these bars, and Jack came -to meet him.</p> - -<p>Loupel was sweating faintly. “For God’s sake, Jack,” he whispered. “This -is terrible!”</p> - -<p>Mills grinned. “Well,” he agreed. “It looks right critical to me.”</p> - -<p>“If Rand hadn’t happened to get back ahead of time.... Hadn’t come in -right then....”</p> - -<p>“You didn’t happen to know he was coming, I don’t reckon.”</p> - -<p>Loupel cried: “No, no, Jack. Honest to God!”</p> - -<p>Mills nodded. “I know. I thought at first you did; but I reckon you -wouldn’t play it that low down. Is he—hurt much?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you got him.”</p> - -<p>“Yeah,” said Mills. “Well, that’s tough, too. When is it going to happen -to me?”</p> - -<p>“To-morrow morning.”</p> - -<p>“They’re right prompt, ain’t they?”</p> - -<p>Loupel gripped the stout timbers to stop the trembling of his hands. -There was a terrible and pitiful anxiety in his voice. “Jack!” he -whispered.</p> - -<p>“Yeah?”</p> - -<p>“Have you told?”</p> - -<p>Mills turned his head away; he could not bear to look upon this old -friend of his. “Why, no,” he said gently. “No, Bud, I ain’t told. Don’t -aim to, if that helps any.”</p> - -<p>“But the money,” Bud stammered. “The packages of bills. You couldn’t get -rid of them. When they find them, they’ll know.”</p> - -<p>“They won’t find them bundles,” Jack Mills told him; and, while Bud -could only stare with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225">{225}</a></span> widening eyes, he cheerfully explained: “You see, -I was cold for a spell. So I had me a little bonfire in that cave.”</p> - -<p>There was something hideous and craven in the relief that leaped into -the eyes of Bud Loupel. Mills reached through the bars, caught the -other’s shoulder, shook him upright. “Take a brace, Bud,” he said -gently. “Go on home.”</p> - -<p>Bud Loupel could not speak. He turned and went stumbling toward the -door; he forgot so little a thing as shaking his pardner’s hand in -farewell. Jack watched him go; and as the other reached the door he -called:</p> - -<p>“Take care of Jeanie, Bud.”</p> - -<p>Loupel turned to look back, muttered a low assent, went on his way. -Mills heard him speak to Russ as he departed. Then the deputy came to -look in and make sure that the prisoner was still secure. He resumed his -seat on a chair tipped against the wall, just outside the door.</p> - -<p>Mills went back to the bench against the rear of his cell and rolled and -smoked a cigarette. Then he lay down, one knee crossed above the other, -and the man on guard heard him whistling.</p> - -<p>Heard him whistling softly, between his teeth, a gay and gallant and -triumphant little tune.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226">{226}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_MAN_WHO_LOOKED_LIKE_EDISON" id="THE_MAN_WHO_LOOKED_LIKE_EDISON"></a>THE MAN WHO LOOKED LIKE EDISON</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">E</span>RNIE BUDDER was a leading member of a profession not always given its -just due—that is to say, he was an expert washer of automobiles. You -have seen his like in your own service-station, garbed in rubber boots -and rubber apron, a long-handled soapy brush in one hand, and the ragged -end of a line of hose without a nozzle in the other. But unless you have -attempted on your own account the task he so expeditiously performs, you -have never properly appreciated this man. By the time you have run water -over your car, only to find that it dries in muddy spots upon the -varnished surface; by the time you have wet it again and wiped it -hurriedly, and found the result suggestive of the protective coloration -of a zebra; by the time you have for a third time applied the hose, and -scrubbed with the sponge, and wiped with the chamois, and picked off -with your fingernails the lint and dust that still persist in sticking, -you will have begun to value at their true worth such men as Ernie -Budder.</p> - -<p>Ernie could and did wash and polish a car an hour, with monotonous -regularity, all day long. For this work he was paid a dollar an hour, -which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227">{227}</a></span> seems munificent until you have tried it, and until you stop to -consider that, for the work he has done, you paid his employer three -dollars, and until you remember the cost of living and such matters not -easy to forget.</p> - -<p>He was a fixture at my particular service-station, where his abilities -were recognized by the powers that were. If you ran your car in and said -confidentially to Forgan, the foreman: “Give her an extra good -going-over, will you? I’ve been out on some muddy roads, and she needs -it,” then Forgan would nod, and promise reassuringly, “I’ll see to it -that Ernie does her himself, boss.” Upon which, if you knew Ernie and -trusted Forgan, you went away completely at your ease.</p> - -<p>Ernie was not a young man, in spite of his youthful appellation. I -suppose his name had once been Ernest. He was past middle life—how far -past it was hard to guess. His hair was snow-white, and his square -shoulders were a little stooped, but his hands were vigorous and his eye -was mild and clear. There was a diffident affability about him, an -amiability like that of a puppy which is afraid of being misunderstood; -and, as a result of this quality, it is probable that he was somewhat -put upon by the more aggressive characters among whom his lines were -laid. My acquaintance with him was a matter of slow growth over a period -of years. What might be called our friendship dated from the day when -Ernie whispered to me that there had been a small leak in my radiator. I -nodded abstractedly.</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” I told him. “I’ll run her in to-morrow and let them patch it -up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228">{228}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>He shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Don’t need to,” he told me. “I stuck a drop of solder on her to-day. -Gave it a lick of enamel. You’ll never notice the place at all.”</p> - -<p>I stifled my natural suspicion—for I did not know the man—and pulled -out a bill; but Ernie smiled and backed away.</p> - -<p>“No, no,” he said pleasantly. “No; I like to tinker. Don’t let Forgan -know. That’s all.”</p> - -<p>I was a little dazed, would have insisted. But in the face of his -persistent, good-natured refusal, I perceived that I had been mistaken. -The man was not a type; he was an individual. And thereafter we became, -as I have suggested, friends. If there was a grease-cup missing when he -washed the car, I was sure to find it replaced. If my brakes needed -adjusting, he found time to attend to them. A surface-cut on a tire that -passed under his hands was apt to be filled with cement and composition -and firmly closed. I eventually discovered that this habit was no secret -to Forgan.</p> - -<p>“He thinks we ain’t wise,” the foreman said to me. “But I’ve spotted him -at it. Long as he does them things on his own time, why should we kick? -We don’t want to soak our customers. We’re human, ain’t we? Besides, it -makes ’em good-natured. And Ernie likes to think he’s putting something -over. So I don’t let on.”</p> - -<p>But it was not that Ernie liked to think he was putting something over; -it was simply, as the man had told me, that he liked to tinker. I was -not alone in his favor. Others also benefited. He was a friend of all -the world.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229">{229}</a></span></p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>I missed him one day when I drove in and left the car. Forgan laughed at -my question.</p> - -<p>“Yep,” he said. “Gone. Got a vacation. Guy came in here—one of these -movie men. Spotted Ernie, and said he wanted him for a picture. Said he -looked the part. He’ll be back in a month or so. ’Less he gets the bug.”</p> - -<p>I was interested, and a little amused at the thought of Ernie on the -film; and I hoped he would come back at the end of the stipulated month, -hoped he would, in fact, escape the bug.</p> - -<p>As matters chanced, it was two weeks over the allotted month before I -had occasion to take my car to the service-station. I drove in on my way -to town in the morning, and Forgan slid back the doors for me, and -Ernie’s familiar smile, a little more alert than of old, greeted me from -the washing-floor.</p> - -<p>“Just a wash and a polish,” I told Forgan, as I rolled past him at the -door; and he nodded and said,</p> - -<p>“Give her to Ernie.”</p> - -<p>I maneuvered in the narrow passage and headed in to the washing-floor; -but Ernie held up a warning hand, smiling and nodding.</p> - -<p>“Cut her,” he called. “Over this side.”</p> - -<p>And as I obeyed, wondering what it was all about, I saw that he cocked a -wise eye toward the ceiling. Under his guidance, I brought the car into -the position he desired, and then alighted and asked:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230">{230}</a></span></p> - -<p>“What’s the idea, Ernie! Used to be any old place would do.”</p> - -<p>Ernie chuckled.</p> - -<p>“Look a’ there,” he admonished, and pointed upward. “There’s an -arrangement I’ve fixed up. Just shut up your windows and you’ll see.”</p> - -<p>Mine is a sedan; I obediently closed windows and doors.</p> - -<p>“Rigged her myself,” Ernie repeated. “Just three-four lengths of pipe -and a punch. Works great on a closed car.” And he yanked at the long -wooden pole which opened the water-valve against the ceiling.</p> - -<p>That which Ernie had indicated so pridefully was a rectangle of two-inch -pipe, hung in such position that it was just above the roof of the car. -When the valve was opened, from this pipe through numberless orifices -descended a veritable water-curtain composed of many tiny streams. The -water struck upon the top of the car and flowed down over front and rear -and sides in sheets.</p> - -<p>“Wets her and rinses her all at once,” Ernie pointed out to me. “Saves a -lot of time, and does a sight better job. I rigged her.”</p> - -<p>He was, as I have said, immensely proud—proud as a child. The idea was -undoubtedly ingenious, and I told him so.</p> - -<p>“I got a lot of ideas,” he assured me. “I’m figuring on them.”</p> - -<p>I nodded.</p> - -<p>“How’d you like the movies?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Great!” he said. “Say, I want to tell you—”</p> - -<p>But I was already overdue at the office, and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231">{231}</a></span> made my excuses to the -old man. Another time, I said, would do. He agreed, as he always agreed, -and I left him at work upon the car. Forgan, at the door, winked in his -direction as I passed, and asked,</p> - -<p>“Do you make him?”</p> - -<p>“Why?” I inquired. “What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“You watch the old coot,” Forgan admonished me. “He’s a new man.”</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>I heard from Ernie, and in fragmentary snatches, the story of his -moving-picture experience. There was a studio in one of the more remote -suburbs, the plant of a fly-by-night company of none too good repute. -The director of this company it was who had enticed Ernie away.</p> - -<p>“They wanted me,” he told me seriously one day, “because I looked so -much like Tom Edison. Didn’t you ever notice that?”</p> - -<p>I did not smile, for Ernie was perfectly sober. But that this washer of -automobiles was even remotely like the great inventor seemed to me a -ridiculous suggestion. It was true that Ernie had white hair, had a -round and placid face; but there was in his countenance none of that -strength which is so evident in the other’s. I told myself that it was -possible the picture-people were wiser than I, that under the lights and -with a touch of makeup here and there—</p> - -<p>“A war-film, it was,” Ernie assured me. “I was the big man in it.”</p> - -<p>“So?” I prompted.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232">{232}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yeah. Inventor. Working on a new torpedo thing. Spies after it, trying -to get it from me. They had me working in a shop with barred windows and -a steel door and a guard outside. Had a bed there. Slept there. In the -picture, you understand. Ate there and everything. People’d come to see -me, and I’d show ’em how the thing worked. I was the big man in that -picture, I’ll tell you.”</p> - -<p>“That must have been an interesting experience,” I suggested.</p> - -<p>He nodded, started to speak, but an expression curiously and almost -ludicrously secretive crossed his countenance. He held his tongue, -turned back to his task in a manner almost curt.</p> - -<p>I drove out, and just outside the door—this was in January, and there -was snow upon the streets—one of my chains flipped off. Forgan’s hail -of warning stopped me, and he shut the door and came out to help me -adjust the chain.</p> - -<p>“I see Ernie telling you about his movie,” he said, as we worked. And I -was surprised, for the man’s tone was perfectly respectful.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I replied. “He seems to take it seriously.”</p> - -<p>“Well, now, you know,” Forgan told me, “it’s made a big change in -Ernie.”</p> - -<p>“Change?” I blew upon my cold fingers and fumbled at the chains.</p> - -<p>“Yes. He never had much git-up to him before. But now he’s full of -ideas. Rigged that water-curtain to wash the cars. Things like that. -Good ideas, too.”</p> - -<p>My interest was caught.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233">{233}</a></span></p> - -<p>“A real inventor?”</p> - -<p>“You’d be surprised. He took him two of these here electric pads that -you sleep on when you got the lumbago, and made a bag of them, just -right to fit round the carbureter and the manifold of his old flivver; -and he keeps her all warm at night from the light-socket. No heat in his -garage. No starter on his car; but he says she starts at the first whirl -now.”</p> - -<p>“That’s pretty good,” I agreed. “More power to him. I’ve no heat, -either. Use one of those electric things under the hood; but Ernie’s -notion is better.”</p> - -<p>“Get him to make you one,” Forgan advised. And, the chain adjusted, I -stepped in and drove away.</p> - -<p>I was able, thus prompted by Forgan, to mark the development in Ernie -during the succeeding weeks. He became steadily more alert of eye, and -at the same time more confident of his own powers. One day in early -spring I drove in and remarked that I had dropped a grease-cup off the -forward right-hand spring.</p> - -<p>“I’ll stick one on,” he promised. “One around here somewheres.” And -added, “You won’t be using them things any more in a year or two.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you’re right. They’ll do away with them somehow,” I agreed.</p> - -<p>“They won’t,” said Ernie. “But I will.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve got a scheme? Automatic lubrication?”</p> - -<p>“Better than that,” he told me.</p> - -<p>“Better?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234">{234}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I’ll show you one o’ these days,” he promised. But would say no more.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>It was not till early May that I was shown, and, as the thing chanced, -it was Forgan who then showed me.</p> - -<p>I happened to come in when Ernie was not there. We spoke of him, and -Forgan said,</p> - -<p>“You know what that old guy’s done?” I shook my head. “Company’s backing -him,” said Forgan. “He’s got a great thing. You come down-stairs.”</p> - -<p>We went down to the machine shop under the receiving floor. Forgan -unlocked the door, led me into a small room. On a bench was set up a -tiny electric motor, harnessed to a wheel and connected with a simple -bit of apparatus which had no meaning, at first sight, at all. But -Forgan stopped the motor and made all clear to me. The power revolved a -wooden spindle, which entered a hole in a steel block, whirling there. I -could perceive no purpose in this, but Forgan said:</p> - -<p>“It’s a test. It don’t do anything. Feel of it. Ain’t hot, is it?”</p> - -<p>I touched the steel, touched the spindle that had been revolving so -swiftly.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“See if you can pull it out.” I tried, and failed. “Tight fit, you see,” -Forgan told me. “But she’s been spinning in there for three days now, -except when we stop her to measure once in a while. No oil, and no heat, -and no wear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235">{235}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“But what’s it all about?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“That’s an oilless bearing,” Forgan explained, a little disgusted with -my stupidity. “Piece of hard wood, filled with oil. Use the stuff to -make wrist-pins and all, and you’ll never have to oil your chassis at -all.”</p> - -<p>The thing broke upon me.</p> - -<p>“But does it work?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“You see it,” he said. “It works here. Well, it’ll work anywhere.”</p> - -<p>“And Ernie figured that out?”</p> - -<p>“He sure did.”</p> - -<p>“Why, the man’s a genius!”</p> - -<p>“Yeah. Ever since he went and got his picture took.”</p> - -<p>“How does he make this, anyway—this bearing? Soak the wood in oil?”</p> - -<p>Forgan laughed.</p> - -<p>“Not as easy as that. He puts her in as hot as the devil, and under a -lot of pressure. Don’t just know how. He won’t tell. He’s got a lay-off -now to work it out. Figuring on cost. Cost’s too much now; but he’s -going to figure to make it cheaper. He—”</p> - -<p>Ernie himself came in just then. I hardly knew him. He had on a new suit -of clothes; he was close-shaven, and his hair was trimmed. His bearing -was that of a successful and confident man, and he nodded to the -respectful Forgan as one nods to a chauffeur.</p> - -<p>“How is she?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Cool as a cucumber,” Forgan assured him.</p> - -<p>“Any wear?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll see,” the foreman said with alacrity, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236">{236}</a></span> proceeded to dismantle -the test-apparatus and apply a micrometer to the bearing. Ernie nodded -to me, and I said,</p> - -<p>“Seems like a fine thing.”</p> - -<p>“It is,” he replied, positively and confidently, yet without a trace of -arrogance or ugly pride. “Yes; it will do very well.”</p> - -<p>“No wear at all,” Forgan reported, and Ernie nodded assent.</p> - -<p>“Keep her going,” he directed.</p> - -<p>While Forgan was setting the apparatus again in position, Ernie and I -went up the stair together. He said, as we came to the main floor,</p> - -<p>“By the way, that film, you know—”</p> - -<p>“The one you were in—”</p> - -<p>“Yes. It’s at the Globe next week.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll surely go and see it,” I promised him.</p> - -<p>We separated with a word, and I drove home, marveling at this new man -that had been Ernie Budder—marveling at the power of suggestion. He had -been told that he looked like a great inventor, and he had emerged from -this experience stimulated, sure of himself, alert, and keen—a new man.</p> - -<p>Such a slight fillip from the finger of Destiny to throw open before a -man’s feet new and lofty ways—</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>Toward the end of the next week I went to the Globe, and so understood -at last that what Destiny had brewed was tragedy. Ernie was in the film; -so far he had been right. But in how different a rôle! I could -understand how they had tricked<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237">{237}</a></span> him. An actor on the screen knows -nothing, or may know nothing of scenes in which he does not himself -appear. Ernie had no doubt been told that he was playing the part of a -great inventor upon whom the hopes of the nation rested; he had accepted -the explanation, had accepted the barred windows, the steel door, the -guard outside, and the solicitous visitors.</p> - -<p>But he had been deceived, perhaps because they feared he would not -otherwise consent to play the part they assigned to him. For the Ernie -in the films was no great inventor but an insane old man; the bars at -his windows were the bars of a madman’s cell. Within, this madman -pottered at his mad designs, and the guard at the door was not to keep -others out but to keep him in; and the solicitous visitors paid him no -respect but only humored his poor illusion. There were tears in my eyes -before the thing was finished—tears of pity for Ernie, and tears of hot -anger at the callous brutality of those who had contrived this thing. I -thought of legal action on his behalf; but they had, no doubt, been wise -enough to have him sign a release from all responsibility. There was -nothing that could be done.</p> - -<p>I avoided the service-station for the week thereafter; I could not bear -to see Ernie. But at last it was necessary to go in. I planned to tell -him, if he asked, that I had missed seeing the film. So much poor -kindness I could do the man.</p> - -<p>When I drove in, he was on the washing-floor, working about a limousine. -The old, ragged hose was in his hand; the sprinkler he had designed was -still attached to the ceiling, but unused. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238">{238}</a></span> parked my car in an empty -space and walked across to him. He looked up with his old timidly -amiable smile, and I saw that the alert confidence and the sense of -power were utterly gone.</p> - -<p>“There’s a grease-cup missing, Ernie, from the rear end,” I told him. -“If you see one kicking around—”</p> - -<p>“Why, yes; sure,” he promised me.</p> - -<p>I hesitated, then said smilingly, “Won’t need to bother with them in a -year or two—”</p> - -<p>By his answer, I knew that the dreams were gone and the vision was fled.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I guess we’ll have to keep puttering on in the same old ways,” said -Ernie Budder hopelessly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239">{239}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="SUCCESS" id="SUCCESS"></a>SUCCESS</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">J</span>ENKINS was a special writer of national reputation, and he had come on -from Philadelphia to see Homer Dean, the automobile man whose name is a -registered trade-mark borne by some hundred thousand cars of the first -class upon the nation’s thoroughfares. Jenkins’ appointment with Dean -was for two-thirty in the afternoon, but he was in the reception room -outside the other’s office a little ahead of time.</p> - -<p>While he sat there Dean came out with an older man, to whom he was -saying goodby, and when this older man was gone the millionaire turned -to Jenkins with a friendly nod of invitation, and Jenkins followed him -into his office. But Dean at once went to a closet in the corner and -brought out his coat and hat, saying: “I’m going to have to put you off -till to-morrow, Mr. Jenkins. Old Jasper Hopkins, my first boss—that was -him who just went out—has just told me something I should have known -twenty years ago. I’ve got to—straighten it out. Come in to-morrow, can -you?”</p> - -<p>The writer’s disappointment showed in his face. “I had figured on taking -the six o’clock to-night.”</p> - -<p>Dean hesitated, glancing at his watch. “Just what is it you wanted of -me?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Jenkins smiled. “The usual thing. The story<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240">{240}</a></span> of how you did it. People -are always interested in such things. Self-made man, you know. It’s old -stuff, sir, but it’s sure-fire.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” the automobile man agreed, nodding thoughtfully. He considered -for a moment, then, with abrupt decision, took off his coat, his hat. -“After all, it’s waited twenty years,” he said. “Another two hours won’t -matter. And—the affair may interest you.” He turned back to his desk, -indicated a chair for the other. “Sit down,” he directed. “I think I -understand what you’re planning. ‘How to Make Yourself. By One Who Has -Done It.’ Is that the idea?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>Dean smiled. “I’ve heard folks speak of me as self-made,” he confessed. -“In fact, that has been, secretly, my own idea. Until an hour ago. Just -how much do you know of my—success, anyway?”</p> - -<p>“I know you’re the head of one of the half dozen biggest concerns in the -business.”</p> - -<p>“Know how I came to be here?”</p> - -<p>“You were managing vice-president in the beginning; bought out Hopkins -ten years or so ago.”</p> - -<p>“Can you go back any farther than that?”</p> - -<p>“I’ve understood you were sales manager of the old Hopkins Tool Company; -that you were a world beater in that job.”</p> - -<p>Dean laughed. “Those were boom times, and sales jumped. I happened to be -the head of the department, and I got the credit. Ever hear how Hopkins -came to make me sales manager?” Jenkins shook his head.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241">{241}</a></span></p> - -<p>“He had put me on as a salesman,” Dean explained. “My first trip, a big -prospect hunted me up, said he’d decided to trade with us, and gave me a -whooping order. My predecessor had worked on them four years; they fell -into my lap, and Hopkins thought I was a worker of miracles from that -day.”</p> - -<p>Jenkins shook his head, smiling. “You give yourself the worst of it,” he -commented.</p> - -<p>Dean’s eyes had become sober and thoughtful; he spoke slowly, as though -invoking memory. “You’ve called me a self-made man. But, as a matter of -fact, it was the mere accident that I was on the spot which gave me that -first order; and that order made me sales manager within two months’ -time. By and by the automobile came along, and Old Jasper remodeled his -factory and went after the business—with me in charge. He gave me some -stock; and a year or two later his son Charlie died and took the heart -out of the old man. He offered to sell out to me, and I gave him a -bundle of notes for the whole thing. The business paid them off inside -of five years. Do you see? The fact that I was salesman made me sales -manager; the fact that I was sales manager made me vice-president; the -fact that I was vice-president threw the business into my hands; and the -fact that everybody wanted to buy cars has done the rest. Still call me -a self-made man?”</p> - -<p>“After all,” Jenkins suggested, “you had made good or you wouldn’t have -been given the job as salesman.”</p> - -<p>Dean nodded emphatically. “That’s the key to the whole structure,” he -agreed. “That first job<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242">{242}</a></span> as salesman. And that’s what I want to tell you -about. If you care to hear.”</p> - -<p>The reporter did care to hear, and this—as he shaped the tale in his -thoughts thereafter—is what he heard:</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>Homer Dean and Will Matthews grew up in adjoining back yards, fought and -bled with and for each other as boys will, went through high school side -by side, took a business course given by a broken-down bookkeeper in a -bare room over the Thornton Drug Store, and went to work in the offices -of the Hopkins Tool Company within a month of each other, as vacancies -occurred there. Will got the first job, Homer the second. They helped -with labels in the shipping room, kept checking lists, and eventually -graduated to keeping books.</p> - -<p>The tool company was a one-man concern. Old Jasper Hopkins had founded -it, and intended to turn it over to his boy Charlie when his own time -should be done. Old Jasper—he was then no more than in his late -forties, but he was Old Jasper just the same—was a man of many -eccentricities. He had begun as a mechanic, a machinist; and he had -mastered the machinery of the shop, but never mastered the machinery of -business. He picked machinists for his shop work, but for the -white-collar jobs he chose men with no grime under their finger nails. -Who sought a job with him began in the shipping room, and advanced—if -he had merit—through regular and accustomed channels.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243">{243}</a></span> Keeping books -was the second rung of the ladder. Jasper could not multiply eight by -seven; he had a vast respect for any man who could.</p> - -<p>Will Matthews could, and so could Homer Dean. Also they recommended -themselves to Jasper in other ways. The head of the Hopkins Tool Company -had breathed the dust from his own emery wheels in the past; he was of a -gritty and abrading disposition. His nerves were tight, his temper was -loose; and to arouse him meant an explosion that resembled nothing so -much as the commotion which results when the mainspring of an ancient -alarm clock, in process of dissection, is injudiciously set free.</p> - -<p>His prejudices were tradition. While Will and Homer were still in the -shipping room they heard how he had scorched Charlie Dunn with many -words over the mere slamming of a door. And how he had reduced Luther -Worthing from salesman to bookkeeper again because Luther faced him one -morning with waistcoat half unbuttoned. And how he had summarily -discharged Jim Porter for carelessly rumpling the corner of the office -rug. Noise he hated, neatness and order he demanded and revered; and -more than one office boy had lost his job for scanting his daily task of -putting a fresh and spotless blotter on the broad pad upon Old Jasper’s -desk.</p> - -<p>These likes and dislikes Homer and Will respected; to a legitimate -extent they catered to them; and thus they attained a certain eminence -in their employer’s eyes. He had been known to refer to them as -promising young men. They knew this as well as others did, and there was -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244">{244}</a></span> good-natured rivalry between them to see which should distance the -other on the upward way.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>This was not the only rivalry between the two young men. Her name was -Annie Cool, and she was some four years younger than either. They became -aware of her the year after her graduation from high school, when she -let down her skirts and put up her prettily luxuriant hair and ceased to -be “that Cool kid” in their eyes. There is a wide gulf between twelve -and sixteen; there is even a gulf between sixteen and twenty. But when -the signs are right, there is no gulf at all between, say, eighteen and -twenty-two.</p> - -<p>Annie was eighteen and they were twenty-two. Presently she was nineteen -and they were twenty-three, and a little after that she was twenty and -they were twenty-four.</p> - -<p>By this time each of the young men was conscious of much more than a -pleasantly intense delight in Annie Cool’s companionship. Will Matthews -was always somewhat more mature than Homer Dean; he took Annie more -seriously. He wooed her gently, with kindliness and much persistence; -and Homer wooed her laughingly, with raillery and the rough teasing that -goes with youth. There were times when she liked to be with Will; there -were other times when she liked to be with Homer, but most of the time -she liked to be with both of them, and said so. Other young men of the -community knew the uselessness of intrusion on their intimacy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245">{245}</a></span></p> - -<p>It had not come to the point of marriage talk, for Will and Homer were -getting only a matter of fifteen dollars weekly wage, and even in those -days fifteen dollars a week was not considered a competence. But Jasper -never paid his bookkeepers more. A salesman, now, was another matter; -beside those of a bookkeeper, his wages were munificent. Enough, that is -to say, for marrying.</p> - -<p>In the fall of the year, when they were twenty-four and Annie Cool was -twenty, Steve Randall was killed in a train wreck. Steve was a salesman -in the southern territory, and Old Jasper was accustomed to fill -vacancies in his selling force from the men who worked upon his books. -Both Will and Homer were in line for the job. For three days, till after -Steve’s funeral, everyone ignored this fact; then a certain atmosphere -of expectancy began to develop in the office. Old Jasper was in bed at -home with a shaking cold, but on the fourth day word came that next -morning would see him at the office. Everyone knew his choice would be -either Homer or Will.</p> - -<p>On their way home together after work that day these two met Charlie -Hopkins, the old man’s son; and Charlie stopped, smiling like a bearer -of good news. “I’ve just come from father,” he told them, and he added: -“Homer, you’ve got to congratulate Will this time.”</p> - -<p>He shook Will by the hand, and Homer said:</p> - -<p>“You’re going to get it, Will. Good for you. I sure am glad!”</p> - -<p>Will looked at the other, and there was a faint mist in his eyes. “I -know you are, Homer,” he said. “I’d have been just as glad for you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246">{246}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, both knew that this moment must always mark the parting of -their ways. Thus far they had gone shoulder to shoulder; hereafter one -would lead. Also, both thought of Annie Cool.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>That evening after supper Homer Dean went over to see Annie. He did not -telephone to ask if he might come, for Annie was always glad to see him, -or to see Will, whether she knew they were coming or not. Homer got -there early, so early that the Cools were still at supper, and he went -into the dining room and sat by the door, refusing Mrs. Cool’s -hospitable urgings that he eat a second supper with them. He did -surrender to a piece of pumpkin pie, but it failed to raise his spirits. -He was not yet able to face with composure the fact that Will had beaten -him. Will was his friend; there was no malice in Homer. Nevertheless, he -was disappointed, and discouraged, and sick at heart.</p> - -<p>This was not apparent to Mr. Cool, nor to Annie’s mother, nor to her -younger sister and brother. They all liked Homer, and they talked to -him, all at once, but Annie said very little. She watched him, with a -curiously wistful questioning in her eyes, but she did not at that time -put her question into words.</p> - -<p>After supper Mr. Cool and Homer went into the sitting room and smoked -together while Mrs. Cool and the two girls cleaned up the supper dishes. -Annie’s brother had gone downtown immediately<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247">{247}</a></span> after supper, and soon -after they came in from the kitchen Annie’s sister was borne away by one -of the boys of the neighborhood. Then Annie drew a scarf across her -shoulders and suggested to Homer that they sit on the porch.</p> - -<p>“It’s warm to-night,” she told him. “We shan’t be cold.”</p> - -<p>So they went outside and sat down a little to one side of the front -steps, where they were shadowed and hidden by some wistaria vines from -which the leaves were just beginning to fall. And Annie asked at once:</p> - -<p>“What is it, Homer? What is wrong?”</p> - -<p>He did not ask her how she knew anything was wrong. In a boyish fashion -he had rather enjoyed the melancholy mien he wore, and knew she had -noticed it.</p> - -<p>“Oh—nothing,” he said.</p> - -<p>Annie shook her head in slow reproof, her eyes softly shining in the -shadows.</p> - -<p>“Yes, there is too, Homer,” she insisted. “Please tell me what it is.”</p> - -<p>“Why, I haven’t any right to growl,” he told her. “I didn’t mean you to -see. Didn’t mean anyone to see.”</p> - -<p>“I could see,” she insisted gently.</p> - -<p>He and Will had already explained to her the significance of the death -of Steve Randall, the salesman; it was not necessary for Homer to repeat -these things. He simply said: “Will’s got that job.”</p> - -<p>She did not speak for a moment, then asked softly: “Mr. Randall’s—job?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Charlie Hopkins told us to-night his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248">{248}</a></span> father had decided.” He -added with careful sportsmanship: “Of course Will deserves it. He’s a -better man. But I sort of hoped I’d.... Oh, you know.”</p> - -<p>“I know, Homer,” she agreed, in a voice that was scarce more than a -whisper. And laid her hand, ever so lightly, upon the hand of Homer -Dean.</p> - -<p>Now Annie Cool had kissed and been kissed many a time, by Will, and by -Homer, and by others, in the cheerful frolicking of youth; and she had -held hands on hay rides, or beneath the table at supper parties, or even -on more public occasions. Thus that she should touch Homer’s hand had in -itself no great significance.</p> - -<p>But she had never touched his hand, nor he hers, before this night, save -when there were others all about them; and always before this night -there had been laughter back of the gesture. This night there was not -laughter; there were tears.</p> - -<p>A conspicuously different matter.</p> - -<p>Ten minutes later they drew their eyes one from another for long enough -to see that a man had come across the lawn from the street to the steps; -that he stood there, looking at them. A man. Will Matthews.</p> - -<p>“Will!” cried Annie; and Homer came to his feet, laughing in nervous -exhilaration. “Will, old man,” he exclaimed.</p> - -<p>Will stepped up on the porch, and they saw that he was smiling. He held -out his hand. “I’m sorry I—butted in,” he apologized. “But I’m glad I -was the first to know. You’ll never be sorry, Annie. Homer....” Homer -had gripped<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249">{249}</a></span> his hand; each held the other fast, as good friends will.</p> - -<p>He stayed only a minute, then left them alone together; and he left no -shadow of sorrow for him to cloud their hour of happiness.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>Will Matthews had a practical and straightforward habit of thought; he -possessed what men call a level head. He was not given to illusions; and -through that long night he faced facts squarely and without -self-deception. He had time to weigh many matters, for he did not sleep -at all. Time to fight off the first and crushing grief, time to -understand fully and beyond changing that he could never love any girl -but Annie. He meant that Annie should never know how deeply he had -cared, would always care. He could spare her this measure of -unhappiness. There was a somber sort of pleasure in planning thus to -serve her. Thus and in other fashions.... Do what he could to make her -happy as might be.... His thoughts went racing on a half-seen road.</p> - -<p>Will was not a heroic figure. Rather a small man, with light hair and a -round and amiable countenance, there was nothing about him to arrest the -eye. He already wore glasses; his shoulders were already faintly stooped -from too close companionship with the ledgers where lay his daily toil. -His mother made him wear a strip of oily, red flannel about his throat -when he had taken cold. All in all, a man at whom you were like to -smile.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250">{250}</a></span></p> - -<p>But—hear what Will did, and try then if you’re moved to smile.</p> - -<p>He made it his business to reach the office next morning some five -minutes ahead of the hour. It was chance, a chance that favored what he -meant to do, which made Homer Dean ten minutes late. Old Jasper was -there before Will; and Will found on his desk a memorandum, commanding -him to come at once to Jasper’s office.</p> - -<p>He read this memorandum slowly, considering once more the details of his -plan.</p> - -<p>None of the other bookkeepers had yet arrived; he was alone. Jasper was -in his office at the end of the corridor, a few yards away. After a -moment Will went out into this corridor and turned toward Jasper’s door. -Outside this door he hesitated, and one hand fumbled at his throat, then -dropped to the pocket at his side. From within the office he heard old -Jasper’s rumbling cough; and he knocked upon the panel.</p> - -<p>Jasper called: “Come in.”</p> - -<p>Will obeyed. He pushed the door open, stepped slowly inside, and thrust -it shut behind him. He did not slam the door; nevertheless the impact -was sufficient to make Old Jasper grimace with distaste, and clap his -hands to his ears. Will stood still, waiting for the other to speak; and -his employer barked:</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with you, anyway? Come here?”</p> - -<p>Will moved slowly across the office till he faced Jasper across the -other’s immaculate desk. He rested his finger tips on the polished -surface, standing uneasily under the older man’s glare.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251">{251}</a></span></p> - -<p>Abruptly Jasper cried: “Where’s your cravat, Matthews? You’re not half -dressed, man. What’s got into you?”</p> - -<p>Will’s hand flew to his collar.</p> - -<p>“Why, I—I must have forgotten it,” he lamely apologized. “I’m very -sorry, sir.”</p> - -<p>Jasper snorted; and Will’s hands fidgeted nervously about the tall, -old-fashioned ink bottle on the desk before him. The other seemed to -hesitate; he cleared his throat importantly. At last he said:</p> - -<p>“Well, for God’s sake look out for your appearance better than that -hereafter. I sent for you to....”</p> - -<p>Will heard him in something like despair. The slammed door, the lost -cravat, these had not been sufficient. He set his teeth hard, and one of -his nervous hands touched the high ink bottle. It tilted dangerously. He -seemed to try to catch it; but the thing escaped him, was overturned. -Across the spotless blotter spread a widening black flood; and as Jasper -pushed back his chair with awkward haste, those few drops which the -blotter had not absorbed flowed over the edge of the desk and descended -upon the rug.</p> - -<p>The storm broke upon Will’s devoted head; and he stood with burning -cheeks under the old man’s profane and scourging tongue, till the first -force of Jasper’s anger was spent, and he cried:</p> - -<p>“Damn it, I ought to kick you out for good and all. But you never did a -thing like this before. You—”</p> - -<p>He fell silent, stumped away across the room as though ill at ease. “I -meant to—” he began, then<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252">{252}</a></span> stopped again. Stood a moment by the window, -looking out; swung back to where Will stood.</p> - -<p>“Look up the Fosdick account for me,” he said, with averted eyes. “Give -me the figures on it. That’s all. Get out of here.”</p> - -<p>Will got out. In the corridor he paused for a moment to replace his -cravat, swiftly fitting the stiff ends under the wings of his collar. He -was back on his high stool before the first of the other bookkeepers -arrived.</p> - -<p>When Homer Dean came in, ten minutes late, Old Jasper’s office boy was -in the room, looking for him. “The boss wants to see you, Homer,” he -said. Right away.”...</p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>“So,” said Homer Dean, the millionaire, to Jenkins, the reporter. “So I -got the job, went on the road, my luck began.”</p> - -<p>Jenkins had listened without interruption; now he nodded slow -acquiescence. “And he handed it to you. How did you find it out?”</p> - -<p>“I’m ashamed of that part,” Homer admitted. “Will and I talked it over -at the time, decided Charlie had been mistaken. Old Jasper came in -to-day, to talk about old times. I’d never asked him before; to-day I -did ask: Why he gave me the job? And he told me what Will did that day.”</p> - -<p>“Think it was an accident?” Jenkins asked curiously.</p> - -<p>Dean shook his head. “I know Will too well. Besides, the ink might have -been an accident, but not the cravat, for he had his cravat on when I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253">{253}</a></span> -came in that morning. No, I can see it beyond any doubting, now.”</p> - -<p>The writer nodded. “A pretty decent thing,” he commented. “What became -of Matthews?”</p> - -<p>“He’s our head bookkeeper, at the office downtown. I was going straight -to find him when you came.”</p> - -<p>Jenkins reached for his hat. His words were commonplace enough, but -there was eloquence in his tone.</p> - -<p>“Don’t let me keep you, Mr. Dean,” he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254">{254}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="SHEENER" id="SHEENER"></a>SHEENER</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>HEN he was sober the man always insisted that his name was Evans, but -in his cups he was accustomed to declare, in a boastful fashion, that -his name was not Evans at all. However, he never went further than this, -and since none of us were particularly interested, we were satisfied to -call him Evans, or, more often, Bum, for short. He was the second -assistant janitor; and whereas, in some establishments, a janitor is a -man of power and place, it is not so in a newspaper office. In such -institutions, where great men are spoken of irreverently and by their -first names, a janitor is a man of no importance. How much less, then, -his second assistant. It was never a part of Evans’s work, for example, -to sweep the floors. There is something lordly in the gesture of the -broom. But the janitor’s first assistant attended to that; and Evans’s -regular duties were more humble, not unconnected with such things as -cuspidors. There was no man so poor to do him honor; yet he had always a -certain loftiness of bearing. He was tall, rather above the average -height, with a long, thin, bony face like a horse, and an aristocratic -stoop about his neck and shoulders. His hands were slender; he walked in -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255">{255}</a></span> fashion that you might have called a shuffle, but which might also -have been characterized as a walk of indolent assurance. His eyes were -wash-blue, and his straggling mustache drooped at the corners.</p> - -<p>Sober, he was a silent man, but when he had drunk he was apt to become -mysteriously loquacious. And he drank whenever the state of his credit -permitted. At such times he spoke of his antecedents in a lordly and -condescending fashion which we found amusing. “You call me Evans,” he -would say. “That does well enough, to be sure. Quite so, and all that. -Evans! Hah!”</p> - -<p>And then he would laugh, in a barking fashion that with his long, bony -countenance always suggested to me a coughing horse. But when he was -pressed for details, the man—though he might be weaving and blinking -with liquor—put a seal upon his lips. He said there were certain -families in one of the Midland Counties of England who would welcome him -home if he chose to go; but he never named them, and he never chose to -go, and we put him down for a liar by the book. All of us except -Sheener.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>Sheener was a Jewish newsboy; that is to say, a representative of the -only thoroughbred people in the world. I have known Sheener for a good -many years, and he is worth knowing; also, the true tale of his life -might have inspired Scheherazade. A book must be made of Sheener some -day. For the present, it is enough to say that he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256">{256}</a></span> the enterprise -which adversity has taught his people; he had the humility which they -have learned by enduring insults they were powerless to resent, and he -had the courage and the heart which were his ancient heritage. And—the -man Evans had captured and enslaved his imagination.</p> - -<p>He believed in Evans from the beginning. This may have been through a -native credulity which failed to manifest itself in his other dealings -with the world. I think it more probable that Evans and his pretensions -appealed to the love of romance native to Sheener. I think he enjoyed -believing, as we enjoy lending ourselves to the illusion of the theatre. -Whatever the explanation, a certain alliance developed between the two; -a something like friendship. I was one of those who laughed at Sheener’s -credulity, but he told me, in his energetic fashion, that I was making a -mistake.</p> - -<p>“You got that guy wrong,” he would say. “He ain’t always been a bum. A -guy with half an eye can see that. The way he talks, and the way he -walks, and all. There’s class to him, I’m telling you. Class, bo.”</p> - -<p>“He walks like a splay-footed walrus, and he talks like a drunken old -hound,” I told Sheener. “He’s got you buffaloed, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“Pull in your horns; you’re coming to a bridge,” Sheener warned me. -“Don’t be a goat all your life. He’s a gent; that’s what this guy is.”</p> - -<p>“Then I’m glad I’m a roughneck,” I retorted; and Sheener shook his head.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” he exclaimed. “That’s all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257">{257}</a></span> right. He ain’t had it -easy, you know. Scrubbing spittoons is enough to take the polish off any -guy. I’m telling you he’s there. Forty ways. You’ll see, bo. You’ll -see.”</p> - -<p>“I’m waiting,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Keep right on,” Sheener advised me. “Keep right on. The old stuff is -there. It’ll show. Take it from me.”</p> - -<p>I laughed at him. “If I get you,” I said, “you’re looking for something -along the line of ‘Noblesse Oblige.’ What?”</p> - -<p>“Cut the comedy,” he retorted. “I’m telling you, the old class is there. -You can’t keep a fast horse in a poor man’s stable.”</p> - -<p>“Blood will tell, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Take it from me,” said Sheener.</p> - -<p>It will be perceived that Evans had in Sheener not only a disciple; he -had an advocate and a defender. And Sheener in these rôles was not to be -despised. I have said he was a newsboy; to put it more accurately, he -was in his early twenties, with forty years of experience behind him, -and with half the newsboys of the city obeying his commands and -worshiping him like a minor god. He had full charge of our city -circulation and was quite as important, and twice as valuable to the -paper, as any news editor could hope to be. In making a friend of him, -Evans had found an ally in the high places; and it became speedily -apparent that Sheener proposed to be more than a mere friend in name. -For instance, I learned one day that he was drawing Evans’s wages for -him, and had appointed himself in some sort a steward for the other.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258">{258}</a></span></p> - -<p>“That guy wouldn’t ever save a cent,” he told me when I questioned him. -“I give him enough to get soused on, and I stick five dollars in the -bank for him every week. I made him buy a new suit of clothes with it -last week. Say, you wouldn’t know him if you run into him in his glad -rags.”</p> - -<p>“How does he like your running his affairs?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Like it?” Sheener echoed. “He don’t have to like it. If he tries to -pull anything on me, I’ll poke the old coot in the eye.”</p> - -<p>I doubt whether this was actually his method of dominating Evans. It is -more likely that he used a diplomacy which occasionally appeared in his -dealings with the world. Certainly the arrangement presently collapsed, -for Sheener confessed to me that he had given his savings back to Evans. -We were minus a second assistant janitor for a week as a consequence, -and when Evans tottered back to the office and would have gone to work I -told him he was through.</p> - -<p>He took it meekly enough, but not Sheener. Sheener came to me with fire -in his eye.</p> - -<p>“Sa-a-ay,” he demanded, “what’s coming off here, anyhow? What do you -think you’re trying to pull?”</p> - -<p>I asked him what he was talking about, and he said: “Evans says you’ve -given him the hook.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” I admitted. “He’s through.”</p> - -<p>“He is not,” Sheener told me flatly. “You can’t fire that guy.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“He’s got to live, ain’t he?”</p> - -<p>I answered, somewhat glibly, that I did not see<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259">{259}</a></span> the necessity, but the -look that sprang at once into Sheener’s eye made me faintly ashamed of -myself, and I went on to urge that Evans was failing to do his work and -could deserve no consideration.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” Sheener told me. “I didn’t hear any kicks that his -work wasn’t done while he was on this bat.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I guess it got done all right. Some one had to do it. We can’t pay -him for work that some one else does.”</p> - -<p>“Say, don’t try to pull that stuff,” Sheener protested. “As long as his -work is done, you ain’t got any kick. This guy has got to have a job, or -he’ll go bust, quick. It’s all that keeps his feet on the ground. If he -didn’t think he was earning his living, he’d go on the bum in a minute.”</p> - -<p>I was somewhat impatient with Sheener’s insistence, but I was also -interested in this developing situation. “Who’s going to do his work, -anyhow?” I demanded.</p> - -<p>For the first time in our acquaintance I saw Sheener look confused. -“That’s all right, too,” he told me. “It don’t take any skin off of your -back, long as it’s done.”</p> - -<p>In the end I surrendered. Evans kept his job; and Sheener—I once caught -him in the act, to his vast embarrassment—did the janitor’s work when -Evans was unfit for duty. Also Sheener loaned him money, small sums that -mounted into an interesting total; and furthermore I know that on one -occasion Sheener fought for him.</p> - -<p>The man Evans went his pompous way, accepting Sheener’s homage and -protection as a matter of right, and in the course of half a dozen years -I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260">{260}</a></span> left the paper for other work, saw Sheener seldom, and Evans not at -all.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>About ten o’clock one night in early summer I was wandering somewhat -aimlessly through the South End to see what I might see when I -encountered Sheener. He was running, and his dark face was twisted with -anxiety. When he saw me he stopped with an exclamation of relief, and I -asked him what the matter was.</p> - -<p>“You remember old Bum Evans?” he asked, and added: “He’s sick. I’m -looking for a doctor. The old guy is just about all in.”</p> - -<p>“You mean to say you’re still looking out for that old tramp?” I -demanded.</p> - -<p>“Sure, I am,” he said hotly; “that old boy is there. He’s got the stuff. -Him and me are pals.” He was hurrying me along the street toward the -office of the doctor he sought. I asked where Evans was. “In my room,” -he told me. “I found him on the street. Last night. He was crazy. The D. -T.’s. I ain’t been able to get away from him till now. He’s asleep. -Wait. Here’s where the doc hangs out.”</p> - -<p>Five minutes later the doctor and Sheener and I were retracing our steps -toward Sheener’s lodging, and presently we crowded into the small room -where Evans lay on Sheener’s bed. The man’s muddy garments were on the -floor; he himself tossed and twisted feverishly under Sheener’s -blankets. Sheener and the doctor bent over him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261">{261}</a></span> while I stood by. Evans -waked, under the touch of their hands, and waked to sanity. He was cold -sober and desperately sick.</p> - -<p>When the doctor had done what could be done and gone on his way, Sheener -sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed the old man’s head with a -tenderness of which I could not have believed the newsboy capable. -Evans’s eyes were open; he watched the other, and at last he said -huskily:</p> - -<p>“I say, you know, I’m a bit knocked up.”</p> - -<p>Sheener reassured him. “That’s all right, bo,” he said. “You hit the -hay. Sleep’s the dose for you. I ain’t going away.”</p> - -<p>Evans moved his head on the pillow, as though he were nodding. “A bit -tight, wasn’t it, what?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Say,” Sheener agreed. “You said something, Bum. I thought you’d kick -off, sure.”</p> - -<p>The old man considered for a little, his lips twitching and shaking. “I -say, you know,” he murmured at last. “Can’t have that. Potter’s Field, -and all that sort of business. Won’t do. Sheener, when I do take the -jump, you write home for me. Pass the good word. You’ll hear from them.”</p> - -<p>Sheener said: “Sure I will. Who’ll I write to, Bum?”</p> - -<p>Evans, I think, was unconscious of my presence. He gave Sheener a name; -his name. Also, he told him the name of the family lawyer, in one of the -Midland cities of England, and added certain instructions....</p> - -<p>When he had drifted into uneasy sleep Sheener<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262">{262}</a></span> came out into the hall to -see me off. I asked him what he meant to do.</p> - -<p>“What am I going to do?” he repeated. “I’m going to write to this guy’s -lawyer. Let them send for him. This ain’t no place for him.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll have your trouble for your pains,” I told him. “The old soak is -plain liar; that’s all.”</p> - -<p>Sheener laughed at me. “That’s all right, bo,” he told me. “I know. This -guy’s the real cheese. You’ll see.”</p> - -<p>I asked him to let me know if he heard anything, and he said he would. -But within a day or two I forgot the matter, and would hardly have -remembered it if Sheener had not telephoned me a month later.</p> - -<p>“Say, you’re a wise guy, ain’t you?” he derided when I answered the -phone. I admitted it. “I got a letter from that lawyer in England,” he -told me. “This Evans is the stuff, just like I said. His wife run away -with another man, and he went to the devil fifteen years ago. They’ve -been looking for him ever since his son grew up.”</p> - -<p>“Son?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Son. Sure! Raising wheat out in Canada somewhere. They give me his -address. He’s made a pile. I’m going to write to him.”</p> - -<p>“What does Bum say?”</p> - -<p>“Him? I ain’t told him. I won’t till I’m sure the kid’s coming after -him.” He said again that I was a wise guy; and I apologized for my -wisdom and asked for a share in what was to come. He promised to keep me -posted.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263">{263}</a></span></p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>Ten days later he telephoned me while I was at supper to ask if I could -come to his room. I said: “What’s up?”</p> - -<p>“The old guy’s boy is coming after him,” Sheener said. “He’s got the -shakes, waiting. I want you to come and help me take care of him.”</p> - -<p>“When’s the boy coming?”</p> - -<p>“Gets in at midnight to-night,” said Sheener.</p> - -<p>I promised to make haste; and half an hour later I joined him in -Sheener’s room. Sheener let me in. Evans himself sat in something like a -stupor, on a chair by the bed. He was dressed in a cheap suit of -ready-made clothes, to which he lent a certain dignity. His cheeks were -shaved clean, his mustache was trimmed, his thin hair was plastered down -on his bony skull. The man stared straight before him, trembling and -quivering. He did not look toward me when I came in; and Sheener and I -sat down by the table and talked together in undertones.</p> - -<p>“The boy’s really coming?” I asked.</p> - -<p>Sheener said proudly: “I’m telling you.”</p> - -<p>“You heard from him?”</p> - -<p>“Got a wire the day he got my letter.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve told Bum?”</p> - -<p>“I told him right away. I had to do it. The old boy was sober by then, -and crazy for a shot of booze. That was Monday. He wanted to go out and -get pied; but when I told him about his boy, he begun to cry. And he -ain’t touched a drop since then.”</p> - -<p>“You haven’t let him?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264">{264}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Sure I’d let him. But he wouldn’t. I always told you the class was -there. He says to me: ‘I can’t let my boy see me in this state, you -know. Have to straighten up a bit. I’ll need new clothes.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“I noticed his new suit.”</p> - -<p>“Sure,” Sheener agreed. “I bought it for him.”</p> - -<p>“Out of his savings?”</p> - -<p>“He ain’t been saving much lately.”</p> - -<p>“Sheener,” I asked, “how much does he owe you? For money loaned and -spent for him.”</p> - -<p>Sheener said hotly: “He don’t owe me a cent.”</p> - -<p>“I know. But how much have you spent on him?”</p> - -<p>“If I hadn’t have give it to him, I’d have blowed it somehow. He needed -it.”</p> - -<p>I guessed at a hundred dollars, at two hundred. Sheener would not tell -me. “I’m telling you, he’s my pal,” he said. “I’m not looking for -anything out of this.”</p> - -<p>“If this millionaire son of his has any decency, he’ll make it up to -you.”</p> - -<p>“He don’t know a thing about me,” said Sheener, “except my name. I’ve -just wrote as though I knowed the old guy, here in the house, see. Said -he was sick, and all.”</p> - -<p>“And the boy gets in to-night?”</p> - -<p>“Midnight,” said Sheener, and Evans, from his chair, echoed: “Midnight!” -Then asked with a certain stiff anxiety: “Do I look all right, Sheener? -Look all right to see my boy?”</p> - -<p>“Say,” Sheener told him. “You look like the Prince of Wales.” He went -across to where the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265">{265}</a></span> other sat and gripped him by the shoulder. “You -look like the king o’ the world.”</p> - -<p>Old Evans brushed at his coat anxiously; his fingers picked and twisted; -and Sheener sat down on the bed beside him and began to soothe and -comfort the man as though he were a child.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>The son was to arrive by way of Montreal, and at eleven o’clock we left -Sheener’s room for the station. There was a flower stand on the corner, -and Sheener bought a red carnation and fixed it in the old man’s -buttonhole. “That’s the way the boy’ll know him,” he told me. “They -ain’t seen each other for—since the boy was a kid.”</p> - -<p>Evans accepted the attention querulously; he was trembling and feeble, -yet held his head high. We took the subway, reached the station, sat -down for a space in the waiting room.</p> - -<p>But Evans was impatient; he wanted to be out in the train shed, and we -went out there and walked up and down before the gate. I noticed that he -was studying Sheener with some embarrassment in his eyes. Sheener was, -of course, an unprepossessing figure. Lean, swarthy, somewhat flashy of -dress, he looked what he was. He was my friend, of course, and I was -able to look beneath the exterior. But it seemed to me that sight of him -distressed Evans.</p> - -<p>In the end the old man said, somewhat furtively: “I say, you know, I -want to meet my boy alone. You won’t mind standing back a bit when the -train comes in.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266">{266}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Sure,” Sheener told him. “We won’t get in the way. You’ll see. He’ll -pick you out in a minute, old man. Leave it to me.”</p> - -<p>Evans nodded. “Quite so,” he said with some relief. “Quite so, to be -sure.”</p> - -<p>So we waited. Waited till the train slid in at the end of the long train -shed. Sheener gripped the old man’s arm. “There he comes,” he said -sharply. “Take a brace, now. Stand right there, where he’ll spot you -when he comes out. Right there, bo.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll step back a bit, eh, what?” Evans asked.</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry about us,” Sheener told him. “Just you keep your eye -skinned for the boy. Good luck, bo.”</p> - -<p>We left him standing there, a tall, gaunt, shaky figure. Sheener and I -drew back toward the stairs that lead to the elevated structure, and -watched from that vantage point. The train stopped, and the passengers -came into the station, at first in a trickle and then in a stream, with -porters hurrying before them, baggage laden.</p> - -<p>The son was one of the first. He emerged from the gate, a tall chap, not -unlike his father. Stopped for a moment, casting his eyes about, and saw -the flower in the old man’s lapel. Leaped toward him hungrily.</p> - -<p>They gripped hands, and we saw the son drop his hand on the father’s -shoulder. They stood there, hands still clasped, while the young man’s -porter waited in the background. We could hear the son’s eager -questions, hear the older man’s drawled replies. Saw them turn at last, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267">{267}</a></span> heard the young man say: “Taxi!” The porter caught up the bag. The -taxi stand was at our left, and they came almost directly toward us.</p> - -<p>As they approached, Sheener stepped forward, a cheap, somewhat -disreputable, figure. His hand was extended toward the younger man. The -son saw him, looked at him in some surprise, looked toward his father -inquiringly.</p> - -<p>Evans saw Sheener too, and a red flush crept up his gaunt cheeks. He did -not pause, did not take Sheener’s extended hand; instead he looked the -newsboy through and through.</p> - -<p>Sheener fell back to my side. They stalked past us, out to the taxi -stand.</p> - -<p>I moved forward. I would have halted them, but Sheener caught my arm. I -said hotly: “But see here. He can’t throw you like that.”</p> - -<p>Sheener brushed his sleeve across his eyes. “Hell,” he said huskily. “A -gent like him can’t let on that he knows a guy like me.”</p> - -<p>I looked at Sheener, and I forgot old Evans and his son. I looked at -Sheener, and I caught his elbow and we turned away.</p> - -<p>He had been quite right, of course, all the time. Blood will always -tell. You can’t keep a fast horse in a poor man’s stable. And a man is -always a man, in any guise.</p> - -<p>If you still doubt, do as I did. Consider Sheener.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268">{268}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_FIELD_OF_HONOR" id="THE_FIELD_OF_HONOR"></a>THE FIELD OF HONOR</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">O</span>LD Eph’s favorite stand was on Tremont street, just outside the subway -kiosk, where every foot in Boston soon or late must pass. He appeared -here about dusk every evening, when the afternoon rush was over; and he -squatted, tailor fashion, on crossed legs, and hugged his banjo to his -ragged breast, and picked at it and crooned and shouted his old melodies -so long as there were any to listen. He was a cheerful old fellow, with -the pathetic cheerfulness of the negro. When coins were tossed to him, -he had a nimble trick of whisking his banjo bottom side up, catching the -contribution in this improvised receptacle, flipping it into the air and -pocketing it without interrupting his music. Each time he did this, his -fingers returned to the strings with a sweep and a strumming that -suggested the triumphant notes of trumpets. There was an ape-like cast -to his head; and his long arms and limber old fingers had the uncanny -dexterity of a monkey. Pretty girls, watching him, sometimes said -shiveringly to their escorts:</p> - -<p>“He hardly seems human—squatting there....”</p> - -<p>Old Eph always heard. His ears were unnaturally keen, attuned to the -murmur of the crowds. And he used to answer them, chanting his reply<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269">{269}</a></span> in -time with the tune he happened at the moment to be playing. Thus: “Don’ -you cry, ma Honey ...” might become:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Don’ you call me monkey,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">‘Don’ you call me monk ...<br /></span> -<span class="i1">‘Eph ain’ gwine tuh lak it, and hit ain’t so....’<span class="lftspc">”</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>And then he would go on with the song, calm and undisturbed ...</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>All de little black babies, sleepin’ on de flo’ ...<br /></span> -<span class="i1">‘Mammy only lubs her own.’<span class="lftspc">”</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>When a particularly liberal coin came his way, he gave thanks in the -midst of his song. Thus:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I’m comin’; I’m comin’; and my head is thank ye ma’am ...<br /></span> -<span class="i1">‘I hear dem darky voices calling: Yes mum-ma’am.’<span class="lftspc">”</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>He never hesitated to take liberties with the English language in order -to preserve the meter; for he had the keen sense of rhythm that -characterizes his race. Also, for all the ravages of age, his voice was -sweet and true. He sang endlessly, so that his songs were half medley, -half monologue; and his banjo would all but speak for him.</p> - -<p>No one ever saw Eph about the streets in the day time. He appeared at -dusk; and it was known that he sometimes remained at his post, singing -and picking at his banjo, long after the ways were empty of pedestrians. -Sometimes, in those middle hours between night and morning, when there -was no one near, the songs he sang became ineffably sad and mournful; he -crooned them, under<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_270" id="page_270">{270}</a></span> his breath, to the banjo that he hugged against his -breast, and his sweet old voice was like a low lament. Once Walter -Ragan, the patrolman on the beat, passed at four in the morning of a -late fall day and heard Eph singing, over and over....</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Tramp, tramp, tramp! De boys is marching....”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Eph repeated this song so long and so sorrowfully that Ragan came up -quietly behind him and asked:</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, Eph?”</p> - -<p>The old negro looked up, and Ragan saw that there were tears on his -black and wrinkled cheeks. But the darky grinned cheerfully at sight of -the policeman.</p> - -<p>“Jes’ thinkin’ on de old times, Miste’ Ragan. Thinkin’ on de old times, -suh,” said Eph.</p> - -<p>Ragan was half inclined to laugh, and half inclined to cry. He felt so -sorry for the old man that he ordered him gruffly to get up and go home -and go to bed. And Eph got up, and bowed, and brushed the paving with -his cap, so deep was his obeisance. “Yas, suh, Miste’ Ragan,” he -promised. “Yas, suh, I’m goin’ right along....”</p> - -<p>And he tucked the banjo under his arm, and crossed the street, and -started up Beacon Hill. Ragan knew where he dwelt, down in the swarming -hive beneath the Hill. He watched old Eph go, watched the shuffling, -splay feet, and the bent shoulders, and the twisted, crooked little -body....</p> - -<p>“The darned old nut,” said Ragan gruffly, to himself. “Not sense enough -to go to bed....”</p> - -<p>And he went on down the street, whistling be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_271" id="page_271">{271}</a></span>tween his teeth and trying -not to think of Eph’s bowed body and the tears upon the black old -cheeks.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>Eph’s songs, in the old days, were simple darky ballads, or lullabys, or -the songs of the southland that all the world knows. People sometimes -brought their children, of an evening, just to hear Eph sing: “Don’ You -Cry, Ma Honey ...” or that fearsome lullaby about the “Conju’ cats....” -When the old man was in good voice, he never failed to gather a little -audience about him. His listeners used to call out and ask him to sing -certain songs that were their favorites; and sometimes Eph sang what -they wished to hear, and sometimes he refused. He would never sing -“Dixie.” “I ain’ no slave nigger,” he was accustomed to protest, with -scorn. “I fit ag’in’ de South, in de big war. Rackon I’m gwine sing dat -song? Lawdy, man, no suh.”</p> - -<p>They told him, laughingly, that the war was over. “Da’s all right,” he -agreed. “De war’s over. Mebbe so. But I ain’ over. Not me. An’ long as I -is what I is, I don’ sing no rebelliums. No suh.”</p> - -<p>Those who had enough curiosity to make inquiries found that Eph told the -truth when he said he had fought for the North. He had served in that -colored regiment whose black ranks are immortalized in the Shaw -Memorial, opposite the State House, just up the hill from where Eph had -his nightly stand; and he carried his discharge<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_272" id="page_272">{272}</a></span> papers in a tattered -old wallet in his tattered coat.... By the same token, though he would -never sing “Dixie,” it required no more than a word to start him off on -that mighty battle hymn, “Mine eyes have seen the glory....” When he -sang this, his voice rolled and throbbed and thrummed with a roar like -the roar of drums, and there was the beat of marching feet in the -cadence of his song. His banjo tinkled shrilly as the piping of the -fifes, and his bent shoulders straightened, and his head flung high, and -his old eyes snapped and shone....</p> - -<p>When Europe went to war, Eph little by little forsook the gentler -melodies of his repertoire; he chose songs with a martial swing. He -chose them by ear and by words; and when he sang them, there was the -blare of bugles in his voice. He was, from the beginning, violently -anti-German; and now and then, when his enthusiasm overcame him, he -delivered an oration on the subject to his nightly audience. At which -they laughed.</p> - -<p>But if it was a joke to them, it was not funny to Eph; and he proved -this when the United States went into the war. He went, -unostentatiously, to the recruiting office and offered himself to the -country.</p> - -<p>The Sergeant in charge did not smile at old Eph, because he saw that Eph -himself was deadly serious. Eph had said simply:</p> - -<p>“I’ve come to jine up in de army, suh.” The Sergeant asked:</p> - -<p>“You mean you want to enlist.”</p> - -<p>Eph nodded, and grinned. “Yas suh, jes dat.”</p> - -<p>The Sergeant frowned, and he considered. “I’ll<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_273" id="page_273">{273}</a></span> tell you, old man,” he -said. “I’m afraid you’re over the age limit.”</p> - -<p>“Whut de age limit?” Eph asked cautiously.</p> - -<p>“Forty-five.”</p> - -<p>Eph cackled with delight. “I declare, dat jes lets me in. Me, I’m gwine -on fo’ty-four, dis minute.”</p> - -<p>The Sergeant grinned. “Get out!” he protested. “You’ll never see -seventy-four again.”</p> - -<p>“I kin prove it,” Eph offered.</p> - -<p>The other shook his head. “You’re too old; and your eyes are no good, -and your teeth are gone, and you’ve got flat-foot....”</p> - -<p>Eph perceived that the man was friendly. “I can p’int a gun an’ pull a -trigger,” he urged wheedlingly.</p> - -<p>“There’s more than that to war,” the Sergeant told him; and Eph’s eyes -blazed.</p> - -<p>“Whut you know ’bout war, man?” he demanded. “Ain’ I been in it. Ain’ I -slep’ in de rain, an’ et raw corn, an’ fit in mud to de knees, an’ got a -bullet in my laig, an’ laid out in de snow three days till they come an’ -fotch me in. Don’ you let on about war to me, man. I been it and I done -it, befo’ you uz thought of. Go way!”</p> - -<p>Eph was so deadly earnest that the Sergeant’s eyes misted. The Sergeant -himself knew what it was to grow old. He had a terrible, sneaking fear -that they would keep him on such duty as this; that he would never see -France. And he crossed, and dropped his hand on Eph’s shoulder. “I’m -sorry,” he said. “It’s no go. We can’t take you.”</p> - -<p>Eph passed from anger to pleading. “Spos<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_274" id="page_274">{274}</a></span>e’n I uz to go along an’ sing -to um,” he proposed. “I c’d do that, anyways.”</p> - -<p>“No. They wouldn’t allow you....”</p> - -<p>“I’m a jim dandy cook,” Eph offered pitifully.</p> - -<p>The Sergeant had to swear or weep. He swore. “Get out of here, you -damned old scamp,” he exclaimed, and swept Eph toward the door. “Get out -of here and stay out, or I’ll have you run in....”</p> - -<p>And Eph, who knew white folks and their ways as well as the slave -niggers he scorned, understood that this was the Sergeant’s way of -telling him there was no hope at all. So he said simply: “Thank’e, sir.” -And he turned, and with a sad and dreary dignity he went out, and down -the stairs to the street, and up the Hill and down to the little room -where he lodged.</p> - -<p>He was alone in his room all that day. The woman who kept the boarding -house, a billowy negress with a pock-marked face, heard little moaning -cries and lamentations coming from behind his closed door; and once she -knocked and offered her comfort, but Eph drove her away with hard words, -and nursed his sorrow alone.</p> - -<p>That night, some of those who saw him at his stand by the subway kiosk -thought he looked tired; but he was as gay as ever, and as cheerful. He -made one innovation in his singing. Across the street and above his head -rose the spire of the Park street church. Whenever the hands of the -clock in this spire touched the hour, old Eph rose, and took off his -hat, and lifted up his voice and sang:</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Oh say, kin you see....<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_275" id="page_275">{275}</a></span>’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>He sang this each hour that evening, and each hour in all the evenings -that were to come, until the end. And at first they scoffed a little, -because they thought he was playing patriotism for his own ends; but -when they saw how earnestly he sang, and felt the wistful tenderness in -his tones, they faintly understood, and more respected him.</p> - -<p>When Ragan came on duty, shortly after midnight that night, he thought -old Eph looked sick, and he sent the old man home.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>It was Ragan, in the end, who brought Jim Forrest to see Eph. Forrest -was a reporter on one of the daily papers. He was unlike the reporter of -fiction, in that he was neither a “cub” nor a “star.” He was just plain -reporter, with a nose for news, and human sympathy, and some ability as -a writer. He was a young fellow twenty-two or three years old. His -father died just as he finished college, and Jim of necessity gave up -law school and buckled down to earn a living for his mother and himself. -The newspaper business seldom pays enormous salaries; but there is no -other profession in which a green man can earn so much. Jim began on a -salary of fifteen dollars a week, and at the end of his first year was -raised to twenty. At the same time they put him on the night shift at -police headquarters.</p> - -<p>When Jim was earning fifteen dollars a week, he and his mother lived, -and that was about all. For they had been accustomed to five or six -thousand a year before Mr. Forrest died; and a dollar<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_276" id="page_276">{276}</a></span> still looked -small and unimportant to them. By the time Jim was raised to twenty, -Mrs. Forrest had learned to make one dollar do the work of two; and they -managed.... Jim worked hard, and wondered when he could ask for another -raise.</p> - -<p>But when the United States went into the war, newspapers stopped raising -salaries. And the worst of it was that Jim was particularly anxious for -more money at that time. The sight of his friends, the young unmarried -men among whom his life was laid, decked out in khaki, gave Jim a -miserable feeling that was like nothing so much as homesickness. He had -a nostalgia for the training camps that was actually physical; it was so -acute that it sickened him.</p> - -<p>But—there was nothing he could do. If he went, his mother could not -live. That was pure mathematics; and when Jim had reluctantly accepted -this fact, he set himself to keep a stiff upper lip and stick heroically -to the tasks of peace when the cowardly way would have been for him to -go to war. He stuck to the tasks of peace, but he did not accept the -situation as hopeless. He began to cast about for chances to earn a -little extra money, for special stories he might write, for -opportunities to earn one of the bonuses that were sometimes awarded for -exceptional performance.</p> - -<p>He was a likeable boy; he had friends, and they helped him with -suggestions. One of these friends was Ragan, and Ragan told Jim one day -to go see old Eph.</p> - -<p>“There’s a story in him, and a big one,” he assured Jim. “That old -nigger.... You can<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_277" id="page_277">{277}</a></span> write a yarn about him that will make every man in -town cry into his coffee.”</p> - -<p>Jim knew Eph by sight; he asked Ragan for details.</p> - -<p>“Work the patriotic line,” Ragan advised him. “D’you know Eph tried to -enlist, when we went into the war? Well, he did.”</p> - -<p>“Is that straight?”</p> - -<p>“Sure. Sergeant Hare told me. Said Eph all but cried at being turned -down. Offered to go along and sing to the boys, or cook for them....”</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” said Jim. “You know Eph pretty well. Put in a word for me, -will you?”</p> - -<p>“You’re through at four in the morning,” Ragan suggested. “He’ll -probably be around till then. Come up with me, and I’ll take you to -him.”</p> - -<p>That was in September, a warm, still night of early fall; and they found -old Eph as Ragan had expected, still squatting with his back against the -kiosk, still strumming softly, still crooning under his breath as he -strummed. The darky looked up sidewise when they came near, and grinned -at Ragan, and bobbed his head.</p> - -<p>“Howdy, Miste’ Ragan,” he said.</p> - -<p>Ragan chuckled. “Tol’able, Eph,” he mimicked. “Get up out of that. This -is Jim Forrest, wants to talk to you.”</p> - -<p>Eph looked at Jim suspiciously. “Howcome?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Forrest smiled. “I’m a reporter,” he explained. “I want to write -something about you. Everyone has seen you; I want to tell them more -about you than they’ve seen.”</p> - -<p>Eph shook his head stubbornly. “Ol’ Eph ain<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_278" id="page_278">{278}</a></span>’ gwine git his name in no -papers,” he protested. “You go ’long, boy, and lemme ’lone.”</p> - -<p>Jim became grave. He knew the first and strongest weapon in a reporter’s -armory; the art of making your victim angry. And he knew enough about -Eph to hit the old man in a tender spot. “I want to get your story about -the way you fought in the Confederate army,” he explained.</p> - -<p>Eph got to his feet with a menacing swiftness; and he shook his old fist -in Jim’s face. “Dat’s a lie,” he said shrilly. “I fit ag’in’ de South; -an’ I kin prove it.”</p> - -<p>Jim looked puzzled. “Why—aren’t you twisted, sir? I understand that you -fought for three years, before you were wounded, and that General Lee -himself gave you a letter....”</p> - -<p>Eph boiled, but he controlled his tongue. He studied Jim, leaning closer -to look into the young man’s eyes. “Y’all know dat ain’ right,” he said -steadily. “Howcome you want to pester an ol’ nigger lak me?”</p> - -<p>Jim was ashamed of himself, but he stuck to his attack. “I may be -mistaken,” he confessed. “Maybe they told me wrong.... Maybe they were -trying to start trouble between us, sir. What was the straight of it? -Didn’t you fight in the war at all?”</p> - -<p>Eph tapped Jim slowly on the breast. “Nemmine me,” he said slowly. -“Nemmine me. Le’s talk ’bout you. Howcome you ain’ got on one o’ dem -kharki uniforms, boy? Howcome? Huh?”</p> - -<p>The attack was so unexpected; it struck so acutely to the mark that Jim -was silenced. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_279" id="page_279">{279}</a></span> Ragan took his part; he touched old Eph’s arm. “There -now, old man,” he said. “He’s all right. But he’s got a mother to -support. If he don’t take care of her, nobody will. He’s got to take -care of her, hasn’t he?”</p> - -<p>Eph looked from Jim to Ragan, puzzling. “Ain’ he got tuh tek care o’ dis -country, too?” he demanded. “Why caint his maw tek in washin’?”</p> - -<p>Ragan chuckled. “Don’t you worry,” he told Eph. “Jim here will go, when -he can. Why, here, Eph. He wants to write this story about you so he can -make extra money—get enough ahead so he can go.... Enough to take care -of his mother....”</p> - -<p>Jim had turned hopelessly away. Eph looked at the boy’s straight -shoulders; and he looked at Ragan. And then the old darky did a -surprising thing.</p> - -<p>He crossed, and touched Jim’s arm. “You, suh ...” he said softly.</p> - -<p>Jim looked at him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I won’t bother you any -more....”</p> - -<p>Eph chuckled. “Lawdy, man, you cain’ bother me. Listen.... You come -’long home with me now. I aim tuh talk to you, some....”</p> - -<p>Jim hesitated; he was surprised. Eph nodded. “You come ’long,” he -insisted, and took Jim’s arm, and turned him about, and led the boy, -half unwilling, across the street, past the tall old church, and up the -hill.</p> - -<p>Ragan scratched his head, watching them go, puzzled; and he wondered; -and then he gave up the puzzle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_280" id="page_280">{280}</a></span></p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>There is some quality which possesses the soul of a good old negro that -gives them a power not granted to other men. They have, above -everything, the power to inspire confidence, to win confidences. Perhaps -this is because of their simplicity, or because of their vast sympathy. -White children in the South will love and trust their darky friends and -will share with them those intimate secrets of childhood from which even -parents are excluded. These old darkies have a talisman against the -griefs that visit others; they soothe the sufferer, they murmur: -“Nemmine, now chile,” and the suffering is forgotten. In their own -sorrows they wail and lament theatrically, and tear their hair and vent -without restraint their primitive despair. But when white folks weep, -the darky has comfort to give, and gives it.... To tell them a secret is -like whispering it to one’s own self; there is the bliss of confession -without the anguish of knowing that one’s shame is shared. It is easy to -tell, hard to rebuff their gentle inquiries....</p> - -<p>Jim Forrest was never able to understand how he had been led to unbosom -himself to old Eph; but he did. The negro took him over Beacon Hill, and -down one thin and dingy street, and then another; and so into a boarding -house, and up to the room where Eph dwelt. This room was as clean as a -new pin; it was meagerly furnished; yet it was comfortable. It was tiny, -but it was large enough to be a home. Eph made Jim wel<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_281" id="page_281">{281}</a></span>come there; he -sat the boy down; he talked to him....</p> - -<p>And Jim, who had come to hear Eph’s story, found himself talking while -Eph listened. And though he held his head high and steadily, there was -in the boy’s tones something of the longing that possessed him, -something of the shame that oppressed him because he could not be out -and doing like his fellows. Day broke and found them there together; and -it was two hours after dawn before Jim left at last, comforted in a way -he could not understand, cheered and content as he had not been for -months, steady and unafraid....</p> - -<p>He did not realize till that night that he had failed to get Eph’s -story.</p> - -<p>Old Eph, when the boy was gone, sat down on his bed and put his head in -his hands and thought hard. He was a shrewd old man, for all his -simplicity; and the fruits of his thoughts were action. He knew what he -wished to do, he considered only the method; and when this was chosen at -length, he took his hat and went out, and up over the Hill, and down -Beacon street to find the man he sought.</p> - -<p>He waited humbly in an outer office till this man could see him. When he -was admitted, he fumbled in his inner pocket for a dog-eared little bank -book, and went in.</p> - -<p>Jim Forrest, the day after, received a registered letter. This letter -contained a check for eleven hundred dollars; and it read briefly:</p> - -<p>“I am instructed by my client to hand you this check, and to inform you -that there will be mailed, each week, to your mother, for an indefinite -period hereafter, a check for ten dollars. I have no fur<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_282" id="page_282">{282}</a></span>ther -instructions, except to preserve absolute secrecy.”</p> - -<p>The letter ended in due legal form.</p> - -<p>Jim, thereafter, did three things. The first was to go to the lawyer who -had sent the letter and ask who had given the money. He got no answer. -The second was to seek out old Eph and accuse him of sending it. At -which Eph cackled joyfully.</p> - -<p>“Lawdy, suh,” the old darky chuckled guilelessly. “Where you think I -gwine git ’leven hunnerd dollars. Don’ you joke an old man, boy.”</p> - -<p>The third thing Jim did, when he gave up hope of discovering the -identity of his benefactor, was to enlist.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>One of the charms of old Eph’s nightly performances at his chosen spot -near the subway kiosk was that he never asked for money. The mercenary -side of his activities was never prominent. It was his custom to remain, -sitting cross-legged upon the paving, from beginning to end. He never -rose to pass his hat or his palm solicitously among the listeners; and -he never went so far as to set a tin cup or a similar receptacle -invitingly beside him. If coins were tossed his way, he caught them with -skinny fingers or inverted banjo; if none were tossed, no matter. Eph -never complained.</p> - -<p>But about the time Jim Forrest enlisted, it was remarked that old Eph -began to grow greedy. At first he interspersed among his songs little -half-caught remarks about the exceeding hard times;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_283" id="page_283">{283}</a></span> the high cost of -living, even for a dry old darky; and the necessity of eating which -possesses every man. A little later, he introduced the custom of passing -his battered old hat out through the crowd. He never carried it from man -to man himself; he simply tossed it to the nearest, and then broke into -a gay and chuckling melody to hide his own confusion while it went from -hand to hand and came back to him. Eventually, he fell into the habit of -leaving his hat, bottom side up, upon the paving between his feet; and -he referred now and then, in his songs, to the necessity for putting -coins into it.</p> - -<p>Some people who had known Eph for a good many years thought he was -becoming miserly. They told stories, from man to man, about beggars of -whom they had heard who owned half a dozen apartment houses out in -Dorchester. And they quit coming to hear Eph sing. Others deplored the -old man’s avarice, but gave. Still others decided that the high cost of -living must have hit Eph hard, and offered to help him.</p> - -<p>All in all, his earnings did increase. His old, unbusiness-like -arrangement had in the past sufficed. There was always a little money; -there was sometimes a considerable sum. He might go home with one -dollar, or two, or even five; or he might trudge up the hill with only a -few pennies to show for his night’s singing. On the whole, however, -there had always been enough. He lived in some measure of comfort; and -he laid up something for a rainy day. This hoard had been long years -accumulating....</p> - -<p>Eph told no one his troubles; no one had known<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_284" id="page_284">{284}</a></span> of his little wealth; no -one knew that it was gone. Eph was bankrupt; and not only that, but he -had mortgaged his earnings. He had pledged his future. He had given -hostages to fortune. He had promised to find and send to Jim Forrest’s -mother the sum of ten dollars every week.</p> - -<p>And in spite of the fact that in the past he had never averaged earning -ten dollars a week, he proposed to keep his word.</p> - -<p>He believed, in the beginning, that this would not be hard. He would -have to demean himself, to ask for money, to invite gifts.... The -thought irked him; yet he was ready to do it. And to help out, he -himself prepared to make sacrifices. Down in his boarding house, he gave -up his comfortable little two dollar room and took another, in the very -top of the house, which cost him half a dollar less. Likewise he cut -down on his food. He gave up altogether the sliced, roast ham that had -always been his delight; the occasional eggs; the bananas. He ate -meagerly, and scouted the scolding insistences of his old colored -landlady when she tried to force food upon him.</p> - -<p>“I ain’ no beggar, Mis’ Hopkins,” he told her, over and over. “When old -Eph cain’ pay his way, he gwine git out o’ here to som’eres where he -can.”</p> - -<p>In the beginning, matters went well enough. The people who stopped to -listen to his singing opened their purses at his unwilling hints to -them. He was able to take the promised ten dollars to the lawyer every -week, and to live on what remained. And when he heard Jim Forrest was in -the army, the old darky sang in a fashion that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_285" id="page_285">{285}</a></span> had not equalled for -a dozen years, and the next day he boasted to his landlady of the -matter.</p> - -<p>“Ol’ Eph ain’ here, at all, Mis’ Hopkins,” he told her gleefully. “Y’all -jes’ thinks he is. He ain’ here, I’m tellin’ you.”</p> - -<p>She shooed him, with fat hands. “Go ’long, Eph, you ol’ scamp,” she -scolded.</p> - -<p>“I’m tellin’ you,” he repeated. “Eph ain’ here. Ol’ Eph’s in de army, -now. Ain’ old Eph no more; he’s a fine, stroppin’ boy big enough to cut -de Dutch. A fixin’ tuh fight, Mis’ Hopkins. A fixin’ tuh fight!”</p> - -<p>“Whut you tryin’ let out, anyhows?” she demanded. “You sayin’ somethin; -or is you jes’ talkin’ th’ough yore hat?”</p> - -<p>“I’m tellin’ you,” he chanted. “Eph’s in de army, now.”</p> - -<p>But he did not lay bare his secret to her, even then. Eph knew white -folks. He knew that Jim Forrest wouldn’t want it noised abroad that a -nigger street singer was supporting his mother. And he kept his tongue -in his head; but he exulted. He carried his old head high; and when he -met on the street one day that Sergeant Hare who had refused him -enlistment, Eph went into a fit of merriment that made the Sergeant -think the old darky had gone witless.</p> - -<p>“Dat man ’lowed he ’uz gwine keep me out o’ dis here war,” he boasted to -Mis’ Hopkins next day. “But I showed him. Old Eph showed whut ’uz whut.”</p> - -<p>“Yo’re crazy,” Mis’ Hopkins told him scornfully. “Git out o’ my way.”</p> - -<p>Eph told his lawyer, the next week, to ask Ji<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_286" id="page_286">{286}</a></span>m’s mother to give them -word of Jim; and when she wrote, two weeks later, that the boy had been -admitted to an officer’s training camp, Eph danced on his bowed legs, -and told Mis’ Hopkins loftily that she would have to step lively now.</p> - -<p>“Howcome?” she demanded.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Caze I’m an orf’cer now,” Eph told her proudly.</p> - -<p>“Yo’re bughouse,” she assured him. “De booby man’ll git you.”</p> - -<p>Eph thought nothing of her word at that time; but two or three weeks -later, it was repeated in a way that frightened him.</p> - -<p>He had fallen into the habit of acting a little comedy of his own; a -habit infinitely soothing to his soul. When he climbed the Hill every -night, on his way home, he passed the Shaw Memorial, and he had always -stopped to look at it. Now he fell into the habit of marching stiffly -down the middle of the road to face the Memorial, and of coming to a -halt there, standing at attention, and saluting after the ancient -fashion of his Rebellion days. He used to fancy that the eyes in the -sculptured faces of the marching soldiers turned sidewise to look at -him; he used to imagine that the arm of the officer graven in the stone -flicked upward in an answering gesture. And there were nights when he -stood thus for a minute or two, speaking his thoughts aloud....</p> - -<p>Walter Ragan came upon him so, one bleak dawn in mid-November. Old Eph, -very stiff and straight, was saying respectfully:</p> - -<p>“Yas suh, Cunnel; I’se a soldier now. Ol’ Eph. Yas suh; gwine tuh be an -orf’cer, too.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_287" id="page_287">{287}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Ragan called to him: “You, Eph, what are you doing out there?”</p> - -<p>Eph saw the patrolman, and cackled. “Howdy, Miste’ Ragan,” he called.</p> - -<p>“What are you up to, you old rascal?”</p> - -<p>“Jes’ makin’ my reports to de Cunnel,” said Eph gleefully. “Makin’ my -reports on a little matter.”</p> - -<p>“Look out, Eph,” Ragan warned him. “You’ll go bugs, next thing I know, -and I’ll have to ship you out to Waverly.”</p> - -<p>Now when Mis’ Hopkins had warned Eph that he was showing symptoms of -insanity, Eph had laughed; but Ragan’s warning was another matter. -Ragan, for all he was Eph’s good friend, was a policeman, an arm of the -law; and Eph had the negro’s deep-rooted and abiding awe of the blue -uniform and the helmet. Ragan’s word hushed him instantly; and it -chilled him with a sudden, cold fear....</p> - -<p>That accumulated hoard of the years had been Eph’s safeguard against old -age. He had expected it would one day make him comfortable while he -smoked, and sang, and waited his time to die; he had known it would -always keep him out of the institutions he dreaded. But now it was gone; -and when he thought of this fact, Eph felt stripped and defenseless and -afraid. So now he was afraid; he hushed his mirth and touched his cap to -Ragan.</p> - -<p>“Yas suh,” he said respectfully.</p> - -<p>“Get along home to bed,” Ragan advised him.</p> - -<p>“I’m gone,” said Eph; and he went.</p> - -<p>Ragan, considering the matter afterward, won<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_288" id="page_288">{288}</a></span>dered if old Eph’s mind -might not indeed be weakening. He decided to keep an eye on the darky.</p> - -<p>He thought, during the next month, that Eph was aging. The old negro was -growing thin; and Ragan guessed this might be the sudden wastage of age. -But he was wrong. It was something distinctly more tangible. It was a -matter of money, and of food.</p> - -<p>Times were tightening purse-strings. There were a thousand calls for -money besetting every man; and each had the high urge of country behind -it. People who had never considered dollars before began to count -pennies. A quarter thrown to Eph would buy a thrift stamp.... And men, -thinking this, returned the quarter to their pockets and turned away. -Old Eph, after all, was only a beggar. No doubt he wasted his money on -rum; or if not that, he must own at least one “three-decker” that -brought him in fat rents. The legend of the wealth of beggars harassed -Eph and was like to ruin him. He did his best; he labored manfully; he -descended to covert pleadings....</p> - -<p>One week in mid-December, he had only nine dollars and thirty cents on -the appointed day. He borrowed the remaining seventy cents from the -lawyer, and repaid the loan next day, in spite of that gentleman’s -insistence.</p> - -<p>“Naw suh,” Eph told him proudly. “Dis heah’s my arrangement, suh. I’ll -manage. Lemme alone.”</p> - -<p>The next week he brought ten dollars; and the next. But for two days of -that second week he ate nothing. He admitted this, in the bleak dawn,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_289" id="page_289">{289}</a></span> -when he stopped for a whispered colloquy with the stone figure of his -old Colonel, at the Memorial.</p> - -<p>“But dat ain’ no matter, suh,” he assured the inscrutable officer. “Dis -ol’ coon don’ need tuh eat. Nothin’ but skin an’ bone, anyhow. Lawdy, -suh, whut good is vittles tuh me?”</p> - -<p>Cold had struck down on Boston in December; and it held and intensified -as January came. Sometimes people, listening to Eph’s singing, thought -the old man must be shivering where he sat upon the stones; and Ragan -drove him away two or three nights and bade him warm himself. But each -time Eph looked at him with such pitiful entreaty against this kindness -that Ragan gave up. “Have it your own way, you old idiot,” he told Eph. -“If you want to freeze, go ahead and freeze. But don’t look at a man -like he’s kicked you....”</p> - -<p>“Yas suh,” said Eph. “Thank’e kindly, suh.”</p> - -<p>Neither Ragan, nor Eph’s friend, the lawyer, realized how serious the -matter was. They found Eph stubbornly determined to hold his own course; -they decided he would not otherwise be content; and Eph was but one -figure in their crowded lives. They let him have his way.</p> - -<p>Eph duly met his obligations in the first week of that cold January; he -was at his post through the second week. On the appointed day, he went -to make the payment....</p> - -<p>The lawyer had good news for him. Jim Forrest’s mother wrote that Jim -had won a commission in the training camp; he had won, by exceptional -merit, a commission as Captain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_290" id="page_290">{290}</a></span></p> - -<p>“You understand, Eph,” the attorney explained, “this means he’ll have a -good salary, about two hundred dollars a month. So his mother can get -along all right, now....”</p> - -<p>Eph’s feet were shuffling on the floor in something that sounded very -like a soft but jubilant hornpipe; he disregarded utterly the attorney’s -word. “My man’s a captain, suh,” he chanted. “An’ I put him in where he -c’ud be it. Same as if I ’uz a captain in de army, now....”</p> - -<p>“By Jove, Eph, you’re right,” the lawyer agreed. “I ... I’d like to....”</p> - -<p>There were tears in his eyes when he had shaken Eph’s hand and seen him -go; but there were no tears in old Eph. He was riotously happy, madly -happy, tenderly happy.... He went out, and down the street, and in the -early dusk spread a newspaper on the cold stones of the pavement by the -kiosk there, and sat him down, and lifted up his voice in song....</p> - -<p>People said afterward that Eph had never sung so tunefully as that last -evening. His voice had an unusual purity and sweetness; it was as tender -as a woman’s. There was an exaltation about the old man, so that the -discerning eye seemed to see a glory hanging over him. He sang and -sang....</p> - -<p>That was a bitter cold night, and the streets cleared early. Ragan came -along about one o’clock and found Eph still singing, with no one near to -hear. He bade Eph stop and go home; but Eph protested:</p> - -<p>“Please suh, Miste’ Ragan; dis is my night tuh sing, suh.”</p> - -<p>Ragan, shivering in his warm garments, said<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_291" id="page_291">{291}</a></span> harshly: “This’ll be your -night to freeze to death. Get up and go home, before I run you in.”</p> - -<p>Eph got up. There was nothing else to do when a policeman commanded. And -Ragan watched him cross the street, and called: “Good night.”</p> - -<p>Eph looked back and nodded. “Good night, suh,” he echoed. “I’m gwine -right along.”</p> - -<p>He started up Park street; and Ragan went on his way, trying the shop -doors, huddling in the doorways to avoid the wind, blowing on his aching -hands.</p> - -<p>“By God, I don’t see how the old fool stands it,” he said to himself. -“It’s a wonder he’s not stiff....”</p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>Eph went up the Hill. Half way up Park street he looked back and saw -Ragan disappearing; so when he came to the top, he felt safe in turning -aside a little, to pause before the Memorial and report his triumph to -his Colonel there.</p> - -<p>He stood on the steps before the Monument, and took off his hat, and -explained the matter very respectfully; and for all the howling of the -wind that swept up the street and past him, he was sure he heard the low -exclamations of his comrades in the stone ranks there; and he was sure -the graven officer looked down at him, and spoke with him, and praised -him....</p> - -<p>The night watchman, at the State House across Beacon street, reported -afterward that he had thought, in the night, he heard the sound of -martial music in the street out there. It might have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_292" id="page_292">{292}</a></span> been a banjo, and -an old man’s voice; he could not be sure.</p> - -<p>“But it sounded like a fife and drums to me,” he said, again and again. -“I came to a window and looked out; but I couldn’t see a thing.... -Thought I must have been dreaming.... Went back to the fire....”</p> - -<p>Whether it was old Eph’s banjo, and old Eph’s song he heard, or whether -it was indeed the shrilling of invisible pipes, welcoming a hero home, I -cannot say. He says it was The Battle Hymn of the Republic that he -heard, so Ragan thinks it was only old Eph. But I am not so sure....</p> - -<p>At any rate, Ragan found Eph, in the morning. The old darky was huddled -at the base of the Memorial, cuddling his banjo in his arms, while above -his head the stone ranks marched interminably on.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Ragan and his lawyer between them decided to tell Jim Forrest the truth -of the matter; and it was Jim who devised old Eph’s epitaph. That which -he caused to be set upon Eph’s small, white stone was a familiar phrase -enough; but glorious as simple things may be.</p> - -<p>The legend on the stone reads:</p> - -<p class="c"> -“Old Eph.”<br /> -“January 17, 1918”<br /> -“Dead on the Field of Honor”<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_293" id="page_293">{293}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_UNCONQUERED" id="THE_UNCONQUERED"></a>THE UNCONQUERED</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HIS was in the first months after the war. The old Frenchman was still -in uniform. His round-topped, gold-braided cap lay on the table at his -elbow, beside the open box of cigarettes, and the half-empty glass. The -breast and the sleeve of his tunic bore testimony to his honorable -service. He was a short man, a heavy man, with a large stomach, and -solid shoulders; and his head hunched forward in a leonine fashion. His -eyes were blue; and his hair was thick, and coarse, and white as snow. -He was in New York on some business of reconstruction.... And while the -other men had been exchanging reminiscences, he had stared with -thoughtful eyes at a large, framed print upon the wall before him.</p> - -<p>This print was a reproduction of a painting thoroughly familiar. It -portrayed an old man, a man of middle age, a boy, a fife, a drum and a -flag.... And one who looked at it could feel the brush of the wind -through the banner’s waving folds, and hear the scream of shrill fifes -piping in the air....</p> - -<p>Hinchcliffe, who knew the Frenchman better than the others, observed -this scrutiny, and asked a question, softly. The Frenchman smiled.</p> - -<p>“I was thinking, sir,” he told Hinchcliffe,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_294" id="page_294">{294}</a></span> “That I have witnessed a -scene like that, in my time.”</p> - -<p>His words came in a little pause in the conversation of the others, so -that they all heard, and waited for him to continue. And Hinchcliffe -ventured to urge quietly: “Tell us.”</p> - -<p>The Frenchman lifted his hand in a deprecating fashion; they insisted. -He sipped at his glass, and in the end he nodded. Barton lighted a fresh -cigar. Hinchcliffe shifted to a more comfortable position in his chair. -Hughes beckoned the nearest attendant with a silent forefinger. The -Frenchman began to speak. His tone was level and unemotional; his -articulation was precise. Only an odd construction of sentences now and -then betrayed his unfamiliarity with the tongue. His eyes were on the -framed print upon the wall; and they seemed to look through it, and -beyond....</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>It was, in the beginning, (said the old Frenchman) one of those valorous -and devoted regiments to which fall the hardest and most honorable -tasks. The men came, for the most part, from the Argonne; they were -rugged stock, men of the farms and of the hills. Simple, and direct.... -Good soldiers.... And Frenchmen.</p> - -<p>It chanced that when the war came, this regiment fought in its own -homeland. The men knew every foot of the hills they defended, the -ravines which they turned into death traps, the forests through which -they marched, the meadows where they skirmished. They knew this land, -and by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_295" id="page_295">{295}</a></span> the same token, they loved it. It was as though they had their -roots in the soil. They could not be torn from it. They waited for the -Germans at ten kilometres from the frontier—you remember, my friends, -how we waited for them there so that they might not say we had provoked -the conflict—and when the Germans came, this regiment stopped its -immediate foe and held the Germans in their tracks.</p> - -<p>At this time, the French invasion toward Muelhausen was prospering; but -at the same time, the Germans were crushing Belgium, and pouring -through, so that they turned our flank and we were forced to go back. -That was unpleasant, and for a little time, at the very first, it was -dangerous. But in a few days we were safely disengaged, and the enemy -was exhausting himself to come up with us, and our counter stroke was -preparing.</p> - -<p>But to give us time for this retreat and preparation, certain -organizations had to be sacrificed. This regiment was one. It was -ordered to stand firm, to hold.... It held. The enemy attacked on the -front and was repulsed; but on either side, our lines gave way, and the -second day saw the regiment attacked on the right flank, and the left.</p> - -<p>It was well posted, upon a hill that dominated two good roads, and it -held....</p> - -<p>But the Germans poured past them on either side; and in the press of -more important matters to the southward, the work of overwhelming this -regiment was delayed. A containing force was left to hold them, starve -them.... And the main battle swept away and left them stranded there.</p> - -<p>The men had fought tirelessly; they were pre<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_296" id="page_296">{296}</a></span>pared to fight on, and to -die. But when it became apparent that the Germans did not propose to -push matters, and when it became clear that another day would see hunger -among them, the commander determined to strike. He had, at this time, -some three hundred fit men of the regiment remaining. They were no -longer of use where they stood. And the regiment was not accustomed to -be idle.</p> - -<p>Therefore, that night, a little after mid-night, when it was very dark -and only the occasional flashes from the German positions illumined the -blackness, the regiment attacked. They went down in three lines, a -hundred men to a line, with their commander and their officers ahead, -gentlemen. And they flung themselves upon the Germans.</p> - -<p>The Germans were surprised. They had expected another day or two of -waiting, and then an easy surrender. Instead, they found themselves -beset by swarming enemies, stout men with long bayonets who sweated and -swore and struck. The first charge of the French cut through the -encircling lines; the remnant of the regiment might have escaped even -then. But there had been no orders to escape, so they turned to right -and left along the German positions, and flung the huddled enemy back -and back and back.</p> - -<p>The word was passed that their commander had fallen; and this man—he -was my very good friend and comrade, gentlemen—had been beloved by -them. Therefore they continued to fight with bitterness in their hearts -until the resistance melted before them. There may have been a thou<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_297" id="page_297">{297}</a></span>sand -Germans left to hold this battered remnant of a regiment; but those who -lived, out of that thousand, fled before the three hundred.</p> - -<p>They fled, and were lost in the night; and the flame from a fired straw -stack nearby illumined the field, so that the Frenchmen could look into -each other’s eyes and consider what was to be done.</p> - -<p>Their commissioned officers were dead, gentlemen; but there was an under -officer in that regiment named Jacques Fontaine. He was a big man, a -farmer; and he was a very serious and practical and thrifty man. Also, -he knew that country, and many of the men of the regiment were his -neighbors, and all of them knew him for what he was.</p> - -<p>Therefore it seemed natural that he should take the command that night. -He called to a man named Lupec, and spoke with him. This Lupec was a -little, wry-necked man, as shrewd as a fox. And Lupec advised Jacques -Fontaine, and the big farmer shouted aloud to the panting men of the -regiment, where they stood about him in the red trousers and the blue -coats that had made our army so vulnerable in that first rush of war. He -looked about him, and he shouted to them....</p> - -<p>He bade them strip cartridges and rifles from the dead; and he told them -to take what provisions they could find. And when this was done, they -were to scatter, and rendezvous the next night but one in a certain -ravine which all that country knew.</p> - -<p>This ravine was in the heart of the forest. It was well hidden; it might -be defended. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_298" id="page_298">{298}</a></span> was water in it; and there were farms upon the -borders of the forest where food might be had.</p> - -<p>When, a little before dawn, a German force came back and descended upon -them, the men melted before it like the morning mists before the sun; -and the Germans did not know what to do, so they made camp, and cooked, -and ate, and slept. And the men of the regiment made their way, singly, -and by twos and threes, through the forest toward the ravine that was -the rendezvous.</p> - -<p>This spot was called in your tongue, gentlemen, the Ravine of the Cold -Tooth.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Now modern warfare, gentlemen, is a curious and inconsistent thing. It -is vast, and yet it is minute.</p> - -<p>This battered regiment, added to the French armies at that moment, would -have been of small account. A burst of shrapnel, a mine, an unimportant -counter thrust might have accounted for them all. Their weight in an -attack would have been inconsiderable.</p> - -<p>But this regiment which did not know how to surrender, and which was at -large behind the German lines, was another matter, my friends. It was -worth well nigh a division to France. For an army is as vulnerable as it -is vast, gentlemen; and it can do only one thing at a time.</p> - -<p>The Emperor discovered this truth, long ago, in Spain. When he scattered -his army to overcome the guerillas, he exposed himself to the blows of -the Iron Duke; and when he effected a con<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_299" id="page_299">{299}</a></span>centration to attack -Wellington, the Spanish peasants sliced off every straggler. He was -incessantly harassed, and he lost that campaign; and that was his first -defeat.</p> - -<p>The warfare of today—or, let us say, the warfare of yesterday, which we -hope will never be the warfare of tomorrow—the warfare of yesterday was -like that. The army’s front is like the front of a dam, vast and -impregnable; but behind, that front is bolstered and strengthened and -buttressed by many little lines of communication and supply, just as a -dam may be buttressed on the lower side. A division may shatter itself -in vain against the army’s front; a hundred men may cut one of those -little lines behind.</p> - -<p>This was the fact which aided Jacques Fontaine and his men, the -regiment.</p> - -<p>You must understand, also, gentlemen, that in the heat of open battle, a -fighting line is an unstable thing. It sways, and bends, and yields, and -rebounds; and fragments are broken off from it. They return to their -places, or they do not return. At times, the line itself is shattered, -when it grows too thin. And when the line is shattered, its component -parts are thrown to every side. In open country, these component -parts—men, gentlemen—may be run down and sabred by the cavalry, or -they may surrender.</p> - -<p>In wooded land, however, it is hard to exterminate men who will yield to -nothing less than extermination. Cavalry can work through the forest -only in small patrols, and along defined paths and roads. And for -infantry, the currying of a wood is slow and painful work.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_300" id="page_300">{300}</a></span></p> - -<p>Therefore, when an army makes a considerable advance, it leaves in its -rear many small and scattered parties of the enemy. It was so when the -Germans thrust down into France, gentlemen. There were many Frenchmen -left behind to wander and hide in the forest, to starve, or yield, or -die.... Or, perhaps, to survive.</p> - -<p>This will explain to you, my friends, the growth of the regiment under -Jacques Fontaine’s command. When they scattered, after dispersing the -German force which had been set to hold them, there were scarce a -hundred of them without wounds. When they gathered at the Ravine of the -Cold Tooth, straggling parties had swelled that number so that Jacques -Fontaine, counting, with his big forefinger pointing in turn toward each -man and his lips mumbling as he counted, found that he had a force of -two hundred and seven hardy and energetic men.</p> - -<p>And he was pleased.</p> - -<p>The first thing this man did, gentlemen, was to reconstitute the -regiment. A regiment, you understand, is an immortal thing. It cannot -die. When every man of it is dead, the regiment still lives; because a -regiment is an idea, and ideas are eternal. Jacques Fontaine was a slow -man, my friends; and you would have considered him a dull man. -Nevertheless, this conception of the immortality of the regiment was a -part of his heart and his soul. If you had told him the regiment was -destroyed, he would have been very sorry for you.</p> - -<p>They had saved their regimental colors, you understand; the banner with -its honorable decora<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_301" id="page_301">{301}</a></span>tions. They had saved this, and Jacques Fontaine’s -first act was to assign six men to guard this banner. He explained to -them, carefully, that they were to seclude themselves. They were to -engage in no enterprise involving hazard; and they were to keep the -standard immaculate and unstained. They were to fight only to defend it; -and they were to save it by evasion and flight when they could, and -fight only when they must.</p> - -<p>Jacques Fontaine understood, gentlemen, that the banner is the regiment.</p> - -<p>When he had made this arrangement, he called Lupec, and they found a man -skilled in writing, and they prepared a regimental roll. Those -stragglers from other regiments who had joined them were mustered in -after a formula which Jacques Fontaine devised. In the end, the two -hundred and seven men were one body and one soul, and Jacques Fontaine -was satisfied with the arrangement.</p> - -<p>Having counted his men, he began, thriftily, to consider their -equipment.</p> - -<p>He found that these two hundred and seven men had two hundred and -fifty-four rifles. A hundred or so of these rifles were German; and for -these weapons there was a plentiful supply of German ammunition. But -there were very few cartridges for the French rifles; there were only -the long, needle-like bayonets.</p> - -<p>Jacques Fontaine was vexed with this discovery. He was one of those -penurious peasants whom De Maupassant knew how to paint, my friends. He -could not bear poverty, or waste. He derived a solid satisfaction from -the mere posses<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_302" id="page_302">{302}</a></span>sion of wealth; and his conception of wealth was -strictly in accord with academic economic principles. Any useful article -was wealth to him.</p> - -<p>He perceived that while his command was wealthy in rifles and bayonets, -it was very badly off indeed for cartridges.</p> - -<p>He sat down on a big rock at the head of the ravine, while the men with -little fires cooked supper in the deeps below him; and he took off his -hat and scratched his head and considered what to do. Another man might -have chosen his course more swiftly; it required some hours for Jacques -Fontaine to make up his mind.</p> - -<p>But when he rose from the rock, this man had laid out before his feet -the path they were to follow through the four interminable and glorious -years which were to come.</p> - -<p>Any other man would have been wise enough to know that the plan he had -chosen was impossible. Jacques Fontaine was valorously stupid. He did -not know he could not do that which he planned to do, gentlemen.</p> - -<p>Therefore, he did the impossible.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>The German armies, at this time, were throwing themselves against our -barricade of steel and fire along the Marne; and by every possible -avenue, they were hurrying forward munitions and guns and all supplies. -They gave little thought to the stragglers in the forests behind them. -They knew that stragglers are not danger<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_303" id="page_303">{303}</a></span>ous to an organized force. It -is only when the stragglers organize that they become a peril.</p> - -<p>Jacques Fontaine had organized these stragglers. At dawn, on the third -day after that first rendezvous, he flung his men upon a wagon train -that threaded one of the forest roads.</p> - -<p>This train was escorted by a troop of some five score Uhlans; it was -upon a road which was guarded by patrols of three and four men stationed -at every farm. Yet in a dip between two hills, the single Uhlan in -advance found his way blocked by felled trees in the road, and at the -same time other trees, cut almost through and held erect by ropes until -the appointed time, crashed down upon his comrades behind.</p> - -<p>With the crashing of these trees was mingled the crashing discharge of -two hundred rifles. And after the first discharge, out of a hundred -troopers scarce fifty remained upon their horses; and after the second -volley, not thirty men were still unharmed. And after the third, there -were only fugitive Uhlans galloping headlong back to give the alarm.</p> - -<p>Before these fugitives were out of sight, Jacques Fontaine and his men -flung themselves upon the loaded wagons. The two foremost wagons bore -cartridges. They laid open the boxes with axe and bayonet; and they -plunged in their hands.</p> - -<p>It was hopeless to attempt to make away with the wagons themselves. -Thick forest lay on every hand. Therefore, by Jacques’ order, each man -took all the cartridges he could bear, and raced back into the wood, and -hid the precious things between rocks, and beneath logs, and in every<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_304" id="page_304">{304}</a></span> -cranny he could find; and when he had disposed of his burden he returned -and took as many more as he could carry. The men filled their pockets, -their belts, their pouches, their hats.... Some of them dropped the -cartridges inside the legs of their trousers, so that the things hung -heavy about their knees. And when this was done, of the two wagon loads, -no cartridges remained.</p> - -<p>The men took also the rifles and revolvers of the fallen Germans; and -they stripped their own few dead of weapons. And then they slipped into -the forest, and scattered, and fled away.</p> - -<p>The hunt began within the hour; and for a week, the men were chivvied -through the woods like hares. Dogs bayed upon their trails; they hid in -caves, in trees, in the thick-growing underbrush; they lay for hours in -the pools with only mouth and nose and eyes exposed above the water. And -some of them were shot, and some were taken alive.... And some took -Germans with them when they died.</p> - -<p>Lupec was one of those who was captured. On the fourth day, weary and -utterly exhausted, he fell asleep in a crevice beneath two boulders; and -a German stumbled on him. His captor took him, at gun point, back -through the forest toward a cross-road where the Germans were encamped.</p> - -<p>When they came in sight of this place, his captor halted to stare, and -Lupec also looked. The Germans were busy; they were engaged in hanging -three Frenchmen by the necks to a beech tree beside the farmhouse there.</p> - -<p>Lupec had no desire to thrust his wry-neck into a noose. Therefore he -turned, and plunged<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_305" id="page_305">{305}</a></span> into the man who had captured him, and knocked the -man down. Even then he found time to snatch up the German’s rifle and -turn and fire; and he saw the German officer who was watching the -hangings pitch drunkenly forward on his saddle. So that Lupec was -grinning as he plunged into the forest again.</p> - -<p>He made good his escape; and thus he was able to bring to Jacques -Fontaine, when the pursuit relaxed, the word of the hangings.</p> - -<p>The big farmer was displeased with this news; because you understand, my -friends, he had reconstituted the regiment, so that he considered that -he and his comrades were soldiers of France, and as such entitled to -better treatment than a noose. He frowned blackly at Lupec’s report; and -he sent out men to discover if there had been other hangings.</p> - -<p>They found that eleven Frenchmen had been murdered in this fashion, -gentlemen; and Jacques Fontaine nodded at this, and made a calculation -upon his fingers. He was slow at figures, you understand; but he knew -what he wished to do. He made his calculation; and he sent out his men -to the farms and the cross-roads, and he gave them careful orders....</p> - -<p>They obeyed him so well, my friends, that on the second day after he was -able to hang twenty-two Germans, two for each Frenchman, upon the same -tree where the men of his regiment had been hung.</p> - -<p>When the Germans discovered these pendant figures, looking like sacks of -old clothes in their dirty, baggy uniforms, they were violently -wrath<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_306" id="page_306">{306}</a></span>ful; and for two weeks more the forests were scoured in an effort -to exterminate the remnants of the regiment.</p> - -<p>But there were no more Frenchmen hanged.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>To understand the history of the four years which followed, gentlemen, -it is necessary to understand the man Jacques Fontaine; it is necessary -to understand the spirit of Frenchmen. It is necessary, in short, to -comprehend France.</p> - -<p>I believe I may be forgiven for holding that valor is a trait of most -Frenchmen. And by valor I do not mean the bravery which can be taught, -which is merely a form of habit. You may take the most craven material -and teach it the habit of obedience, and you have what passes for a -brave soldier; but the Frenchman is valorous before he is a soldier, and -he is valorous when he is no longer a soldier. The whining beggar has -valor; so has the peasant, and the comfortable bourgeois, and the man of -birth and breeding. You will find it universally, my friends.</p> - -<p>This is perhaps because the French are the great phrase-makers of the -world. The turn of a phrase comes easily to them; and the turn of a -phrase captivates and conquers them, so that they will die for it. -Danton made a phrase that saved France. Verdun made another. Combine the -two, my friends, and you have the spirit of France. Dare—and yield not. -The valor of France is the valor that will die rather than violate those -mighty phrases....<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_307" id="page_307">{307}</a></span></p> - -<p>Thus I say Jacques Fontaine was valorous. Bravery is a tangible thing; -valor defends the intangible. Bravery is steadfast, and it is sensible. -Valor may be foolhardy. Valor is a form of pride. And Jacques Fontaine -was proud. Thus, when the Germans hanged men of the regiment, he hanged -Germans. He would have done the same, knowing that he himself must be -hanged forthwith thereafter. For valor does not consider consequences.</p> - -<p>But Jacques Fontaine was not only valorous; he was thrifty. And it was -the combination of these two characteristics that enabled him to -survive. It is this same combination which has enabled France to -survive, my friends. She is valorous; but she is thrifty. She is -audacious; but she is pre-eminently logical. Thus Jacques Fontaine; -valorous and thrifty, audacious and logical.</p> - -<p>Thrift was bred in him. It was thrift which enabled him to survive and -keep his regiment alive. He saved supplies, munitions, guns, men.... He -had no other belongings save the things of war; therefore he hoarded -these things, and when his stores ran short, he secured fresh supplies.</p> - -<p>When his stores ran short, he foraged through the land, and he raided -the German trains. When munitions threatened to fail, he watched his -opportunity to replenish them. When guns wore out, he got new ones. And -when the wastage of these operations, the unceasing perils of this life -reduced the numbers in his command, he attacked and liberated a convoy -of prisoners and recruited his regiment once more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_308" id="page_308">{308}</a></span></p> - -<p>Through it all, he kept careful records of his regimental life. These -records show that at one time, this man and his tattered remnant of a -regiment possessed three German machine guns, four hundred rifles, and -almost fifty thousand cartridges. Besides clothing, and stores of food, -all hidden in caches in the forest depths.</p> - -<p>It was inevitable that he should be hunted. There were at least four -determined attempts by the Germans to exterminate the regiment. One of -these occupied six weeks; it cut the roll from a hundred and eighty men -down to less than sixty; it reduced weapons and supplies to a minimum; -and for the full six weeks, the men saw each other only now and then, in -groups of two or three. For this was the secret of their survival; they -scattered before the hunt, they became units, as difficult to find as -the beasts of the forest in which they dwelt.</p> - -<p>Yet always they survived. That is to say, a nucleus of men always -survived; and the regiment could never die. The regimental colors were -never captured; the regimental records were never found. And Jacques -Fontaine, and Lupec, and a handful of others of the original regiment, -preserved themselves and held the rest together.</p> - -<p>Picture it to yourselves, my friends, if you can; this handful of men, -cohering, enduring; and all around them by the hundred thousand, the -enemy. Behind every tree, a possible rifle; in every wood, a potential -ambush; in every comrade, the danger of a spy....</p> - -<p>There were three spies in the regiment during those four years. The -first was suspected and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_309" id="page_309">{309}</a></span> killed before he had reached the rendezvous. -The second was detected on the third day when he stiffened at a barked -command in German. The third, alone, was clever; he deceived them, he -lived among them, he learned their plans, and when the chance came, he -brought down a German force upon the rendezvous when almost the full -command was there.</p> - -<p>But Jaques Fontaine had never grown careless; he had made it a rule from -the beginning to post twenty guards in a wide circle about the Ravine of -the Cold Tooth when the regiment was assembled. And one of these guards -escaped the attempt to overcome him, and gave warning just in time. The -regiment flung out of the ravine, broke boldly through the jaws of the -German trap, left half its strength in German hands ...</p> - -<p>But the remnant escaped, and lived.</p> - -<p>In the winter of 1915, this regiment was reduced to twenty-seven men. -The next winter, at the time of the great hunt, when the men were -tracked through the snow, they were cut down to fifty-four. The fall of -1917 was the time of the spy; and some seventy men went through that -winter like the beasts, some of them nursing wounds for months on end. -They stirred from their hiding places only once, and that was when they -cut off a German patrol in which the spy rode, and took him from his -comrades and hanged him to the beams of a barn.</p> - -<p>They had been forced to leave the Ravine of the Cold Tooth, since the -Germans knew that spot; they hid now under the shoulder of one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_310" id="page_310">{310}</a></span> the -little mountains. And there, that winter and the next spring, their -numbers grew again....</p> - -<p>They had ninety men in March; and the friendly peasants brought to them -by devious ways soldiers of England and of France who were cut off in -the great offensive of that year, so that in May they numbered a hundred -and fifty men; and in June, close to two hundred.... And the Germans -were too much concerned with other matters to divert so much as a -regiment to run them down....</p> - -<p>When in due time the hour came for them to fulfil their destiny, my -friends, this regiment which Jacques Fontaine had kept alive numbered -three hundred and ninety men, with rifles for all, and two machine guns, -and cartridges to feed those clamoring things.... And Jacques prepared -to strike his blow for France.</p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>It is certain, my friends, that I have failed to give you any -comprehensive picture of the life of this poor regiment during the years -of its isolation. It is impossible for you, who have always been well -fed and comfortable, to imagine the hunger, the cold, the loneliness, -the misery. Some of you have faced peril, perhaps for hours on end. But -these men, gentlemen, faced death for years on end. There was never a -moment when their lives were secure. They were like the animals in the -forest about them; they slept fitfully; they squatted on their haunches -while they ate, and were alert to spring to their feet at the least -alarm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_311" id="page_311">{311}</a></span> They subsisted on berries, on nuts, on uncooked grain pilfered -from the fields which the Germans forced the peasants to cultivate; they -snared rabbits, they were able, now and then, to kill larger game. And -when desperation drove them, they attacked the Germans and wrested food -from them at price of blood.</p> - -<p>This existence was at best an ordeal; and when the Germans found time to -try to hunt them down, it became torment. Regiments encircled them, -beating through the woods, searching every brake and gully and ravine. -Dogs tracked them, baying on their trails; their footprints in the snow, -bloody and stumbling, led their pursuers through the forest. At one -time, one of the little German princelings gave great sport to his -friends by organizing a hunt for these men as he would have organized a -hunt for the wild boars. When the beaters overcame a Frenchman, they -took his weapons and let him go, and then the princeling and his friends -charged the unarmed man with levelled lance, and ran him through.</p> - -<p>The Frenchmen spoiled this sport by a stubborn refusal to run before the -horses. Robbed of their weapons, they stood erect and faced their foe -and took the steel in their breasts, so that the princeling was furious, -and those with him were shamed, and the sport was broken off....</p> - -<p>Of such things as this was existence for these men....</p> - -<p>But I have been unjust in failing, before this, to speak of the peasants -who helped them. Word of this regiment had gone abroad through the -forest and the mountains. And wherever they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_312" id="page_312">{312}</a></span> went, they were welcomed, -and given food, and shelter, and clothed.... And the peasants brought -recruits to them, and brought them warnings, and information. They made -endurance possible....</p> - -<p>It was the peasants, in the end, who brought the word to Jacques -Fontaine that told him his hour had come to strike. They came and they -said the great battle to the southward was rolling nearer every day. -This was at the time, you understand, when we had begun to push the -German back; it was at the time when he was giving way each time a -little more easily than the time before. We advanced one mile today, two -miles tomorrow, three the day after....</p> - -<p>And the word of this was abroad among the peasants in that part of -France and of Belgium which the German still held. They were fermenting, -as though these rumors of approaching liberation had been yeast cast -among them....</p> - -<p>They came, and they told Jacques Fontaine. And Jacques Fontaine, and -wry-necked Lupec, cast about them to find a task for their hands.</p> - -<p>The Germans were making up their mind, at this time, to draw back to a -new defensive line, where, they counted on being able to hold us at -last. And they were withdrawing slowly, a little here, and a little -there, and a little yonder, day by day. Behind them they left a ruined -country, every house destroyed, every fruit tree cut off at the -roots.... But they were going back and back....</p> - -<p>There was one line of railroad, along which the trains were pounding, -day by day; and this line<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_313" id="page_313">{313}</a></span> ran north and south past the fringe of the -forest and the mountains where Jacques Fontaine and his regiment were -hiding. The regiment was scattered, groups of four men and five and six -dwelt here and there among the ravines. But when Jacques Fontaine and -Lupec had considered, and had secretly scouted back and forth, and had -decided upon what they wished to do, they sent runners to gather the -regiment together.</p> - -<p>There was a spot where the railroad line which the Germans were -burdening so heavily crossed a little stream. On the north bank of this -stream, and overlooking the bridge which spanned it, there rose a rocky -hillock; and this hillock was topped by one of those ancient, ruined -chateaus which were the chief beauty of France before the war. On three -sides, sheer precipices fell away from the walls of this old chateau; on -the other side, the way of ascent was steep and hard.</p> - -<p>A dozen men could hold this spot against an army, so long as cannon were -not concerned in the affair. And Jacques Fontaine believed the Germans -had other uses for their cannon at this time.</p> - -<p>So he gathered his regiment, and drew them near the spot he had chosen, -and waited his time to strike.</p> - -<p>There was, you understand, a guard set about this bridge. But the guard -was not strong, for a strong guard was not considered necessary. There -were soldiers passing constantly, working slowly northward in the great -retreat; and the long trains of stores and supplies crossed one after -another, through every day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_314" id="page_314">{314}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was like a river of men and of supplies; one of the rivers of war. -And on a certain night, Jacques Fontaine dammed that river. His men -swept down, they overwhelmed the guard upon the bridge.... And they -fired the petard which the Germans had themselves laid, to destroy that -bridge when their forces should be across. They fired the petard, and -the bridge disappeared in a great flame of orange fire; and Jacques -Fontaine and his men fell back swiftly into the night. When dawn came, -they were all within the walls of the old chateau, high above the -bridge, commanding it. And when the German pioneers swarmed out to -repair the bridge, Jacques and his men began to fire.</p> - -<p>They swept the pioneers away, for they were marksmen, all. They had been -trained for four years never to waste a cartridge; that was the thrift -of Jacques Fontaine. And they wasted none now. They did not use the two -machine guns. Those were reserved to repel the attack that was sure to -come. They used their rifles, and they strove to make every bullet take -its toll.</p> - -<p>A troop train came north in the morning, and the Germans flung the men -against the old chateau, up the steep path. The Frenchmen slaughtered -them; they built a barricade of German bodies before the very muzzles of -their guns. And more trains came, and were held up by the destroyed -bridge. The dammed river began to rise, and grumble, and fret and -fume.... The pioneers, down by the ruined bridge, strove fruitlessly -under the hail of balls.</p> - -<p>The second day, the Germans brought guns to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_315" id="page_315">{315}</a></span> bear. At first, there was -only shrapnel, and it spattered harmlessly. But after that came high -explosive; and each great shell, detonating amid the ruined walls of the -chateau, turned every stone and pebble into a missile that swept to -right and left and all about in a storm of death.</p> - -<p>When three hundred men are huddled in a narrow area, a single shell will -kill half of them. This happened, on that day. An hour after the -bombardment began, not a hundred men remained alive upon the top of the -little peak; an hour after that, scarce fifty remained, ...</p> - -<p>But while it was easy to kill the first hundred, and while it was not -difficult to kill the second hundred, it was very hard indeed to -complete the extermination of the force. A dozen men may live where a -hundred would perish; and at noon, the riflemen in the ruins of the old -chateau still kept the ruined bridge cleared of men and none could toil -there.</p> - -<p>By that time, the congestion on the southern bank of the river had -become so great that that tide overflowed. And Jacques Fontaine, with a -scarf bound around his chest to crush back the blood that was leaking -from his great body, could see and hear the roar of the French guns, ten -miles away, harassing the fleeing enemy....</p> - -<p>By mid-afternoon, French shells began to fall amid the huddle on the -southern bank of the river; and at nightfall, the Germans broke, -there....</p> - -<p>They broke; they poured across the stream, wading, swimming, drowning. -They broke in flight to escape the merciless guns. And the French planes -overhead till dark was fully fallen<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_316" id="page_316">{316}</a></span> marked their going, and signalled -the guns that harassed the fleeing men.</p> - -<p>Before that, the Frenchmen had been silenced; the Frenchmen of Jacques -Fontaine, in the old chateau. There were some few of them still -unwounded; there were others who breathed and groaned as they slowly -died. There were not enough of them to keep the bridge clear; but that -duty no longer was required of them. They had held up a division, till -the French armies could come up and rout it. And the Germans, flinging -one last charge against the old chateau, drew off to the north and left -Jacques Fontaine and his men, masters of the field.</p> - -<h3>VII</h3> - -<p>I was with the army that came up to that bridge at dawn, my friends. And -I was one of those who saw, floating in the first light above the ruined -walls of the old chateau, a flicker of glorious color.... A banner, -floating there....</p> - -<p>Our skirmishers were flung across, pressing northward. Our engineers -swarmed upon the ruined bridge, rebuilding....</p> - -<p>And one patrol of men turned aside, by the road that led toward the -chateau. They went to solve this riddle, gentlemen. They went to -discover who it was that had set there, the banner of France.</p> - -<p>They went carefully, one man ahead, others behind. They feared a trap; -they did not understand....</p> - -<p>I was with them. We came, thus, to a turn in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_317" id="page_317">{317}</a></span> the road; and we rounded -it, and we saw our advance man at the halt, upon his horse, in the road -ahead.</p> - -<p>Toward this man were marching, down the road from the chateau, four men.</p> - -<p>One of these men was tall, and strong, and bulky. And there was a scarf -about his chest; and the scarf was red. Of the others, two marched -proudly; two who had come unscathed through that hell where the chateau -had stood. And the fourth, though there was a smeared bandage about his -face and eyes, so that he held to the arm of Jacques Fontaine; this -fourth man, my friends, held his head as high as any; and his shoulders -were erect, and his steps were firm.</p> - -<p>It was this fourth man who bore, resting it against his hip and -steadying it with his other hand, the flag. They came on, these four, -heads high. And though they were haggard, and stained, and worn, the -banner above them was unsullied and unsoiled....</p> - -<p>As they came toward us, we could hear them singing, in cracked and -hoarse voices. Singing those immortal words of Rouget de l’Isle....</p> - -<p>When they came near our vidette, where he sat his horse so quietly, they -halted. And I saw then that these men still wore the red trousers and -the blue coats of their ancient uniforms, which they had preserved for -this occasion through the years. And we were all very still as we -listened so that we heard the vidette challenge, in a ringing voice:</p> - -<p>“Qui vive?”</p> - -<p>There was, for me, something splendidly sym<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_318" id="page_318">{318}</a></span>bolic in the scene. For to -that challenge, those battered but unconquerable men gave answer with -one voice, one word.</p> - -<p>“Qui vive?” the vidette challenged.</p> - -<p>And the four answered hoarsely: “France!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_319" id="page_319">{319}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="THE_RIGHT_WHALES_FLUKES" id="THE_RIGHT_WHALES_FLUKES"></a>THE RIGHT WHALE’S FLUKES</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Ware th’ sparm whale’s jaw, an’ th’ right whale’s flukes!<br /></span> -<span class="i17">—<i>Old Whaling Maxim.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>N the old whaling museum on Johnny Cake Hill, there is a big room with -a fireplace where, on a rainy or stormy day, the whaling captains like -to gather; and when storms or cold keep him from his rocking chair on -the after deck of his Fannie, Cap’n Mark Brackett climbs the hill to the -old museum and establishes himself in a chair before the fire. From the -windows, you may look down a short, steep street to the piers where -great heaps of empty oil casks, brown with the grime of years of -service, block the way. Tied up to the piers there may be an old -square-rigger, her top hamper removed, and empty so that she rides high -in the water and curtsies to every gust; and you will see squat little -auxiliary schooners preparing for the summer’s cruising off Hatteras; -and beyond these again the eye reaches across the lovely harbor to Fair -Haven, gleaming in the sun.</p> - -<p>The museum is rich with the treasures of the sea; and this room where -the captains like to gather is the central treasure-house. An enormous -secretary of mahogany veneer stands against<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_320" id="page_320">{320}</a></span> one wall; and in cases -about the room you will find old ship’s papers bearing the names of -presidents a hundred years dead, pie-crimpers carved from the solid -heart of a whale’s tooth, a little chest made by one of the Pitcairn -Island mutineers, canes fashioned from a shark’s backbone or the jawbone -of the cachalot, enormous locks, half a dozen careful models of whaling -craft with the last rope and spar in place, and the famous English -frigate, in its glass case at one side.</p> - -<p>I found Cap’n Brackett there one afternoon, in an old chair before the -fire, his black pipe humming like a kettle, his stout body relaxed in -comfortable ease. He had advised me to read “Moby Dick,” and had loaned -me the book; and when I entered, he looked up, a welcoming twinkle in -the keen old eyes that lurk behind their ambush of leathery wrinkles, -and saw the book in my hand.</p> - -<p>“Read it?” he asked, between puffs.</p> - -<p>“End to end,” I assured him.</p> - -<p>“A great book. A classic, I say.”</p> - -<p>I nodded, and drew up a chair beside him, and opened the volume to -glance again across its pages and to dip here and there into that -splendid chronicle of the hunt for the great white whale. The old man -watched me over his pipe, and I looked up once and caught his eye.</p> - -<p>“He’s stretching it a bit, of course,” I suggested. “You would never -meet the same whale twice, in all the wastes of the Seven Seas.”</p> - -<p>The cap’n’s eyes gleamed faintly. “Why not?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“It’s too much of a coincidence.”</p> - -<p>“It happens.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_321" id="page_321">{321}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>One certain method to provoke Cap’n Brackett to narration is to pretend -incredulity. I smiled in a wary fashion, and said nothing.</p> - -<p>“There was one whale I saw four times, myself,” he asserted.</p> - -<p>“How do you know it was the same?”</p> - -<p>“He was marked.... And the hand of Fate was in it, too.”</p> - -<p>I turned the leaves of the book, and chuckled provokingly, watching -covertly the captain’s countenance; and, as I expected, he began -presently to tell the story that was in his mind. His gruff old voice -ran quietly along; the fire puffed and flared as the wind whistled down -the chimney, the snow flurried past the windows and hid the harbor below -us. Cap’n Brackett’s voice droned on.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>“You never heard of Eric Scarf,” the old man thoughtfully began. “Not -more’n three or four men alive now that knew him. He were mate of the -Thomas Pownal when I knew him; a big, straight, fiery man, powerful and -strong. He came of some Northland breed, with a great shock of yellow -hair, and eyes as blue as the sea; but he was not like most Norsemen in -being slow of speech and dull of wit. Quick he was; quick to speak, and -quick to think, and quick to act; quick to anger, quick to take hurt, -and quick to know Joan for the one woman, when she began that v’y’ge on -the Thomas Pownal.</p> - -<p>“James Tobbey was the captain of the Pownal; Joan was his daughter. She -was a laughing girl,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_322" id="page_322">{322}</a></span> always laughing; a child. Her hair was fine-spun -and golden, and it curled. When the fog got into it, it kinked into -ringlets as crisp as blubber scraps. You wanted to rub them in your -hands, and hear them crinkle and crackle between your palms. And her -voice, when she laughed, was the same way, crisp and clean and strong; -and her eyes were brown. Give a girl light curly hair and dark brown -eyes, and any man’s heart will skip a beat or so at seeing her.</p> - -<p>“She used to be everywhere about the ship, always laughing; and little -Jem Marvel forever hobbling at her heels. Jem was a baby, a little -crippled baby, the son of a sister of Joan’s who had died when Jem was -born; and Jem’s father was dead before that, although no one knew it -till the Andrew Thomes came back without him, two years after.</p> - -<p>“Thomes had been a hard, bitter man; and little Jem took after him. The -baby was black, black hair, black eyes, a swart skin; and when he -dragged his withered leg about the deck at Joan’s heels, his face worked -and grimaced with spleen that was terrible to watch. Maybe six or seven -he was then; and for all Joan tended him like a mother, I’ve known him -to rip out at her the black oaths that would rot a grown man’s lips.</p> - -<p>“Cap’n Tobbey kept his eyes away from the boy; but Joan loved the little -thing. None but her could bear with him.</p> - -<p>“Eric Scarf was the only man aboard that ever tried to win the baby. -I’ve seen him work for weeks at some dinkus he was making for the boy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_323" id="page_323">{323}</a></span> -only to have Jem scorn it when it was done. He put six months of -whittling into a little model of the Pownal, with every rope in place; -and when he gave it to Jem at last, the boy smashed it on the deck, and -stamped upon the splinters.</p> - -<p>“Eric but laughed. The mate was a hard man with men, quick with them; -but with the child he was as gentle as Joan herself.</p> - -<p>“He loved Joan. I loved Joan. Every man aboard the Pownal loved the -girl; but Eric more than most of us. He sought ways to please her, and -when he bungled it, it was a fight with him to hide his grief. One of -the greenies, when the Pownal was but a few days out, bumped against the -girl in the waist of the ship at the lurch of a wave; and Eric knocked -the man halfway to the fo’c’s’le scuttle with one cuff. But while the -greenie was scrambling to his feet, nursing his mouth with one tooth -gone, Joan flamed at Eric.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Why was that?’ she demanded, her voice very steady and hot.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>He bumped you!’ Eric tells her.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I did not complain. Only a coward hits men who cannot hit back.’</p> - -<p>“Eric’s face crimsoned; he whirled to the man. ‘Here,’ he shouted. -‘Forget I’m the mate. Do you want the chance to get even?’</p> - -<p>“The man stared affrightedly, then ducked down the scuttle like a -rabbit, with Eric glaring after him. But when Eric turned, Joan had gone -aft without another word, and he was left to grope for understanding of -her.</p> - -<p>“Scarf was the strongest, quickest man I ever saw. He was tall and -powerful, and built slim<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_324" id="page_324">{324}</a></span> and flat like a whalebone spring. He was -boiling with his own strength all the time. He suffered for a vent for -it; and he trod the deck on his toes like a tiger, his fists swinging, -not from any lust for battle so much as from the excess of his own power -and vigor.</p> - -<p>“I’ve seen him set his hands to tackle and brush the fo’mast hands -aside, and do three men’s work himself for the mere peace and joy it -gave him to put forth all his strength for a space; his shoulders and -back and arms would knot and swell and bulge with his efforts, and his -lungs would shout with gladness at the task.</p> - -<p>“Eric was never still. On deck, where others would lean against the rail -with an eye to the ship and their thoughts somewhere off across the -water, he was always moving, pacing up and down, climbing into the -rigging, shifting this and stirring that, restless like a caged beast. -Something drove him. He could not rest. The springs of life and energy -in the man would have torn him to bits if you had held him motionless -for an hour. He had to move, to act, to do; and when he buffeted the -men, it was neither native cruelty nor bullying. It was but the outburst -of his own impatient, restless power.</p> - -<p>“It was a strange thing to see such a man gentling little Jem Marvel, or -wooing the boy to a romp about the deck; and it was strange to see Scarf -stand near Joan, watching her, and the muscles in him twitching and -straining with the agony of inaction. Eric worshipped Joan; and she -bewildered him. He used to plan little pleasant surprises for her, and -watch her joy at them and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_325" id="page_325">{325}</a></span> take his reward in watching. He never spoke -love to her, never so much as touched her hand unless it might be to -help her along the deck when the ship was wallowing; and when the things -he planned failed to delight her, a man watching him could see that his -very soul was writhing.</p> - -<p>“I said Scarf was a quick man, quick of thought and quick of deed. But -where Joan was concerned, he was very dull and slow. He never could -learn, try as he would, to please her; and his own impotence and his -strength combined to drive him to feats which he meant for wooing, but -which the girl abhorred.</p> - -<p>“He trapped a little sea bird once, and made a tiny cage for it, and -left it for her to find; and when the girl discovered it, she cried out -with pity for the captive, and ran on deck with the cage and set the -little creature free. Eric Scarf saw her, and she knew it was he who had -done it, and pitied him.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I’m really grateful,’ she said, smiling very gently at the big man. -‘But he is so unhappy in a cage.’</p> - -<p>“Eric tried to speak, and saw one of the men by the tryworks grinning at -him; so he went forward and drove the man with blows to the knight’s -heads, and Joan scorned him for days thereafter.</p> - -<p>“I’ve seen a cock pa’tridge ruffle his feathers and beat and drum with -his wings, all glory and strength and vigor in his wooing; and no doubt -the hen liked it. But if the pa’tridge had tried such measures in the -courting of a singing thrush, he would only have frighted and dismayed -her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_326" id="page_326">{326}</a></span> whom he sought to please. It was so with Eric. His courting would -have pleased some women; Joan it but disgusted and disturbed.</p> - -<p>“Eric Scarf and I were closer friends than you would think; and I knew -the big, strong man to be as shy and as easy to take hurt as a child. -But it was his way when he was hurt or shamed to strike out at the -nearest, and so to those without understanding he seemed a mere bully, -cruel and exultant in his strength.</p> - -<p>“Lucky for us on the Pownal, Scarf delighted in the whaling. There was -no other task in the world so fitted to the man. So strong he was that -nothing short of a whale could give him the fierce joy of battle which -soothed him. He drove his men as he drove himself, and they either broke -under it or became hard-bitten and enduring hands, fit to match him. His -boat was always first away; and he would strike and kill one whale and -then another while other officers were content with a single catch. I’ve -known him to do what few attempt; to lower at night when moonlight -revealed a spout, and make his kill, and tow the fish to the ship by -dawn. Cap’n Tobbey never interfered with Eric, for the mate was too -valuable; and when the mate’s watch was on deck, he would lower and kill -without ever calling the Old Man from his cabin at all.</p> - -<p>“I had heard of Scarf before this v’y’ge, but never watched him work -before; and many a time I found myself biting my lip and holding the -breath in my chest at the daring of him. In any weather short of a gale, -he would lower; and once two boats were swamped in lowering before he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_327" id="page_327">{327}</a></span> -took the third mate’s and got away—and got the whale.</p> - -<p>“With such an officer, and decent luck, a quick voyage was sure; and so -it was this time. Before we’d been out two years, the casks were filled, -oil was stored in everything that would hold it, and the Old Man gave -the word to fly the Blue Peter and put for home. We threw the bricks of -the tryworks overboard to lighten ship that much, and struck across the -South Pacific, fought our way around the Horn, and took a long slant -north’ard toward Tristan.</p> - -<p>“There was no place to store more oil if we had it, and we could not try -out if we had the blubber; so, though we sighted fish now and then, we -let them go—though I could see Eric was fretting at it, and wishing the -ship empty again.</p> - -<p>“For months now, Eric had been wooing Joan in his own wild, longing way; -but the girl would have none of him. He must have known it, and he -bridled his tongue as he could. But the word was bound to come one day; -and it came at last when we were rocking in a calm, with an island two -or three miles to starboard, and the sun hissing on the sea that sighed -and swelled like the bosom of a sleeping woman whose dreams are troubled -and disturbed.</p> - -<p>“The ship was idle, the men squatting forward in what shade they could -discover, and the rigging slatting back and forth as the Pownal rocked -on the long swells. Eric had the deck, the Old Man was asleep below, and -Joan and the boy, Jem, were sitting aft, the girl sewing at something -she held in her lap.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_328" id="page_328">{328}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Scarf, with nothing in the world to do, fretted and paced about, his -eyes never leaving her, and a worship in them that all the world could -see. The afternoon droned away, the Pownal creaked and swung in the -cradle of the sea, and the sun burned down endlessly. Scarf could not -bear it. He strode across to where the girl sat; and she looked up at -him to see what he had come for, and at the look in his eyes rose -quickly to face him, her face setting hard.</p> - -<p>“Eric must have seen; but he blundered blindly on. The words came -awkwardly. He lifted no hand to touch her. ‘I love you. I love you,’ he -said, in a dry, husky voice. ‘I love you. I want you to marry me.’</p> - -<p>“Black little Jem looked up at them and, with the quick perception of -the child, grinned malignantly. Joan’s face turned white beneath the -soft bronze the sun and wind had given her cheeks. She could not help -pitying the big man; but she could not love him.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I’m sorry, Eric,’ she said. ‘I do not love you.’</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I love you,’ he repeated, as though it were an argument he were -advancing.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I’m sorry,’ she told him again. ‘I’m sorry to hurt you. I don’t want -to hurt you. But I don’t love you.’</p> - -<p>“His eyes were quivering and trembling like the raw flesh of a wound, -but he stood impassively before her, staring down into her eyes, -searching there for something he would never find. Little Jem chuckled, -and the sound broke the spell upon the man. He turned rigidly away; and -as it al<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_329" id="page_329">{329}</a></span>ways was with him when his heart was torn, his great body -clamored for action. His fingers bit at his palms.</p> - -<p>“And then one of the boatsteerers, standing in the waist, uttered a low -ejaculation; and Eric turned and saw the man was pointing toward the -shore, where a misty spout was just dissolving against the dark -background of the cliffs that dipped to the water there.</p> - -<p>“It was the vent Eric wanted for the torment that was tearing him. -Without a word, he leaped to his boat; and his men, well trained, came -tumbling at his heels. In a minute’s time, Eric had caught up some gear -that had been removed from the boats when the fishing was finished, and -gave the order to lower.</p> - -<p>“Joan came softly to him. ‘You are not going to kill that whale, are -you?’ she asked. ‘We have no need for it.’</p> - -<p>“Eric did not hear her; for the boat had split the water and was bobbing -there below him, and he dropped with his men and in a moment was away. -Joan, her eyes burning angrily, watched him go; and presently she -brought the glass to see what was to come.</p> - -<p>“The whale inshore was lying quietly, but Eric sent the boat along as -though his life hung on success; he drove the men till the oars bent -like whip-shafts; he drove them and he drove himself; and they ran fair -upon the creature before they realized their speed. Then, at Eric’s cry, -the boatsteerer in the bow leaped up and drove the harpoons home, and -the boat sheered off while Eric changed places with the man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_330" id="page_330">{330}</a></span></p> - -<p>“They had struck a cow whale, a right whale, with a calf not a week old -tucked under her fin; and the little thing lay there, lifting its tiny -spout against its mother’s side; its fins feebly fanning.</p> - -<p>“A cow whale is the easiest of game; and there is no sentiment in the -whaling ships. If the Pownal had been empty, she would have been counted -clear gain. With the Pownal full to brimming, this that Eric was doing -was mere murderous slaughter.</p> - -<p>“When Eric saw that he was cheated of the battle he had craved, a fury -seized him. He shouted hoarsely to his boatsteerer, and the man swung -them in alongside the whale. The great mother had not stirred, save for -a trembling shudder of her whole bulk when the irons seized upon her. -The calf was fighting to escape, but the mother’s great fin pinioned it -against her side, soothingly, assuringly, as though she promised it -should be safe there.</p> - -<p>“Eric lifted his lance and pierced the mother, driving home the slender -steel into the great body; and he withdrew it, and prodded the vitals of -the whale again and again, with a desperate energy, pouring out the fire -of his own strength in his efforts.</p> - -<p>“It was like piercing butter with a hatpin; and this dull acquiescence -on the creature’s part only whetted Eric’s blind rage. When at last the -great flukes lifted once, his heart leaped with the hope that at the end -there might come the struggle and the opposition for which he hungered; -but agony had lifted the flukes, and the bursting heart of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_331" id="page_331">{331}</a></span> mother -brought them gently down again, never even disturbing the little -creature at her side.</p> - -<p>“She died; a thrust killed the calf. The boat sheered out; and then the -boatsteerer shouted a warning from the stern.</p> - -<p>“Eric whirled and saw a great bull whale just emerging from the depths; -and the whale headed for them furiously.</p> - -<p>“I do not say the creature was the dead cow’s mate. It would not be -strange if this was so; but it need not be asserted. I do not say the -bull attacked the boat. He was badly gallied, he was running blindly.</p> - -<p>“But whatever the explanation, he charged them; and Eric shouted -triumphantly at thought that here was the adversary he had desired.</p> - -<p>“The boatsteerer swung the boat about to meet the onrush; and Eric -snatched a harpoon. They swerved out of the path of the bull. As he -roared past them in a smother of foam, Eric sent the harpoon home.</p> - -<p>“But the next instant the smashing flukes struck them, and the boat’s -whole bottom was driven away. Eric chopped the line loose to save them; -and in ten seconds from the appearance of the bull, they were to their -necks in water, the boat beneath them.</p> - -<p>“The bull charged on and disappeared. I lowered and went after the men -in the water; and we got them aboard. Eric was reacting from his fury -now; he was shamed at what he had done; and he looked back once at the -body of the cow, about which sharks were already fighting, with -something like apology in his eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_332" id="page_332">{332}</a></span></p> - -<p>“The men were talking. ‘Did ye see the cross on the bull’s head?’ the -tub oarsman asked; the steerer assented.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>A white scar in the blubber,’ he agreed.</p> - -<p>“The others nodded; and Eric looked at me and said quietly: ‘The old -bull was marked.’</p> - -<p>“It was when we were all aboard again, and Eric had changed to dry -garments, that Joan came up to where he stood with me. Her eyes were -blazing; and little Jem, at her heels, was chuckling blackly.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>That was murder,’ said the girl, trembling with her own anger.</p> - -<p>“Eric flushed, and his head bowed a little.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>A cow and a calf—killed uselessly!’ Joan exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“The big man, uneasy, shy, not knowing where to turn, saw little Jem -beside him; and he turned to the boy and caught the lad under his arms, -and swung him high in the air. ‘Up you go!’ he cried, trying to laugh.</p> - -<p>“He meant only to start a romp—anything to divert the girl’s searing -scorn; but the malignant spirit of little Jem converted the movement -into black tragedy. The child screamed indignantly, and kicked down at -Eric’s upturned face with his sound foot.</p> - -<p>“Eric was standing a yard from the rail, his back to it. The kick in his -face made him lose his balance, and he staggered backward, and before I -could stir, with the boy extended above his head, he had fallen -overboard.</p> - -<p>“Joan screamed; and together we leaped to the rail. I reached for a coil -of rope. The two had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_333" id="page_333">{333}</a></span> sunk in a smother of bubbles; and in the second -that we waited for Eric to fight his way to the surface again, a -sinister shadow shot like fire along the ship’s side, and I saw the -flicker of a silver-white belly, and heard Joan scream again.</p> - -<p>“The water turned crimson; and then Eric came to the surface with empty -hands. He dove instantly, furiously; and I got a boat into the water. -Eric broke to the surface again, his face convulsed with the anguish -that tore him; and two of us grabbed him and dragged him, fighting, into -the boat.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Let go, let go,’ he screamed, and struck us back. ‘Let me go. I can -get him.’</p> - -<p>“He was mad; and we caught him, and he broke and dropped, sobbing, in -the bottom of the boat. I saw that one of his arms was rasped raw by the -shark’s rough skin.</p> - -<p>“Joan met him like a fury when he stepped upon the deck again, and I -thought she would strike him. He stood before her, drooping and crushed; -and the girl caught herself. But I heard the word she said.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Thrice murderer!’ she told him softly. ‘Thrice murderer! A mother and -child—and now my baby! Oh curse you, curse you! May you be always -accursed until you die!’</p> - -<p>“She held him for a moment, and then turned away from the man; and Eric -Scarf drooped sick and weak where he stood, until I dragged him below to -tend his wounded arm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_334" id="page_334">{334}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>The old man paused, and stared into the fire; and when I had waited -fruitlessly for another word from him, I asked:</p> - -<p>“Is that all?”</p> - -<p>He looked up at me quietly. “No,” he said. “No—that is not the whole of -it.”</p> - -<p>Still he did not continue, so I prompted him. “You said the whale was -seen four times,” I suggested.</p> - -<p>He nodded; and so drifted into his story again. “Aye, four times,” he -agreed. “The old bull with the cross upon his skull. Four times. I’ve -but told the first.”</p> - -<p>He puffed silently for a little, shifted his great bulk in the chair, -rose and crossed to the window to look down toward the harbor, and -returned at last to me.</p> - -<p>“Joan kept to her cabin much, from that day,” he said. “She kept to her -cabin; and Eric Scarf did his tasks and held aloof from her. We came -smoothly northward, and presently were at our pier, unloading the casks -that filled our holds. Eric had slowly recovered something of the old -strength and power that moved him; and though he avoided the girl, and -though I could see how he suffered and what agony he was enduring, he -kept a steady face to the men, and drove them as he always drove.</p> - -<p>“Cap’n Tobbey was a quiet, stern man; but he was just. He blamed Eric -for taking out the boat, but he knew the other for what it was, an -accident of Fate; and when time came for the next cruise,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_335" id="page_335">{335}</a></span> Eric was too -good a man to stay ashore. He shipped as mate, and I was second mate -again.</p> - -<p>“This time, Joan stayed behind. She had had enough of the sea for a -lifetime, she told me; and from a girl, she was become a woman. Lovely -as ever, her laughter as sweet and crisp as a spring wind, yet there was -a depth in her that had not been there before, and at times her eyes -shrank as though they gazed upon awful, tragic happenings.</p> - -<p>“She was on the pier the day we sailed; and I saw Eric Scarf watching -her with the hopeless longing in his eyes that tears at the vitals of a -man.</p> - -<p>“There was a shadow over the mate from the beginning of that cruise. Any -man could see it; and the fo’mast hands used to watch him, and whisper -among themselves. Outwardly he was the same; strong and quick and proud, -alive, alert, his body uplifted with the energy it housed. He trod the -decks lightly, he moved with the quick precision of an animal; and he -plunged into his work in a fashion that would have worn another man to -threads.</p> - -<p>“A sprinkling of our old crew was aboard; so Eric’s story was no secret. -But it was never mentioned by him or in his presence. He seemed to find -a joy in his toil that allowed him to forget; and the man’s eyes -brightened and his cheeks set in their old firm, fine lines as we drove -southward. There is no better index to a man than the cheeks of him. -Flabbiness of body or soul shows quickest there, and there all other -vices and all virtues first appear. Eric’s face was neither gaunt nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_336" id="page_336">{336}</a></span> -round, but it had a chiseled perfection of contour that was like a song.</p> - -<p>“There is a deal of superstition that hangs about the sea; and a whaler -has her share of it, and more. But it is never allowed to interfere with -the work at hand. And so if the men wished Eric off the ship, they kept -their wishes to themselves; and if they were reluctant to serve in his -boat, they hid this reluctance. For Eric was a quick man, quick to -anger, with a quick fist to him. In his place, I should have moved -tremblingly, fearful of a blow from behind during the watch on deck at -night. But Eric strode fearlessly about the ship; and none laid hand to -him.</p> - -<p>“The sea is a grim thing, and inscrutable. No man can look out across -its smooth bosom day and day, and remember the vast multitude of lives -which go their way beneath that smiling surface, without a sense of -mystery and wonder of it all. The sea in a storm may be terrible and -appalling, when its broad expanse is cut up into myriad gulleys and -mountains in which the ship is lost as in a labyrinth; but to me it has -always been even more terrible and menacing when it is calm. In time of -storm, its fury rages without curb; the worst is with you. But when the -sea is quiet, all its energies hidden, it is like the smiling mask of -Fate which conceals unguessed and unpredicted blows.</p> - -<p>“Thus, when we sailed southward over smooth and smiling seas, I fell -victim to an unrest that harassed me. I rose and looked abroad each day -with eyes that searched eagerly for a threat of the fate that seemed -impending; and even as I watched<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_337" id="page_337">{337}</a></span> the sea, in like manner did I watch -Eric Scarf, to discover if I could what it was that hung so -threateningly over the man’s smiling head.</p> - -<p>“If Eric felt any uneasiness, he gave at first no sign. He was as he had -always been, confident, and quick, and strong. But the day came when a -hint was given us, just as the impalpable atmospheric changes reveal -through the glass the approach of storm.</p> - -<p>“We had sighted whales more than once, and made a fair beginning on the -long task ahead of us; and then one day in the South Atlantic, the boats -were lowered for a pod that lay far off to southward. Eric got fast, and -the third mate likewise. But the whale I had chosen as my goal took -alarm, and whirled toward us, and then fled before our irons could reach -him.</p> - -<p>“There had been time, however, for us to see upon his head a dull scar, -in the form of a cross, and I heard a cry from Eric’s boat, that was -just getting fast, and turned to see Eric staring toward the spot where -the old bull had disappeared.</p> - -<p>“Then I remembered what the men had said about the whale which had stove -Eric’s boat after the kill on the other voyage; and when we were aboard -again, the cutting-in done, and the tryworks boiling and smoking, I was -not surprised that Eric came to me.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Mark,’ he whispered huskily, ‘was there a cross on the bull that got -away?’</p> - -<p>“I nodded. ‘On his head,’ I said. ‘An old scar, gouged into the -blubber.’</p> - -<p>“I saw his jaw set hard. ‘It can’t be!’ he exclaimed, half to himself. I -said nothing; and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_338" id="page_338">{338}</a></span> looked at me a moment later, with an agony of -doubt in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Well, what of it, Eric?’ I asked, knowing, but thinking that to talk -might ease the man.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>It was a scarred bull stove my boat—that day,’ he told me.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Every old bull has his scars,’ I said easily.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Aye—but—this was the same, Mark!’</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>What matter?’</p> - -<p>“He flushed and stammered like a child. ‘Her curse is on me,’ he -declared. ‘The old bull is going to wait for me!’</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>He’ll suffer by it,’ I laughed. ‘He’s a fat old duke, too.’</p> - -<p>“Eric looked forward where the men were working, and looked aft, and -then out across the sea; and then he looked at me at last with an appeal -in his eyes. ‘Are you calling me “murderer” as she did, Mark?’ he asked.</p> - -<p>“I shook my head. ‘She’s but a girl,’ I told him. ‘There was no need of -killing the cow. But what matter for that? And the other—was no one’s -blame.’</p> - -<p>“His hand gripped my arm till I winced. ‘You mean it?’ he begged, -hungrily.</p> - -<p>“I clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Forget it all,’ I urged. ‘No harm will -come.’</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>It is not that I’m afraid,’ he told me swiftly; and I saw that I had -roused him as I hoped to do.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Sure of that?’ I asked.</p> - -<p>“His eyes flamed. ‘I fear nothing,—except myself,’ he exclaimed. ‘But I -hear her word always; and I cannot bear it, Mark.’</p> - -<p>“Before more could be said, Cap’n Tobbey<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_339" id="page_339">{339}</a></span> came toward us; and Eric -laughed as though at some jest of mine. His laughter was not a pleasant -thing to hear, and I would have wished to reassure the man. But -thereafter he gave me no further opportunity.</p> - -<p>“I could see the thing was on his mind through the days that followed. -He could not forget it; and he took to standing watch at the masthead -when there was no need. I asked him once why he did this.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>To get the scarred bull, Mark,’ he told me. ‘That will end it.’</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>You’ll never see him again!’</p> - -<p>“He shook his head, and smiled grimly. ‘No fear,’ he said. ‘He’s about -us.’</p> - -<p>“And Eric was right; for the day we were finishing the trying out, the -scarred bull was sighted again, this time so near the ship that his mark -could be discerned through the glass as he rose to spout. Eric was -aloft; and he tumbled down the rigging like a madman, and lowered; but -there was a fog, and in the fog the bull was lost for that time.</p> - -<p>“That was thrice he had been seen; and the fourth time came swiftly.</p> - -<p>“Eric was never a man to fear or avoid conflict, even with the forces of -the universe itself; and after this third appearance of the scarred bull -whale, he scarce slept at all, but held himself and his boat’s crew -ready for battle the day long. He was aloft from dawn till dark, -endlessly scouring the seas for a spout that would reveal the creature -which personified to him the thing he was fighting. He became silent, -thoughtful; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_340" id="page_340">{340}</a></span> strength flowed into him and nerved him to a hard and -efficient readiness. He was like an athlete in training for a contest, -every nerve and muscle tuned.</p> - -<p>“We sighted the scarred whale for the fourth time on a Sunday morning; a -day when the sea was just rippled by the gentlest breezes, when the sun -shone warmly and comfortingly upon the world, when the boats danced upon -the waves with a soothing and caressing motion. The water was blue as -turquoise, and the sky above it; and the two met at the horizon with the -sea’s deeper blue below the sky’s, and the whitecaps gleaming like -silver in the wind.</p> - -<p>“It was not Eric who sighted the whale, but one of the men on the -foret’gallant crosstrees; and his long ‘Blo-o-o-o-o-ow’ came droning -down to us on the decks and snatched each one to his post like -machinery. Cap’n Tobbey turned his glass on the distant spouts, and -ordered the boats away; and Eric’s hard and seasoned men made his boat -swing ahead of the others instantly, and steadily increase the lead.</p> - -<p>“There was no way of knowing whether or no this was the old, scarred -bull; but his spout told us it was a right whale, and not a sperm whale. -Nevertheless, either Eric knew it was his enemy he went to meet, or else -he was eager to discover whether it was or no, for he drove his men -unsparingly, and was more than a quarter of a mile ahead of us when he -reached the monster, and ran alongside.</p> - -<p>“Over the water came to us the sound of his shouted command: ‘Let ‘im -have it!’ And I saw<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_341" id="page_341">{341}</a></span> the boatsteerer, standing in the bow with his knee -in the clumsy-cleat, put all the strength of back and arms into the -stroke, and snatch the second iron and send that home even as the whale -leaped forward.</p> - -<p>“While Eric and the boatsteerer were changing places, the great whale -up-ended ponderously, his flukes lifting gently toward the sky full -thirty feet clear of the water, and slid down out of sight. He had -sounded; and I spurred my men to harder efforts so that we might be at -hand to help if need arose.</p> - -<p>“Ahead of us, the boat lay idle on the waves. I could see Eric in the -bow, his hand on the line where it ran through the notch, bending to -peer down into the depths; and I could see he was putting a strain upon -the line, for the bow was down and almost dipping in the waves.</p> - -<p>“Then suddenly the bow bobbed up, the strain relaxed; and Eric bent -further over in an effort to pierce the depths below him. The whale was -coming up; and if by chance he came up under the boat, the fight would -be done, forthwith. Eric shouted a command; and the men began to haul in -the line desperately, dropping it in a loose coil astern. The -boatsteerer leaned upon his oar, alert, bending to hear the word from -Eric, and himself looking overside for any sign of the monster who was -rushing up from the depths toward them.</p> - -<p>“Then a shout from Eric, the boat swung around as though on a pivot; and -next instant the whale breached between his boat and mine.</p> - -<p>“There is no more splendid sight in the world<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_342" id="page_342">{342}</a></span> than this; to see the -biggest creature that breathes flinging his four or five score tons -clear out of the water to hang, a black bulk against the sky, for an -instant before he falls resoundingly. Imagine a leaping trout, magnify -the trout’s size a millionfold or more, and you have some faint notion -of the monstrous majesty and grace of the breaching whale.</p> - -<p>“I had seen whales breach before, sometimes with terror, sometimes with -wonder at the beauty of the spectacle; but when this whale leaped clear -into the sky and seemed to hang for an instant fair above us, a thrill -of horror shot through me.</p> - -<p>“For as he was in the air, fair to all to see, the scar upon his head -was revealed; a scar like a sunken cross, mark of some ancient wound. It -was the scarred bull to which Eric’s boat was fast.</p> - -<p>“I looked toward him, and saw that Eric had seen the scar; but Eric -loved battle. He shouted to his men, and even as the great whale fell -into the water again, Eric’s men hauled in till they were alongside the -monster, and Eric drove home his lance.</p> - -<p>“The whale, at the prick of steel, redoubled the furious struggle of the -breach; and he rolled away and away from the boat, upon the surface, in -a smother of foam and spray. The men were forced to loose the line again -to avoid capsizing; but Eric himself set his hand to it, and by his own -strength held the nose of the boat so near the rolling whale that when -the enormous creature straightened out at last to run, half a dozen -pulls brought them again alongside.</p> - -<p>“They were in some fashion safer there than<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_343" id="page_343">{343}</a></span> elsewhere. The harpoons had -struck well behind the fin, and the whale’s rolling had wrapped the line -about him in such fashion that when the boat pulled alongside it lay -safely behind the fin, and yet safely forward of the flukes. If the -whale rolled toward them, they would be crushed beneath his bulk; but -short of such a move, the monster could not shake them off.</p> - -<p>“And Eric was working his lance like mad. I had never seen such frantic -energy. He sent the six-foot steel into the soft body again and again, -not with a long shove, but with a single stabbing thrust to each attack. -His target was the whale’s greatest girth, and the lower part of the -body; and although the battle seemed an endless flurry and strife of -bloody foam, it was only a matter of seconds before the whale’s labored -spouting crimsoned—sure sign he had received a mortal wound.</p> - -<p>“I caught the sound of an exultant shout from Eric, and his boat sheered -away. The monster had suddenly halted in its flight; it lay momentarily -motionless, as though testing its own strength against this attack which -had pierced its vitals. Then in a desperate and panic-stricken flurry it -leaped forward and away, the boat, with line running free, trailing -safely behind.</p> - -<p>“They drove past where my boat lay; and Eric turned to look toward me. -He was a heroic figure in the bow of the little craft, erect and tall, -his bright hair and his naked torso crimson with the flood from the -whale’s bloody spout. He was gleaming wet with spray and red foam; and -he waved his long lance as he passed and shouted:</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>The scarred whale, Mark! I’ve killed him!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_344" id="page_344">{344}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>“Before I could reply, he was beyond the sound of my voice; and then the -great beast whirled and came back toward us. He must have seen my boat -and supposed it that of his tormentor; for he charged at us, and only -the swiftest swerve took us out of his path in time. Beyond me, I saw -him wallow over the third mate’s boat and on; and I hurried to pick up -the men in the water.</p> - -<p>“Save for their bruises and their drenching, they were uninjured. We -dragged them aboard, set a waif in the boat, tied its oars to keep it -afloat, and set out after Eric and the whale. The great creature was -circling in its last flurry; and as we drew near, with a tremendous -spasm it threw its mighty bulk in a swift, short circle and was still.</p> - -<p>“We drove ahead, toward Eric’s boat; and Eric’s countenance was burning -with a splendid triumph. This last moment of victorious pride Fate -allowed him.</p> - -<p>“He was ahead; his boat ran alongside the huge carcass, and Eric bent -over the bow with the short boat spade to cut a hole in the whale’s tail -for towing it to the ship.</p> - -<p>“The boat spade is a steel blade, razor sharp, spade-shaped, attached to -a stout wooden handle. Eric leaned far out and drove it into the tough -fiber of the tail.</p> - -<p>“And then the right whale’s flukes whirled in a last, spasmodic -struggle; up they whirled, and over, and down. They missed the boat by -inches; but from Eric’s strong hands the boat spade was torn. It twisted -in the air, its steel blade flashing crimson. Under the blow of the -flukes it twisted and sang, and then chocked home. The steel<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_345" id="page_345">{345}</a></span> struck -Eric squarely in the face; and it split his skull as you split a -walnut.”</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>The old captain leaned forward to knock the dottel from his pipe upon -the andirons, and settled in his chair again. For a little time we sat -without speaking; but I asked at last:</p> - -<p>“Joan—did she forgive him in the end?”</p> - -<p>Cap’n Brackett’s grim old countenance softened. “Oh, aye,” he said. -“She’d forgiven him before. She warned me when we started on the cruise -to watch over him.” He filled and lighted his ancient pipe again, then -softly finished: “She’s gone, long since. But our daughter looks very -like her now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_346" id="page_346">{346}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="NOTE" id="NOTE"></a>NOTE</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>T was, if memory may be relied upon, Aristotle who initiated the Greeks -into the delights of classification, analysis and definition. Since -then, the love of pasting names on things has become so universal that -it may almost be classed as an instinct. The ordinary man, in the -presence of a new mountain, river, brook, hill, tree, flower, house, -automobile, puppy or kitten infallibly asks himself: “What shall I call -it?” And having labelled and catalogued his new discovery or -acquisition, he is content.</p> - -<p>There would appear to be some need of more accurate classification and -definition in the field of prose fiction. The word “novel” has come to -be as capacious as an omnibus. A story of twenty thousand words is -labelled “novelette” in a magazine; then makes its bow between boards as -a full-fledged novel. This same confusion extends in the other -direction; and it is not infrequent to see stories of twenty thousand -words and upward called “short stories.” A manuscript which is a short -story in one magazine is a novelette in another, and a novel later on. -This confusion has no doubt arisen from the custom, fairly general among -the book-buying public, of preferring a “thick” book. Print a short -story in large type, with wide margins, and call it a novel; thus is the -demand for bulk most easily satisfied.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Thrifty Stock and other Stories, by -Ben Ames Williams - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THRIFTY STOCK AND OTHER STORIES *** - -***** This file should be named 63184-h.htm or 63184-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/1/8/63184/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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/license - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/63184-h/images/colophon.jpg b/old/63184-h/images/colophon.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 3e6016c..0000000 --- a/old/63184-h/images/colophon.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/63184-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/63184-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 8471e26..0000000 --- a/old/63184-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null |
