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diff --git a/old/66697-0.txt b/old/66697-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index da3c343..0000000 --- a/old/66697-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10746 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Fighter, by Albert Payson Terhune - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Fighter - -Author: Albert Payson Terhune - -Release Date: November 10, 2021 [eBook #66697] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by - University of California libraries) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIGHTER *** - - - - - -THE FIGHTER - - - - - THE FIGHTER - - BY - ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE - AUTHOR OF - “CALEB CONOVER, RAILROADER,” “DR. DALE,” - “THE WORLD’S GREAT EVENTS,” ETC. - - NEW YORK - GROSSET & DUNLAP - PUBLISHERS - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY - ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE - - _Entered at Stationers’ Hall_ - - _All rights reserved_ - - - - - TO MY KINDEST, SEVEREST CRITIC, - - MY WIFE - - SO MUCH OF THIS BOOK AS MAY BE WORTHY HER - APPROVAL IS - - DEDICATED - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. CALEB CONOVER WINS 9 - - II. THE GIRL 23 - - III. CALEB CONOVER FIGHTS 37 - - IV. CALEB CONOVER EXPLAINS 53 - - V. AN INTERLUDE 63 - - VI. CALEB CONOVER RUNS AWAY 72 - - VII. THE BATTLE 81 - - VIII. CALEB CONOVER STORMS A RAMPART 100 - - IX. A LESSON IN IGNORANCE 121 - - X. IN THE HOUSE OF RIMMON 134 - - XI. A PEACE CONFERENCE 151 - - XII. INTO AN UNKNOWN LAND 161 - - XIII. MOONLIGHT AND MISTAKES 185 - - XIV. CALEB CONOVER TAKES AN AFTERNOON OFF 196 - - XV. CALEB CONOVER LIES 209 - - XVI. DESIRÉE MAKES PLANS 224 - - XVII. THE DUST DAYS 233 - - XVIII. CALEB CONOVER GIVES A READING LESSON 245 - - XIX. ON THE TOP OF THE WORLD 259 - - XX. CALEB “OVERLOOKS A BET” 273 - - XXI. FOREST MADNESS 286 - - XXII. CALEB CONOVER RECEIVES NEWS 321 - - XXIII. “THE STRONG ARM OF CHRIST” 337 - - XXIV. THE LAST FIGHT 352 - - - - -CAST OF CHARACTERS - - - CALEB CONOVER, _a self-made man who glorifies his maker_. - - AMZI NICHOLAS CAINE, _a young newspaper owner afflicted with certain - ideas_. - - JACK HAWARDEN, _a youth who issues drafts on future literary fame_. - - REUBEN STANDISH, _decayed branch of a once-mighty family tree_. - - BLACARDA, _an exception to the rule concerning honor among - financiers_. - - SAUL, _a derelict_. - - CLIVE STANDISH, _a victim of “home rule.”_ - - BILLY SHEVLIN, _a more or less typical small boy_. - - THE REV. MR. GRANT, _a minister of the Gospel_. - - DR. BOND, _a country physician_. - - STEVE MARTIN, _an Adirondack guide_. - - JOHN HAWARDEN, SR., } - FEATHERSTONE, } _Pillars of the_ - VROOM, } _Arareek Country Club._ - DILLINGHAM, } - - A LOCOMOTIVE ENGINEER. - - A LOCOMOTIVE FIREMAN. - - A STATION AGENT. - - DESIRÉE SHEVLIN, _the girl_. - - LETTY STANDISH, _the other girl_. - - MRS. STANDISH, _whose attitudes are all beatitudes_. - - MRS. HAWARDEN, _a chaperone for revenue only_. - - -SCENE: The City of Granite, the State Capital, Magdeburg Village, and -the Adirondacks. - - - - -THE FIGHTER - - - - -CHAPTER I - -CALEB CONOVER WINS - - -The red-haired man was fighting. - -He had always been fighting. The square jaw, the bull neck proclaimed -him of the battling breed; even before one had scope to note the alert, -light eyes, the tight mouth, the short, broad hands with their stubby -strength of finger. - -In prize ring, in mediaeval battlefield, in ’longshore tavern, Caleb -Conover would have slugged his way to supremacy. In business he won as -readily--and by like methods. His was not only the force but also the -supreme craft of the fighter. Therefore he was president, instead of -bouncer, in the offices of the C. G. & X. Railroad. - -It was not railroad business that engrossed Conover as he sat at his -desk one day in early spring: tearing open a ceaseless series of -telegrams, scribbling replies, ringing now and then for a messenger to -whom he gave a curt order. - -Telegrams and messages ceased. In the lull, Conover jumped to his feet -and began to walk back and forth. His big hands were clenched, his -head thrust forward, his whole muscle-bound body tense. - -Then began a violent ringing from the long-distance telephone in the -far corner of the room. Conover picked up the receiver, grunted a -question, then listened. For nearly five minutes he stood thus, the -receiver at his ear, his broad, freckled face impassive save for a -growing fire in the pale, alert eyes. A grunt of dismissal and the -receiver was hung on its hook. - -Conover crossed the room, threw himself into a big creaking chair, -cocked his feet on the window sill, drew out and lighted a fat cigar. -The tenseness was gone. His whole heavy body was relaxed. He smoked -mechanically and let his gaze rove with dull inertness over the blank -wall across the street. He was resting as hard as he had fought. - -A clerk timidly opened the door leading from the outer offices. - -“Mr. Caine, sir,” ventured the employee, “He says he--” - -“Send him in,” vouchsafed Conover without turning his head. - -His eyes were still fixed in unseeing comfort on the wall, when his -guest entered. Nor did he shift his glance without visible reluctance. -The newcomer seemingly was used to his host’s lack of cordiality. For, -favoring Conover with a slight nod, he deposited his hat, gloves and -stick on the table and lighted a cigarette, before speaking. - -Conover surveyed the well-groomed figure of his visitor with an air of -disparaging appraisal that reached its climax as he noted the cigarette. - -“Here!” he suggested, “Throw away that paper link between fire and a -fool, and smoke real tobacco. Try one of these cigars if you want to. -They’ll fit your mouth a lot better. Why does a grown man smoke a--?” - -“This grown man,” replied Caine, unruffled, “has a way of doing what he -chooses. I came to see if you were ready to go to your execution.” - -“Execution, eh?” grinned Conover. “Well, it’s just on the books that -there _may_ be a little executin’ done, up there. But _I_ won’t be the -gent with his head on the block. Besides, you’re an hour early.” - -“I know I am. It’s an ideal day for work. So I haven’t done any. I -left the office ahead of time and came to see if I could lure you into -a walk before we go to the Club. You don’t seem much worried over the -outcome.” - -“Why should I be? I’ll win. I always win.” - -“Conover,” said Caine, observing his friend with the condescendingly -interested air of a visitor at the Zoo, “If I had your sublime conceit -I’d be President of the United States or the richest man in America, or -some other such odious personage whose shoes we all secretly fear we -may some day fill.” - -“President? Richest man?” repeated Conover, mildly attracted by the -dual idea. “Give me time and I’ll likely be both. I’ve made a little -start on the second already, to-day.” - -“Won another fight?” queried Caine. - -“Yes, a big one. The biggest yet, by far.” - -“Nothing to do with Steeloid, I suppose!” suggested the visitor, a note -of real concern peering through his customary air of amused calm. - -“_All_ about Steeloid,” returned Conover. “The Independent Steeloid -Company is incorp’rated at last. Cap’talized at--” - -“The Independent! That means a slump in our U. S. Steeloid! You call -that winning a fight? I thought--” - -“You’d be better off, Caine, if you’d leave the thinkin’ part of these -things to me. Thinkin’ is my game. Not yours. You talk about ‘our’ U. -S. Steeloid. You seem to forget I swing seventy-two per cent. of the -stock and you own just what I let you in on.” - -“Never mind all that,” interposed Caine. “If the Independents are -banded together, they’ll make things warm for us.” - -“Not enough to cause any hurry call for electric fans, I guess,” -chuckled Conover. “If you’ll stop ‘thinkin’’ a minute or two an’ listen -to me, I’ll try to explain. An’ maybe I can hammer into your head a few -of the million things you don’t know about finance. Here’s the idea. I -built up the Steeloid Trust, didn’t I? And Blacarda and his crowd who -had been running a bunch of measly third-rate Steeloid companies, set -up a squeal because I could undersell ’em.” - -“Go on,” urged Caine. “I know all that. You needn’t take a running -start with your lesson in high finance. We’ll take it for granted that -I read at least the newspaper I own and that I know Blacarda has been -trying to organize the independent companies against you. What next?” - -“Well, they’re organized. Only Blacarda didn’t do it. A high-souled -philanthropic geezer that worked through agents, jumped in an’ combined -all the independent companies against us an’ got ’em to give him -full voting power on all their stock. Put themselves into his hands -entirely, you see, for the fight against my Steeloid Trust. Then this -noble hearted trust buster incorporated the Independents. The deal went -through to-day. I got final word on it just now. The Independents are -organized. The votes on every share of their stock is in the control of -one man.” - -“But he’ll--” - -“An’ that ‘one man,’” resumed the Fighter, “happens to be Caleb -Conover.” - -“But,” gasped the dumbfounded Caine, “I don’t understand.” - -“Caine,” protested Conover, gently, “if all the things you don’t -understand about finance was to be placed end to end--like they say -in the Sunday ‘features’ of your paper,--they’d reach from here to -Blacarda’s chances of swingin’ the Independent Steeloid Company. -An’ that’s a long sight farther than twice around the world. What -I’m gettin’ at is this: I went to work on the quiet an’ formed that -Independent Combine. Then I gave it to myself as a present. It is now -part of my U. S. Steeloid Company. Or will be as soon as I can strangle -the Legislature kick that Blacarda’s sure to put up.” - -“I see now,” said Caine, slipping back into his armor of habitual calm, -“and I take off my hat to you. Conover, you missed your calling when -you failed to go into the safe breaking profession.” - -“There’s more money in business,” replied Conover simply. “But now -maybe you won’t lay awake nights worryin’ over your Steeloid stock. If -it was worth 170 2-5 this morning it’ll be quoted at 250 before the -month is out.” - -“I don’t wonder you aren’t afraid of this afternoon’s ordeal,” observed -Caine, “But Blacarda is on the Board of Governors.” - -“So are you, for that matter,” said Conover, “and I guess the vote of -the man who’s made rich by Steeloid will pair off with the vote of the -man who’s broke by it.” - -“I hope,” corrected Caine, “you don’t think it’s because of my Steeloid -holdings that I’m backing you in this. I do it because it amuses me to -see the gyrations of the under dog. A sporting instinct, I suppose.” - -“If you’re pickin’ _me_ for the under dog,”--began Conover, but broke -off to stare in disgust at the other’s upraised hand. - -Caine was lifting his cigarette to his lips. Conover watched the lazily -graceful gesture with more than his wonted contempt. - -“Say, Caine,” he interrupted, “why in thunder do you make your nails -look like a pink skatin’ rink?” - -“If you mean, why do I have them manicured,” answered Caine, coolly, -“it is absolutely none of your business.” - -“Now I s’pose that’s what you’d call a snub,” ruminated Conover, “But -it don’t answer the question. Pink nails all shined up like that may -look first rate on a girl. But for a man thirty years old--with a -mustache--Say, _why_ do you do it?” - -“Why do you wear a necktie?” countered Caine, “I admit it is a -surpassingly ugly one. But why wear one at all? It doesn’t keep you -warm. It has no use.” - -“Clo’es don’t make a man,” stammered Conover, rather discomfited at -the riposte, “But there’s no use creatin’ a disturbance by goin’ round -without ’em. As for my necktie, it shows I ain’t a day laborer for one -thing.” - -“Well-groomed hands are just as certain a sign manual of another sort,” -finished Caine. - -“I don’t quite get your meanin’. If--” - -“As a failure you would have been a success, Conover,” interrupted -Caine, “But as a success you are in some ways a lamentable failure. To -paraphrase your own inspired words, if all the things you don’t know -about social usage were placed end to end--” - -“They’d cover a mighty long list of measly useless information. What do -_I_ care for such rot?” - -“That’s what you’re called on to explain this afternoon before the -Governors of the Arareek Country Club,” finished Caine rising. “Are you -ready?” - -“No, I’m going to stop at Desirée’s for a few minutes, first. I want -to tell her about my winnin’ out against the Blacarda crowd. She knows -Blacarda.” - -“Does she know finance?” - -“As well as she knows Blacarda, I guess. An’ neither of ’em enough to -be ’specially int’rested. But she likes to hear about things I’ve done. -I’ll just drop ’round there on my way. Join you later at the Club.” - -“I’ll walk as far as her door with you, if you like,” suggested Caine, -gathering up his hat and stick. “Then I’ll go on and see what I can -do with the Governors before the meeting. But I don’t look forward to -coercing many of them into sanity. They bear a pitifully strong family -resemblance to the late lamented Bourbons. They ‘learn nothing, forget -nothing’ and--” - -“And they go your Bourbon gang one better,” supplemented Conover, “by -never havin’ known anything to start with. Maybe I can give ’em an idea -or two, though, before we’re done. I used to boss Dago section hands, -you know.” - -“You’ll find this job rather more difficult, I fancy. A garlick-haloed -section hand is a lamb compared to some of our hardshell club -governors. Why do you want to stay in the Club, anyhow? It seems to -me--” - -“In the first place because I won’t quit. Prov’dence loves a bulldog, -but He hates a quitter. In the second place I want to feel I’ve as much -right in that crowd as I have in Kerrigan’s saloon. I’ve made my way. -This Steeloid shuffle ought to put me somewhere in the million class. -An’ there’s more to come. Lots of it. I’m a railroad pres’dent, too. -The C. G. & X. is a punk little one-horse railroad; but some day I’ll -make it cover this whole State. The road was on it last legs when I got -hold of it, and I’m making it what I choose to. Now, as a man with all -that cash,--and a railroad president, to boot,--why ain’t I entitled to -line up with the other big bugs of Granite? Tell me that. They don’t -want me, maybe? Well, I’ll make ’em want me, before I’m done. Till -then, they’ll take me whether they want me or not. Ain’t that sound -logic?” - -“As sound as a dynamite cartridge,” laughed Caine, “You’re a paradox! -No, ‘paradox’ isn’t a fighting word, so don’t scowl. You have the -Midas-gift of making everything you touch turn to solid cash, and -making two dollars grow where one mortgage blank formerly bloomed. You -have the secret of power. And, with it all, you stoop to crawl under -the canvas into the Social Circus. Feet of clay!” - -Caleb glanced furtively at his broad, shining boots, then, disdaining -the allusion as past his discernment, answered: - -“It’s my own game and I play it as I plan to. In one year from now -you’ll see folks askin’ me to the same houses where _you’ve_ been -invited ever since your great grandfather held down the job of ‘First -Land-owner’ here, in the Revolution. See if I don’t.” - -“Did you ever chance to read Longfellow’s poem about the Rabbi--Ben -Levi--who ‘took the Kingdom of Heaven by violence?’” queried Caine. - -“I don’t read rhymes. Life’s too short. What happened to him?” - -“He didn’t have a particularly pleasant time of it, as I remember. -In fact, I believe the angels joined in a symphonic clamor for his -expulsion. Not unlike the very worthy governors of the Arareek Country -Club.” - -“H’m!” sniffed Conover in high contempt. “If the Rabbi person had took -the trouble of postin’ himself on those angels’ pasts, he might a’ got -front-row seat in the choir instead of bein’ throwed out.” - -“So _that’s_ the line you’re going to take with the governors? I’m glad -I decided to be there. It ought to prove amusing. But you don’t seem to -realize that even if you win, you won’t be exactly beloved by them, in -future.” - -“I’m not expectin’ a loving cup with a round-robin of their names on -it. Not just at first, anyhow. So don’t waste any worry on me. The -Club’s only the first step, anyhow. The real fun’s liable to come when -I take another.” - -“_Festina lente!_” counseled Caine, “People have a way of forgetting a -man is _nouveau riche_ as long as he remembers it. But they remember -it as soon as he forgets it. Is it discreet to ask what Miss Shevlin -thinks of all this? Is she in sympathy with your social antics--I mean -‘ambitions?’” - -“I don’t know. I never asked her. I never thought to. But if I did, -she’d stand for it. You see, not bein’ as old and as wise as some of -the Granite folks, she’s fallen into the habit of thinkin’ I’m just -about all right. It’s kind of nice to have someone feel that way about -you.” - -“You seem to return the compliment. I don’t blame you. It isn’t every -man who finds himself guardian to an exquisite bit of animated Sevres -china. I’m lying back to watch for the time when some scared youth -comes to ask your leave to marry her.” - -“What’s that?” snarled Conover, stopping and glowering up at the tall, -clean-cut figure at his side. - -“Don’t get excited,” laughed Caine. “You can’t expect as lovely and -lovable a girl as Desirée Shevlin to live and die an old maid. If -you’re so opposed to this imaginary suitor I’ve conjured up, why not -marry her yourself?” - -“Marry? That kid? _Me?_” sputtered Conover, “Why I’m past thirty -an’--an’ she ain’t twenty yet. Besides I’m a daddy to her. If I hear -of you or anyone else queerin’ that kid’s fondness for me by any such -fool talk, I’ll--” - -“Her father was wise in appointing you her guardian,” mocked Caine. “In -the absence of man-eating blood-hounds or a regiment of cavalry, you’re -an ideal Dragon. I remember old Shevlin. A first rate contractor and -ward politician; but the last sort of man to have such a daughter. As -for Billy, now--he’s the model of his father. A tougher little chap and -a greater contrast to his sister could hardly be imagined.” - -“She takes after her mother,” explained Conover, puffing mightily at a -recalcitrant cigar; “Mother was French. Came of good people, I hear. -Named her girl Desirée. French name. Kind of pretty name, too. Died -when Billy was born. I s’pose that’s why the boy was named for his -dad, instead of being called Pe-air or Juseppy or some other furren -trademark. That’s why he’s tough too. Desirée was brought up. Billy’s -bringing himself up. Same as I did. It’s the best trainin’ a boy can -have. So I let him go his own gait, an’ I pay for the windows he -smashes.” - -“How did Old Man Shevlin happen to leave you guardian of the two -children? Hadn’t he any relatives?” - -“None but the aunt the kids live with. I s’pose he liked me an’ thought -I’d give the girl a fair show. An’ I have. Convent school, music an’ -furren lingoes an’ all that rot. An’ she’s worth it.” - -“How about Billy?” - -“That’s no concern of mine. He gets his clothes an’ grub an’ goes to -public school. It’s all any boy’s got a right to ask.” - -“Contractors are like plumbers in being rich past all dreams of -avarice, aren’t they? One always gets that idea. The Shevlins will -probably be as rich as cream--” - -“They’ll have what they need,” vouchsafed Conover. - -“Then you’re doing all this on the money that Shevlin left?” - -“Sure! You don’t s’pose I’d waste my own cash on ’em?” - -“What a clumsy liar you are!” observed Caine admiringly. “There! There! -In this case ‘liar’ is no more a fighting word than ‘paradox.’ Don’t -get red.” - -“What are you drivin’ at?” demanded Conover. - -“Only this: The wills and some other documents filed at the Hall of -Records, are copied by our men and kept on file in our office. I -happened to be going over one of the books the other day and I ran -across a copy of old Shevlin’s will. There was a Certificate of Effects -with it. He left just $1,100, or, to be accurate, $1,098.73.” - -“Well?” challenged Conover. - -“Well,” echoed Caine, “The rent of the house where Miss Shevlin lives, -her two servants, and her food must come to several times that sum each -year. To say nothing of the expenses and the support of the aunt, who -lives with her. None of those are on the free list. You’re an awfully -white chap, Conover. You went up about fifty points in my admiration -when I read that will. Now don’t look as if I’d caught you stealing -sheep. It’s no affair of mine. And as she doesn’t seem to know, I’m -not going to be the cheerful idiot to point out to her the resemblance -between her father’s $1,100 and the Widow’s Cruse. It’s pleasure enough -to me, as a student of my fellow animals, to know that a pirate like -you can really once in your life give something for nothing. There’s -the house. Don’t forget you’re due at the Club in fifty minutes.” - -Conover, red, confused, angry, mumbled a word of goodbye and ran up the -steps of a pretty cottage that stood in its own grounds just off the -street they were traversing. - -Caine watched the Fighter’s bulky form vanish within the doorway. Then -he lighted a fresh cigarette and strolled on. - -“I wonder,” he ruminated, “what his growing list of financial victims -would say if they knew that Brute Conover worships as ideally and -reverently as a Galahad at the shrine of a little flower-faced -nineteen-year old girl? But,” he added, in dismissing the quaint theme, -“no one of them all would be half so surprised to know it as Conover -himself!” - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE GIRL - - -Conover lounged back and forth in the pretty little reception room -of Desirée Shevlin’s house, halting now and then to glance with -puzzled approval at some item of its furnishings. The room--the whole -house--was to him a mystery. Contentedly devoid of taste though he -was, the man dimly realized the charm of the place and the dainty -perfection of its appointment. That Desirée had accomplished this in -no way astonished him. For he believed her quite capable of any minor -miracle. But in it all he took a pride that had voiced itself once in -the comment: - -“I don’t see how you could make a room look so nice without a single -tidy or even a bow fastened up anywhere. But why did you get those dull -old tiles for your mantel? I wouldn’t a’ kicked at payin’ for the best -marble.” - -To-day, Conover gave less than usual homage to the apartment. He was -agog to tell its owner his wonderful tidings, and he chafed at her -delay in appearing. At last she came--the one person on earth who could -have kept Caleb Conover waiting; without paying, by sharp reproof, for -the delay. - -“I’m sorry I was so long,” she began as she brushed the curtains aside -and hurried in, “But Billy and I couldn’t agree on the joys of tubbing. -I’d hate to hate anything as much as he hates his bath. Now you’ve had -some good luck! Glorious, scrumptious good luck! I can tell by the way -your mustache is all chewed. You only chew it when you’re excited. And -you are only excited when something good has happened. Isn’t it clever -of me to know that? I ought to write it up: ‘Facial Fur as a Bliss -Barometer.’ How--Oh, I didn’t mean to be silly when you’re bursting -with news. Please be good and tell me. Is it anything about Steeloid?” - -“It’s _all_ about Steeloid,” he answered. “I’ve won out--I’ve made my -pile.” - -She caught both his hands in hers, with a gesture almost awkward in its -happy impulsiveness. - -“Oh, I’m _so_ glad! So _glad_!” she cried. “Tell me!” - -Boyishly, bluntly, eagerly, Conover repeated his story. - -His florid face was alight, enthusiasm wellnigh choking him. She heard -him out with an excitement almost as great as his own. As he finished -she clapped her hands with a little laugh of utter delight. - -“Oh, splendid!” she exclaimed. “No one but you would ever have thought -of it. It’s--” her flush of pleasure yielding momentarily to a look of -troubled query--“It’s perfectly--_honest_, of course?” - -“It’s business,” he replied. - -“That’s the same thing, I suppose,” she said, much relieved, “And -you’re rich?” - -“A million anyway. And you’ll--” - -“_Hell!_” - -Both turned at the wonder-inspired, sulphurous monosyllable. Desirée -jerked the curtain aside, revealing a stocky small boy, very red -of face. He was clutching a blue bath robe about him and had no -apparent aim in life save to escape from the situation into which his -involuntary expletive had betrayed him. - -“Now don’t go callin’ me down, Dey,” he pleaded. “I just happened to be -going past--I was on the way to take my bath, all right--on the level -I was--an’ I heard Mr. Conover say about havin’ a million. An’--an’--I -spoke without thinkin’.” - -He had been edging toward the stair-foot as he talked. Now, finding the -lower step behind him, he fled upward on pattering desperate feet. - -“Poor Billy!” laughed Desirée, “He’s an awfully good little chap. But -he _will_ listen. I can’t break him of it.” - -“Maybe _I_ could,” hazarded Conover. - -“You’d break his neck and his heart at the same time. Leave him to me. -Nothing but kindness does any good where he is concerned.” - -“Ever try a bale-stick?” suggested Caleb. - -“That will do!” she reproved. “Now, I want to hear more about Steeloid. -Poor Mr. Blacarda! It’s pretty hagorous for him, isn’t it?” - -“If ‘hagorous’ means he’s got it in the neck, it is.” - -“‘Hagorous’” explained Desirée, loftily, “means anything horrid. I -know, because I made it up. It’s such a comfort to make up words. -Because then, you see, you can give them meanings as you go along. It -saves a lot of bother. Did you ever try it?” - -“No,” said Conover, apologetically. “I’m afraid I never did. Maybe I -could, though, if it’d make a hit with you. But you were talkin’ about -Blacarda. You ain’t wastin’ sympathy on _him_, are you?” - -“I’m sorry for anyone that gets the worst of it. But--” - -“But no sorrier for Blacarda than you would be for anybody else?” - -“Of course not. Why?” - -“He comes here a lot. Twice I’ve met him here. Is he stuck on you?” - -“I think he is.” - -“I guess most people are,” sighed Caleb. “I don’t blame him; so long as -you don’t care about him. You don’t, do you?” he finished anxiously. - -“He’s very handsome,” she observed demurely. - -“Is he?” - -“Well--pretty handsome.” - -“Is he?” - -“He’s--I’ve heard girls say so.” - -“H’m! Nice crimson lips, red cheeks, oily curled hair and eyes like a -couple of ginger snaps!” - -“No,” corrected Desirée, judicially, “More like chocolate pies. -There’s something very sweet and melting about them. And, besides, you -mustn’t run him down. He’s very nice to me. Last night he asked me to -marry him. What do you think of _that_? Honestly, he did.” - -“The measly he-doll! I wish I’d broke him a year ago instead of waiting -for the Steeloid scrap. What’d you say when he asked you?” - -“Your face gets such a curious shade of magenta when you are angry, -Caleb,” mused Desirée, observing him critically, her head on one side. -“But it doesn’t match your hair a little bit. There, I didn’t mean -to tease you. Yes, I did mean it, too, but I’m sorry. I told him I -couldn’t marry him, of course.” - -“Good work!” approved Caleb, “What’d he say then?” - -“He--he asked if I’d try and look on him as a brother--‘a dear -brother,’ and--” - -She broke off with a reminiscent laugh. - -“Well, what did you say?” - -“I’m afraid I was a little rude. But I didn’t mean to be. I’d heard a -smothered giggle from over in the corner. So I told him if I’d really -had any use for a brother--a ‘dear brother,’--I could reach right -behind the divan and get one. He stalked over to the divan. And sure -enough there, behind the cushions, was Billy, all wudged up in a little -heap. He--” - -“All--_what_?” asked the perplexed Conover, pausing in the midst of a -Homeric guffaw. - -“‘Wudged.’ All wudged up--like this--” crumpling her ten fingers into -a white, compact little bunch. “Mr. Blacarda was very angry. He went -away.” - -She joined for an instant in Conover’s laughter; then checked herself -with a stamp of her foot. - -“Stop!” she ordered. “I’m a little beast to behave so. He--cared for -me. He asked me to marry him. There ought to be something sacred in all -that. And here I am making fun of him. Caleb, _please_ say something to -make me more ashamed.” - -“You’re all right, girl!” chuckled Caleb in huge delight. “Poor -pink-an’-white Blacarda! You were--” - -“I wasn’t! I ought to be whipped for telling you. But--but somehow, I -seem to tell you everything. Honestly, I wouldn’t tell anyone else. -Honestly! You _know_ that, don’t you?” - -“I know you’re the whitest, brightest, jolliest kid that ever -happened,” returned Conover, “but you needn’t bother about Blacarda. I -won’t tell. Now I’ve got to get out.” - -“Aren’t you going to take me for a walk or a drive or anything? It’s -such a gorgeous day, and it’s so early. Almost as early as it ever gets -to be.” - -“I can’t, worse luck!” said he. “I’ve got a measly appointment at the -Arareek. An’ besides--say, little girl, I don’t know about walking or -driving with you any more.” - -“Caleb!” - -“Listen, till I explain. Now that Mrs. Hawarden’s took such a fancy to -you an’ took you up an’ chap’roned you to places where I’d be chased -out with a broom--an’ all that--well, you get invited to big folks’ -houses. That’s how you met Blacarda, wasn’t it? He travels with the -gold-shirt crowd. Now, that crowd don’t care about me. They will, -some day. But they don’t, yet. An’ if you’re seen around with a rank -outsider like me--it’ll--it may kind of make ’em think you’re the same -sort _I_ am. An’ that’ll be liable to queer you with ’em. An--” - -“Caleb Conover!” - -He stopped, thoroughly uncomfortable, yet vaguely glad of having eased -his mind of its worry for her prospects. She was frowning up at him -with all the menacing ferocity of an Angora kitten. - -“Caleb Conover!” she repeated, in stern rebuke. “Aren’t _you_ ashamed? -Aren’t you _ashamed_? _Say_ you are! Now go and stand in the corner. If -I ever hear you talk that way about yourself again--why _Caleb_! We’re -_chums_, you and I. Don’t you know that I’d rather have you than all -those people put together? Now talk very fast about something else, or -I won’t get my temper back again. What’s your appointment about?” - -“At the Arareek?” he asked, falling in, as ever, with her lightning -change of mood. “Oh, nothing much. It’s a meeting of the Board of -Governors. There’s a man in the Club who got in by influence, before -they realized just what sort of a punk feller he was. An’ now they’ve -called a meeting to see about kickin’ him out. There’s to be a vote on -it. An’ he’s to appear before ’em to-day to defend himself. Not quite -reg’lar in Club by-laws, Caine tells me. But that’s what’s to be done. -They say: ‘his business methods bring disrepoote on the Club.’ That’s -the sp’cific charge I b’lieve.” - -“But what have _you_ got to do with all that?” - -“Nothin’--Except I’m the shrinkin’ victim.” - -“You! Is it--a joke?” - -“Not on me. I’ll fix it all right. Don’t you worry now. I wouldn’t a’ -told you about it if I hadn’t known I’d win out.” - -“You’re _sure_?” - -“Of course I am. What chance has that bunch of mutton-heads against -anyone with man’s size brains in his skull? Sure, I’ll win. Now, don’t -look like that, Dey. It breaks me all up to have you blue. I tell you -it’ll be all right.” - -“Who are the Governors?” - -“Your friend Blacarda is one.” - -“Oh! That’s bad.” - -“Only counts one vote. And Caine’s another. He’s on my side. He has -more pull with those people than Blacarda.” - -“I wonder why you and Mr. Caine are such friends. There never were two -other men as different.” - -“He owns the biggest noospaper in Granite, an’ he belongs to one of the -top-notch families. So he’s a power in his own way, for all he’s such -an odd fish. ‘Eccentric’ they call it, don’t they? Why do we travel -together? That lazy don’t-care way of his and his trick of twistin’ -sentences upside down an’ then callin’ ’em ‘epigrams’ is kind of -amoosin’. Besides, he’s of use to me. That explains my side of it. I’m -of use to him. That explains his. He’ll more’n offset Blacarda.” - -“Who are the rest?” - -“Hawarden’s one. Husband of your chap’rone friend.” - -“Oh, I wish I’d known! I’d have asked her to--” - -“I don’t think it’s nec’ssary,” evaded Caleb. “He’ll be all right, I -guess.” - -“I didn’t know you knew him.” - -“No more I do. But I’ve an idea he’ll vote for me.” - -“Just the same I wish I’d asked Mrs. Hawarden to make him do it. She’s -been so nice to me, I’m sure she’d have done me one more favor.” - -“Nice to you, is she? Reelly nice?” - -“She’s a dear. Just think of a woman in her position hunting me out -and making friends with me and asking me all the time to her house and -introducing me to people who wouldn’t otherwise have even poked me with -a silver handled umbrella! Nice? I should think she was.” - -“Yes,” drawled Conover, solemnly, “I guess she must be. Old Reuben -Standish is one of the Governors, too. Know him? President of the Aaron -Burr Bank. Big society bug, tradin’ on fam’ly that’s dead an’ fortune -that’s dribbled through his fingers. Sort of man that’s so stiff he -never unbends till he’s broke.” - -“I think I’ve met him,” reflected Desirée. “Doesn’t he look just a -little like a rail? Gray and long and mossy--with a sort of home-made -face? And one eye that toes in just a little?” - -“That’s the man,” grinned Caleb in high approval. “There’s two kinds -of financiers: the thick-necked, red-faced kind, with chests that have -slipped down;--an’ the cold gray kind. Gray hair, gray eyes, gray skin, -gray clothes an’ gray mustache. Gray souls, too. That sort never take -on weight. An’ there’s just enough humanness in their faces to put you -in mind of the North Pole. Thank the Lord, I’m one of the thick, red -breed!” - -“Do you mean all over or just your head?” queried Desirée innocently, -as she glanced at his stiff, carroty hair. “Oh, it’s awfully nice of -you to laugh at my poor little jokes. I wonder what you’d do if you -ever met a really clever woman?” - -“I s’pose I’d begin figurin’ out how stupid she’d frame up alongside of -you,” he answered simply. “You see, I--” - -“You were talking about Mr. Standish. Is he going to vote for you?” - -“As I lent his bank $96,000 last year when it was shaky from a run, I -guess he is. Not that he’s over-grateful. But his bank’s in a bad way -again and he’s li’ble to need me.” - -“So you are going to discount his future gratitude?” - -“Just so. He needs me. An’--I need him. Not only for to-day, but for a -plan I’ve been thinkin’ over.” - -“I wish I could help you with him. I’ve met his daughter, Letty, once -or twice. They say she’s engaged to Mr. Caine. Mrs. Hawarden tells me -they’ve been in love with each other ever since she stopped playing -with dolls. I should have hated to give up dolls just in exchange for -Mr. Caine. Are there any more Governors?” - -“A few. None that you know. I must be off. Now, remember, you aren’t -to worry. It’s all right. I wouldn’t bother to keep in the Club if -it was like most places of that kind. But it isn’t. The Arareek’s an -institootion in Granite. If you ain’t in it, you’re nobody. An’ at -Ladies’ Days an’ times like that, the Big people always show up. It’s -a good thing to belong. Besides, a feller gets lots of new experience -by joinin’ a country club. F’r instance, I never knew what reel -lonesoneness was till I went to a few of their Ladies’ Days an’ Field -Days. I might as well a’ been on a desert island.” - -“You poor boy! It’s a burning shame! Why do you--?” - -“Oh, it ain’t always goin’ to be like that. Don’t be sorry about it. -I’ll whip ’em into shape before I’m done.” - -The soaring, clear song of a canary broke in on his boast. Beginning -with a faint, barely audible trill, it rose in a glorious piercing -crescendo of melody; hung, vibrated, scaled a whole octave, then ceased -as abruptly as it had begun. - -Caleb turned toward the window between whose curtains swung a cage. -The occupant, a ball of golden fluff, barred with gray-green, hopped -self-importantly from perch to perch, nervously delighted with the -man’s scrutiny. - -“Hello!” said Conover. “When’d you get that? I never saw him before.” - -“He came yesterday,” explained Desirée. “Isn’t he a little darling? -Jack Hawarden sent him to me.” - -“That kid? You don’t mean to say _he’s_ stuck on you, too? Why he’s -barely twenty-one an’ he can’t earn his own livin’.” - -“It’s a real pleasure, Caleb, to hear your fulsome praise of the men I -happen to know. First Mr. Blacarda, and now--” - -“That’s what’s called ‘sarcasm,’ ain’t it?” asked Conover. “I didn’t -mean to rile you. I guess young Hawarden’s all right,--as far’s college -let him learn to be. What’s the bird’s name? Or don’t birds have names?” - -“Why? Had you thought of one for him? How would ‘Steeloid’ do?” - -Caleb’s grin of genuine delight at the suggestion made her add quickly -with more tact than truth: - -“I wish I’d thought of that before. How silly of me not to! For, you -see he’s already named now.” - -“Oh, he is, hey?” said the discomfited Conover. “Who named him? -Hawarden?” - -“No. Billy and I. His name’s Siegfried-Mickey.” - -“What a crazy name for a--!” - -“Yes, isn’t it? That’s why I like it so. Billy wanted to call him -‘Mickey’ after the bulldog he used to have. And _I_ wanted to call him -Siegfried. So we compromised on Siegfried-Mickey. He’s a dear. He knows -his name already. Don’t you, Siegfried Mickey?” - -The bird, thus adjured, maintained a severely non-committal dumbness. - -“See!” triumphed Desirée, “Silence gives assent. He’s a heavenly little -singer. Why, only this morning, he sang nearly all the first bar of -‘_The Death of Ase_’.” - -“The which?” - -“‘_The Death of Ase._’ In the Peer Gynt suite, you know.” - -“Oh, yes! Of course. Sure!” mumbled Caleb hastily. “I was thinkin’ -of some other feller’s suite. An’ he sang _that_, did he? The clever -little cuss!” - -“Wasn’t he, though? And he’d only heard me play it once.” - -“Pretty hard thing to sing, too!” supplemented Caleb, wisely. - -“Caleb Conover,” she rebuked in cold admonition, “Look at me! No, in -the eyes! _There!_ Now, how often have I told you not to make believe? -You treat me just as if I was a child. _Why_ do you pretend to know -about ‘_The Death of Ase_,’ you dear old simple humbug? Don’t you know -I _always_ find you out when you--?” - -“I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t up on the things that int’rest -you, girl,” he pleaded. “It’s rotten to feel you’ve got to talk down -to me every time you speak about music or litterchoor or those things. -An’--Lord! but I do hate to let on when I don’t understand things.” - -“You understand more of the _real_ things--the things that are worth -while--than any other man alive,” she protested. “Now say goodbye and -run on, or you’ll be late. Don’t forget to stop on the way back and let -me know whether the lions eat Daniel or if Daniel--” - -“Eats the lions? I don’t know who Dan’l was, but this ain’t goin’ to -be that kind of a show. It’ll just be a sheep-killin’ contest. An’ _I_ -never was built to play the alloorin’ role of Sheep. So you can figger -out who’ll be killer an’ who’ll get the job of _killee_.” - - - - -CHAPTER III - -CALEB CONOVER FIGHTS - - -Granite’s social life revolved about the Arareek Country Club. Granite -felt a guilty pride when its more sensational preachers railed against -the local preference for spending Sunday morning on the Arareek links -or on the big clubhouse veranda, rather than in church pews. Granite -social lights flared dazzlingly at the Club’s dances. Granite men chose -the Arareek smoking room as a lounging place in preference to the more -exclusive Pompton Club’s apartments. Situated a half mile beyond the -growing city’s borders, the Arareek clubhouse lay in the centre of a -narrow valley, whence its grounds radiated in all directions. - -Thither, Conover, after his talk with Desirée Shevlin, bent his steps. -Caleb had been no less amazed than delighted when Caine, a year or so -earlier, had succeeded in engineering his election to the Arareek. The -Club had been in need of money and was therefore the less inquisitorial -as to the character of candidates. Conover was then unknown to most -of its members. With a half score of innocuous nobodies he had been -admitted. The combined initiation fees had lifted the Arareek -momentarily from its financial trouble. - -Now, with much the excitement of a shoal of minnows to whose pool -a pickerel has found ingress, the club’s Governors were seeking to -correct their error of negligence. A committee had been appointed to -take semi-formal testimony in the case, to overrule whatsoever defense -Conover might seek to make and to report to the Board in favor of the -unwelcome member’s rejection. The exact mode of transaction was out -of rule, from a standpoint of rigid club standards. But the Arareek, -as its members boasted, was less an actual club than a phase of local -society, and as such was a law unto itself. - -On the veranda, as Caleb arrived, several members were seated, watching -a putting match on the “green” that stretched betwixt porch and tennis -courts. One or two women were among the onlookers. From the awkward -hush that fell on the group as he ascended the steps, Conover deduced -the trend of the talk his presence had checked. He glanced in grim -amusement from one averted or expressionless face to another; then, -singling out Caine with a nod, passed in through the low, broad -doorway. Caine tossed away his cigarette, smiled non-committally in -reply to a bevy of questioning looks, and followed his protegée into -the building. - -“They’re waiting for you,” said he, catching up with Conover. “The -Committee went to its room five minutes ago, pacing in single file like -the Court of Priests in _Aida_. Can’t you manage to tremble a little? -It seems hard that so much really excellent pomposity should be wasted -on a man who doesn’t care. Why are you late?” - -“I’m always late to an appointment,” answered Conover. “Make the other -fellow do the waitin’. Don’t do it yourself. Lots of time saved that -way.” - -Caine threw open a door and ushered Caleb into a room where a dozen -or more men were seated about a long table. Bowing carelessly to the -members in general, Caine took a seat at the table, and motioned -Conover toward a chair that had been placed for the purpose at the -lower end of the apartment. Conover, disregarding the gesture, slouched -across to a larger, more comfortable leather chair, pulled it to the -window, flung himself into the seat, his back to the strong afternoon -light, and drew out a cigar. - -“Now then, gentlemen,” he ordered curtly, as he struck a match on his -sole. “Be as brief as you can. My time’s worth money. What do you want -of me?” - -A murmur--almost a stifled gasp--went around the table, at the contempt -in his action and words. There was an embarrassed pause. Then, Reuben -Standish, as Chairman of the Committee, rose, gray and portentous, and -turned toward Caleb. - -“Mr. Conover,” he began, “Certain statements,--charges, in fact,--have -been made to the Committee, relative to yourself. It is your right to -hear them in detail. I will now read--” - -“Never mind that!” commanded Conover. “Just give the gist of the thing. -Cut out the details.” - -Standish glared reprovingly at the wholly unimpressed man at the -window. But as the latter purposely sat with his back to the light, his -expression was quite illegible. - -“Just as you wish,” resumed the Chairman after a moment’s hesitation. -“The papers I was about to read are to the effect that you are declared -to be in no sense a desirable member of the Arareek Club, either from a -personal or a business standpoint. Believe me, I regret the necessity -of--” - -“Oh, I’ll take your grief for granted,” interrupted Conover. “This -meeting’s been called, as I understand it, to kick me out of the -Arareek. Now I--” - -“You are mistaken, Mr. Conover,” urged Standish civilly. “We wish--” - -“Be quiet!” said Caleb, “_I’m_ talkin’ now. You want to get me out of -this Club. Well, you can’t do it. You can’t stir me an inch. I’m no -measly lamb, like the one in the circus ‘Happy Family’ where the lion -an’ the lamb live together in one cage; an’ where the lamb’s got to be -renewed ev’ry now an’ then, on the sly. I didn’t butt in here. I was -elected. I’ve broke none of the Club rules. And till I do, here I’m -goin’ to stay. Is that clear? There ain’t a law in the land that can -get me out. Lord! But it makes me sick to hear a pack of sapheads like -you, tryin’ to scare a grown man. It won’t work. Now we understand each -other. Anything more?” - -Amid the buzz, a man half way down the table spoke. - -“I’m afraid,” he said, “that we _don’t_ quite understand each other, -Mr. Conover. This is not a business concern. It is a social club. It is -a place where the women of our families are also welcome guests. The -presence of a man we cannot introduce to our wives and daughters will -only--” - -“_Why_ can’t you?” demanded Conover. “Why can’t you introduce me? An’ -for that matter, I haven’t asked you to, yet. Wait till I do, before -you say you can’t.” - -“This club,” went on the other, “represents all that is best and -most congenial in Granite’s social life. With a discordant element -introduced into it, the club’s chief feature is gone. If there is a man -who frequents the place whom we do not know and whom we do not wish to -know--who cannot meet our--” - -“I see we’ll have to waste more time over this than I thought,” grunted -Caleb. “Let’s go back a little. Why don’t you want to know me? Hey?” - -“Need we go into that? Surely--” - -“As you have made it one of the reasons for wantin’ me fired, I guess -we’d better. Why don’t you want to know me?” - -“If you force me to say it, because you are not a gentleman.” - -“No?” sneered Caleb, as a new and fainter murmur of deprecation ran -along the table, “Maybe I’m not. I don’t get tanked up on cheap booze -down in the bar after golf tournaments, like a lot of your ‘gentlemen’ -here, an’ then wander up to dinner on the veranda an’ talk so loud -that the women at the next table can’t hear themselves cackle. I don’t -ask a party of men and women to dine with me here an’ then get a silly -jag an’ sing ‘_Mother, Pin a Rose on Me_,’ every five minutes durin’ -the meal till ev’rybody at the table gets scared for fear I’ll sing -somethin’ worse,--like _you_ did last Sunday night.” - -Conover’s interlocutor sat down very hard and tried to look loftily -indifferent. Caine’s undisguised laugh made the effort more difficult. - -“No,” pursued Caleb, with impersonal calm, “I’m not a gentleman. I used -to think maybe I’d like to be one. But I don’t, any more. I come down -here for dinner sometimes, Sunday evenin’. As there’s no one exactly -clamorin’ to entertain me, I’ve plenty of chance to use my eyes an’ -ears. So I get a line on ‘gentlemen’ an’ on how they act when they’re -in their own crowd. At the table next to me last Sunday, there was -a little dinner party. ’Bout a dozen in all. _You_ was givin’ it, I -b’lieve, Mr. Featherstone. By the time dessert came everybody was -a-tellin’ stories. Stories _I_ wouldn’t tell in a barroom. Women, too. -Gee! I never knew before that women--” - -“Mr. Chairman!” cried Featherstone, jumping up. “I protest against this -vile abuse. As a member of the Arareek--” - -“As a member of the Arareek,” cut in Caleb, “you’ll set down an’ be -quiet. You’ve had your say. What I’ve just told, I’ve told as a member -of the Club--an’ to fellow-members. Of course if I’m kicked out of the -Arareek--an’ kicked out on _your_ vote, Featherstone--I won’t feel -bound to keep my mouth shut about those same stories or who told ’em. -Nor what you whispered to a girl as you passed my table on your way -out. If--” - -“This is blackmail!” shrieked Featherstone, “I--” - -“It’s anything you like to name it,” agreed Caleb, cheerfully, “But it -goes. Understand that. Anyone else got somethin’ to say?” - -“I should like to ask Mr. Conover,” put in another man, “if he -can truthfully deny that his business dealings will not bear such -inspection as--” - -“As your own deal in buyin’ the tip of where the new High School was -to be built an’ then gettin’ an option on the land an’ squeezin’ the -city for $48,000?” asked Conover. “Oh, I guess most of my business will -frame up pretty well alongside of that. Say, your talk of ‘business -methods’ makes me laugh, when I remember what you offered for that -tip an’ who you went shares with on the money you got. As a feller -Club member, my mouth’s shut on that. When I’m kicked out, it’ll be a -diff’rent story. That’s blackmail again, if you like.” - -A nervous, gray-haired man at the foot of the board checked comment by -saying: - -“It’s scarcely needful, Mr. Conover, to adopt that tone. For the sake -of the club’s good name, we are simply inquiring into the truth of -certain reports of the way your money was made. We--” - -“It’s my own business how it was made, Mr. Hawarden,” countered Caleb. -“The way I spend it is anybody’s business. An’ when I leave this Club -I’m willin’ to make public the accounts of some of my disbursements.” - -Though the retort was not rough of tone and seemed quite -harmless,--even vapid--of meaning, Hawarden all at once dropped out of -the dispute. In vain did several of his fellow Committeemen who had -relied on him to press the prosecution, signal for a renewal of attack. -Thenceforth, throughout the session, Hawarden was gloomily mute. -But there were others to carry on the attack he had so unexpectedly -abandoned. Notably a downy little man who sat at Reuben Standish’s -right. - -“It is said, Mr. Conover,” observed the new assailant, with an air of -nervous relish, “that your father was a convict.” - -Again the murmur of deprecation at the bland brutality of the assault. -Caine leaned far forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of Caleb’s -silhouetted face, and half expecting to see the downy-haired accusor -tossed bodily from the window. - -For an instant, Conover made no reply. His cigar had gone out and he -was busy fumbling for a match. But when he did speak, it was with -perfect, unaffected calm. - -“Yes, Mr. Vroom,” he said, “My father _was_ a convict. He may be one -again, by this time, for anything _I_ know. I’ve never set eyes on the -old crook since the day they sentenced him to five years in the pen.” - -He puffed at his cigar. Then rambled on, half to himself: - -“I was ten years old then. It was my birthday, I remember. The old man -had a job in the C. G. & X. coal yards. I came home early from school. -Ma had promised me a birthday cake with candles for supper. She an’ dad -had planned to have some measly little cel’bration for me, an’ take me -a to variety show in the evenin’. I ran home all the way from school. -When I got to the ten’ment, there was a crowd of gapin’ kids an’ women -around our door. Just then out came a couple of cops with Dad between -’em; an’ Ma followed with her apron over her head, cryin’ to break her -heart. I remember she still had one of those silly birthday candles -gripped in her hand. She’d been puttin’ it onto the cake when the -cops came. After that there wasn’t any talk of birthday sprees in the -Conover flat. It was up to us to hustle. An’ we did. My mother went out -washin’ an’ as a floor-scrubber. An’ _I_ got a job as tally boy in the -C. G. & X. yards. That was my start.” - -He paused again, looked thoughtfully at his cigar ash and went on in a -more business-like tone. - -“Yes, Mr. Vroom, my father was a convict. Not much of one; but as much -as his small chances allowed. He was only weigher at the coal scales. -He ‘fixed’ the scales an’ took his rake-off. That was all. It went on -for a couple years. We got the only square meals I’d ever ate, durin’ -that time. Then he was sent up; an’--well, Ma wasn’t used to scrubbin’. -She took pneumonia an’ died the year before Dad got out. He never came -back to our neighborhood, an’ I haven’t seen him since. He may be dead -or in jail or a mine owner, for all I know--or care. I’m sorry, for the -sake of your arg’ment, he wasn’t more of a criminal, Mr. Vroom. Now, -if he’d been indicted for misappropriation of the Orphan’s Home trust -funds, like your wife’s brother was; an’ if his family had had the -indictment quashed by payin’ the right parties $18,400--” - -“You are out of order, Mr. Conover!” rebuked Standish, in answer to a -look of frenzied protest from Vroom. “Your retort is--” - -“Is dead-true; an’ I’ve the means of layin’ my hands on the proof,” -finished Caleb. “I’d do it, too--just for the sake of punishin’ a -cur--if the cur’s brother-in-law, Mr. Vroom, didn’t happen to be a -clubmate of mine.” - -“With a man like this on our rolls,” fumed an elderly Governor, “We -shall lose our reputation for--” - -“If some of you fellers could get rid of your reputations,” interrupted -Caleb, “you’d be in luck.” - -A man at Standish’s left had risen and was awaiting a moment of silence -in which to speak. He was nattily clad in blue reefer and white duck -trousers. A yachting cap lay on the table beside him. Every inch of -his stalwart body from the curling black hair and pink cheeks down to -the immaculate white canvas shoes bespoke a perfection of grooming that -seemed vaguely redolent of scented soap and tailors’ models. His full -red lips were curled back now from a double set of ultra-pearly teeth, -and his eyes, which Desirée Shevlin had disrespectfully likened to twin -chocolate pies, were glassy with wrath. - -“Well, Brother Blacarda,” hailed Conover, breaking off in his reply as -his gaze rested on this latest opponent who stood threateningly above -him, “What have _you_ got to say? Did you come to congratulate me on -the Steeloid win-out, or have you somethin’ to add to the bokays that -your little friends here have been tossin’ at me? Speak up, man! Stop -lookin’ like ‘This-Nobby-Style-$7.49,’ an’ say what you’ve got to.” - -“You’ve played a trick on my Steeloid Company,” sputtered Blacarda, -“that ought to land you in State’s Prison with your crook father. A -trick that ought to put you out of the society of decent men. It will -certainly put you out of this Club. Either you leave the Arareek or I -do.” - -“Well, now, that’s too bad, Blacarda,” purred Caleb, “Us chappies at -the Club will be real sorry to lose you. But if you _must_ go,--why -take my blessin’ with you.” - -“This man, gentlemen,” pursued Blacarda, loudly, wheeling to face the -rest, “has, by dirty chicanery, absorbed all the Independent Steeloid -Companies,--my own among the number,--in his iniquitous Trust. Let him -deny it if he dares to.” - -“Deny it?” laughed Caleb, “Not me! Best day’s work of my life. Cleaned -up an easy million on the deal. Watcher you goin’ to do about it?” - -“Do about it?” gasped Blacarda. “_Do_ about it? There’s a law in the -land and--” - -“That’s so,” assented Caleb, “A Fed’ral law an’ a law of States, too. -It’s lucky those two laws ain’t the same. Otherwise, you’d have been -outlawed from the whole country instead of only from Iowa, the time you -promoted that fake Des Moines Improvement Comp’ny. But that’s neither -here nor there. I’m told you’re goin’ to carry our Steeloid squabble to -the Legislature. I tell you in advance, you’ll lose. You may be able to -swing part of the Assembly, but I can do a little swingin’ myself, up -there. You’ll find the Steeloid Trust is goin’ to win at the Capital as -easy as it won to-day at--” - -“We have Right behind us,” blustered Blacarda, “and--” - -“An’ the Steeloid Trust has Caleb Conover behind it,” retorted Caleb. -“I guess he’s as good a backer as ‘Right,’ any day. I’m expectin’ a -tough scramble in order to beat you at the Capital, Blacarda. But I’ll -do it. I’ll be on the ground myself. An’ I’ll beat you as sure as I -beat you to-day. It’ll mean a fight--a big fight. I know that. But a -fight’s somethin’ I don’t generally run ki-yi-in’ away from.” - -“All this is somewhat beside the point, gentlemen,” interposed -Standish. “Is there any further--?” - -He paused and glanced about the table. But no one cared to couch lance -at the brute who had thus far held the lists so successfully against -the Arareek’s doughtiest champions. At length Caine spoke. - -“It appears to me,” he drawled in his lazy, half-bantering way, “that -these proceedings have been decidedly informal; even for an avowedly -informal meeting. Also, that we have made little real progress on -either side. There are several broken heads, and the atmosphere is -somewhat heavy with the reek of battle. But I fail to hear any shout -of victory. Certainly not from our Honorable Committee. Perhaps you -will all pardon me if I suggest that our learned body has gone about -the present business in a less tactful way that one might have expected -from such natural diplomats. Mr. Conover, you have had to answer some -extremely impertinent--_unnecessarily_ impertinent--questions this -afternoon. If you have answered them in their own key, I am sure no one -can honestly blame you. Unless you care to say anything more, I think -the Committee may as well go at once into executive session and put the -matter to vote. I so move, Mr. Chairman.” - -“Hold on a second,” said Conover. “You people can vote in a minute if -you want to. First, _I’ve_ got a word more to say. The main counts -against me, as I take it, are that I had a bad start in life an’ that -my business methods aren’t any better than the methods of other men in -this Club. Also that I ain’t a gentleman. We’ll let the question of my -business methods slide. I guess there ain’t as few stones on the carpet -as there’s men here to throw ’em at me on _that_ score. Now, as to my -not bein’ a gentleman an’ my start in life: I started at the bottom of -the ladder. I’m only in the early thirties and I’m not far from the -top. How many of you could a’ got where I am if you’d started where I -did? Not a man of you. I worked my way up from tally boy of the C. G. & -X. yards to the job of president of the whole road. An’ I’m makin’ it -the biggest road in the State. - -“How’d I do it? By fightin’. I had no pull, no cash, no family at my -back. Ev’rybody took a turn at tryin’ to step on my hands whenever -I’d grab a new rung of the ladder. But I climbed on--an’ I fought on. -To-day I’m as rich a man as there is in Granite. Other rich men were -members of this Club an’ got fun out of it. So I joined it, too. I’ve -as good a right to fun as anyone. An’ I’m goin’ to have it. That’s why -I won’t get out. An’ you can’t put me out. You’re goin’ to vote on my -case in a few minutes. An’ you’re goin’ to vote to keep me here. Not -because you want to; but because I’ve _made_ you do it. If you hit a -sulky dog with an axe-handle, he won’t exactly love you. But he’ll mind -you, next time. An’ it’s better to be minded than to be ignored. I -guess there won’t anybody here ignore me in future. - -“By the way, gentlemen: Just to show how much int’rested I am in the -Club’s welfare, I bought in the mortgage on the Arareek’s house and -grounds last month. I bought it for fear it might fall in the hands of -some crank member who’d foreclose if he was dropped from the Club. Or -such a crank as might foreclose if he was treated like a measly social -leper at the Club’s blowouts. That’s all, gentlemen. I’ll wait out on -the porch for your verdict. Good-day, all. I’ll excuse the Committee -from risin’ and escortin’ me to the door.” - -He rose, stretched his big frame and lounged out of the room. Silence -accompanied his exit, but was split by a dozen excited voices the -moment the door slammed behind him. - - * * * * * - -Caleb Conover was loafing in a low wicker chair on the veranda, a cigar -between his teeth and a long frosty glass at his side. He was idly -watching the putting match on the green before him. The veranda’s other -occupants had more or less unobtrusively withdrawn to the far end of -the porch, leaving him quite alone. - -It was thus Caine found him when the Committee meeting broke up. The -newspaper owner strolled across toward Conover, a tantalizing smile on -his thin, bored face. - -“Well?” he queried. - -Conover glanced up eagerly at his friend’s approach. - -“Say, Caine,” he asked, pointing, “Why do they choose one of the -iron-tipped sticks sometimes and then use one of the brass headed ones -next time, for just the same kind of a swat?” - -Caine gazed down at Caleb in genuine wonder; then dropped into a chair -at his side. - -“Conover,” he declared, “You’re the only man on earth who never bores -me. And it’s because you never by any chance happen to say or do what -people have a right to expect you to.” - -“If it’s a riddle--” said Caleb, puzzled, as he looked away from the -green. - -“It isn’t. It’s genius,” answered Caine. “Here I come to bring you the -decision of the Committee. The decision that’s supposedly been keeping -you on pins and needles. And, instead of dragging the news out of me by -main force, you ask a question about a putting match.” - -“Oh, the decision?” returned Caleb, carelessly. “That’s all right. I’m -to be kept on as a pop’lar, respected member. I knew that before I left -the Committee room.” - -“You knew more than I did, then.” - -“I always do,” agreed Caleb with utter simplicity. “That’s why I’m -where I am to-day. If I couldn’t size up folk’s plans before they made -’em, I’d still be a brakeman on the C. G. & X. or runnin’ the railroad -saloon where I made my first cash. I’m kept in the Club by every vote -except Blacarda’s.” - -“You listened?” cried Caine in wonder. - -“Son,” sighed Caleb, wearily, “You make me tired. Why should I -a-listened when I knew already?” - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -CALEB CONOVER EXPLAINS - - -“I suppose,” volunteered Caine, as he and Conover walked back to town -together, “I suppose you know you behaved like a wild ass of the -desert? That no man with an iota of breeding would ever have said the -things you did, to the Committee members? I only mention it in case you -don’t realize.” - -“Oh, I realize it all right,” Conover answered him. “It ain’t a parlor -stunt to sling off your coat an’ grab a lady by the back hair. But if -she happens to be drownin’, it’s the c’rrect play to make. It was a -case for coat-sheddin’ an’ back-hair-grabbin’, to-day, at the Club. -That’s why I did it. It landed ’em. If I’d got up and sprung a flowery -speech, they’d a’ yawned and voted me out. If I’d put up a whine, -they’d a’ been at my throat like a pack o’ hungry wolf-dogs. _Someone_ -had to use a whip. An’ I wanted it should be _me_, not them, that used -it. Which same it was.” - -“No one will deny that, I think,” said Caine, drily, “If a poll were -taken just now for the best hated man in Arareek, you’d be elected by -acclamation. You said some things that ought to have been said. But you -said them so vulgarly that you seemed to be spitting diamonds.” - -“But I’m still in the Club. An’ they daren’t give me the cold shoulder -at any more of their blowouts. They’ll still hate me like poison, -maybe. But they’ll be civil; an’ when Desirée Shevlin goes there with -Mrs. Hawarden, she won’t see folks treatin’ me like I was the original -Invisible Man.” - -Caine whistled. - -“_So?_” he mused. “That’s the secret is it? I might have guessed. I’ve -been wondering ever since, why you made such a point about being well -received at the Club’s functions. For, unless I’m vastly mistaken, -you’ve about as much desire for personal social welcome as a hermit -thrush. I could see why you wanted to _stay_ in the Arareek, but why -you wanted to attend its--” - -“You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree,” growled Caleb, uncomfortably. “At -least you ain’t much more’n half right. Of course it’s nice not to have -Dey made uncomfortable on my account. But I’m goin’ to push my way -into that bunch for my own sake, too. You’ll see a whole lot of things -if you look long enough. To-day was just a flea-bite to what’s comin’ -before I’m done.” - -“Still bent on ‘taking the Kingdom of Heaven by violence?’” - -“Not quite that. I hear Heaven’s got only the _best_ society. I ain’t -after the best. Only the highest. So Granite’ll do as well. Care to -tell me anything ’bout the details of what happened after I left the -Committee room?” - -“Everybody talked at once,” replied Caine. “The air fairly crackled -with blue sparks of indignation. I never realized before how many names -a man could be called. It was a liberal education in what not to say. -Then, little by little, the Governors got out of breath, and I moved -for a vote. Vroom amended my motion by suggesting a written ballot.” - -“I might a’ knowed it,” crowed Conover in high glee, “No one wanted -the rest to know he was votin’ for me. Good for Vroom! He comes nearer -havin’ hooman intell’gence than I thought.” - -“The amended motion was passed unanimously,” went on Caine. “Oh, it was -a rare study in physiognomy when Standish announced the vote. Eleven to -one in favor of retaining you.” - -“If there’d been two votes against me, Blacarda could have been -arrested for repeatin’,” ruminated Conover. “Yes, that’s just how I -figgered it would be.” - -“I wasn’t surprised at Vroom and Featherstone and the others you so -pleasantly threatened to blackmail,” said Caine, “But I thought at -least Standish and Hawarden--” - -“I told you I’d helped Standish’s bank and that he’ll want me again, -soon,” answered Caleb. “His gratitood market is strong on futurities.” - -“But Hawarden? You didn’t threaten him. Yet he was muzzled after the -very first attack.” - -“No, I didn’t threaten Hawarden to any very great extent,” assented -Conover, “I just reminded him, quiet-like, that I’m payin’ his wife -$8,000 a season to help Desirée in the society game, an’ that maybe the -news might leak out an’ the supplies be cut off if I was fired.” - -“Mrs. Hawarden!” ejaculated Caine. “Are you in earnest?” - -“I’m not given to springin’ measly jokes. I wanted that the little girl -should have a show. She’s prettier an’ better educated an’ cleverer’n -any of the people in the gold-shirt bunch. But I couldn’t get her into -that crowd. I read in a noospaper about an English duchess that made -a lot of coin by puttin’ American girls into the right surroundin’s, -an’ it gave me an idee. There’s a slump in the Duchess market here -at Granite. But the town’s crawlin’ with old fam’lies that are shy -on cash. An’ about the oldest an’ hardest up are the Hawardens. So I -arranged it with her. It was dead easy. She acted shy of the deal just -at first; but that was only her way, I s’pose. Women that’s coy after -they stop bein’ young an’ pretty always reminds me of a scarecrow left -standin’ in a field after all the crop’s been carted away.” - -“Does Miss Shevlin know about--?” - -“Does _she_ know? What do you think she is? No, son, she don’t know, -an’ I’ll break the neck of the blackguard that dares tell her. You’re -the only one except the Hawardens that’s onto it.” - -“So I am the logical candidate for neck-breaking if the story gets out? -Don’t be afraid, old man. I’d break my own neck sooner than to have -Miss Shevlin’s pleasure spoiled. I suppose she _does_ get pleasure -from being a protegée of Mrs. Hawarden?” - -“Pleasure? She’s tickled to death. It’s worth the money twice over to -hear her tell ’bout the places she goes. Say, Caine, _you_ know more -about that game than I do. Has she got any chance?” - -“Any chance?” echoed Caine in perplexity. - -“You know what I mean. Her father was kind of common,--like me. But -Desirée ain’t. Even _you_ said that once. An’ I guess there’s few who -can spot a streak of mud-color quicker’n you can. I’ve got her into a -crowd where her father an’ the rest of her folks could never have gone. -What I want to know is: Has she got a chance of stayin’ there always? -Of bein’ took up permanent by ’em an’ made one of ’em?” - -“It depends entirely, I should say, on whom she marries.” - -“You mean if she marries some feller who’s high up in that set, she’ll -be made to home there?” - -There was something wistfully eager beneath the Fighter’s gruff -tones,--a something Caine detected in time to check the flippant reply -that had risen to his own lips. He eyed Conover with veiled curiosity -as he asked: - -“You would want her to marry such a man?” - -“Sure! If he treated her right an’ she was happy. But if she’s goin’ to -be looked down on, an’ guyed behind folk’s fans, an’ reminded that her -old man used to eat corned beef and cabbage in his shirt-sleeves--why, -then I’m damned if I don’t b’lieve I’d buy up the whole of Granite an’ -turn the swells out into the next County.” - -“It all depends, as I said, on the man she marries,” pursued Caine. -“If she marries a man of good family and turns her back on her old -associates and has enough money of her own--” - -“She’ll have it,” interrupted Conover. “She’ll have enough to make her -the richest woman in this burg,--an’ it’ll be in her own name, too. As -for shakin’ folks like me,--if I haven’t got my own foot hold there by -that time,--she’ll do that too. I’ll see that she does.” - -“And yet you’re fond of her?” - -“That’s why I’m doin’ it, son. An’ remember you’ll keep on bein’ the -only one besides the Hawardens that knows anything ’bout my share in -the deal. Speakin’ of ‘deals,’ Blacarda means trouble for us.” - -“In the Steeloid affair?” queried Caine. “I thought you’d won that -fight.” - -“I won that, but there’s another a-comin’. I got a tip on it same time -I heard of the incorp’ration, to-day. Blacarda pulls a pretty big oar -in the Legislature. He’s back of that Starke Anti-Combine bill we -side-tracked early in the session. If the Starke bill passes, then -goodbye to our Steeloid corner! I’ve a tip he’s renewed it an’ tryin’ -to rush it through before the session closes. It’s to be sprung on the -Assembly, Monday. An’ he figgers on gettin’ it railroaded through. If -it once passes the Assembly, we’re goners. For he’s got the State -Senate where he wants it. An’ the Gov’nor’s on his side. Owns a nice -block of stock in Blacarda’s comp’ny. So it all hangs on the Assembly.” - -“You take it coolly--considering you stand to lose something like a -million dollars.” - -“A man who can’t keep his feet warm an’ his head cool has about as much -show in finance as a tallow dog chasin’ an asbestos cat through hell,” -observed Caleb, oracularly. “He goes up with a puff and there ain’t any -remains to look for. I’m not in the Steeloid deal to cure me of weak -heart or that tired feelin’. I’m in to win. An’ I’m goin’ to.” - -“But the Assembly?” - -“I’m not afraid about the Assembly. So long as I’m on hand myself, in -the lobby, to hand out kicks or kisses, I’ll be able to kill the Starke -bill. I’ve gone up to the Capital before, on what looked like a losin’ -fight. An’ I’ve licked the obstinate one into shape, an’ scared some -backbone into the weak one, an’ put a little bank-note oil on the rusty -ones--an’ swung enough of ’em into line to give me the votes I needed. -I know this Assembly pretty well. I know who to count on an’ who not -to. I know who to buy, who to bully an’ who to promise. If I sent up -anyone else, he’d make a fizzle of the thing. But, somehow, in all my -business deals, I find if I’m on the ground myself I can make folks do -what I want. You saw how that was, to-day, at the Club. If I’d been -away, an’ you or anyone else representin’ me, I’d a’ been kicked out -of the Arareek so far that I’d a-landed in another State. But I swung -’em. An’ I’ll swing ’em at the Capital. It’ll be a narrow squeak, but -I’ll do it.” - -“In other words, if you are there in person, the day the bill comes up, -you can kill it. Otherwise not. Suppose you’re sick, or--” - -“Sick!” scoffed Caleb, in lofty scorn. “I’ve got no time to be sick. -An’ s’pose I was? When I worked that merger of the Porter-Hyde Park -road, I had grippe. My temp’ture was up at 105, an’ I had lovely little -icicles an’ red hot pokers runnin’ through every joint of me. Likewise -a head that ached so loud you could hear it a block away. Gee, but I -felt so bad I hated to look up at the undertaker signs on the street! -An’ what’d I do? Worked, up to the Capital, three days an’ nights, -twenty-four hours a day, not once gettin’ a chance to take my clo’es -off or bat an eye. I carried through that merger by the skin of its -teeth. Then when I got my charter I blew myself to the lux’ry of a -whole gorgeous week in the hosp’tal. But not till ev’ry bit of work was -wound up. Sick? H’m! A grown man don’t bother much about bein’ sick -when there’s something that’s got to be done. Besides”--he added--“I -ain’t sick now. An’ I’ll be on hand at the Capital the minute the -Assembly opens, Monday. My bein’ there means the killin’ of the Starke -bill. An’ they can set the date for the fun’ral without any fear of -disappointin’ the mourners.” - -“Did you ever hear of Napoleon?” asked Caine, whimsically. - -“Sure I did,” responded Conover. “Read part of a book about him once. -Why?” - -“Like yourself he was the greatest hold-up man of his day,” explained -Caine, “and he had a conscience of the same calibre as yours. If he’d -been a little bit less of a highwayman they would have laughed at -him. If _you_ were a little bit less of a highwayman they’d put you -in jail. He had magnetism. Probably almost as much of it as you have. -That’s what made me think of him just then. Wellington used to say that -Napoleon’s mere presence on a battlefield did more to win victories -than an army of forty-thousand men. I suppose it’s the same at the -Assembly.” - -“That’s right,” agreed Caleb, unmoved. “An’ Blacarda knows it, too. -He’d give ten thousand dollars. I’ll bet, to have me break a leg -between this an’ Monday. But my legs are feelin’ first rate. An’ -they’re goin’ to keep on feelin’ better all the time, till they kick -the Starke bill into its grave.” - -“I’ll do what I can through the ‘_Star_’ to help,” said Caine. “Just -as I did for the Porter-Hyde Park merger and the Humason Mine charter. -What’s the use of owning a newspaper if one can’t boost one’s friends?” - -“An’ one’s own Steeloid stock at the same time?” supplemented Conover. -“We understand each other all right, I guess. Steeloid’s goin’ to take -a rise, after Monday. An’ it’s goin’ to keep right on risin’ for the -next six months.” - -“Conover,” protested Caine, “as a highwayman--or financier, to put it -more politely--you are a genius. But as a _man_, you leave a ghastly -amount to be desired. Have you a superstitious fear of the word -‘Thanks’? I offer to put the columns of the ‘_Star_’ at your disposal. -Common decency at least should call for a word of gratitude. Or, if not -for the Steeloid matter, at least for my championing you to-day at the -Club. Surely _that_ wasn’t in the interest of your wonderful Steeloid -stock.” - -Conover plodded ahead glumly for some moments. Then he observed, as -though turning to a pleasanter subject: - -“In the part of that Napoleon book I read it told how the old-line, -patent-leather ’ristocrats of France fell over each other to do things -that would make a hit with the big ‘hold-up man’. Wasn’t it real -gen’rous of ’em? But then, maybe Napoleon had a cute little way of -sayin’ ‘Thanks,’ oftener’n _I_ do.” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -AN INTERLUDE - - -“Why folks should drink tea when they’re not thirsty, an’ gobble sweet -crackers when they’re not hungry,” observed Conover, impersonally, as -he balanced his cup and saucer on one thick palm and stared at the tea -as though it might turn and rend him, “is somethin’ I never could make -out. As far as I can learn, s’ciety is made up of doin’ things you -don’t want to at times you don’t need to.” - -“There is nothing in afternoon tea,” quoted Desirée, - - “To appeal to a person like me. - There’s too little to eat, - What there is is too sweet. - And I feel like a cow up a tree.” - -“And,” improvised Caine, - - “In Boston we threw away tea - Because of King George’s decree. - When England disputed, - We just revoluted. - Hurray for the Land of the Free! - -“And now that we’ve all testified,” he added, “may I please have -another cup? If not, I’m going to keep on repeating insipid verses till -I get it.” - -The two men had dropped in at the Shevlin house on their way from the -Arareek Club. Desirée had listened delightedly to Caleb’s expurgated -account of the Committee meeting, and at the story’s close had rung for -tea. Caine was a prime favorite of hers. Caleb was wont to lean back -and listen in unaffected admiration to their talk--about one-half of -which he could understand. His hazarded remark about tea had been thus -far the Fighter’s only contribution to the chatter. Emboldened by it he -now ventured a second observation. - -“I see by the ‘_Star_’,” said he, “that there’s goin’ to be a blowout -up at the Standishes’, week after next. A dinner party and a musicle. -Whatever a musicle may be. You’re goin’ of course, Caine?” - -“Yes,” replied Caine, adding flippantly, “of course _you_ are?” - -“Yes,” said Caleb, slowly, “I think I am.” - -“You’re not in earnest?” cried Desirée, surprised. - -“I’m in earnest all right. It’ll be a big affair. I think I’ll go to -the musicle an’ the dinner too.” - -“But I didn’t know you knew any of the Standishes except--” - -“I don’t yet. But I will by then. I’ll get asked. You’re goin’ to -the musicle part of it with Mrs. Hawarden, ain’t you, Dey? You said -somethin’ about it yesterday. Well, you’ll see me there. Say!” as -a new idea struck him, “how’d you like to be asked to the dinner, -too? That’s the excloosive part of the whole show. Only about a dozen -guests. More’n a couple of hundred at the musicle. Want to go to the -dinner?” - -“Of course not,” she exclaimed. “What a crazy idea! As if you could get -me an invitation, even if I _did_ want to!” - -“Oh, I could get it all right,” urged Caleb. “I’m goin’ myself.” - -Caine, who had dropped wholly out of the talk, rose to go. There was a -curious restraint about his manner as he bade Desirée goodbye. - -“Well, _Caleb Conover_!” rebuked Desirée as soon as she and the Fighter -were left alone. “Of all the historically idiotic plunges into other -peoples’ greenhouses I _ever_ saw!” - -“What’ve I done now?” asked Caleb in due humility. - -“What _haven’t_ you done?” she retorted. “Don’t you know Mr. Caine is -engaged to Letty Standish?” - -“I’d forgotten for the minute. What of it?” - -“There you sat and boasted you’d be invited to dinner at her house! -When you don’t even know her. What _am_ I to do with you? I’ve a great -mind to make you drink two more cups of tea!” - -“I don’t see yet what the row is,” he pleaded. “But I’ve riled you, -Dey. I’m awful sorry. I oughtn’t to come here when there’s civilized -folks callin’. I only make you ashamed, an’--” - -“How often must I tell you,” she cried angrily, her big eyes suddenly -growing moist, “never to say such things? You know they hurt me!” - -“Why should it hurt anyone when I talk of goin’ to a--?” - -“I’m not speaking about the dinner. It’s about your not coming to see -me. If people don’t like to meet my chum, they needn’t call on me. As -for being ‘ashamed’ of _you_--here! Take this cup of tea and drink it. -_Drink_ it, I say. And when you finish you must drink another. _All_ -of it. With sugar in it. Two lumps. I don’t care if you do hate sweet -things. You’ve got to be punished! Drink it!” - -Conover obediently gulped down the loathed liquid and held out his cup -with an air of awkward contrition, for the second instalment of his -penance. - -“_Now_, do I get forgiven?” he begged. “It’s vile stuff. An’ I drank -every drop, Dey. Please be friends again. Aw, _please_ do!” - -“You big overgrown baby!” she said looking laughingly down into his -red, remorseful face. “You talk very, _very_ loudly about being a -‘grown man’, and a financier. And some of the papers call you ‘Brute’ -Conover--the wretched sheets! But you’re only about ten years old. No -one knows you except me. To the others you may be able to talk as if -you were grown up, but it never imposes on _me_ for a minute.” - -“That’s right,” he assented wonderingly. “I never thought of it that -way before. I don’t know why it is except maybe because I never had -any boyhood or had a chance to be young. I seem to have been born grown -up an’ on the lookout to get the best of the next feller. Then, when I -get with you, I lose about twenty years and feel like a kid. It’s great -to be that way. Nobody else ever makes me feel so.” - -“I suppose not,” mocked the girl. “Your other friends are fossly people -all about a million years old. And you look on me as a child and try -to talk and act down to my level. It is _very_ humiliating. I’m nearly -twenty and quite grown up and--” - -“Your eyes are, anyhow,” commented Caleb. “They’re two sizes too large -for your face.” - -“Is that a compliment? If it is--” - -“I don’t know,” pursued Conover. “I never noticed how big they was -till one day when you were drinkin’ ice-tea. Then, all of a sudden, it -struck me that if your eyes wasn’t so big you’d be li’ble to tumble -into your glass. Now you’re mad again!” he sighed. “But it’s true. -You’re awful little. You don’t much more’n come up to my elbow.” - -“When you’re _quite_ through saying woozzey things about my size and -my eyes,” said Desirée, coldly, “perhaps you won’t mind talking of -something sensible?” - -“If you’d just as leave,” hesitated Caleb, “I’d like to talk a little -’bout what you said a few minutes ago. About my bein’ young. You don’t -get it quite right. I’m not young an’ I never was or will be,--except -with you. When you an’ me are together, some part of me that I don’t -gener’lly know is there, seems to take charge. Maybe I don’t explain -it very clear. I don’t seem quite to understand it myself. Here’s the -idee: D’you remember that measly little green-covered French book I -found you cryin’ over, once? The ‘Vee’ of something.” - -“You mean Barriere’s ‘_Vie de Bohéme_?’” - -“That’s it. The French play you said was wrote from a book by some -other parly-voo chap. You told me the story of it, I remember. It -didn’t make much of a hit with me at the time, an’ I couldn’t quite see -where the cry come in. But I got to thinkin’ of it when you spoke just -now. Remember the chap in there who told the girl she was his Youth -an’ that if it wasn’t for her he’d be nothin’ but just a plain grown -man? ’Twas _her_ that kep’ him feelin’ like a boy. An’ then when she -died--let’s see--what was it he hollered? Something ’bout--” - -“‘_O, ma Jeunesse, c’est vous qu’on enterre_,’” quoted Desirée. - -“Maybe so,” assented Caleb, doubtfully. “It sounds like a Chinee -laundry ticket to _me_. That was the part you were cryin’ over, too. -What is it in English?” - -“‘Oh my _Youth_, it is _you_ they are burying!’” translated the girl. - -“That’s the answer,” said Conover, gravely. “Now let’s talk about -something better worth while than me. I was chinnin’ with Caine this -afternoon about you. He says if you marry the right sort of man, your -place in society’s cinched. What do you think of that?” - -“How utterly silly!” she laughed. “Caleb, this society idea of yours -has become an obsession. What do I care for that sort of thing? It’s -pleasant to be asked to houses where one has a good time. That’s all. -It’s like eating ice-cream when one is used to bread pudding. I’m not -anxious to eat, drink and breathe nothing but ice-cream three times -a day all the rest of my life. Why should I want a ‘cinched place in -society’ as you so elegantly put it?” - -“You don’t understand,” he insisted. “It means a lot more’n that. With -your looks and brains an’--an’ the big lot of cash your father left -you,--you could make no end of a hit there. You’d run the whole works -inside of five years. You’d have the same sort of position here in -Granite that Mrs. Astor an’ those people have in New York. Think of -that, Dey! It’s a thing you can’t afford to throw away. When anyone -says he don’t care to shine in s’ciety,--well, you may not tell him so; -but you think it, all the same. An’ it’d be a crime for _you_ to miss -it all. If you marry the right sort of man--” - -“‘The right sort of man!’” mimicked Desirée, wrathfully, “Caleb, there -are times when I’d like to box your ears. I wish you and Mr. Caine -would mind your own grubby Steeloid business and not gabble like two -old washerwomen about my affairs. ‘The right sort of a man--!’ Why,--” - -“How’d you like to marry Amzi Nicholas Caine?” suggested Conover, -tentatively. “Dandy fam’ly,--fairly rich--good looker--travels in the -best crowd--” - -“Warranted sound and kind--a child can drive him--a good hill -climber--guaranteed rustless,” snapped Desirée in lofty contempt. -“Caleb, do you _want_ to be made to drink more tea?” - -“Honest, girl, I’m in earnest. He’s--” - -“He’s engaged to Letty Standish, for one thing. And if he wasn’t, I -wouldn’t marry him if he and a tone-deaf piano tuner were the only two -men left on earth.” - -“His bein’ engaged to the Standish girl needn’t matter,” urged Caleb, -too much engrossed in her first observation to note the second, -“Because I can fix that all right.” - -In spite of her indignation, Desirée laughed aloud. - -“Oh, you great and wise man!” she cried. “How, may I ask?” - -“I don’t know yet,” he said with perfect confidence, “Because I haven’t -thought it over. But I can fix it. I can always fix things when I have -to.” - -“Well, in this case,” she retorted, “you can spare yourself the crime -of parting two loving souls and fracturing two adoring hearts and -shattering Granite’s social fabric just on my account. When I really -want to marry and I find I can’t lure the shrinking Adonis to my feet -I’ll let you know. Then you can try your luck at making him propose.” - -“Sure, I will,” promised Conover, in all seriousness, “Just give me -the word when the time comes an’ the feller’s yours for the askin’. But -I’m kind of disappointed in the way you turn Caine down. It seemed such -a grand idee. That’s one of the reasons I asked him in, this afternoon. -I thought when you saw us together he’d kind of shine by contrast with -me, you know. More’n when you meet him with folks of his own sort.” - -“The contrast was there!” she blazed. “It fairly _sizzled_, it was -so strong. For one thing Mr. Caine has manner. And you haven’t got -even _manners_. And I ought to hate you for daring to talk so to me. -And--and you’re the dearest, stupidest, splendidest boy I know. Now -I’m going to dress for dinner. You can talk to Siegfried-Mickey if you -want to while I’m gone. But if you want to win his fondness, don’t make -silly, squiffy plans for his social future.” - -She was out of the room before Conover could frame an answer. But on -the instant she had turned back long enough to thrust her flushed face -momentarily through the opening of the curtains and suggest demurely: - -“Caleb, if Mr. Hawarden should ever die, don’t you think it would be -nice for Mrs. Hawarden to marry Billy? It would make the dear little -fellow’s position in society so nice and secure!” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -CALEB CONOVER RUNS AWAY - - -The following Monday morning found Caleb at the Capital ready and -waiting for the battle which lay before him. He had arrived from -Granite late Sunday night; with Caine and with one or two personal -followers on whose timely aid, he knew from experience, he might count. - -For two days there had been a ceaseless downpour of rain. Conover and -Caine, draped in long waterproof coats, stood at the entrance of their -hotel, looking out on the flooded streets and dingy, streaming sky. -They were waiting for the carriage that was to bear them to the State -House. Caine glanced ever at his watch, his armor of habitual bored -indifference worn perilously thin. Conover, on the other hand, showed -no more emotion than if he were on his way to luncheon. As Caine’s -hand, for the tenth time, crept toward his watch pocket, the Fighter -remarked: - -“I can save you the trouble of lookin’, son, by tellin’ you the -startlin’ news that it’s just about thirty seconds later’n it was when -you took out your watch before. What’s your worry? We’re in lots of -time. As long as we get there when the Assembly’s called to order it’s -all we care. I’ve done ev’rything that _can_ be done. All I’m goin’ to -the lobby for is to jack those able statesmen up when Blacarda starts -to stampede ’em. I’ve made my arrangements with each man who’s goin’ to -vote our way. An’, as I figger out, we’ll kill that Starke bill by two -votes. Easy that many. But there’s four or five Assemblymen that need -my fatherly eye on ’em when the bill comes up. Otherwise they’ll sure -bolt. I know ’em. While I’m there I’m like your friend Napoleon; worth -40,000 men. Or, 40,000 dollars, if you like it better that way. I’ve -got my grip on the reins. Don’t you fret.” - -“I heard something just now,” said Caine. “Something that it will -surprise you to learn. I had it from the ‘_Star’s_’ Legislature -correspondent. It seems Blacarda tried to prevent your coming to the -Capital at all. I’m rather surprised at his playing such a trick. -But I suppose it goes to prove that a man is known by the company he -promotes. He heard you were due from Granite on the 5.30 train this -morning. And he paid the engineer $600 to have the locomotive break -down thirty miles from here. You would have been stalled there until -too late to be of any use. The Assembly would have met and--” - -“An’ stampeded,” finished Caleb stolidly. “An’ the Starke bill would’ve -gone through an’ we’d a’ been licked. Quite so. That’s why I changed my -plans, the last minute, an’ came here last night.” - -“You knew of Blacarda’s move?” cried Caine in amazement. - -“Son,” yawned Conover, “it’s my business to know things. An’ there’s -plenty little I don’t know when it comes to .22 calibre en’mies like -Blacarda. The engineer took the cash an’ then brought the whole story -to me. Us railroad men pull together, you know. I told him to keep -his $600 an’ let the engine break down accordin’ to schedule. Then I -came on another train last night. Didn’t you see how pleased Blacarda -looked when he came into the _ho_tel? He knows he ain’t got a ghost of -a chance with his Starke bill, while I’m on deck in the State House -lobby. Here’s our carriage. Come on, since you’re in such a hurry.” - -The two men splashed out through the sheets of rain toward the waiting -vehicle. Caine stood aside to let Conover step in. As the latter’s -foot was on the step, the hotel telegraph clerk came running out, -calling the Fighter’s name and holding up a slip of yellow paper whose -message-ink was still wet. - -“Just came!” announced the clerk, handing Conover the dispatch. “I -thought you were still in the hotel. Lucky I caught you before you -started!” - -Caleb made no reply. He was reading, and re-reading, the telegram. -Caine, watching him impatiently, saw the Fighter’s face turn a muddy -gray. - -Then, shouting to the driver: “Union Station! Go like Hell!” Conover -was in the carriage. Caine, all at a loss, had barely time to scramble -in after him before Caleb had slammed shut the door. The horses were -off at full speed; the wheels dashing a cascade of mud blotches through -the vehicle’s lowered sash. - -“What is the matter?” insisted Caine, as Conover huddled--inert, bulky, -wordless--in one corner; “whom are you to meet at the station? I -thought all the Assemblymen--” - -“I’m goin’ to catch the 9.32 to Granite if we can make it,” growled -Conover. “Shut up an’ let me think. Here!” - -He shoved the tight-squeezed ball of yellow paper toward Caine. The -latter, as he took the telegram, noted the sudden clammy chill of the -Fighter’s hand and saw that his lips were dry as a fever-patient’s. -Never before had Caine seen him nervous, and he turned with redoubled -interest to the unfolding of the crumpled dispatch. It bore a woman’s -signature--that of Desirée’s aunt--and Caine, marveling, ran his eyes -over the body of the message: - -“_Dey taken dangerously ill last night. Delirious. Calls for you all -time. Come if can._” - -The banal wording, the crude phrasing for the sake of saving -expense--every detail of the telegram jarred upon Caine’s fastidious -taste. But a new thought made him turn, incredulous, upon Conover. - -“I’m awfully, _awfully_ sorry to hear this,” said he. “But--but of -course you can’t think of leaving everything at the State House to-day -and--” - -“State House?” muttered Conover, dully. - -“Don’t you understand?” cried Caine, gripping the dazed, limp giant -by the shoulder and trying to shake him back to his senses. “Don’t you -understand the Steeloid fight will be on in an hour or so? You can’t -desert us and run off to Granite like this.” - -“Take your hands off me,” mumbled Conover, pettishly. “Lord, how I hate -to be pawed! Can’t that driver go any faster’n a hearse? I’ll miss -the--” - -“_Conover!_” fairly shouted Caine. “Brace up, man! What ails you? I -never saw you like this. Have you lost your head? The Steeloid fight -comes up, in the Assembly, to-day. Your fortune and mine hang on your -killing the Starke bill. You say, yourself, that unless you’re at the -State House we’ll lose. You _can’t_ get to Granite and back before the -session closes. If--” - -“I’m not comin’ back,” said Caleb in utter weariness. “She’s--Dey’s -sick. ‘Dangerously ill,’ the tel’gram said. An’ she’s callin’ all the -time for _me_. If the 9.32 is on time I ought to be to her house by -noon. Maybe before.” - -“Look here, old man!” pleaded Caine. “Of course I’m sorrier about Miss -Shevlin than I can say. But she will have the best possible medical -care. And you can’t help her by rushing off like this. Think of all -that depends on your being at the State House, to-day. You can catch -the six o’clock train for Granite this evening, just as well. For -all our sakes, don’t desert us now! If Blacarda gets the Starke bill -through the Assembly--” - -“Don’t bother me,” snarled Conover, shifting his big body to move out -of reach of the appealing hand. “What--what d’ye s’pose can be the -matter with her? She was all right yesterday noon. Train leaves in four -minutes, an’--” - -Caine broke in on the Fighter’s speech with a final plea for sanity. He -had an almost uncanny feeling at his own proximity to this demoralized -hulk of what had until now been the strongest man of his world. He did -not know the shaking, muttering, putty-faced being who in a trice had -tossed away both their hopes of fortune. Yet Caine would not yield. - -“If you’ll only stay just long enough for the Starke bill to be voted -on,” he implored. “You can have a Special to take you back. Or, call up -her doctor on the long-distance telephone before you start, and find -out if her illness is really dangerous. Perhaps her aunt--” - -“She’s callin’ for me,” reiterated Caleb, in the same dead tones. “I -thought about the long-distance ’phone. But there’s no time for that -before the 9.32 starts. I--Good! Here’s the station! An’ two minutes to -spare.” - -Out of the carriage he jumped and made off at a shambling run for the -tracks; Caine close at his heels. At the car platform the Fighter -turned; scribbled a few lines on a card and handed it to Caine. - -“Here,” he ordered with a ghost of his old authority. “Have that -telegram sent off in a rush. It’ll clear up the tracks for me when we -strike the C. G. & X. line, an’ let us in a half-hour earlier. Do as I -say. Don’t bother me! I’ve no time to fool with the measly Steeloid -deal now.” - - * * * * * - -For an hour and a half Caleb Conover stared with unseeing, glazed eyes -at the gray skies and rain-rotted fields as his train sped toward -Granite. He had a curious numbness in his head. A dumb nausea gripped -him. For the first time in his life, he could not think consecutively. -All his mind and body seemed to centre around one hideous truth: -Desirée Shevlin was terribly ill. Perhaps dying. She wanted him. And he -was not there. - -He had never known until now that he had an imagination. Yet, during -the century-long train ride, the pressure on his brain lifted a bit -from time to time and he could see the dainty, dark little head turning -endlessly from side to side on its tumbled hot pillow; the white face -whence the glow and life had been stricken; the delirium hoarse voice -calling--ever calling--for _him_. - -She had been so bright, so happy, so strong--only the day before. She -had gone driving with him after church. She had been telling him about -a country visit she was going to make--to-day--yes, she was to have -started to-day. This noon. And on the same drive--what was it she had -worn? It had gone prettily with her eyes, whatever it was. Those eyes -of hers had such odd, wonderful little lights in them. What color were -they? And what was it Caine had told her they held--oh, yes--‘prisoned -laughter.’ That was a queer sort of phrase. But she had seemed to like -it. - -Why hadn’t the old fool who built the engine made one that could travel -faster than a hand car? - - * * * * * - -The express--thanks to Caleb’s track-clearing telegram--rolled into -Granite station a full half hour ahead of time. Long before the cars -came to a lurching halt under the sheds, Conover, with all an old-time -railroad man’s deftness, had swung off the moving train and had started -down the platform at a run. Through bevies of departing passengers he -clove a rough, unapologetic way. Station hands leaped nimbly aside -and gazed in gaping amaze after their hurrying President. Past the -platform, through the vaulted waiting room toward the street beyond; -and, at the outer door-- - -“_Caleb!_” - -Conover halted, dumbfounded, shaking, at the call. There in the doorway -he stood, his face a dull purple, his eyes bulging, staring down -at--Desirée Shevlin. - -“What on earth are you doing here?” she marvelled. “You said you -were to be at the Capital till to-morrow. Isn’t it the squunchiest, -trickliest day you ever saw? If I hadn’t promised ever and ever so -solemnly to go out to Jean’s on the eleven-forty, I’d--” - -“Good _Lord_!” - -It was as though all the engines on the C. G. & X. were letting off -steam at once. And, with the ejaculation, the cloud of horror was -wiped clean from the Fighter’s brain. He was, on the moment, his old -self; alive and masterful in every atom of his mighty body. - -“Caleb!” the girl was saying, plaintively, as she gazed up at him with -her head on one side, “is your hat _wished_ on?” - -“I’m sorry I forgot!” he laughed, excitedly, doffing the wet derby with -one hand and slapping her vigorously on her little rain-coated shoulder -with the other. “I came all the way back to Granite to tell you I’m -tickled to death to see you lookin’ so well. An’--an’--to tell you I’m -goin’ to beat Blacarda yet!” - -“Caleb _Conover_!” she gasped. “_What_ do you think you are talking -about? Are you--” - -But Conover had vanished--swallowed up in the recesses of the dark -station. Desirée looked after him, round-eyed. - -“I sometimes think,” she confided to the silver handle of her umbrella, -“that Caleb will never _quite_ grow up!” - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE BATTLE - - -The red-haired man was fighting. - -Just now he was fighting at long range. And all the complex system of -the C. G. & X. railroad vibrated under his blows. A dozen rapid-fire -orders had sent as many station officials scuttling to posts of duty. -Already telegraph wires were sizzling; and employees miles away -were hustling in consequence, to fulfil their master’s behests. The -fastest engine on the C. G. & X. was getting up steam. A dozen frantic -machinists with oil cans, wrenches and hammers were swarming over -and under the huge locomotive making her ready for a record trip. In -the few minutes that remained, before his Special could start, Caleb -Conover, coolest, least hurried man in the whole buzzing station, was -talking over the long-distance telephone to Caine. - -“Yes,” he was saying, as, cigar in mouth, he lounged above the -transmitter on his desk, “I’ll be off in three minutes. So listen hard, -for you are liable to have a wakeful day before you. I’ve gave orders -to side-track everything on the C. G. & X. between here an’ McIntyre -Junction. That’ll give us room for a sixty-five-mile-an-hour trip as -far as the Junction. After that I’ll be off the C. G. & X. tracks and -I’ll have to take my chances of gettin’ the right of way. But I guess a -couple of tel’grams I’ve sent will loosen things up on the other road. -Remember, I’m a’ comin’ as fast as steam will carry me. Since you say -the Starke bill ain’t come up yet, there’s a show of my gettin’ there -on time, after all. I’ve just ’phoned Bourke, the Assemblyman from my -Districk, to hold the crowd together as well as he can till I land. -What? No, don’t you bother over that. He knows how to keep the bill -back for a while, anyhow. Motion to adjourn’s always in order. He’ll -hop up an’ move to adjourn ev’ry five minutes and then demand a poll -on the vote. Good ol’-fashioned fil’busterin’. That, an’ a few other -cunnin’ little stunts that I’ve taught him, is liable to delay business -pretty much in the Assembly to-day. My crowd’s got all their orders. -But Blacarda was a roarin’ fool not to push the bill through early this -mornin’. I s’pose he figgered out he had all day ahead of him. Him an’ -me will settle our score later. So long! My engine’s ready.” - -Clambering aboard the locomotive cab the moment the last oiler scuttled -to safety from underneath the driving-wheels, Conover lighted a fresh -cigar, and with a grim smile leaned back to enjoy the whirlwind flight -through the rain. He was happier than he had been in weeks. Not only -through the quick lifting of the horror that had so engulfed him, but -from the joy of a hard fight against heavy odds. In spite of his cheery -tone toward Caine, he knew it was problematical whether or not his -henchman, Bourke, could retard the vote on the Starke Bill until his -arrival. But it was a chance well worth the taking. His anxiety for -Desirée banished, the Fighter turned with more than wonted zeal to the -battle before him. - -The engine thundered over the miles of sodden land, the cab windows -awash with rain; the great bulk swaying perilously from its own -reckless speed; the twisting of sharp curves more than once hurling -Caleb headlong from his seat. Past long lines of side-tracked freight -and passenger trains they whizzed. Every switch along the line bore -its burden of cars hustled off the main line by Caleb’s commands. The -entire C. G. & X. system was for the time tied up, that its ruler might -travel over its rails as no man had before traversed them. - -“At this rate,” mused Caleb, “I’ll make it, with any sort of luck. If I -can be sure of speed on the other line--!” - -Toward the latest of many brown wooden stations they flashed. The -engineer threw over a lever. The wheels shrieked ear-splitting protest -as they gripped and shaved the rails in the shock of the brake’s clutch. - -“What’s up?” bellowed Conover, wrathfully. “Is--?” - -“Station agent’s flagging us, sir, with the danger signal,” replied the -engineer, leaning out into the rain to accost a scared, shirtsleeved -man who ran toward them, flag in hand, along the track. - -Conover pulled the engineer to one side and thrust his own head from -the cab window, just as the panting station agent came up. - -“What d’ye mean by stoppin’ us?” demanded the Fighter. - -“Trackwalker reports--bridge--mile above--unsafe,--from washout!” -puffed the agent. - -“He does, hey?” sneered Conover, “An’ why in blazes didn’t you -telegraph the next station below?” - -“I was just going to, sir,” faltered the agent, “but as there wasn’t -any train due for an half an hour--” - -“Is the bridge still standin’?” demanded Conover. - -“Yes, sir. But the trackwalker thinks--” - -“I don’t pay him to think. _I’m_ doin’ the thinkin’ this trip. Davis,” -wheeling on the engineer, “I’m goin’ over this bridge. There’s $500 on -the other side of it for _you_. Want to come? Speak up quick!” - -“If--if it’s not safe--” hesitated the man. “This is the heaviest -engine on the road and--” - -“Get out of here, then!” yelled Conover, ejecting him bodily from the -cab. The engineer missed the step and tumbled prone in a blasphemous -heap, to the wet track side. Conover did not waste a second look at -him, but slipped into the driver’s place and threw off the brake. He -had served his term as engineer during his upward flight through the -various grades of railroad achievement; and was as comfortably at home -at the throttle as in his private car. - -The wheels caught the track and the great mass of metal sprang into -motion. - -“Is there anything else _I_ can do, sir?” piped the obsequious agent. - -“No!” snarled Caleb glowering back at him through the open window. -“If there was, you wouldn’t be a measly thirty-dollar-a-month station -roustabout.” - -Settling into his place, Conover knit his red brows and peered forward -through the downpour and mist, along the shining track. He could not -afford the time he had lost. To make it up, every notch of speed must -be crowded on. There was a fierce exhilaration in Caleb’s alert light -eyes, as he set himself to his new task. The fireman, who had been -crouching on the tender, now worked his way forward into the cab. - -“Hello!” grunted Conover, crossly. “I’d forgot _you_. I s’pose I got to -slow up while you jump.” - -“If I was a jumper, sir,” replied the fireman, quietly, “I’d have -gotten off at the station.” - -With stolid unconcern the fellow set about stoking. Conover grinned. - -“If we live past that bridge,” he remarked, “You’ll make your next trip -as pass’nger engineer. Steady, now.” - -The locomotive was at top speed once more. Around a curve it tore, -listing far to one side. Straight ahead, through the gray murk, rose -the trestled bridge--a blur of brownish-red, spanning a hundred foot -drop; at whose bottom boiled a froth of white fretted water cut here -and there by black lump-head boulders. “Slow to 10 miles an Hour!” -read the patch of signboard at the bridge’s head. At either side of -the railroad embankment stood knots of country folk, idly watching the -condemned framework. - -At sixty miles an hour the locomotive swept into the straightaway. A -scattering chorus of cries rose from a dozen lips as the shadowy giant -bulk leaped out of the mist. - -Then, in the same instant, the dull rumble of wheels on a ground track -was changed to the hollow roaring roll of wheels on a trestle. A jar -of impact--a sickening sway of the whole wood-and-steel structure--a -snapping, rending sound from somewhere far below--a wind-borne scream -from the group of panic-stricken idlers now a furlong behind;--and once -more the changed key of the driving-wheels’ song told that the flimsy -bridgeway was succeeded by solid roadbed beneath the rails. - -“Scared?” asked Conover, over his shoulder, to the fireman. - -“I’ve just been too near to death to feel like lying,” returned the -man in a sickly attempt at humor, “So I might as well own up that for -a second or so I could hear a few harps twanging. My heart’s still -somewhere around the place where I swallow.” - -“You’ve got grit,” vouchsafed the Fighter, straining his eyes to pierce -through the mist in front of them, “Man’s made of dust, the parsons -say; but I guess there was plenty of sand sprinkled in yours an’ mine. -An’ I like you better for not bein’ ashamed to tell you was afraid. The -brave man ain’t the one who don’t get scared; he’s the feller who’s -scared stiff and goes ahead just the same. I guess I’ll have to change -that new job of yours from pass’nger engineer to somethin’ in my own -office. Now, chase back to your work. I’ve got other things to think of -besides jawin’ with you.” - -The Junction was reached and passed. No longer on his own road, Conover -was less certain that the way would be left clear for him. Yet his -telegrams had had effect. The line was open, and he sent his locomotive -along with no let-up in its terrific speed. - -“I’ll make it,” he said once, under his breath. “If Bourke can only -hold ’em--if he can only hold ’em!” - -Over went the lever, and with another shrill shriek the engine -slackened speed. They had rounded a bend. Directly in front was a -station. Beside it stood a long train, blocking the single track. In a -bound, Conover was out of the cab. Shouting to the fireman to follow, -he set off at a run through the mud puddles that lined the right of way. - -“Whatcher stoppin’ for?” he demanded of the conductor who stood by one -of the rear cars. - -“Waiting for the Directors of the road,” answered the conductor. -“They’re lunching up at the President’s house. They were due here three -minutes ago. This train’s a local, so we’re holding it till--” - -Conover heard no more but broke again into a run; heading for the -engine. - -“Do you mind gettin’ into trouble?” he panted to the fireman at his -side, “I’ll stand by you.” - -“You’re the boss,” replied the man, laconically, putting on a fresh -burst of speed to keep up with his employer. - -“Good! I’m goin’ to steal that engine. You uncouple her an’ scramble -aboard. I’ll ’tend to the crew.” - -They had reached the locomotive as he spoke. The engineer had left his -cab and was stretching his cramped legs on the platform. His fireman -lolled from the window, smoking a pipe. Conover, never breaking his -stride, swung aboard the cab and threw open the throttle; the same -moment his follower yanked loose the old-fashioned coupling pin, -disengaged the air brake and gained the tender with a flying leap. - -The whole transaction was completed before either the engine’s crew -knew what was going on. The rightful fireman found himself toppled from -the cab straight into the arms of the engineer, who with a yell had -sprung aboard. The two, clasped lovingly in each other’s arms, rolled -swearing into a roadside mud-puddle;--and the locomotive was off. - -Conover, at the throttle, laughed aloud in keen delight as he glanced -back at the engineless train, the two bedraggled figures and the crowd -that came running excitedly along the platform. - -“This old rattler ain’t a patch on the one we left behind,” he -chuckled, “but she seems able to make some speed for all that. Gee, -but I’ll have my hands full squarin’ myself with the Pres’dent of this -road! I’m li’ble to hear some fine language an’ maybe have a nice -little suit to compromise, too. But we’ll get there. It’d a’ held us up -half an hour or more, to wait for that measly local to hit a switch. -Ever steal an engine before, son?” - -“No,” said the fireman, “and I’m just wondering how I’ll look in -striped clothes.” - -“_You’ll_ be all right. Take that from me. It means promotion. That’s -all. If our trip lasts long enough, you’re li’ble to be Pres’dent of -the C. G. & X. at this rate. Say, I wonder when this engine took on -water last. Look an’ see.” - -“All right for the rest of the run,” reported the fireman, on his -return. “But suppose they telegraph ahead and have us run into an open -switch?” - -“I thought of that. But they won’t. In the first place, they won’t risk -smashin’ a good engine. In the second,--Hell! Ain’t I Caleb Conover?” - - * * * * * - -A hatless man,--dripping wet, mud-smeared, grimy as a coal -heaver,--took the State House steps three at a stride. In less -than two minutes it was known throughout the Assembly that Caleb -Conover had come. A word here, a hint there, a pulling of mysterious -wires:--and the wavering backbones of his more doubtful satellites -in the Legislature were miraculously stiffened. The Starke Bill had -not yet come to a vote; thanks to Bourke and his colleagues who had -wearied the Assembly to desperation and maddened Blacarda to frenzy by -a continuous series of the most glaring filibuster tactics. But even -the Conover faction’s tactics had, at the last, wellnigh exhausted -themselves. - -“In another five minutes,” Caine was explaining, “you’d have been too -late. Nothing could have stopped the bill from--” - -“Another five minutes!” mocked Conover, turning from his work. “Son, -this ain’t the first, nor yet the millionth time that a diff’rence of -five minutes has knocked hist’ry into a cocked hat. Now, send McGuckin -to me. He needs a little more beguilin’. An’ I’m here to give it to -him. Chase, now! He’s the last I’ll have time to see, before the vote.” - -Conover did not so much as trouble to go to the Assembly gallery with -Caine when the Starke bill came up for balloting; but sat smoking and -glancing over papers in the Committee room that he had commandeered -as his personal office. Hither, soon afterward, Caine repaired; his -handsome, tired face alight. - -“We win!” he announced triumphantly. “The bill’s defeated,--by two -votes. Congratulations!” - -“Son,” observed Conover, glancing up from his desk, “what’s all the -excitement? I told you last Friday that we’d win by two votes. Now, -maybe, you’ll believe, another time, that I know what I’m talkin’ -about. Where’s Blacarda?” - -“I passed him in the corridor on his way back to the hotel. Why do you -ask? You’re done with him now.” - -“_Done_ with him?” echoed Conover. “Why, man, I ain’t _begun_ with him -yet. I was just waitin’ to find where he’d gone. So long. See you at -the _ho_tel before train time.” - -Conover walked out of the office, leaving Caine staring after him in -perplexity. Straight to the hotel the Fighter drove. Arriving there he -went, unannounced, to Blacarda’s room; entered without knocking, and -closed the door behind him. - -Blacarda looked up from the task of packing his suit case. Bareheaded, -still grimy and disheveled, Conover stood facing him. Blacarda rose -from his knees beside the open suit case and started forward. - -“I guess you know why I’m here?” hazarded Caleb, looking across at the -well-groomed figure, without the faintest trace of emotion. - -“To crow over your dirty, underhand victory of to-day?” blazed the -other. “If so you can save yourself the trouble. Leave my room at once. -I don’t wish it polluted or--” - -“It’ll have to stand a little more polootion before I’m ready to go,” -answered Conover, unmoved. “No, I haven’t come to crow. Crowin’ ain’t -in my line. A little while ago I set a man to tracin’ a tel’gram I got -this mornin’. It seems _you_ wrote it an’ paid the _ho_tel tel’graph -clerk $10 to slip it to me at the right time. Don’t lie. I’ve got -proof.” - -“I’m not given to lying,” retorted Blacarda. “And if I were, I -shouldn’t take the trouble to lie to a blackleg like you. Yes, I wrote -the telegram. What of it?” - -“You’re a sweet-scented sort of a cuss to preach about ‘dirty, -underhand vict’ries,’ ain’t you?” said Caleb, thoughtfully. “After -tryin’ to get me out of the way like that.” - -“Any weapon is justifiable against a scoundrel,” sneered Blacarda. “One -must fight fire with fire.” - -“Quite so,” assented Caleb. “Though not as original as I’d ’a expected -from a clever chap like you. Fightin’ fire with fire is good finance. -So when you tipped an engineer $600 to get me delayed in comin’ here, -I made no kick. That was fair game. I’d a’ done the same thing myself. -Only I wouldn’t a’ bungled it like _you_ did. When you’re goin’ to do a -crooked thing do it well. Don’t foozle it an’ lose your fight....” - -“I haven’t your experience in hold-up tactics,” answered Blacarda, “so -perhaps I--” - -Caleb waved aside the interpolation and went on in the same heavy, -emotionless voice. - -“That was all fair, like I said. But it failed. Then, what’d you do? -Dragged a woman’s name into the row. Faked a dispatch tellin’ me _she_ -was dyin’ an’ callin’ for me. That’s a trick _I_ wouldn’t play if my -life was hangin’ on a deal. You used that little girl’s name to get -me away. You put up that filthy job,--an’ took another man into your -conf’dence. Told a measly, tattlin’ tel’graph clerk about _her_. I -ain’t any good at expressin’ myself. But say! I wish I could get it -through that shiny head of yours what a rotten, low down, crawly cur -you are! No, don’t put on no heroics! _I’m_ doin’ the talkin’ now. -In the fake tel’gram, you used the nickname you’ve heard her called. -You used the knowledge that I’d hustle from here to hell if I could -be of use to her. You used all that as means to get me away from your -p’litical dogfight to-day. An’ how did you get your knowledge of her -nickname an’ ’bout my carin’ for her as if she was my own kid? Hey? -You got it while you was callin’ on her. While you was takin’ her -hosp’tality. You used that kind of trick in _politics_! God! I didn’t -think there was a breathin’ man could do such a thing. No ward-heeler -could do it--it had to be done by a ‘gentleman.’ One of the Arareek -Governors.” - -He paused for breath. Blacarda, reddening under the tirade’s lash, -nevertheless sought to laugh. - -“Well,” he queried with really excellent coolness, “what are you going -to do about it? Of course you can bring suit,--and probably recover. -But Miss Shevlin’s name will certainly figure rather unpleasantly in -the newspaper reports of the case. I’m sorry I was forced to use such -means,--I still believe them justifiable in dealing with a man like -you,--but I fail to see what redress you have.” - -“You’ll see presently,” replied Caleb, with no trace of threat in his -dull voice. “That’s why I’m here. I’m not totin’ this into court. -What good would your measly damage money do me? An’ I’m not goin’ to -tell your friends of it with the hope they’d turn you out of s’ciety. -I’m goin’ to punish you the only way a rotten trick like that _can_ be -punished. The only way a skunk like you could be made to smart.” - -“What do you mean?” asked Blacarda, a shadow of uneasiness showing -through his rage. - -“I mean I’ve come here to give you the biggest thrashin’ you ever got. -An’ now’s the time I begin.” - -Blacarda, at the slow forward motion of Caleb’s body, sprang furiously -at the Fighter. He was a strong man; large and well built. But he might -as well have tried to stop the rush of a charging bull-elephant as to -block Caleb’s attack. Not even taking the pains to guard the heavy -left-hander that Blacarda drove full into his face, Conover was upon -his foe. - -Backward across the room Caleb drove the other with a lightning -succession of short arm blows that battered down Blacarda’s guard -and smashed with fearful force upon his head and body. To escape the -merciless hail of fists, Blacarda ducked and clinched. - -Conover shook him off as though his antagonist had been a cripple, -and ran in again to the assault. One right-hand blow crashed into -Blacarda’s face and hurled him backward against the wall. As he -rebounded forward from sheer shock of the double impact, Conover’s -left fist caught him flush on the jaw and he collapsed senseless to the -floor. - -Conover was at the unconscious body before it had fairly touched -ground. He beat with insane rage upon the upturned, defenseless face, -hammering it to a pulp; growling and whining all the time between his -hard-set teeth; like some rabid jungle beast worrying its meat. - -Caine flung open the door and ran into the room;--thereby in all -probability saving Blacarda’s life. Taking in the scene at a glance, he -launched himself upon the growling, mauling victor. With all his wiry -strength, he sought to drag Conover away from the senseless man. But -his utmost muscular power was as nothing to that of the giant who was -still wreaking brute vengeance on the inert mass beneath him. - -At length, employing a wrestling device, Caine managed to drag the -unprepared Fighter backward, from behind; and by a sudden wrench to -throw him to one side. Still keeping behind Conover, out of reach of -the hammer-fists, the slighter man succeeded in pinioning Caleb’s arms -by slipping his own hands and wrists between the other’s elbows and his -body. Trussed up, helpless as he was, Caleb writhed and snarled like a -leashed bulldog. In another moment he would have wrenched himself free -by dint of main force, had not Caine’s voice at last penetrated the red -wrath-mists of his brain. - -“Conover!” his friend was shouting, for the tenth time, “if you kill -him, Miss Shevlin’s name will be brought into the affair! Can’t you see -that? If--” - -Conover’s iron-tense muscles relaxed. The orgasm of Berserk rage had -passed, leaving him spent and apathetic. Caine knew that sanity had -returned to the Fighter, and he released his grip on the mighty arms. - -“Well!” he observed, facing the dazed, panting man, and setting to -rights his own tumbled clothing, “You are a nice specimen of humanity -to have at large in a civilized country! You might have killed him. -You _would_ have killed him, I believe, if I hadn’t come when I did. I -got to thinking over what you said at the State House and I was afraid -something like this would happen. So I came on. Just in time, I think.” - -Caine, as he spoke, had knelt beside the battered, bleeding Thing on -the floor. Now he crossed to the washstand and came back with a soaked -towel. Talking as he worked over the unconscious figure, he added: - -“You were right to thrash him. He richly deserved it. But, why the -deuce did you keep on pummeling him while he was down? Does that strike -you as sportsmanlike?” - -“Sportsmanlike?” panted Conover, his big voice still shaking with -ground-swells of the storm that had mastered him, “Sportsmanlike, hey? -D’ye s’pose I came here for a measly athletic contest? I came here to -lick that curly, perfumed whelp. An’ I did it.” - -“You hit him when he was down,” answered Caine, crossing again from the -washstand and dashing cold water in Blacarda’s shapeless face. “And--” - -“Of course I hit him when he was down!” snorted Caleb. “What d’ye -s’pose I was goin’ to do? Help him up an’ brush off his clo’es? Gee, -it makes me sick to hear that old fossil rot about ‘not hittin’ a man -when he’s down!’ What in thunder’s the use of gettin’ him down if you -ain’t goin’ to hit him? I didn’t come here for a friendly boxin’ bout. -I came to pay Blacarda off. An’ he wasn’t to be paid off by one little -tap that’d knock him over. That was just the start. I guess he’ll know -enough by now to let Dey Shevlin’s name alone.” - -Caine made no answer. He was deftly applying the simple prize-ring -expedients for restoring beaten pugilists to their senses. Conover -looked down at him in profound contempt. - -“Yes,” went on the Fighter, “I s’pose in _your_ gold-shirt world, -folks would say I was all kinds of a cad to keep on punishin’ that -swine after I’d bowled him off his legs. But them same folks will -jump with both feet on a business man when there’s a rumor that he’s -broke. They’ll join in a run on a bank that’s in trouble. Their saintly -women’ll take pious joy in chasin’ to hell some poor girl who’s made -a fool of herself. But they’d roll up their eyes at the sight of me -lickin’ Blacarda after he’s keeled over. What’n blazes is the use of -gettin’ a man down if you ain’t goin’ to hit him? It’s the A. B. C. of -business. Why, Caine, you make me tired!” - -His eyes fell on his own torn, bleeding knuckles. He gazed at them in -slow surprise; then sauntered over to bathe them. The glass above the -washstand revealed to him a face pasty white, smeared with coal-dust -smears and blood, and swollen from a blow on the mouth. - -“I’m an engagin’ lookin’ spectacle, all right,” he soliloquized as he -bent to wash. “Lucky I left my suit case at the _ho_tel this morning. -I’ll need a lot of dressin’ and massagin’ before I can go to see Dey.” - -Blacarda groaned feebly, and moved his head. - -“He’s coming around,” reported Caine. “Now I’m goin’ to telephone down -for the hotel doctor. While he’s on his way here you can think of some -story to tell him that will account for Blacarda’s condition.” - -“I’ll tell him the truth,” said Caleb, simply. “All except the part -about Dey. An’ I guess Blacarda ain’t likely to tell _that_, either. -But what’s the use of a doctor? The cur’s gettin’ his senses back.” - -“I think you fractured at least one of his ribs, when your knee was -jammed down on his chest,” answered Caine. “It feels so to me. Besides, -unless his face is to be distorted and hideous for life it must have -medical care at once.” - -Blacarda lifted his unrecognizable visage and opened the one eye which -was not wholly hidden from view by his swollen flesh. Caine raised -the injured man to a sitting posture and held a whiskey flask to the -torn, discolored lips. Through the hedge of smashed teeth and down the -swelled throat the stinging liquor glided. Blacarda gulped it down, sat -motionless for a moment, then groaned again and looked about him. - -“Well,” growled Caleb, “do you want any more?” - -One long second Blacarda squinted vacantly at his conqueror. Then, with -a shuddering scream of terror, he buried his mangled face in Caine’s -shoulder and lay there, quivering and sobbing. - -“What a beast you are, Conover!” exclaimed Caine, in revolt. - -“That’s right,” assented Caleb, cheerfully. “But I’ve just broke a -worse one. Broke him body an’ spirit. Not such a bad day’s work!” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -CALEB CONOVER STORMS A RAMPART - - -Caleb Conover was finishing a solitary breakfast in his room; the -morning after his return from the Capital. He had eaten heartily, even -as he had slept well; and was neither outwardly nor inwardly the worse -for his “wakeful day” at State House and engine-throttle. A slightly -puffed underlip and a double set of discolored knuckles were his only -mementoes of the attack upon Blacarda. - -In honor of his victories, the Fighter had allowed himself an extra -half-hour’s sleep and a steak for breakfast. It was nine o’clock so he -pushed back his chair from the deal table that had held his morning -meal. He lighted a heavy cigar, rose, stretched himself in the lazy -luxury of perfect strength, and prepared to go to the day’s work. - -Conover, in the early years, when he was fighting tooth and nail to -lift the moribund C. G. & X. Railroad to a paying basis, had had a -room and bath fitted up for his personal use, directly to the rear of -his private office in the station. Here he had lived, his entire life -centering about his toil. - -Here he still dwelt, now that success was his. The man whose wealth had -already passed the million mark and was rocketing toward far higher -figures, was simpler in his personal tastes and surroundings than was -the poorest brakeman on his road. An iron cot bed, a painted pine -bureau with flawed mirror, an air-tight stove, a shelf with fourteen -books, the deal table and two chairs formed the sum of his living-room -furniture. One of the station scrubwomen kept the place in order. The -few personal guests he had were received in the private office outside. - -One such visitor, Conover had been informed ten minutes earlier, was -even now awaiting him there. At least Caleb, reading the card, “Mr. -John Hawarden, Jr.,” judged the caller to have come on a personal -matter of some sort rather than on railroad business. - -With mild curiosity as to what could have brought the son of Desirée’s -chaperone to see him, Conover lounged in leisurely fashion to the -office. - -On his appearance, a tall, slender youth rose and greeted him with -nervous cordiality. - -“Sit down,” grunted Conover, scowling under the vigorous grip of the -lad’s hand. “What can I do for you?” - -The caller twisted his neck somewhat uneasily in its amazing height of -collar, fought back a gulp and fell to drawing his tan gloves through -his fingers. Caleb noted that the hands were slim, the fingers long and -tapering. He also noted that the boy, despite his almost effeminate -delicacy of contour and feature, was square of jaw and steady of eye. -The Fighter was, from these signs of the Brotherhood of Strength, -amused rather than irritated at the other’s nervousness. He even felt a -vague desire to set Hawarden at his ease. - -“First time you an’ me have come together, ain’t it?” he asked, less -gruffly. - -“Yes, sir,” answered Hawarden pleasantly. “I know you by sight,--and of -course by reputation,--but it’s hardly likely you’d have noticed _me_. -My parents have had the pleasure of meeting you.” - -“Pleasure, hey?” queried Caleb. “That’s what _they_ called it?” - -Hawarden flushed painfully, as at some not wholly glad memory. - -“Never mind thinkin’ up a comeback,” grinned Caleb. “Us two don’t speak -quite the same language. My mistake. Now,” dropping into the office -manner habitual to him, “What do you want? I take it you’re not makin’ -a round of social calls an’ choosin’ this for the first stoppin’ place. -What can I do for you? Come to the point quick, please. I’m li’ble to -be pretty busy to-day.” - -Hawarden smiled back in an engaging fashion that held no hint of fear. -For this, Caleb again felt somewhat drawn to him. - -“I’m on a horribly cheeky errand,” began the youth, “And, to tell -you the truth, I’m scared stiff. I came to speak to you on a rather -delicate subject.” - -“I never saw the ‘delicate subject’ that wasn’t the better for being -dragged out into the fresh air. Get to the point, son. I’m busy.” - -“I am here, sir,” said the boy with a labored formality that spoke of -much rehearsal, “to speak to you of Miss Desirée Shevlin. You are her -guardian, I understand.” - -Caleb’s glare of utter and displeased astonishment checked the speaker -for the briefest instant. But, swallowing hurriedly, he continued his -set speech: - -“I have the honor--the undeserved honor, sir,--to request your leave to -ask Miss Shevlin to be my wife.” - -It was out! Hawarden relaxed the knuckle-whitening grip of his fists. -His forehead grew moist. So did his palms. Nor did Caleb’s attitude -lessen the awkwardness of the moment. With open mouth the Fighter sat -staring at his guest. At last he found words--just a few of them. - -“Well I’ll be damned!” he sputtered. - -“It seems to me,” said Hawarden, taking new hold of his sliding -courage. “It seems to me a more honorable thing to ask your -consent,--as Miss Shevlin’s guardian--before daring to offer myself to -her.” - -“Son!” observed Caleb, profoundly, “If you had a little more sense -you’d be half-witted!” - -The boy got to his feet. - -“It is your right, I suppose,” he answered stiffly, “to insult me. You -are an older man than I, and I come to you as an applicant for--” - -“You read all that in a book,” snorted Caleb. “Cut it out and get down -to sense. No one’s insultin’ you and no one’s stompin’ on your buddin’ -dignity. You can’t wonder I was took aback when you sprung that mine -on me. I ain’t up in the by-laws an’ constitootion of p’lite s’ciety. -If it’s the usual thing to come over with a line of talk like you just -got out of your system--, why I’m sorry if I acted rough. There! Now, -sit down and talk sense. So it’s the custom to ask a girl’s guardian -before askin’ _her_? Nice, ree-fined idee. But I guess if ev’rybody did -it there wouldn’t be a terrible lot of work for the marriage license -clerks. An’--why, you’re just a _kid_!” he broke out. “What in blazes -are you babblin’ about marryin’ for? Desirée’s--” - -“I shall be twenty-two next month!” answered the boy proudly. “I think -I am entitled to be treated as a man. Not a--” - -“Oh, all right! all right!” chuckled Caleb. “I was the same way. Used -to tickle me to death at twenty to be called ‘Old Man.’ _Now_, I’d give -five dollars to anyone who’d call me ‘My Boy.’ So you think I ought to -treat you like a grown man, hey? All right!” - -He was enjoying the scene hugely. He liked the boy’s pluck. -Fighter-like, he was minded to test it to the full. As a possible -husband for Desirée, he did not give Hawarden a thought. As a momentary -means of amusement to himself, he was willing to prolong the interview. - -“We’ll s’pose you’re a man, then,” he continued. “An’ you want to -marry my ward. Your fam’ly’s as good as hers. Maybe better, as you -folks count such things. So much for that. Now, what’s your income? -There, don’t look like I’d made a face at you! The question’s in -order. Maybe you think money don’t count in matrimony? Well, it does. -Respectability ain’t on the Free List. Not by a long shot. A fam’ly -costs three times as much to keep as a chorus girl. What’s your income? -Speak up!” - -“I--I hardly know, exactly,” faltered Hawarden, “When I was in college, -my father allowed me $1,500 a year. He still keeps it up. But as I’m -living at home now, it costs me less to get on. Then, after I finish -the law-school next year, I’ll be making a good salary myself very -soon. With Miss Shevlin to work for--” - -“To put it plain,” interrupted Caleb, “You’re earnin’ nothin’ just now, -with a golden outlook of earnin’ a little less in a year or two.” - -“I have my allowance,” protested Hawarden, “and--” - -“We’ll cut out the ‘allowonce’ part,” said Caleb. “That’s just what -your father pays as part of his fine for bringin’ you into the world. -He’s li’ble to get sore on you any time an’ stop playin’ the alloorin’ -role of Human Meal Ticket. What’ll you do then?” - -“You don’t quite understand,” protested Hawarden. “In a year from now I -shall be earning my own living and shall not be dependent on my father. -There is good money in law and--” - -“There is!” assented Caleb. “I’ve put a lot of it there, myself, from -time to time. But blamed few lawyers manage to get it out. The rest go -to work on street cars or--” - -“I shall make my way,” averred the lad stoutly, “and even if I don’t -succeed at the law, I always have my literary work to fall back on.” - -“Your what?” - -“My literary work. I was Yale correspondent for the _Star_ all the -time I was at college. And more of my stories are being accepted all -the time by papers and magazines. And,” seeking mightily to subdue the -thrill of sublime pride in his voice and to speak in a matter-of-fact -tone, as he played his trump card, “Last month I had a seven-page story -in _Scribner’s_.” - -“Where?” asked Caleb, genuinely curious. - -“In _Scribner’s_” repeated Hawarden modestly. - -“Where’s that?” inquired Caleb. - -“It’s,--why _Scribner’s Magazine_,” explained the boy, in dire misery. -“I got eighty dollars for it,” he added with a pitiful clutch at his -vanishing self-respect. - -Caleb’s eye brightened. He looked at Hawarden with a new interest. - -“Eighty dollars?” he repeated. “How long’d it take you to write it out?” - -“About three days, I think,” answered the boy, puzzled at the question. - -“H’m! Not so bad. Hundred an’ sixty dollars a week; with Sunday off. -Why don’t you stick to that instead of messin’ around with the law?” - -“It was the tenth story I’d sent them,” confessed Hawarden, heroically. -“And it was the first one they took. That’s the trouble with -literature. It--” - -“So, as things stand now,” pursued Caleb, “you’ve no real money. No -sure prospects. An’ you want to marry Dey Shevlin. You want her to -share your nothin’-a-year. Or,” he grated, “maybe you think it’d be -nice to live on _her_ cash?” - -“I think nothing of the sort!” flared Hawarden, scarlet with anger. -“I’ll not stand that sort of talk even from _her_ guardian. I wouldn’t -touch a penny of any woman’s money if I were starving! I--” - -“That sounds kind of like a book, too,” commented Caleb. “But you mean -it. I’m glad you do. I think I kind of like you. So instead of throwin’ -you downstairs, I’m goin’ to waste a whole minute talkin’ to you. -You’re a nice kid. You come here bristlin’ with book learnin’ an’ idees -of honor an’ you make your little speech to the stony hearted guardian -an’ stand ready to say ‘God bless you, sir, for them kind words!’ or -‘You’ve busted two young hearts!’ No, you needn’t squirm. It’s so. -But you can rub both those remarks off the slate. Neither of ’em’ll -be needed. You’ve the good sense to fall in love with the dandiest -girl that ever happened. But what have you got to offer her? Besides -your valuable self, I mean? You’re askin’ for the greatest thing in -all this world. Do you give anything in exchange? Not you. You want -her,--her with her pretty ways, an’ clever brain an’ gorgeous little -face. An’ you can’t even support her. You can’t even say: ‘I’ve got ten -dollars a week of my own. I’ll give it all to her.’ You’ve no money--no -prospects. An’ you want her to exchange herself for _that_. Her that -could marry a millionaire if she wanted to.” - -“I’m--I’m willing that the engagement should be a long one,” hesitated -the boy, battling futilely against the vulgar truth of Caleb’s words. -“I wouldn’t ask her to marry me till I was able to support her,--to -support her _well_.” - -“An’ in the meantime,” urged Conover, with merciless logic. “In -the meantime, she’s to have the pleasure of sittin’ by, eatin’ her -heart out, waitin’--waitin’--growin’ older ev’ry year,--losin’ good -chances,--bein’ side-tracked at parties an’ so on, because she’s -engaged an’ no longer in the marriage market,--waitin’ year after -year--maybe till all her prettiness an’ her youth’s gone--just on the -chance that you’ll some day be able to support a wife? You don’t mean -to be crooked. You’re only just foolish. But look the thing in the eyes -an’ tell me: Is it square? Is it an honest bargain you offer? Aren’t -you cheatin’ the one girl in the world you ought to do most for?” - -“But with such an incentive,” pleaded the boy, “I’d _surely_ make my -way quickly. In a year at most! I’d work--I’d work so _hard_ for her!” - -Caleb leaned to one side and threw open the window by his desk. With -the warm, soft air of Spring rushed in the steam sibilance and clangor -of the railway yards. - -“Look down there!” ordered Conover, pointing out, “More’n a hundred -men in that yard, ain’t there? Dirty-faced men with stooped shoulders -an’ soiled clothes. Not a one of ’em that’s got a fam’ly resemblance -to Romeo. What are they doin’? _Workin’!_ Every mother’s son of ’em -workin’ harder than you or any of your fam’ly ever worked or ever -_could_ work. How’d their faces get dirty an’ stoopid an’ their -shoulders bent over? By workin’. An’ who are they workin’ for? For -themselves? Not them. Each one of ’em’s workin’ for some woman. An’ -most of ’em for a bunch of measly kids as well. Workin’ all day an’ -ev’ry day, till they drop dead or wear out an’ go to the poorhouse. -An’ the women they work for are workin’ too. Workin’ at washboard or -scrub-brush to eke out the men-folks’ an’ brats’ livin’. Work! Work! -Work! All their lives. But I don’t see any of ’em gatherin’ in front -of the footlights an’ singin’ a chorus about how happy they are, or -how their hard work has made their wives rich an’ lazy. Are you any -better’n they are? Can you work any harder for Desirée than _they_ are -workin’ for the slatternly, slab-sided, down-at-heel women at home? -Don’t you s’pose every one of those men once planned to make his wife a -lady an’ to ‘cons’crate his toil’ to her? Think it over, son; an’ get -a better argument than the silly fact that you’re willin’ to do your -dooty by _workin’_ for Desirée. Hell’s full of workers.” - -“It all seems so horrible--so gross--so material!” muttered the boy. -“But--but you’re right, sir. I can see it now. Still--” - -He stretched his hands out before him in an impulsive gesture of -despair. - -“Still,” finished Caleb, “it hadn’t ought to be, hey? Most things -hadn’t. But most things are. Now look here! I’ve wasted a lot of time -an’ a lot of bad tastin’ truths over you. I don’t know why I did it, -except that I always like to jaw after I’ve had a big fight on. It kind -of lets off steam. Here’s the answer in a nutshell: I’m Miss Shevlin’s -guardian. What Miss Shevlin wants, she’s goin’ to have, if I have to -buy the White House for her. If she wants you she can have you. If -she don’t want you--all the consent I could give wouldn’t amount to a -hoot in Hades. Per’snally, I think you’d better wait till you grow up -an’ get a job before you talk ’bout marryin’. But it’s her affair. Not -mine. If she wants you she can have you. Put it up to _her_. It’s past -_me_. An’ now trot along. You’ve taken more of my time than you could -pay for in a dozen seven-page stories. Don’t stop to thank me. Chase.” - -“But I do thank you a thousand times!” exclaimed Hawarden, shaking -hands with boyish vehemence. “I’m--I’m awfully obliged to you. When I -came, I was afraid I’d meet some such fate as poor Mr. Blacarda.” - -“What’s that?” snapped Caleb, all geniality wiped from his voice. - -“About Mr. Blacarda?” asked the boy in perfect innocence. “Haven’t -you heard? It was in the morning papers. It seems he was jumping on a -moving street car, up at the Capital, yesterday afternoon, when his -foot slipped on the steps and he was dragged along, face-downward, -for nearly half a block. Two of his ribs were broken, and his body is -covered with bruises. The papers say his face is battered almost beyond -recognition.” - -“Too bad!” remarked Conover drily. “Folks ought to be careful how they -try to jump onto heavy-movin’ things. Sometimes there’s apt to be a -surprise for the jumper. Now clear out! You can run an’ tell Dey what I -said if you want to. No, don’t go thankin’ me again. It’s up to her, as -I told you. Most likely, she’ll send you about your business. So long!” - -Waving out the bewildered, delighted youth, Caleb threw himself back -in his leather chair and fished from a case the ever-present cigar. -A towering pile of work lay untouched on his desk. But he gave it no -heed. With a queer, wholly inexplicable contraction at the heart he lay -there thinking. At first he tried to laugh at the memory of the boy’s -loftily worded pretensions. But somehow he could not. He recalled what -Caine had said about Desirée marrying “the right man.” Hawarden came -of good family. His parents were among the best people in Granite. As -his wife, Desirée could probably take and hold any social position she -chose. He was a nice boy, too. And some day he would grow up. There was -much to be said for the match, preposterous as it had at first seemed. -After all, why not--? - -A clerk entered with a card. Conover’s mouth set in a grim smile as he -glanced at it. - -“Send him in,” he said, moving across to his desk chair, “I seem to be -holdin’ a levee of the ar’stocracy this mornin’.” - -Reuben Standish, gaunt, gray and stiff as ever, was ushered into -the private office. The old man’s face was a monotone of drab, save -for a ruddy patch on either cheek bone where consumption flaunted a -no-surrender flag. Caleb greeted him with a nod and motioned him to a -seat. - -“I hope I have not broken in upon very important work,” began Standish -glancing at the mountain of letters and papers on the desk. - -“All my work’s important,” answered Caleb. “If it wasn’t I’d have an -office boy do it while I loafed. Want anything especial?” - -“First of all,” evaded Standish, in the courtly, old-world manner that -Caleb always found so jarring, “permit me to congratulate you on your -great victory at the Capitol yesterday. I read this morning that the -Starke bill was defeated entirely through your own personal endeavors. -It must be a great thing to wield so powerful an influence over one’s -fellow men. I--” - -“Say,” interposed Caleb. “Quit standin’ on the distant hilltop makin’ -peace signs. Come on down an’ tell me what you want. Make it as short -as you can.” - -It appeared that Mr. Standish wanted much; though he did not seem to -be able to condense his wishes to the degree Caleb suggested. This, -however, was of little account, since the Fighter already foreknew -the other’s mission. He listened with only perfunctory attention to a -recital of the Aaron Burr Bank’s needs, of the stringency of deposits -and the danger of a “run;” with still less heed to the tale of an -unwonted depression in certain stocks wherein Mr. Standish’s interest -was purely marginal. As the story ended, Conover said curtly: - -“To sum it up, you’re broke. You want me to make deposits to-day in -your bank an’ you want a pers’nal loan besides.” - -Standish started to speak. Caleb motioned back the words. - -“How much?” he asked. “How much in all? Don’t hem an’ haw, man. You’ve -got the amount fixed in your mind, down to the last cent. You know -how much you’ll ask for, how much I’m li’ble to give an’ how much you -really need. Start off with the biggest sum first. How much?” - -Standish tremulously blurted out his statement. When one was dealing -with a boor like this Conover, there was surely no need for finesse. -The fellow was as blind to the finer shades of business dealings as -to the usages of gentle life. Therefore, why hesitate or leave him -to guess the amount from adding up a series of delicate hints? A -low-browed boor; though a decidedly convenient one to cultivate--at -times. The present being most emphatically one of these times, Standish -with ruffled dignity laid bare his financial soul. - -And the big, red-haired man lolled back in the opposite chair watching -his stately visitor from between alert, half-shut eyes. The Fighter -had waited, worked, planned, for months, for this very interview. Had -Standish been better versed in sign-reading, he might have seen marks -of Conover’s passage all along the tortuous finance trail that had at -last led to this private office and still more private confession. - -But Standish had fallen not only into the trap but into the fatal -mistake that had, a century earlier, in France, caused the severance -of a goodly number of noble heads:--the error of underestimating a -proletariat opponent. And now, unwittingly, he was about to pay the -price. - -“Well,” observed Caleb, when the facts stood forth, marshaled in their -sorry array, “How does all this int’rest _me_?” - -“I beg your pardon?” halted Standish. - -“I say, how does this int’rest _me_? Why should _I_ int’rest myself in -doin’ this mighty big favor for you? Why don’t you turn to some of your -own business associates--some men of your own class? Why do you come -here?” - -“I--you were so kind as to help me before--” - -“An’ that gives me a license to do it again?” suggested Caleb. “That -seems to be the rule all the world over. The rest of your crowd are -either as bad off as you; or have too much sense to put cash into a -sinkin’ enterprise, hey? So we come ’a runnin’ to the easy mark, Caleb -Conover. He’ll be flattered to help us out.” - -“Mr. Conover!” coughed the poor old man. - -“That’s all right,” laughed Caleb. “I’m goin’ to help you out. So don’t -get any grayer in the face than you are already. I’m goin’ to help you -out for two reasons. First, because if I don’t, you’re ruined. Flat -broke an’--” - -“Oh, no, Mr. Conover!” exclaimed Standish, tremblingly. “Not in the -very least. It is a temporary crisis which--” - -“Which is goin’ to become perm’nent unless I sling out a life rope. -What’s the use of lyin’ ’bout it?” - -Standish laughed. The pitiful, mirthless laugh of the man who is -insulted and dare not resent the affront; who compromises with trampled -self-respect by grinning where he should curse. - -“Good joke, ain’t it?” agreed Caleb, reading the broken aristocrat -like an open page, “So much for my first reason. My second reason for -helpin’ you out is because I want to do you a neighborly turn. We _are_ -neighbors, ain’t we, Standish?” - -“Why of course! Of course!” cried the other wholly puzzled as to the -trend of Caleb’s words; yet unfeignedly happy--and therefore eager to -be genial--over the solution of his financial tangle. He coughed a -pleasant acquiescence. - -“But,” went on Caleb, “it just occurs to me I ain’t been as neighborly -with you as I’d oughter.” - -Absent-mindedly, as he talked, Conover drew forth his check book from a -drawer and laid it open before him, fingering its long pink slips. - -“No,” he continued, forestalling Standish’s perplexed reply, “I ain’t -been so neighborly as I should. You’ve been around here to see me -several times, now.--An’ I’ve never once returned any of your visits. -It’s about up to me to come to see you. When’ll I come?” - -“Why--by all means! By all means!” declared Standish with effusion. -“Come and lunch with me, some day,--shall we say, at the Pompton Club? -Why not to-day? I shall be delighted. If--” - -“I don’t go out to lunch,” objected Conover. “Haven’t time. But I’d be -glad to eat dinner with you.” - -“Certainly. Why, of course. Any evening you say. The chef we have now -at the Pompton Club--” - -“I don’t want to dine at the Pompton Club,” said Caleb sulkily. - -“At the Arareek, then. We’re both members there. What evening--?” - -“Nor the Arareek, neither,” answered Caleb, “Eatin’ food with a man at -his club ain’t what I call bein’ neighborly. I’ll just drop around on -you for a home dinner some evenin’. I’ll like that better.” - -“Why, ye--es,” coincided Standish, with all the cordiality he could -muster against the shock, “That will be delightful. Certainly. Some -evening when--” - -“How’d Friday evenin’ of this week suit you?” asked Caleb, breaking in -on the loosely strung speech of his guest. - -“Friday?” echoed Standish, taken aback. “Why, why my family are to be -at home that evening!” - -White spots leaped into view at either side of Caleb’s close shut lips, -and something lurid flamed far back in his eyes. Had Blacarda--in his -hospital room at the Capital--seen that look, he might have suffered -relapse. But Standish was near-sighted,--except in the eyes,--and the -expression passed unnoticed. - -“I know your fam’ly’s to be home that night,” said Conover in a -curiously muffled voice. “Also there’s a dinner party you’re givin’. -An’ a musicle afterward. Twelve guests to the dinner. ’Bout two hundred -to the musicle. I’m comin’ to both.” - -“But my dear Mr. Conover!” cried Standish with forced gaiety. “You -don’t quite see the point--Much as I--and all of us--would be delighted -to have you as our guest at dinner that night, yet the laws of a dinner -party are unpleasantly--perhaps ridiculously--rigid. For instance, -this is to be a dinner for twelve. An extra man would spoil the -balance--and--” with sudden inspiration--“it would make thirteen. So -many people are foolishly superstitious! I confess, I am, for one. Now -the next evening would--” - -“The next evenin’,” said Conover, “you an’ your fam’ly are booked for -the Hawarden’s theatre party. I read about it in the _Star_. You’d -excuse yourself an’ stay at home an’ dine alone with me. An’ that’d be -about as merry as a morgue for both of us. No, I’m comin’ Friday;--if -you’ll be so good as to ask me.” - -“But I’ve just told you--” - -“You’ve just told me there was to be twelve guests. That’s all right. -There’ll be only twelve. I’ll be one of the twelve. Blacarda was -invited. He’s laid up in the hospital from a car acc’dent an’ can’t -come. I’m helpin’ you out by takin’ his place. No inconvenience to -anyone. Unless maybe you think your daughter an’ your sister-in-law -won’t care to meet me?” - -“Not at all! Nonsense!” fumed Standish, in fearful straits. “They’d be -very glad indeed. But--” - -“Then that’s settled,” decided Conover. “Thanks.” - -He bent over the check book, pen in hand. Standish, at his wit’s end, -made one more attempt to drag himself free of the dilemma. - -“I know you won’t be offended,” he faltered, with another dry cough, -“if I say frankly,--frankness is always best, I think,--that I--” - -Caleb closed the check book with a snap and whirled his desk chair -about, to face his visitor; so suddenly that the latter involuntarily -started back. Not even Standish could now misread that dull, hot glint -in Conover’s pale eyes. - -“Look here, Mr. Standish,” said the Fighter. “Don’t ever make the -blunder of thinkin’ a man can’t understand you just because you can’t -understand him. If you’d said to one of your own crowd: ‘I can’t invite -you to my house because my fam’ly’s goin’ to be there; because you -ain’t fit to meet my women,’--if you’d said that to one of them, he’d -a’ been your enemy for life. You wouldn’t a’dared insult him so. But -you said it to me because you thought I wouldn’t understand. Well, I -do. Shut up! I know what you want to say, an’ I don’t want to hear it. -I’m not comin’ to your house for love of _you_; but I’m comin’ just the -same--I guess I’ve bought my right to. If a man’s good enough to beg -from, he’s good enough to treat civil. An’ you’re goin’ to treat _me_ -civil. This afternoon I’m goin’ to get an invite to your dinner an’ the -musicle. You ought to be grateful that I don’t insist on singin’ there. -I’m goin’ on Friday, an’ you’re goin’ to pass the word around that I’m -to be treated right, while I’m there. Just to make sure of it, I’ll -date this check ahead to next Saturday.” - -A last remnant of manhood flared up within the consumptive old bank -president’s withered soul. - -“I’m not to be bulldozed, Mr. Conover!” he said with a certain dignity. -“Because you extend business favors to me, I am not obliged to admit a -man of your character to my home. And I shall not. As for the loan--” - -“As for the loan,” replied Conover, shrugging his shoulders, and -tossing the check book back in the drawer, “I’m not obliged to stave -off ruin from a man that thinks I’m not fit to enter his home. That’s -all. Good-day.” - -He slammed shut the desk drawer, and began to look over some of the -opened letters before him. - -The old man had risen to his feet, his eyes fixed on the closed drawer -like those of a starved dog on a chunk of meat. His mouth-corners -twitched and humiliation forced an unwonted moisture into his eyes. - -“Mr. Conover,” he began, tentatively. - -“Good-day!” retorted Caleb without raising his eyes from the papers he -was sorting. - -“Mr. Conover!” coughed Standish in despair, “I’ll--I’ll be very glad if -you’ll dine with us on Friday night.” - -Conover opened the drawer, tossed the check across the table and went -on with his work. - -“I’ll be there,” he grunted. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -A LESSON IN IGNORANCE - - -Desirée was at the piano. Caleb Conover, whose knowledge of music -embraced one Sousa march and “Summer Noon” (with a somewhat hazy idea -as to which was which) lounged, sprawling, on a cushion by her feet; -listening in ignorant admiration to the snatches of melody. That anyone -could coax a tune out of so complex an instrument was to him a mystery -to be greeted with silent respect. - -He had come to her, in the long Spring twilight, to show with naive -pride an invitation he had just received. An invitation to the -musicale-dinner at the Standishes’, three nights hence. He volunteered -no information as to how it had been obtained; but evaded the girl’s -wondering queries with the guilty embarrassment that was always his -when she chanced to corner him in a fault. From Conover’s manner -Desirée gathered that the invitation was in a way an effort on -Standish’s part to repay the courtesy of the various large loans she -knew Caleb had made to the banker. Nor would she spoil the Fighter’s -very evident delight by closer cross-questioning. Caleb had said, days -ago, that he was going to be invited to the dinner. And, despite her -invariable scoffs at his boasts, she had long since learned that such -vaunts had an odd way of coming true. - -The June dusk lay velvet-like over the little music room. From the yard -outside came the bitter-sweet breath of syringas. Far off sounded the -yells of Billy Shevlin and some of his fellow street-boys; their racket -mellowed by distance. - -Talk had languished. At last Desirée had crossed to the piano. She -sat, playing scraps of music, as was her wont; pausing now and then to -speak; then letting her fingers run into a new air or a series of soft -improvised chords. She had scant technique and played almost wholly by -ear; using the piano only as the amateur music-worshipper’s medium for -recalling and reproducing some cherished fragments of song. - -But to Caleb, lolling at her side, the performance was sublime. That -anyone could talk while playing the piano was to him nothing short -of marvelous. He was firmly convinced it was a gift vouchsafed to -Desirée alone. Music itself was wholly unintelligible to him. Except -from Desirée’s lips or fingers, he found it actively distasteful. But -all she did was perfect. And if her playing fell upon his ear as a -meaningless jumble of sounds, he at least found the sounds sweet. - -“What’s that thing you just did with one hand and then rumbled down on -the low notes with the other?” he asked, after a spell of watching the -busy white fingers shining through the dusk. - -“That?” queried Desirée. “It’s just the Vanderdecken motive from _The -Flying Dutchman_. And I used to be able to play the whole Spinning -Song; but I’ve forgotten most of it.” - -“H’m!” murmured Caleb, who found her words as unmeaning as her music. -“I _thought_ I remembered that one. ‘Spinning Song,’ hey?” - -“Yes,” she said absently. “It starts out with lots of bizzy, purry -little notes too fast for me to play. I never could learn the piano.” - -“You bet you could!” cried Caleb, at once afire with contradiction. -“I’ve heard a lot of crackajack piano players an’ never one of ’em -could hold a candle to you. Why, there was Blink Snesham--the feller -they called Ragtime King,--down to Kerrigan’s. You’ve got him beat a -block.” - -“You dear old loyal idiot!” laughed Desirée, lifting one hand from the -keys to rumple his stiff red hair with a gesture as affectionate as it -was discomfiting. “I believe you think I’m the wonderfullest person on -earth.” - -“I _know_ you are,” he answered simply, his big body a-thrill with -half-holy joy at her touch. “What’s the one you’re playing now with -your other hand. Ain’t so very long, but it’s kind of sprightly.” - -“It’s Siegfried’s horn-call. See how it changes to four-time and loses -all its buoyancy, in the _Goetterdaemmerung_ funeral march.” - -Solemnly, hopelessly, the transformed, distorted horn-call crashed out. - -“That ain’t the same thing you played just now, is it?” he asked -in doubt. “Sounds sort of like the toons the bands play at Masonic -fun’rals.” - -“Same notes. Different tempo. One is the motive of the boy who starts -out through the forest of life sounding a joy-challenge to everything -and everybody. The other is woven into the dead hero’s mourning chant. -In _Goetterdaemmerung_, you know.” - -“Oh, yes. I remember now,” said Caleb, hastily. “It’d just slipped my -mind for the minute. I’ve got so many things to think of, you know.” - -“Caleb Conover!” - -Down came both little hands with a reproving bang on the keyboard, as -the girl started out of her rhapsody. - -“Caleb Conover, you’re being that way _again_! And after all I’ve told -you. How am I going to cure you of pretending?” - -“But, Dey!” he declared. “Honest I--I thought--I did.” - -“You know very well you were pretending. You don’t know whether -_Goetterdaemmerung_ is a dog, a bird, or a patent medicine. Now -confess. _Do_ you?” - -“From the sound,” floundered Caleb, in all seriousness, “I’d put my -money on the dog. But then, maybe--” - -Desirée leaned back and laughed long and delightedly. - -“Oh, _Caleb_!” she gasped. “_What_ am I going to do with you? Are you -never going to grow up?” - -“Not so long as my making a fool of myself can get such a -sweet-sounding laugh out of you,” he returned. “But, honest, Dey, how -can you expect me to know them things about horns an’ Dutchmen an’ -spinnin’, an’ all that, when you never tell me beforehand what it is -you’re goin’ to play? When you’re doin’ those piano stunts, I always -feel like you was travelin’ through places where the ‘No Thoroughfare’ -sign’s hung out for _me_. Then when I make b’lieve I’m keepin’ up with -you,--just so as I won’t get to feelin’ too lonesome,--you find it out -somehow an’ call me down. What’s that thing you’re playin’ _now_?” - -Infinitely sweet, fraught with all the tender hopelessness of parting, -the notes sobbed out into the little room; then stopped abruptly. - -“That’s all I know of it,” she said. “I only heard it once. In New -York, winter before last. It’s the third act duet between Mimi and -Rodolfo in ‘_Bohéme_.’ Where they say goodbye in the snow, at the Paris -barrier. I wish I remembered the rest of it.” - -“Why, I thought those people was in the _play_ you told me about. You -see I _do_ remember some things like that. Weren’t they the ones that -was in love an’ the feller said the girl was his ‘Youth,’ an’ when she -died--” - -“Yes. It’s an opera with the same sort of story. It’s queer you -remember it. That’s the second time you’ve spoken to me about ‘_La Vie -de Bohéme_’. How funny that a big, matter-of-fact business man like -you should be interested in sentimental stories of Youth and Love -and Death! Come!” rising from the music stool and losing the unwonted -dreaminess that had stolen over her, “I’m going to talk to you now -about the Standishes’ dinner. Have you _any_ idea how to behave, or -what to do?” - -“Well,” drawled Caleb, “I guess it’s mor’n three years now since -you loored me from the simple Jeffersonian joys of eatin’ with my -knife. An’ I know ’bout not tuckin’ my napkin under my chin, an’ not -makin’ noises like a swimmin’ pool while I’m eatin’ soup. An’--an I -mustn’t touch the butter with my fork. You see I’ve learnt a lot by -your lettin’ me come here to dinner so often. I guess there ain’t any -more things to remember, are there? The part about the butter will be -hardest, but--” - -“There won’t be any butter,” said Desirée, “So there’s one less -temptation for you to grapple with.” - -“Then I’ll be all right about the eatin’,” replied Conover. “Knife, -soup, napkin, butter. Anything else?” - -“Only about fifty more things,” answered Desirée, pessimistically. “Oh, -I do wish I were to be there to coach you!” - -“Want an invitation?” asked Caleb, eagerly. - -“How silly! At the eleventh hour? Of course I don’t. I hardly know -them. Besides I’m going to the musicale afterward. But I’m _so_ afraid -you’ll do something you ought not to. You won’t, _will_ you?” - -“Most likely I will,” confessed Caleb, ruefully. “But I bought a book -to-day ’bout etiquette an’ I’m reading up a little. I’ve got one or -two pointers already. Napkins are servy--serv--” - -“Serviettes?” suggested Desirée. “But no one nowadays calls them--” - -“An’ when you don’t want to get jagged, put your hand, ‘with a -careless, debbynair movement,’” he quoted, “‘Over the top of whichever -glass the serv’nt is offerin’ to fill.’ How’s that?” he ended with -pride. “I’ll sit up with that measly book ev’ry night till Friday. By -that time I’ll be--” - -“You’ll be so tangled up you won’t know whether your soup-plate is -for oysters or coffee,” she interrupted. “Now listen to me: I’m going -to crowd into one inspired lecture all I can think of about dinner -etiquette and other social chores, for you to use that evening. And -when you go home, burn that book up.” - -She forthwith launched upon a disquisition of such difficulties as lay -before him on his debut as a diner, and how each might be bridged. -After the first few sentences, Caleb’s attention strayed from her -words to her voice. Its sweetness, its youth and a peculiar child-like -quality in it always fascinated him. Now, with the added didactic -touch, bred of the lesson she was seeking to teach, he found it -altogether wonderful. - -Listening with rapt, almost worshipping attention, yet noting no word, -the giant sat huddled up in an awkward, happy bunch at the feet of the -youthful Gamaliel. A bar of lamplight from the opposite side of the -street filtered through the swaying window curtains, bringing her -half-hidden head with its dusky crown of hair into vague relief. From -under the shadowy brows, her great eyes glowed in the dim light. Her -dainty, flower face was very earnest. Caleb felt an almost irresistible -desire to pass his great, rough palm gently over her features; to catch -and kiss one of those tiny, earnestly gesturing hands of hers. She was -so little, so young, so pretty. And she wasting all that loveliness on -_him_, when she might be fascinating some eligible man. The thought -reminded Caleb of his interview with Jack Hawarden. Curious to learn -how the lad had availed himself of the permission to woo Desirée, -Conover broke in at her next pause, with the abrupt question: - -“Young Hawarden been here to-day?” - -“Why, yes,” said Desirée in surprise, “This noon.” - -“Ask you to marry him?” - -“He told you?” she cried. - -“Yes. Beforehand. Didn’t he say I’d gave him leave? No? Well, I s’pose -he wouldn’t be likely to. But I did. Sent him on, to try his luck. With -my blessin’.” - -“What do you mean? Did that foolish boy--?” - -“Came like a little man an’ asked my permission, as your guardian, to -make a proposal to you.” - -“And you told him he could? _What_ business was it of yours, I’d like -to know.” - -“I told him it wasn’t any business of mine. That’s why I let him come. -If it was _my_ business, I’d have you shut up in a big place with walls -all around it; an’ kittens an’ canary birds an’ all sorts of fluffy -things for you to play with. An’ no man but me should ever come within -a hundred miles of you. Then there’d be no danger of your runnin’ off -an’ gettin’ married to some geezer who’d teach you to think I was the -sort of man that ought to be fed in the kitchen an’ never ’lowed in the -parlor. Oh, I know.” - -The girl was looking at him with big, inscrutable eyes, as he halted -half-ashamed of his own words. - -“I think,” she said slowly, after a little pause, “I think you must -have inherited a great, _great_ deal of ignorance, Caleb. For during -the years while you were a baby, you were too young to acquire _very_ -much of it. And you _couldn’t_ have acquired all your present stock in -the thirty short years since that time. Besides, I don’t think even -Nature can make a man _quite_ foolish unless he helps her a little.” - -“It sounds fine,” admitted Caleb, “But what does it mean? What break -have I made now? If it was foolish to want you all to myself, always--” - -“It wasn’t,” she interrupted, “And you ought to know it wasn’t. It--” - -“Then what?” - -“Mr. Caine,” said the girl, “told me once you were the cleverest man he -knew. It made me very happy at the time. And I was nice to him all the -rest of the afternoon. But I see now it only showed how few sensible -men he knew. Let’s talk about something else.” - -“But--hold on!” begged Caleb. “Honest, Dey, you ought to think twice -before turnin’ down a chap like young Hawarden. His fam’ly--” - -“I told you last week never to talk that way again,” said Desirée, with -a stifled break in her voice, “_Why_ do you try to make me unhappy?” - -“_Me?_” gurgled Caleb in an utter bewilderment of distress. “Why, -little girl, I’d cut my head off for you. Please don’t get sore on me. -I’m no sort of a feller to talk to a girl like you. I’m always sayin’ -the wrong thing without even knowin’ afterward just what it was that -hurt you. An’ then I wish I had a third foot, so’s I could kick myself. -It’s queer that Nature built men so that they couldn’t kick themselves -or pat themselves on the back. _Please_ be friends again. I--I wish -there was some tea here I could drink, just to show you how sorry I am!” - -The girl’s mood had changed. She laughed with such heartiness at his -penitential attitude that he all at once felt full forgiveness was -granted. If there was a forced note in her gaiety, his duller senses -did not perceive it. - -“_Absolvo te!_” she intoned. “I’m a little cat ever to scratch you; and -I’m silly to let perfectly harmless things hurt me. I don’t know why -I do it. Sometimes I don’t know my own self any more than if I was a -Frisian market woman in a pink baize bonnet and number ten sabots. It’s -just because you’re so good and sweet and gentle that I walk all over -you. Because you let me do it I take out all my bad, horrid, nasty -tempers on you. And then you look so surprised and unhappy when I say -snippy, mean things to you; or when I tell you you make me feel badly -and--oh _where_ is my nominative case? Anyway, you’re my dear, old -splendid chum. And I wouldn’t be so cranky to you if I didn’t care more -for your little finger than for any other man’s head. And if you’d only -hit me or swear at me now and then, I’d be _lots_ nicer. Why don’t you?” - -Caleb, agape, yet grinning in feeble delight, tried to understand part -of this rapid-fire speech of penance. Almost wholly failing to grasp -her meaning, he nevertheless gathered that he was pardoned for his -unknown offence and that she was once more happy. Hence the weight was -off his mind and he rejoiced. - -“And just to punish myself,” Desirée was saying, “I’m going to tell you -about Jack Hawarden. He came here and asked me to marry him. And I told -him he was an awfully nice boy. And I felt I was unkind and cruel and -a lot of other things because I had to tell him I wasn’t in love with -him. But he behaved beautifully. He’s going to keep on coming to see -me, just the same and we’re going to be just as good friends as ever. -But he says he isn’t going to give up trying to make me change my mind. -Then I changed the subject by making him listen to Siegfried-Mickey -singing ‘The Death of Ase.’ And from that I got him to talking about -the things he’s writing. He says he believes some day his stories will -sell like wild-fire. If you’ve never tried to sell wild-fire you can’t -appreciate what an eager market there is for it. I told him that and he -didn’t like it very well. But altogether I steered him off from talking -about marrying me. So the rest didn’t matter very much. _Did_ it? Are -you _sure_ you can remember all the things I explained to you about -that dinner? At the musicale itself I shall try to get a chance to take -you under my own wing, and keep you from burning your poor fingers. -But--” - -“If you think I’m goin’ to queer you, at the musicle, by taggin’ around -after you, you’re dead wrong,” declared Caleb. “You get ’bout as much -of me as you need, here at your own house; without havin’ me scarin’ -better men away from you at parties. No, no. I’m goin’ to set in a -corner an’ watch folks fallin’ over ’emselves to talk to you.” - -“You big boy!” she scoffed, tenderly. “In the first place, people sit -up stiffly, without talking, while the music is going on,--at least -they’re supposed to. In the second, don’t think just because _you’re_ -foolish enough to like being with me, that other people will. I don’t -think there will be any _very_ tumultuous applause when I enter.” - -“It’ll be the hit of the evenin’ as far as _I’m_ concerned,” stoutly -averred Caleb. “I’m goin’ out to the Arareek Club in a few minutes,” -he went on, glancing at his watch. “There’s a dinner given to the golf -champion or middleweight tattin’-work-expert or some such c’lebrity. -I’m going to drop in for the speeches. It’ll be my first appearance -there since they didn’t kick me out. Caine’s goin’ too; for the -speeches. Him an’ Miss Standish, I b’lieve. Won’t you come along?” - -“I can’t,” lamented the girl. “Mrs. Cole and her sister from Denver are -coming in to see Aunt Mary. They’ll want to play whist. They always do. -And I promised Aunt Mary I’d stay and make out the four. Whist is such -a jolly game, I think,--for people that like it. _I_ hate it. But I’d -be a splendid player, Aunt Mary says, if I could ever remember what -cards are out. So I’m in for a happy, happy evening. I wish they could -ask the cook to play instead. Oh, dear! Why does one always feel so -horrid when one is doing people a good turn?” - -“I don’t know,” volunteered Caleb. “I never tried.” - -“Never tried!” echoed Desirée. “_Why_ will you talk such nonsense? -You know you’re _always_ doing things for people. Why, the paper said -yesterday that you missed your train back from the Capital, just to -take Mr. Blacarda to the hospital after he was so terribly hurt in the -accident.” - -“Oh,” said Caleb, magnanimously, “That was only because I felt kind of -sorry for the poor feller.” - - - - -CHAPTER X - -IN THE HOUSE OF RIMMON - - -Conover swung down the hill toward the valley in whose centre twinkled -the lights of the Arareek Country Club. He was still buoyed up by the -curious elation that was always his after an hour with Desirée. For -perhaps the first time in his life the thousand soft odors of the June -dusk carried for him a meaning; and in every nerve he was aware of the -mild glory of the night. He took deep breaths of the scented air and -squared his mighty shoulders as he strode down the slope. It was good -to be alive; to feel the easy play of one’s perfect muscles; to be -tireless, victorious, and still in the early thirties. - -A girl in a white dress was walking a short distance ahead of him as he -neared the Clubhouse. Each long step brought Conover nearer to her. At -her side walked a man. The couple were in no haste, but seemed bent on -enjoying the beauty of the night in leisurely fashion before reaching -their destination. As Caleb came alongside, a few rods from the Arareek -gates, the man hailed him. It was Caine. Conover, barely remembering -himself in time to imitate the other’s salute, pulled off his hat and -slouched toward the two. - -“Miss Standish,” said Caine, after greeting the Fighter, “May I present -Mr. Conover?” - -The girl held out her hand shyly. Caleb, as he took it, looked down at -her with considerable interest. He was curious to see what manner of -woman the fastidious Caine had so long idolized; and to whom, in face -of much rumored family opposition, he had recently become engaged. -The lights of the open Clubhouse door shone full upon Letty Standish, -and Caleb’s first curiosity changed to something like astonishment. -She was a plump little creature, with a pretty, slack face. Caleb, -versed in reading physiognomy, saw in her upturned countenance much -amiability,--of the sort that tends to turn gently sub-acid under -the right provocation,--a charmingly, complete lack of any sort of -resolution; and an intellect as profound as that of an unusually -sagacious guinea pig. Large, delft-blue eyes, a quivering button of -a nose, a pouting little mouth; profuse light brown hair piled high -above a narrow forehead. Pretty with the inherent comeliness of extreme -youth, but-- - -“Looks like a measly rabbit!” thought Conover in amused contempt, “An’ -_that’s_ what Amzi Nicholas Caine’s been workin’ all his life to win, -is it? Gee, but it’s queer what kinks a sane man’s brain’ll take, where -a woman’s concerned.” - -Outwardly he was listening with stony immobility to Letty’s timid words -of salutation. As she paused, he pulled his wits together. - -“Pleased to meet you,” said he. “I’m to have the pleasure of takin’ -dinner at your house Friday night, I b’lieve. Thanks for askin’ me. I -hope we’ll see more of each other.” - -“My aunt and I are always glad to meet Father’s business friends,” -returned Letty, ill at ease. She had wondered, and her aunt had -protested loudly, at Standish’s curt announcement that Blacarda’s -vacated place at the table must be taken by this unknown outsider. Nor, -as she looked at the stocky, heavy-jowled man and heard his uncouth -speech, did the mystery grow clearer. - -“You seemed in a hurry,” observed Caine, relieving the girl’s -embarrassment by taking Conover off her hands, “I think we’ll be in -plenty of time to hear all of the speeches we care to. There’s the same -pleasing likeness about them that there is about a string of street -cars. If you miss one, you can get the next and nothing worth while is -lost by the omission. At stag dinners of course it’s different. Then it -is always interesting to note the inverse ratio between eloquence and -sobriety. But at these ‘Celebration’ dinners the speeches are warranted -to contain nothing of dangerous interest. Shall we go in?” - -For lack of a gallery, the guests who had come to hear the speeches, -sat in the double ranks of chairs which lined the large dining room. -Conover and the two others arrived during a momentary lull between -speeches. Letty was greeted cordially by such people as she passed on -her way to her seat. Caleb, as one of her escort, found himself the -object of more courtesy than had ever before been his portion at the -Arareek. - -This new warmth of manner on the part of his fellow-members pleased -Caleb tremendously. Incidentally, it gave him the germ of an -idea,--vague, nebulous, yet of promising growth. The burgeoning -germ found mental expression during the next after-dinner speech. -Caleb allowed his shrewd gaze to rest on Letty Standish, more -critically--with less of humorous depreciation--than before. She sat -next him, one plump hand pillowing her slightly receding chin; her wide -blue eyes fixed on the speaker in polite attention; her small mouth -pursed in a smile of almost labored interest. - -“She’s better-lookin’ than I thought,” mused Conover, “An’ she’s a good -dresser. Maybe her face ain’t really so foolish. Starin’ at Dey so much -may have spoiled me for other girls. Everybody here seems glad to see -this Standish person; an’ some of their gladness has slopped over onto -me. If I’d a wife like that I’d strut right into the gold-shirt crowd -an’ they’d hang up a ‘Welcome, Little Stranger!’ sign for me. If Dey -can get into the right set by marryin’ one of ’em, I guess the same -rule ought to work with me. I’ll talk it over sometime with Caine. He -ought to know.” - -A ripple of hand-clapping roused Caleb from his disjointed reflections, -and he joined with vigor in applauding the speech he had not heard. - -“What an easy speaker Mr. Vroom is!” said Letty. “Don’t you envy such -men, Mr. Conover? Don’t you think it must be wonderful to make a speech -without being frightened to death? To stand up before so many people -and just talk to them as if--” - -“Easiest thing in the world!” announced Caleb, dully irritated at her -praise, “Anyone can do it. All a man needs is to say to himself: ‘I’m -a blame sight better, cleverer, bigger man than any of this bunch I’m -talkin’ down to.’ _Then_ he won’t be afraid of ’em. Because he despises -’em. That’s the way _I_ always do when I’ve got a speech to make. It’s -lots easier to stand up in an open-face suit an’ talk like Vroom did to -a friendly crowd, than to try and persuade one grouchy grocer to handle -your special brand of washin’ soda. _There’s_ where reel el’quence -comes in.” - -“Yes?” rejoined Letty, with her wavering little smile. “How clever of -you to put it in such an original way! I never thought of that, before.” - -“Of what?” demanded Caleb, inquisitorially. - -“Of--of--why, of what you said, of course. Now, shan’t we listen to the -toastmaster? He’s always so funny, I think. Do you know him?” - -“No, ma’am,” said Caleb. “He’s a novelty to me. But we’ll listen if you -like.” - -He folded his arms, leaned back in his camp chair and turned a look of -ponderous gravity upon the toastmaster. The latter, swaying back and -forth on his toes, his hands in his pockets, was lengthily introducing -the next speaker. At every third sentence his eye would sweep the room -with a roguish twinkle as who should say: “Make ready now for the -newest of my irresistible quips!” And the listeners would obediently -prepare to roar. Letty’s pleasant giggle at each sally annoyed Caleb. -He could not say why. But involuntarily he glanced toward her with -a frown. She chanced to be looking at him, at the same moment, for -companionship in her appreciation of the latest witticism. Meeting -the scowl, her nose quivered and her smile froze into pitiful, -half-appealing lines that added to Caleb’s senseless irritation. But, -by an effort, he sought awkwardly to nullify any unpleasant impression -of him that she might have gained. - -“What was that joke?” he whispered, to explain his frown. “I didn’t -quite catch it.” - -“Why,” faltered Letty, “he said--he said--‘the man who hesitates, -foozles.’ I _think_ that was it. Something like that. Or,--was it--‘the -man who--’? Oh, listen! He’s going to tell that lovely story about the -minister who had to give up golf or the pulpit. I do want to hear that!” - -The murmur of joyous anticipation, as the toastmaster hoisted -preliminary warnings for this classic, showed that Letty was by no -means unique in her choice of rechauffèe humor. Caleb sat glum under -the salvo of merriment. Letty glanced sideways, in dawning uneasiness, -at his set face. - -“And,” beamed the toastmaster, “as the Irish caddie said to the--” - -The door leading from the butler’s pantry burst open. Through the -aperture into the bright-lit dining hall scurried a red-faced, -bald-headed man; two club servants close at his heels. The fugitive -was clad in a soiled waiter-jacket and a pair of patched overalls. -Both garments had evidently been intended for someone much larger. -Their present wearer seemed lost in their voluminous folds. Yet, even -thus hampered, he dodged his pursuers with an agility little short of -incredible in so old a man. - -Darting forward into the full blaze of light, he fled around the table. -The two servants had checked their pursuit near the door; and now -stood irresolute, at a loss whether or not to continue the chase into -the sacred precincts of the dining room. They looked for instructions -to a stout, pompous personage who, following them up from the pantry, -now blocked the doorway and stared balefully at the little old man. -The latter in his flight had come into violent contact with one of the -slender pillars near the toastmaster’s chair. Wrapping both arms about -this, he slid to the floor and crouched there; still clinging to the -pillar; making horrible simian faces over his shoulder at the trio -beside the pantry door. - -At the apparition, several diners had jumped excitedly to their feet, -(with the world-old instinct which taught prehistoric man to meet -danger or surprise, standing); others had craned their necks or shouted -confused queries. One woman had cried out. Every eye in the room was -upon the grotesque, couchant little figure huddled against the centre -pillar. The toastmaster turned in lofty severity upon the big man in -the doorway. - -“Steward!” he declaimed. “What does this mean?” - -“I--I am extremely sorry, Mr. Dillingham!” answered the steward, -venturing forward. “I’m sure I apologize most sincerely. I wouldn’t -have had such a thing happen for worlds. We were short of men in the -kitchen, to-night, sir. That--that old panhandler over there, sir,” -pointing an abhorring finger at the refugee, “came around looking for -an odd job. So I set him to washing dishes. He said he’d stopped off a -train on his way from the West. He got at some of the wines, sir, when -we wasn’t looking. He’s in a disgusting state, sir. Then one of my men -caught him pocketing some forks and I told two of the waiters to search -him and send for the police. They grabbed him, but he slipped away and -ran in here. So I--” - -“That will do! That will _do_!” thundered the toastmaster, succeeding, -after divers trials, in breaking in upon the narrative. “Remove him. At -once! And as quietly as you can.--I am more sorry than I can say,” he -went on urbanely, addressing the guests, “that such a disgraceful scene -should have--” - -A howl from the man on the floor cut short the apology. Two servants -had approached to do the toastmaster’s bidding. As the first of them -seized him by the shoulder the little man screamed like a mad cat. -Locking his legs about the pillar, he turned upon his assailants with -fists and teeth, fighting with the deadly, unscientific fury of a -cornered wild thing. The scrimmage that followed set the room in dire -confusion. To end which, the toastmaster so far unbent as to rush -among the combatants and order back his myrmidons. The attendants drew -away, disheveled, bleeding, robbed of the spruce neatness that was the -Arareek’s pride. The defender’s jacket had been torn off. There was a -slight cut on his forehead. But his little bloodshot eyes glared with -undiminished drunken defiance; nor had his opponents’ best efforts -dislodged his legs from about the pillar. - -“Oh, the sacred Arareek!” muttered Caine, leaning across toward -Conover. “Dillingham will be in hysterics in another minute. The -sanctity of his state dinner shattered just when he was at his asinine -best! See, some of the women are starting to go. If they leave, it’ll -break his heart.” - -But Caleb did not hear. Almost alone of all those in the room, he had -shown no excitement. Fights were no novelty to him. Bent forward, yet -emotionless, his eyes had never once left the distorted face of the -drunken interloper. - -“Leave me be!” the latter was demanding in a squealing hiccough, as -the cessation of attack left him breath for words. “Leave me be, can’t -yer? Fine lot--swellsh you are, to pick on one poor old man what never -harmed none of you! Lemme ’_lone_!” as Dillingham with thoughts of -diplomacy, edged closer. “That--that feller called me--p--panhandler! -’S a lie! I’m honesh, ’spectible workin’ man. Fought for m’ country -in S-S-Shivil war. Got m’ hon’rable-dishcharge. Fought for m’ country -while the most of you was in--in y’r cradles. I’m drunk too,” he -confided squinting up at the unnerved Dillingham. “Drunk--or I wouldn’t -a’ stholen thoshe thingsh. Perfec’ly shquare when I’m shober. Perf’ly. -Learned t’drink while I was d--d’fendin’ m’ country. I’m--” - -His voice scaled a note or two, broke, and then meandered on, in time -to prevent Dillingham’s interruption. His tone had shifted once more -from the explanatory to the pugnacious. - -“If I had had my--my rightsh!” he bellowed, shrilly, glaring about -him. “I’d be ridin’ in my carr’ge--m’own carr’ge! Yesh! Thash right. -Own carr’ge. Got a boy whoshe rich--rich man. Whatsh’e do for me? -Noshin’t’all! Don’t ev’n know I’m ’live. Till I struck Granite t’night, -I didn’t know _he_’sh ’live. Firsh time been here in twenty yearsh. -They shent m’t’ jail, lasht time, dammem! Poor ol’ Saul Con’ver!” - -He broke into senile, weak sobbing. And, from all over the room rose a -confused whispering, a rustle, an indefinable electric thrill. Women -whose escorts had led them to the door, halted and looked back in crass -interest. Men glanced at one another, muttering queries that found no -answer. Even Dillingham forgot at last his faint hope of restoring the -shattered function to its former banal calm. - -Pair by pair, all eyes slowly focussed on Caleb Conover. But the most -imaginative gazer could not descry emotion--whether of surprise, -chagrin or fear--on the heavy mask of the Fighter’s face. For a moment -there was a hush. The old man on the floor still sobbed in maudlin -fashion. But no one heeded him. Then Caine arose. - -“I think,” he began, his pleasant, low-pitched voice breaking in like -a dash of cool water on his hearers’ superheated senses, “I think -there is no need for any of us to magnify this trifling break in our -jolly evening; nor to allow it to mar in any way our spirit of good -fellowship. May I propose that we--?” - -“Hold on,” interposed Caleb, quietly. He got to his feet and laid a -detaining hand on Caine’s arm. - -“You mean well,” he said, “an’ I thank you. But I think this is where -_I_ do the talkin’, an’ not you. I’ve never made a speech here before,” -he went on, raising his voice, “An’ I never expected to. But I’ll -ask you people to have patience with me for a minute or two. Because -there’s one or two things that’s got to be said here an’ now. An’ I’m -the one that’s got to say ’em.” - -He glanced about him. Never before in the Arareek Club had orator -enjoyed so rapt an audience. The quiet, heavy voice, the brute -magnetism of the man, no less than curiosity as to how he would handle -so impossible a situation, had already caught everyone’s attention. His -wholly masterful manner, his latent strength, lent a force of their own -to his rough words as he went on: - -“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that man doubled up on the floor there is -my father--I didn’t know till five minutes ago that he was still alive. -I hadn’t seen nor heard of him in near twenty-five years; till he came -in here, crazy drunk, just now, an’ broke up your party. I’m sorry for -what he’s done. If I could make any kind of rep’ration to you for the -bother he’s caused, I’d do it. I guess you know that. But I can’t. All -I can do is to try to make you look at him less like he was a mangy dog -in a fit, an’ more as if he was a human like yourselves. That’s why I’m -takin’ the liberty to speak to you now. Will you hear me?” - -The unconscious buzz and murmur that all at once swept the room served -him for answer; and he continued: - -“My father,” with another nod toward the mumbling figure on the floor, -“was a risin’, hard workin’ man. He come of decent people, an’ he was -a promisin’ young chap that ev’rybody liked. That was the trouble. -Too many folks liked him; which is pretty near as bad as bein’ liked -by nobody. Nothin’ pers’nal intended. When the Civil War broke out he -went to the front. There he learned to starve, to loaf, to forget his -business trainin’. An’ he wasn’t the only one, I guess. There’s where -he learned to drink, too. When men have to go supperless to bed on the -wet ground after an all-day march, a swig of whiskey’s a blessin’. -It’s a blessin’, too, when it dulls the mem’ry of the comrade at your -side that was blowed to pieces by a shell or ripped open by a bay’net. -Can you blame the soldiers if they let the whiskey bless ’em so often -that it gets to be a habit? - -“After the war my father come home. There’d been bands of music an’ -women wavin’ handkerchi’fs an’ noospapers to call him an’ his fellers -a lot of hot-air names when they marched off in their bloo uniforms to -the war. When the boys came slouchin’ back, footsore, ragged, an’ so -thin they looked like walkin’ embalmer advertisements, there wasn’t -quite so much cheerin’. My father’d gone away a brisk, fine set-up lad, -leavin’ good work behind him. He come back like a good many thousand -others, none the better for a four-year course in shiftlessness, booze -an’ no reg’lar work. - -“The folks who’d cheered him when he went to fight for ’em had cheered -away a lot of their spare patri’tism by that time. There wa’nt enough -of it left in Granite to give my father a fair start in the world -again. Because he’d learned to drink, to loaf, to be uneasy an’ -unreliable when he worked, they forgot he’d picked up those tricks -while he was defendin’ their country. Heroes was a drug in the market. -If any of you fellers know how it feels to get down to work the day -after your fortnight’s vacation, maybe you can understand what it meant -to him to settle down to a job after four years in the open.” - -Conover glanced again at his father. The old man had ceased to mumble -and was trying to follow the Fighter’s speech. The slack jaw had -tightened; and the huddled form was struggling slowly to its feet. - -“He tried to work,” resumed Conover, “but younger, smarter folks with -steadier business trainin’ was grabbin’ all the good jobs. Yet he got -what he could, an’ for awhile he did the best he knew how. Then he saw -a chance to make things easier for my mother an’ me. He’d been used to -seein’ his off’cers in the army paddin’ expense accounts an’ gettin’ -graft on fodder bills an’ such. He’d seen contractors grow rich by -sellin’ the Gov’ment shoddy blankets an’ rotten food. Was it any worse -for _him_ to scamp weights on the coal scales? That’s what he done. Not -in big quantities as if he was a financier; but a few cents a day as he -got the chance. - -“That was his mistake. If he’d stole a million he’d a’ been a big man -in Granite. But he hadn’t the brain to do more’n foller, a long way -off, the example of the men he’d been taught to obey for four years. -Because he stole so little an’ so stoopidly, they found him out. They -didn’t stop to ask if he’d used the miser’ble little sums of pilfered -money to make his home happier an’ buy things for his sick wife. Those -arguments don’t cut much ice in law. He was just a common thief. An’ -they sent him to States prison. Me an’ my mother could starve, for -all the law cared. The bread winner was locked up. That was all holy -Justice asked for. _We_ could die of hunger if we wanted to, now that -the law had taken away the man who had stole to keep us alive. - -“I guess you folks has read of the way men get treated in those places -where the State gives ’em a chance to repent of their sins. For five -years my father lived in a stone cubbyhole an’ had for chums a choice -c’lection of the Devil’s Own Brigade. Not a soul in all that time to -speak a decent word to him,--to say ‘Please,’ in givin’ him his orders. -It sounds like a small thing to have no one say ‘Please’ to you. But -try it some time. - -“After five years of herdin’ with beasts,--only bein’ treated worse’n -the S. P. C. A. would let any beast be treated,--they turned my father -loose. They’d set the prison mark on him; they’d taught him to keep -comp’ny with blackguards; they’d made him callous to everything decent, -an’ taken away his citizenship. Havin’ done which, they gen’rously sets -him free an’ gives him a chance to be a Godfearin’, upright man in -future. Who’ll hire a convict? Who’ll give him a show? No one--You know -that as well as I do. How can he hold up his head among men who haven’t -had the bad luck to be caught? What was left for my father to do? To -’sociate with the only class that’d take him as an equal. To turn -to the drink that made him forget they’d branded him as an outcast. -That’s what he did. I ain’t sayin’ it’s right. I ain’t sayin’ that -Saul Conover’s a noble lookin’ work of God as he slinks against that -post there. The drink that comforted him so long has knocked out his -manhood. The hard luck an’ starvin’ has turned him old and ugly an’ -bad-shaped. In short, he’s what S’ciety an’ a lovin’ Paternal Gov’ment -has made him. An’--he’s my father, God help him! An’ the man who says -I’m ashamed of him, lies!” - -Amid the oppressed silence, Caleb Conover crossed over to where his -father stood cowed and half-sobered. As gently as a woman, he put his -arm about the old man’s twisted shoulders and drew him toward the door. -A lane was made for their passage. From somewhere in the crowd came -the sound of a woman’s stifled sob. Jack Hawarden impulsively clapped -his hands together. There was an instant’s shocked silence. Then--no -one could afterward explain why--the lad’s example was followed from -all quarters of the dining hall; and a rattle of incongruous applause -re-echoed through the place. - -As Conover, half-leading, half-supporting the wizened form, neared the -door, young Hawarden barred his path. With boyish hero-worship shining -in his eyes, Jack thrust out his hand. Caleb gripped it in silence and -passed on, out into the darkness. None followed the strange pair as -they left the clubhouse. - -Neither father nor son spoke a word until they were alone in the -starlit road, far beyond earshot of the club. Then Caleb stopped, -glancing back as though fearful lest some inquisitive guest might have -come out to witness the sequel to the banquet hall scene. The night -air had still further cleared the drink-fog from the old man’s brain. -Clutching his son by the sleeve, and tremblingly patting the Fighter’s -big hand, he whimpered: - -“Gawd bless you, boy! It’s a proud man I am this night. You’re not -ashamed of your poor old father what worked so hard for you an’ loves -you so an’--” - -With a gesture of loathing, Caleb shook off the weak clasp. - -“You measly old crook!” he snarled. “Keep your dirty hands off me! -Here!” thrusting a roll of bills upon him. “Take this an’ get out of -town by the next train. Write me where to forward money an’ I’ll see -you get enough to keep you drunk till you die. But if you ever set -foot in Granite again I’ll have you railroaded to jail for life. An’, -after this, don’t spring that Civil War yarn again. Civil War hard-luck -stories are played out. Besides, you were never within two hundred -miles of the war; and you know you weren’t. Don’t lie when you don’t -have to. It spoils your skill for nec’ssary lies. Now, get away from -here! Chase!” - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -A PEACE CONFERENCE - - -“I don’t know why we were all so carried away by it,” said Caine, -reflectively. “I’ve been thinking it over. There was much more bathos -than pathos; and a delightful absence of both elegance and eloquence -about his speech. Yet for a moment I was almost tempted to join in -your charmingly ill-timed applause. The whole thing savored of cheap -melodrama. But--” - -“It was the man himself. Not what he said,” answered Jack Hawarden, -eager in defense of his new-built idol. “He stood there facing a crowd -that would have liked nothing better than to annihilate him. That -drunken Thing on the floor was enough by itself to ruin him forever -at the Arareek. Yet Conover made us listen and he swayed us to suit -himself. Not by what he said, but by his own big strength, I think. -There’s something about him I don’t understand. But he’s a _man_. And, -after to-night,--whatever the others say--I take my hat off to him.” - -“For the perfecting of a young author’s style,” observed Caine, -irrelevantly, “what sample of nervous English can be finer than -Carlyle’s ‘_Heroes and Hero Worship_?’” - -His raillery jarred on the boy’s enthusiasm and checked the gush of -extravagant praise. Letty Standish, with whom the two were walking home -from the Club, took advantage of Jack’s snubbed silence, to put in a -word. - -“I think Mr. Hawarden is right, Amzi,” she ventured. “There’s something -about Mr. Conover that one can’t very well define. I think he could -make one do anything he chose. I know _I_ was almost--afraid of -him,--before I’d known him ten minutes. I don’t quite think I like him. -He’s so powerful, so rough, so domineering. Not like anyone I ever met -before. But,” with a slight shudder, “I believe I’d do whatever he -ordered me to. Especially if he scowled at me in that bullying way, -with his eyes half-shut. Isn’t it funny to feel like that about a -person you hardly know?” - -She ended with a nervous laugh, and looked up at Caine with a pretty, -helpless air of seeking protection. Amzi always found this appealing -attitude irresistible. If social longings were Conover’s “feet of -clay,” Letty Standish served as a similar pedal handicap for Caine. -He wished young Hawarden had not thrust himself upon the tête-à-tête -of their homeward walk. He wanted, loverlike, to reassure Letty with -unspeakably doughty promises of safeguard from peril; to see her soft -round eyes raised to his in the admiration such protestations are wont -to excite between very young or very old lovers. But Jack was doggedly -treading along beside them in all the charming ignorance of his age and -temperament. The boy’s sulks were even now dissolving and he joined -again in the talk; still harping on his hero. - -“I never met Conover till this morning,” said he. “I wish now I’d known -him better. It’s queer I never met him at Miss Shevlin’s. She’s his -ward, you know.” - -Letty, to whom he spoke, answered with a tinge of the latent sub-acid -in her gentle voice: - -“I didn’t know. But I’ve noticed things about Miss Shevlin that made it -seem quite likely.” - -“Miss Shevlin,” said the boy, hotly, “is the prettiest, brightest, -best-bred girl I ever knew. If you mean she is--” - -“I dare say,” answered Letty with elaborate carelessness. “But I never -noticed her especially.” - -“I don’t see,” persisted Jack, “how you could have helped it. She’s the -sort of girl everyone notices. There’s something about her--” - -“Why, what a zealous champion she has!” exclaimed Letty, playfully, her -laughter ringing thin. “I congratulate her.” - -“You needn’t,” retorted Jack. “And I’m afraid you’ll never even have a -chance to congratulate _me_. I--” - -“By the way, Hawarden,” interposed Caine, lazily pouring oil on the -churned waters, according to his wont. “I read your _Scribner’s_ story -to-day. I can congratulate you on _that_, at any rate, can’t I? It was -decidedly good. I wondered at your knowledge of human nature.” - -Hawarden’s chest swelled. At twenty-two, who does not know human nature -as never can it be known in later years? And who does not rejoice at -recognition of that vast knowledge? - -“I’ve had some experience with life, in my time,” said Jack, darkly. -“And I paint my fellow-man as I see him. Not as he ought to be. But as -he is. If I seem merciless in my character drawing--” - -“You do indeed!” began Caine. But a fit of very well executed coughing -cut short his righteous praise. Jack, disappointed, sought to lead the -talk back to the former happy theme. - -“I’m writing a story now,” he said, “that is bigger in every way than -anything I’ve done before. But I can’t decide yet, even in my own mind, -whether it is very good or very bad. It is one or the other. I know -that.” - -“If it’s enough of either,” replied Caine, “it is certain to make a -popular hit.” - -“I’ve made De--Miss Shevlin my heroine,” pursued Hawarden, scornfully -disregarding Caine’s untimely flippancy. “But it’s hard to put a girl -like her on paper the way one sees her in one’s mind. I wrote a poem -about her once. _Harper’s Magazine_ accepted it.” - -He paused. Then, ridden by the demon of truth, added with reluctance, -“They published it in fine print over toward the end. But,” more -buoyantly, “I saw it copied afterward in no less than two papers.” - -“Why don’t you put Mr. Conover into a story, too?” suggested Letty, -unwilling not to seem quite at home in so profound a literary -discussion. “Wouldn’t he make a good character? He’s so--” - -“I’m afraid not,” decided the boy, judicially weighing his verdict. -“He’s more of a _man_ than anyone else in all my experience. But he -wouldn’t quite fit into a story, I’m afraid. You see, he lacks romance, -for one thing. One could hardly fancy Caleb Conover in love. And -then--unless you count this evening’s affair--I doubt if he was ever in -an adventure of any sort in his life. His character, from a literary -viewpoint, doesn’t lend itself to action or analysis. In making the -study of human nature my hobby, I have--” - -“I see!” broke in Letty, almost sharply. “You are quite right. He would -be impossible in a story--as he is in real life!” - -“I hardly think so,” demurred Caine. “Not impossible. Improbable, at -worst. I am afraid a great many people in Granite will find that out -before he is through.” - -They had reached the Standish home. Hawarden bade them goodnight at the -door; declining Letty’s perfunctory invitation to come in. The evening -was still young. But the lack of cordiality in Letty’s voice grated on -his armor of youth. He reflected somewhat belatedly that she and Caine -were engaged and that it was possible they might find themes even more -alluring than literature to talk over, together. So, unwilling, he left -them. - -Caine and Letty strolled slowly up the walk. The night was cool, for -June. So, ignoring the lounging chairs on the veranda, they passed into -the house. - -“This is one of the last evenings we can sit indoors,” commented Letty. -“It’s hard to realize that summer is so near. I suppose this week will -wind up the season. Everywhere else except in old-fashioned Granite, it -must have ended weeks ago.” - -“Yes. We’re old-fashioned here in Granite,” said Caine, seating himself -on the arm of the chair into which she had thrown herself. “I think -somebody once left an 1860 calendar in this town, and we’ve all been -living by it ever since. We’re like the scaly, finny Oldest Inhabitants -in the poem, who dreamed away their lives in the coral grove, while a -seven stanza storm roared across the ocean overhead. When the storm of -progress cuts a little below the surface we Granite folk blink upward -from our dreams in pained disapproval. I think that’s why we look -askance at Conover. He represents--” - -“Oh, am I to have that dreadful creature’s name forever dinned into my -ears?” complained Letty. “Isn’t it enough that Father makes us ask him -here to dinner, Friday; without _your_ talking forever about him in the -little while people leave us alone together? In another minute Aunt -Lydia will be pottering in to play propriety. And then--” - -“And then, ‘Fly from the Aunt, thou sluggard!’ shall be my motto,” -finished Caine. “I wish her virtues didn’t oppress me so. I wouldn’t -object to her so much, if someone whose vocabulary was as limited as -his knowledge of heaven’s _personnel_, hadn’t once described her looks -as ‘Saintly.’ She has been trying so hard to live up to the picture, -ever since, that it’s a bit wearing on poor sinners like me.” - -“It’s wicked to be so sacrilegious,” returned Letty, primly. “And I -don’t like to have you speak so of my family. After all, she is my -aunt.” - -“Don’t think for a moment I’m blaming _you_ for that, sweetheart,” he -protested with an earnestness that left Letty as usual in doubt whether -or not he had perpetrated some witticism she ought to have seen. Taking -hasty mental review of their talk, she decided he had not, and went on: - -“And her face _is_ saintly. You know she--” - -“Perhaps it is,” he acquiesced. “But what a pity Fra Angelico and -Rafael couldn’t have seen her! Then we should have had all those -cherubs and red-and-gold angels of theirs depicted with thin gray hair -parted in the middle, and with gray switches and half-inch eye-glasses.” - -“You have grown coarse from associating with that Conover man,” pouted -Letty. “It’s--it’s indelicate to speak of switches. And it hurts my -feelings cruelly to have you abuse the people I love!” - -The tears, always comfortably near the surface, trembled in Letty’s -voice and eyes. Caine, in a fever of remorse, begged forgiveness and -tried to put his arm about her. But she drew away with a little hunch -of the shoulders. - -“You’ve spoiled my evening!” she wailed. “First you introduced that -miserable man to me and made him frighten me, and now you make fun of--” - -Footsteps crossing the hall brought her tale of wrong to an abrupt -halt. She sat up and furtively mopped her eyes. Tears were so common -and so easy a relief to her that normally they left scant mark of their -presence. Caine rose and faced the door; the distressed lover merging -as by magic into the bored, suave man of the world. - -Reuben Standish’s widowed sister-in-law glided into the room, diffusing -an aura of mild beneficence that struck Caine’s nerves to the raw. Her -near-sighted eyes turned as in lofty benediction upon the lovers; her -thick glasses diffusing and magnifying the glance until it seemed to -embrace all the visible world. - -Mrs. Standish, on the death of her husband, had come to keep house -for her widower brother-in-law. She had brought with her her orphaned -grandnephew, Clive, (only son of Letty’s elder brother, long dead), -whose upbringing was at once her chief visible claim to sanctity and -her scriptural thorn in the flesh. - -“Clive has been so bad again this evening!” she said with a sigh, after -a distant greeting to Caine, “I suppose these crosses are sent to us. -But sometimes I am nearly tempted to wonder why. I actually caught him -tacking his grandfather’s slippers to the floor, where I had left them, -in front of the chiffonier, in Mr. Standish’s room. I locked him in the -nursery for an hour while I prayed to see my duty clear. And when I -went to him, strengthened and inspired to make him see his fault, what -do you think I found him doing? The hardened boy was actually drawing -caricature, depicting his grandfather trying to walk in the tacked-down -slippers. He had not even the grace to hide it when he saw me coming. -There was nothing left for me to do but to whip him. So I have sent him -out to cut a small stick.” - -“Poor little chap!” muttered Caine, stifling a smile. He was fond of -the boy, who in turn idolized him. - -“Perhaps,” went on Amzi, aloud, “If, instead of whipping him, you could -let me talk to him and explain--” - -“Aunt Lydia!” piped a voice from the doorway. A little Eton-suited boy -with a mop of yellow hair and sorrowful dark eyes, hesitated on the -threshold. - -“Oh, _here_ you are,” added the child, coming into the room and walking -straight up to Mrs. Standish. “I--” - -“Where is the stick?” asked Nemesis, her glasses reflecting less -sanctity than was their custom, as they sought a glimpse of the hands -Clive held clasped behind him. - -“I’m sorry,” replied the boy, apologetically. “It was so dark I -couldn’t find a stick. But,” with a propitiatory smile, as he brought -his hands forward, “Here are two stones you can throw at me, instead, -if you like.” - -Caine’s laughter exploded; breaking in with scandalous intrusion, upon -the penitential scene. - -“Mr. Caine,” said Mrs. Standish, her coldly righteous rebuke rising -above Letty’s milder reproval, “I think, perhaps, for discipline’s -sake, it might be well for you to end your call before you do anything -more to make this wicked boy regard his fault as a matter for levity.” - -Caine glanced in humorous appeal toward Letty. But his fiancée, as -usual in matters of family crisis, only stared back in piteous fear. - -“Mr. Caine,” called Clive, as the visitor completed somewhat frigid -adieux and moved toward the door, “I am _very_ sorry I got you into -trouble. I’m afraid Aunt Lydia don’t _quite_ understand us men.” - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -INTO AN UNKNOWN LAND - - -The red-haired man was fighting. - -He had always been fighting. But to-night he must wield weapons whereof -he had no experience; unskilled, must meet deft opponents on their own -ground. The thought thrilled him, with the joy of the born fighter. - -The hour for the Standish dinner was seven; that the meal might be -well over before the musicale guests should begin to arrive. Caleb -rang the Standish bell at twenty minutes before seven. The manservant -who admitted him managed to convey from behind a totally mask-like -face that there was something amiss with the arrival. Glancing into -the drawing room as he followed a maid to the men’s dressing room -upstairs, Caleb saw it was quite devoid of guests. In fact, a servant -was lighting the lamps there. The dressing room, too, was deserted. - -Conover was vaguely puzzled. Surely the invitation had fixed the hour -for seven? And he was nearly twenty minutes ahead of time. At functions -such as he was wont to attend, people always began to drop in nearly -half an hour beforehand. So fearful had he been to-night of breaking -some unknown social rule, that he had allowed a full twenty minutes -leeway. Yet he was very palpably the first to arrive. This perplexed -and shamed him. It even shook his iron self-confidence. He caught -himself hoping that none of the Standishes knew he was there. The man -who had with cool derision, faced hostile legislatures, investigation -committees and actual physical danger; felt his nerve turning into -nerves. - -A tray of cigarettes lay on the chiffonier. Caleb had never smoked a -cigarette. He wondered if etiquette commanded that he should do so now. -He weighed the matter judicially as he took off his coat and gloves; -then decided that the cigarettes had indisputedly been put there to -be smoked. Gingerly, he lighted one. The aromatic mild flavor of the -smoke disgusted him. He had always despised men who chose cigarettes in -preference to cigars. Now he regarded such smokers as idiotic rather -than decadent. Yet he puffed dutifully at the abhorred paper tube and -pondered on the probability of his being called upon to repeat the -performance, later, in the dining room. He had heard of people smoking -cigarettes with dinner. Or, rather, hadn’t he seen pictures of such a -scene? Yes. Surely. A picture on a calendar in the general passenger -agent’s office. But the smokers, in the picture, were women. And one -of them had her feet on the table. Caleb mentally apologized to his -present hostesses and dismissed the theme. - -When dinner was at seven, why shouldn’t people come on time? Was there -a joke in it somewhere? A joke on himself? Anything, just now, seemed -possible. What was the use of smoking this measly cigarette when there -was no one to see? He dropped it into a bronze dish, went over to the -cheval glass and surveyed himself from head to foot. Then he turned; -and, looking over one shoulder, sought to see how his dress coat fitted -in the back. The twisting of his body caused a huge central wrinkle to -spring out between his shoulders, creases diverging from it. Also there -was a spear of stiff red hair in the very center of his well-brushed -head that had escaped from the combined lures of pomade and water. -Conover crossed to the chiffonier, picked up one of a pair of military -brushes and attacked the rebellious lock with vigor. - -There was no water in sight. How did these people expect a man to brush -his hair without water? No pomade, either. Not even brilliantine. -Could it be that folk of the Standish class did not use such aids? -Or did they keep them locked up? Caleb’s eyes swept the room and its -quiet furnishings appraisingly. It did not represent at all his idea -of luxury. Not a bow, not a tidy, not a fancy screen nor a lambrequin -in sight. Yet there was an indefinable something about the place that -met his approval. He fell to walking back and forth, uneasily; pausing -every now and then in front of the cheval glass. - -Amzi Caine, who had come early in the futile hope of a word alone with -Letty before the dinner, found him thus employed. Conover swung around -on his friend with a grunt of relief. - -“Hello!” he said, his heavy voice actually cordial, “I begun to think -it was Judgment Day an’ that I was the first one resurrected. How’d I -look? All right? Nothin’ wrong in this get-up is there?” - -“The glass of fashion and the mould of form!” laughed Caine, “Behold a -phenomenon! The worker of miracles--and Steeloids--deigns to ask a mere -mortal’s opinion!” - -“All right, is it?” said Conover, relieved. “Say,” he went on -suspiciously, “You’re guying me! Tell me what’s wrong. Be honest, can’t -you?” - -“If you insist,” replied Caine, nettled at the domineering tone, “I -can’t just hint that most men don’t wear diamond studs with evening -dress, and that your tie is rather too evidently a ‘masterpiece not -made by hands.’ Otherwise, you look very fit indeed.” - -Caleb scowled in the glass at the flashing studs and the ready-made -lawn tie. Then, brushing away the gnat of worry, he answered, -carelessly: - -“I don’t like to dress like everybody else. Too much sameness for me. -It’s well enough for fellers without an idee or a scrap of originality -in their heads. I like to do a little different.” - -“A Beau Brummell come to Judgment!” mocked Caine, “But with diamonds -rising in price ten per cent. a year, I hope you won’t set the fashion -just yet. You’ll break us. It’s all very well to dress regardless of -expense--or style--but--” - -“Let it go at that,” ordered Conover sullenly, “There’s something else -I wanted to ask you about, first time I saw you alone. You told me one -day that Desirée Shevlin could take any place she wanted, in s’ciety -here, if only she married the right sort of a man. Remember?” - -“Why, yes. But--” - -“Well, would it work both ways? I mean, if _I_ was to marry a girl who -had a big social position in Granite, would it help me on, any?” - -“I--should think so,” hesitated Caine, overcoming a desire to laugh at -the unique idea. “Why? Are you thinking of it?” - -“Not exactly thinkin’ of it, but turnin’ it over in my mind. If I was -_thinkin’_ about it I’d do it. That’s my way.” - -“Who is the lucky damsel?” bantered Caine, “Or haven’t you selected her -yet?” - -“I’ve about picked her out,” said Caleb slowly, “Just now she’s keepin’ -comp’ny with another man.” - -“Of course you won’t let that stand in your way for an instant?” - -“No,” returned Caleb, on whom irony of any sort was ever lost, “Of -course not. I have a way of gettin’ what I want. I only wish,” he -continued with a half sigh of weariness, “that I could always keep on -wantin’ what I get.” - -Clive Standish ran into the room. From one of the servants he had heard -of Caine’s arrival. - -“What fun to find you before you go down!” he cried, “I was afraid you -wouldn’t see me to-night and I knew you’d be disappointed. Aunt Lydia -won’t let me sit up for the musicale, because I was bad last evening. -And she’s made me learn a hymn called ‘I Know That God is Wroth With -Me!’ besides. The hymn is signed ‘I. Watts.’ I think ‘I. Watts’ must -have been a very sorrowful person. I wonder if God really disliked him -as much as ‘I. Watts’ pretended. He--” - -The child checked himself, catching sight of Caleb. “I beg your -pardon,” he said, “I didn’t see there was anyone here besides Mr. -Caine. Mr. Caine,” he explained, condescendingly, “is a friend of mine.” - -“Go on with your gabfest together, then,” vouchsafed Caleb, with an -effort at unbending. “Don’t mind _me_.” - -The boy’s brows contracted at sound of the false note in Caleb’s -voice. He looked at the Fighter long and with frank criticism. Caleb -bore the scrutiny with visible discomfort. He was not fond of children -and did not understand them. Having had no childhood himself he could -nowhere meet them on equal terms. Yet, as this slender, Eton-suited -youngster was apparently a relative of Letty’s and a member of the same -household, he sought to improve the acquaintance. - -“I know a little rat about your age,” he began, with elephantine -geniality, “His name’s Billy Shevlin. Smart boy, too. Sharp as a whip. -Ever meet him?” - -“No, sir,” replied Clive, “I think not.” - -“No? You wouldn’t be likely to, I s’pose. While you’re home, evenin’s, -learnin’ hymns, he’s out learnin’ life. Spends most of his evenin’s -round at the fire-house. Why, that kid knows the name of each engine in -town the minute he hears ’em whistle.” - -Clive’s eyes grew wistful with envy; yet abated none of the unconscious -criticism wherewith they were still scrutinizing the Fighter. His lack -of response confused Caleb; who started off on a new tack. - -“Yes, Billy’s a great boy. He used to have a lot of cunnin’ tricks, -too, when he was little. He’s outgrowin’ ’em now. Used to tiptoe -up behind me an’ put both his dirty little hands over my eyes an’ -say: ‘Guess who’s here?’ An’ then I’d guess ‘General Grant’ an’ ‘Abe -Lincoln’ and ‘Queen Victoria’ an’ ‘Tom Platt’ an’ a lot of other big -guns; till all of a sudden I’d guess ‘Billy Shevlin!’ An’ he’d squeal -out ‘Yes!’ Not much sense in it. But kind of cute for such a little -feller. I remember some folks were callin’ there one day an’ I wanted -him to play that game, to show off before ’em. But he was kind of -bashful and wouldn’t. An’ that made me mad; so I cuffed him over the -head. An’ since then, somehow, he’s never played it any more.” - -“I don’t wonder!” gasped Clive. “I--excuse me, sir,” he caught himself -up, “I didn’t mean to be rude.” - -“Go ahead!” laughed Caleb, “That ain’t rude. It’s bein’ honest. Don’t -let ’em make a Miss Nancy of you by teachin’ you to ’pologize an’ say -‘please,’ an’ ‘Sir’ an’ all those folderols.” - -“I _like_ to say them,” retorted Clive, “And I’m not a Miss Nancy. Last -week I thrashed a boy two years older than I am.” - -“Look out, Conover!” warned Caine, solemnly, “He may pick you for the -next victim.” - -At the sound of the name, Clive had glanced sharply at Caleb. - -“I beg your pardon,” he put in, now, “But you aren’t ‘Brute’ Conover, -are you?” - -“Clive!” admonished Caine, with what severity he could summon up. - -“I b’lieve I’ve been called that a few times,” answered Caleb, in high -good humor. “Why?” - -“Because,” said Clive, backing toward the door, “from what I read in -the newspapers about you,--and from something I once heard Grandpapa -say,--I don’t think I care to know you, Mr. Conover. I’m sorry. -Goodnight.” - - * * * * * - -Caleb Conover had not known there were so many kinds of forks in -existence. From his oyster plate they stretched away to the left in -what seemed an interminable vista. Had Desirée told him to begin with -the left-hand fork and work inward, as the courses progressed? Or -was it the right-hand fork he was to begin with and work outward? A -furtive glance at Letty, on his right, solved the problem. - -Then, the same glance sweeping the table, he found he was the only -person whose doubled napkin had not disappeared. He pulled it unnoticed -down to his knee. A roll fell from its hidden interior and crashed -to the floor with a report that sounded to him loud enough to shake -the house. But the sound passed unheard, in the ripple of talk. Caleb -kicked the offending bit of bread further under the table and sombrely -attacked his oysters. - -A cocktail had heralded the meal. This, with his glass of dry sherry, -now began little by little to cut away the Fighter’s crust of stark -self-consciousness. He was not wont, of late years, to touch liquor -at all; although in early days his Gargantuan drinking bouts had been -the wonder of the local Underworld. On his unaccustomed senses the -slight stimulant now acted with redoubled force. It sharpened his wits, -banished his first feeling of stiff discomfort, enabled him to come out -of himself and take note of what went on about him. - -Caine talking animatedly just opposite, was nevertheless looking -unobtrusively at Conover. So were Reuben Standish and others at the -table. To their varied relief or disappointment the big, silent man had -perpetrated thus far none of the capers which comic stories ascribe to -_parvenus_. He handled his soup-spoon with an inward sweep, it is true; -but he ate quietly and as one not wholly unaccustomed to civilized -methods. Desirée’s long and stern training was standing him in good -stead. - -Letty, emboldened by these repeated signs of house-brokenness, ventured -a few perfunctory remarks to him. Caleb replied briefly, but without -embarrassment. He even answered a question put him from across the -table, with the same self-possession. Caine relaxed his nervous -vigilance. His reluctant admiration for the newcomer was increasing. - -Conover, with the true fighter’s intuition, noted all the tokens of his -own well-being, and his dawning self-possession grew steadily stronger. - -The talk at his end of the table had turned into musical channels. - -“We were able to get Miss Tyson for the musicale after all,” Letty was -saying. “She was to have sung at the Worcester Music Festival, you -know; but at the last moment they engaged someone else.” - -“We are so grateful,” chimed in Mrs. Standish, managing to inject just -a little recognition of the Divine into her tone. “She has a wonderful -voice. In Munich she once sung the Forest Bird music in a performance -of _Siegfried_. Just think! One of our own townswomen, too!” - -She cast a vitreous beam athwart the table as she spoke. Caine used to -say that when Mrs. Standish’s glasses diffused that look, he was always -sore tempted to bow his head and murmur “Amen.” - -“Yes,” prattled the Saint, “hers is a heaven-sent gift. I believe that -singing may often bear a message--” - -“It’s easier, I should think,” put in Caleb, suddenly finding his -tongue as he set down his empty wine glass, “for a woman to sing like a -forest bird than for a bird to sing songs made up by humans. - -“F’r instance,” he proceeded, with renewed courage, mistaking the -general hush of surprise for a gratifying interest, “there’s a lady I -know here in Granite who has a canary bird that sings all about the -death of Ase. Sings it fine, too.” - -Letty giggled. - -“So you are a Grieg fiend, like so many other Granite people just now, -Mr. Conover?” said she. - -“Me?” Caleb exclaimed, in genuine astonishment, “No, indeed, ma’am. I -leave dope of all sorts alone.” - -There was a laugh. Caleb did not quite see the point, but felt dimly -that he had scored a hit. Caine came to his rescue. - -“What a pity the bird couldn’t have been pressed into service for the -musicale,” he observed. “It would be a real comfort to hear the ‘Death -of Ase’ in new form.” - -“Oh, he don’t sing all of it,” amended Caleb. “He just sings the -first part. I forget quite how it goes. But he does it fine. Only, -to my mind,” with an air of profound criticism, “he sings it kind of -sprightly for such a sad piece. Still, I s’pose that’s a matter of -taste.” - -Conover felt he was getting on finely. A most flattering attention--far -different from the slight aloofness of the evening’s earlier -moments--greeted his every word. Caine, however, seemed actually -jealous of his friend’s popularity; for he cut in now with a complete -change of subject. - -“I wonder,” he conjectured, addressing no one in particular, “why -tenors invariably are born without intelligence. When Providence gives -a man a great tenor voice, He gives him nothing else. Perhaps, though, -he needs nothing else.” - -But an avalanche of trite sayings could not have halted Caleb. He -listened with ponderous deference to Caine; then glanced about the -table and cleared his voice. - -“Speaking of ‘needin’ nothin’ else,’” said he, “reminds me of Old Man -Wetherwolks who used to live at Pompton when I was a kid. He used to -get jagged as reg’lar as pay-day came ’round. Had a battin’ av’rage -of seven nights a week. Then when he’d blowed his last nickel he’d -make us boys pilot him home. It wasn’t any cinch, either. For his -wife was always waitin’ at the door. An’ the chunks of language she’d -hand out to us would a’ fried an iceberg. One night, I remember, we -brought the ol’ sot home worse’n usual. She was right there with the -tongue-lashin’. She told him what a swine he was to spend all his -fam’ly’s cash on booze and how he was a disgrace to his town, an’ other -nice comfortin’ things like that. She wound up by screechin’: ‘An’ you -haven’t a single redeemin’ trait, you worthless drunkard!’ That was -too much for Wetherwolks. He c’lapsed on the bottom step and began to -cry. ‘You’re right, m’dear,’ he whines. ‘Ev’ry word you say is true. I -_haven’t_ a single redeemin’ trait. But,’ an’ here he throws his chest -out an’ looks stern an’ noble, ‘But in ev’ry _other_ respec’ I’m a dam’ -fine man!’” - -The anecdote somehow did not “go” as well as when Conover had told it -in the back room of Kerrigan’s saloon. But if there was constraint in -its reception, he did not observe it. Letty, dropping her voice, to -shut him out of the general talk, inquired: - -“Where is Pompton? I don’t think I ever heard of it. Did I? Are our -Pompton Avenue and the Pompton Club named for it?” - -“I don’t think so,” he answered. “It’s a little place, ’way up in the -North Jersey hills. Swarmin’ with commuters, by now, I s’pose. I used -to live there for a while, once, when I was learnin’ railroadin’. -There’s a lake, with the soft green hills all closin’ down around it -like they loved it. The sun used to set ’bout a mile from our house. -It’d turn the lake all gold color. An’ then a blue sort of twilight -would roll up through the valley. An’ the hills would seem to stretch -out like they was goin’ to sleep.--Kind o’ pretty place,” he ended -lamely. - -“You are a poet!” the girl assured him with gushing uneasiness. “I had -no idea you looked at nature through such roseate glasses.” - -“Neither I do,” he replied, ashamed of his unwonted flight of fancy. “I -was only tellin’ you how it used to seem to me when I was a half-baked -kid. Since then I’ve been so busy _livin’_ that I’ve lost all the knack -of gettin’ enthoosed over measly lan’scapes. They don’t mean anything -to me now. As for po’try,--honest, I never wrote a rhyme in my life. -Never read one neither when I could help it. Guess you was stringin’ -me, weren’t you?” - -Nevertheless he was inwardly flattered at her praise and began to look -on her with an even more favoring eye. If marriage in such a set were -really the keystone to social achievement, he felt he might do far -worse than choose this comely, quivering-nosed damsel at his side. - -“Fond of rabbits?” he asked--as unintentionally as irrelevantly. - -“What an odd question!” she cried, her round eyes raising incipient -distress signals. “Is it a joke?” - -“No,” he answered, floundering, “I--I just happened to say it. -You--you look just a little like one. A very pretty one of course,” he -supplemented with mammoth gallantry. - -Her eyes, this time, hoisted the distress signal so perceptibly that -Caine, skilled to read the signs, broke off in the midst of a sentence -to his right-hand neighbor and engaged Caleb in momentary conversation. -Letty, in the interval, stared appealingly about the board. But, thanks -to her own success in drawing Conover into _tête-à-tête_, the others -were not, at the instant, noticing either of them. Thrown upon herself -for comfort, she decided the rough guest had intended his asinine -remark as a compliment. The thought did much to console her. She -glanced, sideways, at him, with a new interest; and, Caine, relieved, -saw the ‘Fair Weather’ standard flying once more. - -But Conover, subtly aware of her emotion, knew he had somehow -blundered. He saw how far he had deflected from his original plan of -stony self-control. He knew it was the few glasses of wine he had drunk -which, while in no way befuddling his brain, had given his tongue -an undue looseness. A wave of self-contempt passed over him; sharp, -unaccustomed. A manservant bent to fill one of his glasses. Caleb, -recalling the etiquette-book maxim, clapped his hand hastily over -the top of the goblet. The gesture was sudden and carried with it an -unintended force. The wrought stem of the thin Venetian glass snapped. - -Conover, purple with angry mortification, surveyed the wreck he had -wrought. Then, pulling himself together, he looked about the board, the -glare behind his forced grin challenging any and every eye that might -dare to show derision. - -“It doesn’t matter, Mr. Standish!” he called down the table to his -host. “I’ll save the pieces and send you a whole set like it to-morrow. -Where’d’you buy it?” - -“It is of no consequence at all,” returned Standish, the consumption -spots on his cheek bones burning a little darker red than usual. He -turned to the neighbor with whom he had been talking, and with his -usual dry cough took up the shattered thread of conversation. But Caleb -was resolved not to permit his overtures at restitution to be slighted. - -“Where’d you buy it?” he repeated, raising his voice a little, “I want -to know so I--” - -“It is of no importance at all,” protested Standish, guiltily avoiding -his sister-in-law’s saintly gaze. “I--” - -“But I want to know,” persisted Caleb. “Where’d the glasses come from?” - -“Why,” smiled Standish with a painful effort at careless good-nature, -“I believe they’re some we picked up in Venice once. But they--” - -“Well, I’ll send there for ’em, then,” promised Caleb, his defiant -glance once more sweeping the oval of faces. - -Strangely enough, everyone seemed to be talking at once, and no one -seemed to be looking either at him or at Standish. In cool, level, -unhurried tones they were speaking; these denizens of an unknown world, -into whose presence he fought his way unasked, unwanted. Their language -was not his language; their thoughts were not his thoughts. They were -moving on as if he did not exist. Caleb remembered having read in some -newspaper’s “reprint” column, how an oyster calmly glazes over the -grain of irritating sand that has found unwelcome refuge within its -shell. He felt humiliatingly like the nucleus of such a pearl. And -with the thought, and the waning of the wine’s effects, came wholesome -anger. - -“I’ve got more cash than the whole crowd of ’em put together,” he told -himself fiercely. - -The reflection did much to build up his wobbling self-esteem. But, for -the rest of the meal, he sat glum. After an endless, dreary aeon of -time, Mrs. Standish’s eye-glasses flashed to the others of her sex the -signal to retire. Everyone rose. The women, collecting from the men -beside them the handkerchiefs, fans and other feminine accessories that -strewed the floor under the table, filed out, chatting and laughing. -Caleb, not minded to seem inferior to any man by hanging back and -giving precedence to others, left the room at the heels of the last -woman. - -“Oh, Conover!” called Caine, as the Fighter’s shoulders vanished -through the doorway. - -“I wanted to ask you something about Steeloid Preferred, if you don’t -mind,” continued Amzi. - -A backward look told Conover that the men were re-seating themselves. -He also saw the meaning of his mentor’s summons. At that moment Caleb -came nearer feeling gratitude toward Caine than ever he had felt it -for any man. He slouched back, unconcernedly; lighted a cigar, shook -out his match and dropped into the vacated chair at Caine’s left. -Mentally he resolved to tear the etiquette book, leaf from leaf, for -failing to warn him that men outstay women in a dining room. But, with -characteristic calm, he refused to be ruffled by the mistake. - -“What was it you wanted to ask me?” said he. - -“About Steeloid,” repeated Caine, “and about a rumor I heard that the -Rogers-Whitman Company is--” - -“Don’t let us talk business,” growled Conover, “I never talk shop when -I’m out in s’ciety. It’s bad form. I’d rather chat just now ’bout -music.” - -He was himself again; loudly self-assured. - -“This feller, Back, they were speakin’ about at dinner to-night,” he -went on. “I’m kind o’ rusty on op’ras, lately. So I’ve lost track of -him. Is he composin’ much, nowadays?” - -“Bach has been de-composing for a couple of centuries,” answered Caine. - -One or two men laughed. Caleb waxed glum once more. Nor could the -combined tact of Caine and their host draw him again into speech. - - * * * * * - -The Fighter, glowering in a corner, watched the stream of musicale -guests trickle in through the great double doors. He was lonely, -cross, disappointed. He could not define his own sensations, nor see -how nor wherein he had failed. Failure he had met. He knew that. But -the knowledge made him the more determined to persist in his assault -until the social citadel whose outworks he had stormed, should be his. -And, the more he thought, the more his amorphous idea of entering that -citadel under a wife’s aegis began to take definite shape. He found -his gaze straying to where Letty Standish stood laughing and talking -with a knot of newcomers. Once his eye caught hers, and she smiled. A -polite, deprecatory smile that strengthened Caleb’s growing resolution. -After all, he reflected, one might do worse than to marry. - -An indefinable something swept across his busily-planning mind, like a -breath of May through a slum. Even before he raised his eyes eagerly to -the door, he knew that Desirée Shevlin had come into the room. Slender, -dainty, infinitely pretty, in her soft white dress, the sight of her -struck athwart Caleb’s senses; scattering to the winds every thought -but delight at seeing her,--pride in the way she bore herself among -the people in whose presence he felt so ill at ease. - -And she had seen him. Seen him and noted his discomfiture, his -aloneness; even while she was responding to her hosts’ welcome. As soon -as she could leave Mrs. Hawarden’s side, she moved toward him. As he -advanced to meet her, the labored grin of festivity wherewith Caleb had -sought to wreathe his features for her benefit, gave way to a glow of -boyish pleasure. - -“Gee, but you’re dandy to look at in those clo’es, Dey!” he exclaimed. -“There ain’t a one in the room who’s a patch on you.” - -She smiled up at him in frank joy at the compliment. Then, looking more -keenly into his face, she murmured, her pretty brows knit: - -“You poor, _poor_ boy! You’ve been having a _horrid_, hagorous time! -What have they been doing to you?” - -In her voice was a vehement, motherly note; as of indignation against -the ill-treatment accorded a loved, deficient child. Caleb felt it and -it was as balm to his scratched sensibilities. But he laughed loudly as -he made shift to reply: - -“What a crazy notion! They treated me fine an’ I’ve had an out o’ sight -time. Honest, I--” - -“Caleb!” - -“They made me quite one of ’em,” he bragged, the more earnestly for her -unbelief. “I haven’t had such a good time in a couple o’ years. I--” - -“Caleb Conover! Look me in the eyes.” - -“It was rotten!” he admitted ruefully; his defense, as ever, breaking -to pieces before the onslaught of her sweet imperiousness. - -“I knew it!” she made answer; but there was no triumph in her words, “I -knew how it would be. Oh, if only I could have been here to take care -of you, you poor lamb among social lions! Listen to me! You’re not to -stir from my side all evening. Understand? Now mind me! _I_ am going -to see that nobody is woozzey to you or lets you stand all frumped up -alone in a corner any more.” - -“An’ spoil your own good time?” snorted Caleb. “Not much! You chase on -an’ get talked to an’ made much of, you little girl! An’ I’ll get all -the fun I want, watchin’ the hit you make. _That’s_ no lie.” - -“I’d rather be with you, if you don’t mind,” she insisted, “We’re -chums, aren’t we? Well, then, mind me and do as I say! We’re going to -stay right together.” - -For some unknown reason, Caleb felt happier than he had for days. -He was ashamed of the feeling, but so strong was it that he made no -further demur. People were starting for the music room. Piloted by -Desirée, (who managed to make it perfectly clear to divers and sundry -youths, en route, that she was quite content to remain with her present -escort) Conover found himself at last, enthroned on a maddeningly -uncomfortable camp-stool; with the girl at his left side. - -The musicale opened with a long, intricate piano solo; played with -splendid persistence by a short young man with long hair. The night -was hot. The bright-lit, overcrowded room was hotter. Caleb had eaten -largely and had drunk more than was his wont. There is something -very soporific, to the Philistine outlander, in a rendition of -ultra-classical music long sustained. Conover shook himself impatiently -to scare off the drowsiness that threatened to enmesh him. Desirée -glanced at him with merry encouragement as the tireless pianist’s last -reluctant note was followed by a ripple of civil applause. The clapping -and Desirée’s look combined to bring Caleb’s drowsy senses back to -normal wakefulness. - -“That chap,” he whispered, “can’t play anywhere near as good as you -do. Lord, but he did hit that old pianner some cruel ones! After he’d -tired it all out, too; so it couldn’t get back at him. I bet them keys -wish they had _your_ white little fingers pettin’ ’em instead of that -blacksmith’s. What’s this next turn goin’ to be?” - -“A tenor solo,” she answered. “It’s the ‘Siciliana’ from _Cavalleria -Rusticana_. Oh, good! It’s to be accompanied by the harp. It always -ought to be, I think. Don’t you?” - -“Sure!” responded Caleb, with an air of loyal certainty. - -But Desirée was too much engrossed in the prelude to admonish him. - -A few staccato chords; then began the song. At first, repressed -floridity of phrase; then passion bursting starkly through the -convention of stilted word and melody; rising at last to a crescendo -where speech failed and a hot-gasped “_A--ah!_” broke off the strain. - -To Caine, listening impassive on the other side of Desirée from -Conover, the air conjured up its picture as vividly as though the scene -lay before his eyes. Gray dawn in the gray-walled Sicilian village, -high on the mountain top. Gray dawn of Easter, above the sleeping -hamlet. One figure half hidden by the abutting angle of the stone -houses, the only human being abroad. One figure,--a man, guitar in -hand, singing that mad love song beneath the casement of the woman he -had won--lost--and wrongfully won again. Turiddu, the returned soldier, -serenading Lola, fickle wife of Alfio, the absent teamster; Alfio -under whose knife-thrust Turiddu was destined to fall, before the yet -unrisen sun should stand at high noon above their sordid little village -world. And, contemptuous of his half-foreseen fate, the wooer was -singing to the woman whose love was to bring him death. - -Mad, undisciplined, lawless adoration now moaned, now cried aloud, in -both air and words. What mattered the holy day, the avenging husband’s -steel, the forsaken Santuzza, who was sobbing alone somewhere in that -huddle of blind houses? Love was king. The pirate love who knows its -stake is death; and, unafraid, tempts its fate. - - “_C’è scrito sangue so prala tua porta--; - Ma di restarci a me non me n’importa!_” - -Then in a last burst of gloriously insane protestation: - - “_Si per te muojo e vado in Paradiso, - Non c’entro se non vedo il tuo bel viso!_” - -And that yearning, wordless passion-fraught cry wherein supreme longing -rushed beyond the bounds of speech. - -A rumbling mutter of the harp-strings. And silence. - -“The sublimated howl of a back-fence tom-cat!” muttered Caine, to -himself; the garish brain-picture fading. - -A momentary, tense hush fell over the audience as the final chords -trailed off into nothingness. Then, before the utter stillness could -be broken by the burst of ensuing applause, another sound--hideously -distinct, vibrant, long-drawn,--cut raggedly through the breathless -quiet. The sound of a full-lunged, healthy snore. - -Caleb Conover was sleeping like a child. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -MOONLIGHT AND MISTAKES - - -The musicale was over. The first floor of the Standish house looked as -though a devastating army had camped there. Caine, who had lingered for -a goodnight word with Letty, glanced over the empty music room. - -“I wonder,” he said, “if there is anything else on earth quite so -vacant as the place a crowd of guests have just deserted. They always -seem to have carried away with them whatever local atmosphere there was -and to have left behind a vacuum of desolation.” - -Letty did not answer. She was tired, nerve-worn, relaxed, after the -evening’s strain. Characteristically, she was aware of a mild desire to -make someone else uncomfortable. Someone who cared for her enough to -be hurt. Caine suited her purpose to perfection. Hence the sheath of -grieved silence that always brought him hastening to the anxious seat. -The ruse prevailed now, as ever. - -“You aren’t unhappy about anything, are you, dear?” he queried -solicitously. - -“Oh, no!” she replied, a throaty quaver in her voice. - -“_I_ haven’t done anything, have I?” came the second stereotyped -question in love’s catechism. - -“Oh, _no_!” she returned briefly with full feminine power of making the -answer read, “Oh, yes!” - -“But _what_?” he begged. - -“Oh, nothing!” with the rarified loftiness that precedes a plunge into -the vale of tears, “Nothing! Nothing at all.” - -Nor was it until he had rung all the traditional changes on the query -and had worked himself into a state of pitiable humility that she would -consent to burst forth into the flood-tide of her grievances. - -“You made me so unhappy,” she wept. “It was all your fault. _Why_ did -you do it? How _could_ you?” - -“Please--_please_ tell me!” he urged. “I don’t understand. How?” - -“That disgusting man! That brute you brought here!” - -“Conover? _I_ didn’t bring him. Your father--” - -“He is your friend, though,” she insisted, “And he frightened me and he -behaved so abominably. And everybody laughed when he went to sleep. I -could have died of mortification.” - -“But why?” he reasoned. “_You_ weren’t responsible for him. If anyone -had cause to feel mortified it was Miss Shevlin who sat beside him. Yet -she--” - -“Please don’t talk about her!” demanded Letty with a flash of watery -dignity, “I have enough to bear without that. If she chose to sit up, -looking unconcerned, and talking to him as if nothing had happened, -and keeping the brute wide awake and interested all the rest of the -evening--it was probably because she knew no better. I suppose her sort -of people--” - -And here the gods deprived Amzi Nicholas Caine of wisdom. - -“She’s a little thoroughbred!” he interposed stoutly, “I never saw -anything better done in my life than her treatment of that poor, -sheepish, suddenly-awakened chap. It made one ashamed of having wanted -to laugh. I--” - -“If you are going to take other people’s part against me,” sniffed -Letty, “you needn’t trouble to wait here any longer. Goodnight. I am -very tired and _very_ miserable.” - -Caine forthwith performed prodigies of self abasement that little by -little wooed Letty back from tears to temper. - -“Just the same!” she snapped. “It _was_ your fault. If it hadn’t been -for you, I’m quite sure Father would never have invited him.” - -“I never heard of your father’s sacrificing his own wishes to that -extent for my sake,” said Caine, unwarily. “If he invited Conover out -of compliment to me, he didn’t think it important enough to tell me so. -Shall I thank him?” - -“No, no!” cried Letty in alarm. “And,” with recovering self-control, -“I never want to see that man again as long as I live. I -feel--_strangled_--when he is near me. As if he were trying to master -_me_ as he does his railroads and legislatures. He hypnotizes me, -with his mud-colored eyes and that great lower jaw. I--I _hate_ him. -I’ll--I’ll never have to see him again, _will_ I? Promise me!” - -Punishment had given place to a demand for coddling. Caine rose -ardently to the occasion. Yet she was not content. - -“_Promise me!_” she reiterated, “Promise me he’ll never come here -again.” - -“He’ll have to pay a dinner call,” protested Caine. “Even Conover knows -enough to do that, I’m afraid. If he doesn’t, Miss Shevlin will tell -him.” - -“I won’t be at home!” she declared, fearfully, “I--he can’t _make_ me -see him. I never want to see either of them again. _Either_ of them. -Promise me I needn’t. Promise me you’ll thrash him if he annoys me.” - -She peered coyly up at him from between thin, soaked lashes; her nose -quivering. But, for once, loverlike heroics were lacking. For, even as -he started to voice the idle promise, a picture of Blacarda,--smashed -and unrecognizable, screaming in agony of terror--flashed into Caine’s -mind. And the pardonable boast stuck midway in his throat. - -“I think you are getting tired of me,” sobbed Letty, accusingly. “If -you are, don’t be afraid to say so. I can bear it. It’s only one thing -more for me to bear.” - -Mrs. Hawarden, at Desirée’s whispered plea, had offered Caleb a -homeward lift in her carriage. The Fighter sat in heavy silence -throughout the drive. When the carriage stopped at Desirée’s door, -he helped her out and, with a grunt of goodnight to Mrs. Hawarden, -followed the girl up the walk. Nor did he speak as he unlocked the door -for her. - -But Desirée was in no haste to say goodnight. A waning moon made the -veranda bright. The air was still warm. She threw her cloak over a -chair arm and seated herself in a porch rocker; Caleb standing dumbly -before her. She leaned back comfortably in the deep chair, looking -up with inscrutable eyes at his silhouette that bulked big in the -moonlight. Of a sudden, she fell to laughing softly. - -“Oh, you big baby!” she cried. “You’ve punished yourself all you’re -going to. It’s _all_ right. Now stop being unhappy! Stop! _Smile!_” - -“You aren’t sore on me?” he asked in lingering doubt. - -“Silly! Why should I be?” - -“I--I made awful small of you, the way I acted,” he confessed. - -“If I can stand it, _you_ ought to,” she retorted. “Now be friends and -stop sulking.” - -“You’re sure you ain’t mad,” he queried, still in doubt. - -“Mad? Not one smidgin!--I--” - -“Oh, Dey,” he interrupted, all contrition. “It was _rotten_ of me! -To think of my snorin’ out loud an’ makin’ everybody rubber at you -while they gave me the laugh! An’ you never batted an eye! You sat -there lookin’ so friendly an’ cool, an’ talkin’ to me like nothin’ had -happened! I could a’ knelt down and kissed both your feet, I kep’ a’ -thinkin’ all evenin’ that you’d most likely take it out on me when we -was alone. It’d a’ been only hooman nature if you had. That’s why I -came here now. To take my medicine. An’ you ain’t even disgusted with -me. You _ain’t_ are you?” he added in hasty need for reassurance. - -“Would you have been ‘disgusted’ with _me_,” she asked, “if it had been -I instead of you that--?” - -“You know blame well I wouldn’t!” he declared, “An’ I’d a’licked ev’ry -man in the place that dared to laugh or look sneerin’. I’d a’--” - -“That’s just what I wanted to do,” said Desirée. “If I was cross -inside, it wasn’t at _you_, dear boy.” - -“I’ll win out on ’em yet,” growled Conover. “I made a mistake. An’ I’m -ashamed of it. The only feller who’s never ashamed of his mistakes is a -loonatic. And I ain’t a loonatic, by a long shot. I’m ashamed. But I’ll -win.” - -“Listen to me!” she demanded, “If there was a big, lovable, splendid -child you knew and he insisted on going to play with children who -hadn’t the sense to see how fine he was and what good company he could -be, it wouldn’t make you angry at _him_, would it, if he got laughed at -for not understanding their stiff, set ways? Of course not. But when -he’d _had_ his lesson and had burned his poor stubby fingers, wouldn’t -it make you just the least little bit impatient if he began right away -to plan to try his luck with those same horrid children again? Wouldn’t -you be tempted to spank him or--?” - -“You’re dead right, little girl,” he admitted, “An’ you’re a lot -cleverer than I am. I--” - -“Then you _will_ give it up?” she urged. - -“I can’t, Dey! Honest, I can’t. I couldn’t look myself in the face -again if I let those gold-shirters beat me out. You see how it is, -don’t you? I’m in to _win_. If I ever was to give up a fight, I could -never win another. It’d take the ‘win’ out of me, for keeps. _Please_ -don’t make me do it, Dey!” - -“All right!” she sighed, in comic despair, “It’s only for your own sake -and because I care for you.” - -“If it’s goin’ to make you unhappy or ashamed of me, I’ll give it up,” -he said with slow resignation. - -“No,” she forbade. “You needn’t feel that way about it. It doesn’t make -me unhappy, except on your account. And I couldn’t be ‘ashamed’ of you -if I tried all day. You know I couldn’t.” - -“You’re the dandiest, littlest, prettiest girl there is!” he said -gratefully, “An’ those big eyes of yours kind of make me feel like I -was in church. Now I’ll chase home an’ give you a chance to do some -sleepin’. Say--” as he started to go, “What do you think of Miss -Standish?” - -“Why,” she answered, perplexed, “I never thought much about her. She’s -very nice;--and pretty, too; isn’t she?” - -“Looks a little like a rabbit, don’t she?” he ventured. - -The girl’s quick laugh flashed out and she clasped her hands together. - -“Beautiful!” she cried. “How did you _ever_ think of it?” - -“Struck me the first time I saw her,” he replied, flattered, “I told -her about it to-night at dinner.” - -“Caleb! You _didn’t_!” - -“Honest, I did!” he reiterated. “I--” - -“What _did_ she say?” - -“Oh, she didn’t seem to mind. Got sort o’ red, an’ grinned. I guess -she liked it. Her’n me didn’t get on so bad together, takin’ all into -account. I guess we’ll pull together first rate when we’re better -acquainted.” - -“You seem pretty certain of being ‘better acquainted’”, she mocked; -albeit there was a little tug at her heart. - -“I am,” he answered, coolly, “The fact is, Dey, I’m thinkin’ of makin’ -it a case of marry.” - -For a moment she did not answer. The footfalls of a pedestrian sounded -rhythmically distinct in the silence that fell between the man and the -girl. Then Desirée observed, with a slight restraint that sat strangely -upon her:-- - -“I don’t think that is a very nice joke.” - -“’Tisn’t a joke at all,” Caleb assured her, “I mean it. I’d a’ talked -it over with you before, only the idee never came clear to me till -to-night. Here’s how it is--” - -“You--you care for her?” asked Desirée very quietly. Caleb, full as he -was of his own aspirations, noticed how dull and lifeless her voice had -all at once grown. - -“You’re tired out!” he cried, all remorse, “Here I keep you up, -listenin’ to my fool talk when you ought to be sound asleep! Nice sort -of guardian I am! I’m goin’--” - -“No. Wait!” she ordered, with a pitiful shadow of her wonted dainty -imperiousness, “I’m not tired. Tell me. Are you in love with her?” - -“In love with her?” scoffed Caleb. “With that little rabbit-faced bunch -of silliness? Not me! But she comes of about the biggest fam’ly here. -She’s pop’lar ev’rywhere. If I was to marry her, I’d get with the -best crowd in Granite. My place’d be as sure as yours’ll be when you -marry that gold-shirt chap--whoever he turns out to be--that we was -talkin’ about the other day. I was speakin’ of the idee to Caine, only -to-night, an’ he says--” - -“_Oh!_” - -The furious monosyllable snapped through his rambling talk like a -pistol shot. Caleb paused in amaze. The girl had risen. Her tiny fists -were clinched, her face was hard as a statue’s. The moonlight gave back -cold fire from her great eyes. - -“How dare you?” she panted, “How _dare_ you! You speak of marrying -Letty Standish as you would speak of buying a horse! You even talk -it over with the man she has promised to marry! But I suppose you -chuckled to yourself over your barroom cunning in getting an opinion -from him without letting him know it was _his_ sweetheart you planned -to steal. You sneer at her as a ‘rabbit-faced little bunch of -silliness’ and yet you speak in the same breath of making her your -wife. Do you realize you are not only insulting her by such a thought, -but you are insulting _me_ by speaking so in my presence?” - -“_Dey!_” gasped the bewildered man, “You must be crazy, child! I never -saw you like--” - -“Be still!” she commanded, her silver voice ringing harsh, “I forbid -you to speak to me, now or any time. A man who can plan what you are -planning, and who can boast of it, isn’t fit to speak to _any woman_. -You went to that house as a guest--and you asked mens’ opinions in the -smoking room--” - -“It was the dressin’ room, Dey,” he pleaded, “An’ it was only me an’ -Caine--” - -“You ask mens’ opinion,” blazed on Desirée, unheeding, “as to whether -you are likely to gain anything in a social way by wrecking an innocent -girl’s life. You sit by her at dinner--at her own father’s table--and -plan in smug complacency how to separate her from a man she really -loves,--and to compel her to marry _you_. Why, you aren’t fit to marry -her chambermaid. There isn’t a groom in her stable that hasn’t higher, -holier ideals. Now _go_! This is the last time I want to see you as -long as I live!” - -A swirl of soft skirts, the sharp slam of a door, and Caleb Conover, -aghast, wordless with dismay stood alone on the little moon-lit porch. - -For a full minute he stood there, dumbfounded. Then, from somewhere in -the darkness beyond the closed door, came faintly the sound of sobbing. -Rending, heartbroken sobs that brought a lump to his own throat. - -“Dey!” he called, frantically miserable, “Dey!” - -He tried the locked door, and rapped as loudly as he dared upon its -panels. The sobbing died away. For an hour Conover waited; alternately -whispering the girl’s name and tapping appealingly for admittance. But -the house remained silent. At length with a despairing growl he turned -away. - -“Now what in blazes could a’ made her act like that?” he pondered, -half-aloud. “Gee, but I’d rather be horsewhipped than make that kid -cry! An’ I s’pose,” he went on as he passed out of the gate, “I s’pose -’bout this time Letty Standish an’ Caine are sayin’ goodnight, all -slushly like, an’ grinnin’ at each other, like a couple of measly -love-birds.” - -He looked back once more at the dark house; sighed noisily, and started -homeward. A passing policeman recognized him; and, in deference to the -Fighter’s fast-growing political power, so far unbent as to say: - -“Good evenin’, Mr. Conover. Fine night, ain’t it? Are--?” - -“Oh, go to hell!” snarled Caleb. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -CALEB CONOVER TAKES AN AFTERNOON OFF - - -The Fighter made life a burden, next day, for the office staff of the -C. G. & X. An electric aura of uneasiness pervaded the big station--the -indefinable, wordless something that gives warning to the most remote -denizens of every office when the “boss” is out of temper. - -Yet Caleb, as it happened, was not out of temper. He was merely -unhappy. The effect, to casual observers, was the same as on the not -very rare days of his rages. But, instead of storming up and down his -office as on the latter occasions, Caleb merely sulked in his desk -chair, chewed countless cigars, and roused himself every few minutes to -make toil a horror for such luckless subordinates as just then chanced -to impress their existence on his mind. Hence the President’s private -office was shunned like a pest-house by everyone who could avoid going -thither. - -The office boy, official martyr of the day, shook visibly as he sidled -into the room, about three that afternoon, and laid on his chief’s desk -a sealed, unstamped envelope. Conover’s scowl vanished as he noted the -handwriting. The office boy breathed deeper and his knees grew firm. - -“Any answer?” asked Conover; and for the first time since his arrival -his voice sounded scarcely more menacing than that of a sick bear. - -“No, sir!” piped the youth with a propitiatory grin. “I ast the -mes’nger an’ he said--” - -“Clear out!” mumbled Caleb, his eyes and mind fixed on the sheet he had -clumsily withdrawn from the envelope. - -The boy departed; swaggering into the main office with all the -conscious heroism of a lion-tamer. The door, wind-caught, swung shut -behind him with a slam that turned swagger into helpless panic. But no -dreaded voice howled a reprimand through the panels. Caleb Conover was -reading and re-reading a few scribbled lines in exaggeratedly large -writing. The Fighter’s face softened as he read. Then, glancing about -in shame-faced caution, he hastily lifted the note; brushed it across -his lips with a furtive, yet careless mien; as though the gesture might -have been employed to cover a yawn. Contemptuous of the first covert -loverly deed of his career, he cleared his throat and for the sixth -time read the scrawled words. Half audibly, he perused them; smiling to -himself. - - “_Please, I’m good now. I don’t think I’m EVER going to be bad again. - Wouldn’t it be fine if you should come and take me for a walk this - afternoon? D. S._” - -“Isn’t she the dandiest ever?” Caleb asked himself gleefully as he -straightened his tie before the office mirror and jammed his felt hat -down over his forehead, “Why can’t the Letty girl be like her? Then -there’d be some pleasure in gettin’ married. Hope she and Dey’ll be -friends. If they ain’t--” - -He strode through the outer office, looking so human that his -expression, combined with the far more important fact that he was -evidently departing for the day, put the whole staff into the utmost -good humor for the rest of the afternoon. - -It was a very natural, self-controlled Desirée who met Conover on the -porch of the Shevlin cottage. If hers had been the muffled sobs that -had sent him home with a lump in his throat--if she had lain wide-eyed, -tortured, till broad daylight--there was no hint of such excess in her -flower face nor in the girlish vigor of her pose. Conover, doubtful -as to how he might best refer to the quarrel of the previous night, -for once did an absolutely wise and tactful thing. He made no mention -whatever of the affair. - -“It was such a gorgeous day,” Desirée was saying, “that I felt I ought -to let you know what beautiful weather it was. You’d never have thought -to look, for yourself. You know you wouldn’t. Now take me somewhere. -Anywhere, so long as it’s far enough. And I want to walk; not drive. -Where are we going? It’s got to be somewhere outside of this squiffy, -hot old town. Out where there’s a whole sky-ful of air.” - -“How’d you like to walk out to the Arareek?” he suggested, “We can sit -on the stoop there and drink seltzer lem’nade an’ watch the paretics -chase gutta percha pills over the golf links. Would you care ’about -doin’ that? There’s a big view there for folks that cares for that sort -of rot.” - -She assented gaily and they set off, walking close together and -chattering like a couple of schoolgirls on a holiday. Caleb felt oddly -young and buoyant. The girl had ever the power of imparting to him, -when they were alone together, something of her own youth and gaiety. -To-day, the spell worked with double force, because of last night’s -scene. It would have needed a far cleverer onlooker than Conover to -detect any artificiality in Desirée’s high spirits. She bullied him, -petted him, cajoled and instructed him by turns as was her wont, until -they had entered the Arareek grounds. Then of a sudden she fell silent. - -The deep clubhouse veranda was filled with knots of men and women. -Among the idling groups, the girl had recognized Letty Standish and -Caine. Jack Hawarden, who was sitting with the couple, ran down the -steps to welcome the newcomers. - -“There are two extra chairs at our table,” he said eagerly, “And I -believe they’re the only two left on the whole veranda. I wondered why -no one took them. Now I see it was providential.” - -Caleb hesitated, glancing in doubt at Desirée. The girl, a little to -his surprise, assented with perfect willingness to Jack’s suggestion, -and led the way between several bevies of frankly admiring men and -openly curious women, toward the table where Caine and Letty were -seated. Miss Standish’s cheeks were flushed as she noted their -approach. Nor did her gentle face wear quite its best expression. But -Caine, masculinely obtuse, was very evidently glad to see them. He -signalled a waiter as Caleb and Desirée seated themselves. - -“When Providence ordained hot days like this,” said Caine oracularly, -“He mercifully devised seltzer lemonades to go with them. Would you -rather have a Scotch-and-soda, Conover?” - -“No thanks,” demurred the Fighter. “No use in spoilin’ two perfec’ly -good things like booze an’ water by fizzin’ ’em up together.” - -“That is so,” agreed Caine tritely, “Mixing whiskey with water is like -merging love into matrimony. It--” - -Letty giggled appreciation. She had a marvellous ear for humor, and -could almost always tell by a speaker’s tone when he had said anything -funny. It was a natural gift many girls envied her. In the midst of the -laugh she remembered Desirée’s presence and fell back on her defenses -of gentle reserve. - -Caine was hailed from another table and went across to reply to some -question. Jack, too, was for the moment, leaning over to speak with -someone on the lawn below. Caleb, left alone between Desirée and Letty, -racked his brain for something to say. For once, Desirée did not help -him. She was gazing out with dreamy joy at the beautiful grounds; her -eyes resting longest on the stately avenue of trees that wound up to -the house. Thus it devolved upon Letty to save the conversational ship -from utter wreck. - -“I hardly thought to see you here, Miss Shevlin,” she observed with a -graciousness that did not however leave the second personal pronoun -quite unaccented. - -“Why not?” asked Desirée, simply. “I hear some really very nice people -come here,--sometimes.” - -“I--I meant I feared you would hardly feel at home,” persisted Letty, -walking round-eyed toward destruction. - -“Oh, I don’t,” Desirée assured her, with a child-like smile. “At home -I never see men sit with their feet on a veranda rail. And I never see -women drinking whisky there, either,” she added with a glance toward a -nearby table whither a tray of high-balls had just been borne. - -“I wonder you came, then,” sputtered Letty, with a despairing effort at -cold reproof. - -“One goes anywhere nowadays,” replied Desirée. “And besides,” she -sighed raptly, “I _love_ the country. Everything about it always has -a charm for me. From trees like those splendid old oaks, down to--” -her eyes swept the scene for an antithesis; accidently resting for the -remotest instant on Letty’s profile as she finished, “down to the funny -little rabbits with their ridiculous round bodies and bulging, scared -eyes.” - -“Gee!” groaned Caleb to himself, glancing helplessly from one girl to -the other, “It must be _hell_ to be a Mormon!” - -For a moment, Letty pondered on Desirée’s harmless speech. - -Then, all at once, a queer, gurgling little sound rumbled far down -in her throat and she slowly grew pink. Her nose quivered a mute -appeal to all mankind. Caine mercifully returned at this juncture. All -unconscious of the smouldering fires, he proceeded, man-like, to stir -up the coals. - -“You have made one more of an endless line of conquests, Miss Shevlin,” -he announced, “General Greer,--Miss Standish’s uncle, you know,--called -me over to his table expressly to ask who you were; and to demand, in -lurid diction, why he had never met you before. He is coming over here -in a moment, if you’ll permit, to be introduced to you. You don’t mind?” - -“Why, of course not,” said Desirée in sweet effusion, “Miss Standish -knows how glad I am to meet anyone connected with her. By the way, she -and I have been raving over the joys of country life. We--” - -Letty was saved by the advent of an elderly man, apoplectic of mien, -stumpy of gait, who hobbled across to their table and greeted her with -a bluff manner he had spent many busy years in mastering. Then, without -waiting for her reply, he nodded to Jack and looked expectantly toward -Caine. The latter rose to the occasion. - -“Miss Shevlin,” he said, trying to make the act seem bred of an -unexpected meeting, “May I present General Greer?” - -The General bowed low; his best old-world air and his corpulence -battling doughtily for supremacy in the salutation. He was about to -follow up the bow with some remarks of a fatherly yet admiring nature, -when Caine, with malice aforethought, broke in: - -“And, General, may I introduce Mr. Caleb Conover?” - -The old man’s honeyed words collided with a snort that sprang unbidden -from his throat; resulting in a sound that was neither old-world or -fatherly. - -“Conover, eh?” he rapped out. “Heard of you, sir! Heard of you!-- -Too often, in fact. You’re the fellow that’s always buying up our -legislators, aren’t you? Why do you do it, sir?” - -“Because they’re for sale,” said Caleb, unruffled. “I guess that’s -’bout the only reason I’m able to.” - -“You mean to accuse the men who represent our interests at the -Capital,--to accuse them of being willing, untempted, to sell their -vote?” - -“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as that,” answered Caleb with a tolerant -grin. “They ain’t _all_ waitin’ for chances to sell their vote. Some of -’em prefers to rent it out by the year.” - -“Do you want me to believe such a libel on our statesmen?” declaimed -Greer. “On the men we--” - -“I’m not exactly coaxin’ you to believe _anything_,” replied Caleb, -pleasantly, “An’ I ain’t liable to lay wake nights moanin’ because you -doubt it. If the people didn’t want to be run by a lobby, they wouldn’t -be. That’s all there is to it.” - -“I didn’t come to discuss ethics with a man of your stamp,” sneered the -General. “But I can tell you you are wrong--_wrong_, sir--in thinking -the people will always stand such conditions as you and your kind are -thrusting upon them. Only yesterday one of my clients was telling me -that if he could not curb your legislative influence by fair means he -would--” - -“Come to you for help?” finished Caleb blandly. - -General Greer stared at him speechless, apoplectic. Letty, who, despite -years of sharp contrary experience, still clung to the fond delusion -that she was the spoiled-child-niece of fiction who could twist an -otherwise crotchety uncle about her finger, now intervened with one of -her inspired blunders. The General’s rumbling voice had drawn attention -to their table and Miss Standish conceived a plan of pouring oil on the -thundrous waters. - -“Why, Uncle Guy!” she pouted prettily, “You’ll make Mr. Conover think -you’re in earnest in the dreadful things you are saying to him! It’s -just dear Uncle Guy’s bluff way, Mr. Conover, that he picked up when he -was commanding soldiers in the army. He’s really a darling old lamb, if -only--” - -After one long, dumb glare of annihilation at his self-appointed -spoiled-child-niece, the darling old lamb stumped away, bleating -blasphemously. - -“I wonder,” conjectured Desirée, looking up from her tall glass, “why -seltzer lemonades make such squizzy sounds through the straw when the -glass is almost empty.” - -“If that’s a hint,--” observed Caine, glancing about for a waiter. - -“No,” she replied. “Only a scientific comment. Oh, it _is_ good to be -in the country a day like this.” - -“I’ll be in the country for the summer, this time next month,” said -Jack Hawarden, “Mother’s taken the same cottage at the Antlers we had -last year. It will be nice to get back to the old Adirondacks again.” - -“The Adirondacks?” exclaimed Desirée. “Oh, take me along. I’ve always -wanted to go there!” - -Letty, pained at a suggestion so palpably immodest, looked in -frightened appeal to Caine. But Amzi was once more talking to people -at the next table. So Miss Standish drew around her an aloofness that -lifted her high above any ribaldry that might be bandied about her. - -“You’ve never been?” asked Jack in surprise, “You’ve missed a lot. -There’s no other region just like the Adirondacks. It rains about a -third of the time, as a rule. But when it’s clear you forget it can -ever be anything else. The breath goes down a mile deeper into your -lungs than it can in any other part of the world; and you never get -tired. A sort of perpetual ozone jag. Almost any place there is worth -going to. We generally hang out at the Antlers,--Mother and I. Up on -Raquette Lake, you know. It’s different from other places. It’s run -by Charlie Bennett, a giant of a man as broad as Mr. Conover and -half a foot taller. He and Father are old chums from the time when it -took three days to get into the wilderness and when you could shoot -Adirondack bear for breakfast any morning. Bennett used to be Father’s -guide in those days. Now, I suppose he could buy and sell Dad half a -dozen times over.” - -“I _wish_ I could go there--or anywhere at all in the Adirondacks,” -sighed Desirée wistfully. “I read once--” - -Caleb noted the longing inflection and made quick mental memorandum of -it. - -“How big’s your cottage, Jack?” he asked the boy. - -“Four rooms. We get our meals at the hotel. Why?” - -“Oh, nothin’!” Continuing with elephantine humor, “Though maybe I might -drop in on you sometime. How many of you goin’ to be there?” - -“Father can only stay a month this year. After that there will be only -Mother and I. Did you really think of joining us? We’d be ever so glad. -There’s an extra room.” - -“Much obliged. I’ve never took a vacation yet, an’ I guess I’m a little -bit too old to begin. I don’t b’lieve in vacations. Neither would you -if you could see how my clerks look when they get back from ’em. The -first day back, you’d think they was beginnin’ a life sentence in -prison. It costs ’em six months’ savin’s to grow a bunch of callous -spots on their hands an’ tan on their faces that they could a’ got -free of charge, workin’ in my freight yards. When d’you expect to go to -the country, Miss Standish?” he broke off, remembering belatedly his -new-chosen role of attentive swain, and turning unexpectedly upon Letty -before she had an opportunity to resume the aloofness which she had -just discarded as unnecessary. - -“I--I don’t quite know yet,” she made reply, unreasonably scared by his -sudden glance, “We shall probably stay in town rather late this year.” - -“Good!” approved Caleb. “I hope we’ll see a lot of each other.” - -And, looking into his light, masterful eyes, the girl knew all at -once that she would not have the wit nor the force to avoid him. -The knowledge turned her sick. Her round, helpless gaze shifted -involuntarily to Desirée, as the nearest woman to her. And, under the -genuine fright behind that appeal, the steel glint that had of a sudden -hardened Desirée’s big eyes, softened unaccountably. A quick sentence -that had risen to her lips died unborn. - -For a moment, before convention could lower the veil, the two women -read each other to the very soul. At what the brief glance told her, -Letty drew her breath with a sharp intake that made Conover glance at -her inquiringly. To cover her confusion, Miss Standish plunged into -speech on the first subject that crossed her mind. - -“I hope you didn’t mind Uncle Guy’s rudeness, Mr. Conover,” she began, -“He really doesn’t mean half the cross things he says. He suffers -so dreadfully from dyspepsia and--and there are sometimes family -troubles, too, that--” - -“I know,” assented Caleb, “I’ve heard. Married a wife that was too -rich for him. She don’t always agree with him, I hear, an’ I s’pose it -gives him mental indigestion. No offence. I forgot they’re rel’tives of -yours.” - -“I’m sorry, just the same, that he spoke so threateningly to you,” went -on Letty. - -She found it so easy to talk to him now. A weight seemed off her heart. - -“Threats don’t keep me guessin’ very much,” Conover reassured her, -delighted at her new ease of bearing toward him, “No one’s goin’ to -do a rich man any real harm or hold grouches against him. To him that -hath, it shall be forgiven. That’s in the Bible, ain’t it? Or somethin’ -like it. The trouble with men like your uncle is that they don’t see -any farther ahead than twenty years ago. Business an’ pol’tics have -changed a lot since then. But the old crowd don’t see it. They’re like -a feller that rows a boat. They move ahead because the boat carries ’em -ahead. But they’re always facin’ astern.” - -He felt he was talking amazingly well. He was almost annoyed when -Desirée, having sat in troubled silence for some minutes, rose abruptly -and proposed that they should go. - -Letty Standish, watching them depart, was saying over and over to -herself in a rapturous sing-song: - -“She won’t _let_ him make love to me. She won’t! She _won’t_!” - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -CALEB CONOVER LIES - - -One morning, a week or so later, Caine strolled into Conover’s private -office. Under the young newspaper owner’s customary jauntiness was a -hint of something more serious. Conover, as skilled in reading men -as he was ignorant in deciphering any problem relating to woman, was -aware, at a glance, of the subtle change. - -“Sit down,” he said, nodding to his secretary to go, “What’s wrong? -If you’re scared because Steeloid fell off three-quarters of a point -yesterday, you can rest easy. I did it myself on ‘match’ sales; and a -few others--” - -“It isn’t Steeloid,” said Caine, “It’s nothing that really concerns me. -But I thought you would want to know about it.” - -“Fire away, then,” vouchsafed Caleb, “Have a cigar? These with the -gold-an’-red life belts are nice to look at. But if you want something -that tastes better’n it looks, try one of the panatelas. The ones -without illustrations on ’em. Now what is it?” - -“It’s about Miss Shevlin,” began Caine, with reluctance. - -Conover’s massive calm fled. He brought down his crossed legs from the -desk corner with a bang and whirled his chair about. - -“Speak it out, quick!” he ordered sharply. “Ain’t sick, is she?” - -“No, no. This is different. You’ve heard of Ex-Governor Parkman’s plan -to start an anti-graft crusade, of course?” - -“Sure!” grinned Caleb, “Them croosades are as certain as measles. -Ev’ry city goes through ’em ev’ry once in so often. They don’t do any -real hurt and they can’t tie up _my_ bus’ness so’s to bother me any. -Let ’em croosade till they’re black in the face. It’ll be good for -you noospaper fellers, an’ it won’t harm anybody it’s aimed at. But,” -uneasily, “what’s that got to do with Dey?” - -“I’m coming to the point if you’ll give me a chance. Parkman’s -preparing a set of tables showing not only how municipal funds are -squandered at present but how they were misspent in the past. In the -course of his investigations, he has come to the City Hall and the -County Court House.” - -“Well?” queried Conover, “What then? Both of ’em was built ten years -ago. That’s over an’ done with.” - -“The Shevlin Contracting Company did the work,” interpolated Caine. - -“What of that? Neither building’s caved in, has it?” - -“Not yet. Though, if all Parkman claims is true, I don’t know why -they haven’t. He came to me this morning with the whole story. Proofs, -affidavits and all. He wants to give the _Star_ first chance to publish -the exposure. I told him to come back at noon, and--” - -“What exposure?” asked Caleb in perplexity. - -“It seems he took pains to hunt up the original specifications on both -buildings,” resumed Caine, “And then he hired an architectural expert -to go over the plans and the work and see how the two agreed. Thus -far, he has found cheap foundations and sandstone bedding where the -best concrete and granite were called for. Stucco has been used in no -less than four corridors where the plans called for marble. The ‘solid -marble pillars’ on the east portico are ‘composition,’ shells filled -with cement. Then the facade--” - -“Say, son,” interrupted Conover with perfect sincerity, “what in blazes -is the matter with you and Parkman? You’ve bit into a mare’s nest, an’ -any practical man’ll tell you so. Of course a contractor’s goin’ to -make what he can on a job. He ain’t in the business for his health or -to endow the city, is he? He’s got to get his, an’ the pol’ticians who -throw the job to him have got to get theirs. An’ that bein’ so, how’s -he goin’ to foller out all the arch’tect’s spec’fications an’ still -make the right money out of it? He _can’t_. I thought ev’rybody knew -that much pol’tics.” - -“Conover,” observed Caine, in unwilling admiration. “I’ve heard people -say you’re a man of bad morals. It isn’t true. You’re simply a man of -no morals at all. Do you mean to say--?” - -“I mean to say business is business an’ pol’tics is business too. -I never heard of any good comin’ from mixin’ up morals with either -of ’em. If you came here to-day to tell me this story, with an idee -that I’d slap my manly brow an’ say: ‘Great heaven! Can such things -be?’ you’ve brought your s’prise party to the wrong house. Of course, -Shevlin made a good thing out of those two buildin’s. Even after the -folks higher up had got their rake-off, I guess he must a’ cleaned up -close to $800,000. An’ then the old fool went an’ blowed it all in Wall -Street, an’ died before he could make a new pile. But, say! What’s this -got to do with--?” - -“With Miss Shevlin? I am coming to that. This ‘mare’s nest,’ as you -call it, that Parkman has unearthed, may look harmless to you and to -other practical business-politicians. But to nine people out of ten it -will have very much the look of bare-faced robbery. So much so that it -will prove the biggest newspaper sensation of the year. Mr. Shevlin -will be everywhere spoken of as--” - -“I catch your meanin’!” broke in Caleb, “The ‘Holier’n Thou’ crowd -will raise a yell, drag Shevlin out of his snug, comf’table grave an’ -croocify him. He’ll be spoke of by the papers an’ by the man on the -street as the rottenest grafter of the century. An’ ev’rywhere Dey -goes, folks’ll nudge each other an’ whisper: ‘Them fine clo’es was -bought out o’ the dough her ol’ man stole from the city.’ An’ all the -time there’s no less than a dozen cases of city graft goin’ on in -Granite to-day that are raw enough to make Shevlin’s deals look like -a game of Old Maid! Still,” he muttered, dropping his head on his -chest in thought, “all that won’t keep this story from queerin’ Dey in -s’ciety and givin’ her a black eye as the daughter of a crook.” - -“That’s why I put off Parkman till I could see you,” explained Caine, -“He came direct to me with the news. It’s lucky I happened to be in -town. If he had gone to my managing editor instead, there would be a -scare-head Extra on the streets by now.” - -“Well,” returned Conover, “the story’s got to be hushed up, of course. -An’ I hate to pay hush-money. But I guess this is one of the times when -it’s got to be done. I wonder what’s Parkman’s price?” - -Caine laughed, mirthlessly. - -“Parkman’s as rich a man as you are,” he said, “And he’s so upright -that he bends backward. He would like nothing better than to prove -attempted bribery against you. No, the adage about ‘every man having -his price’ won’t apply in Parkman’s case.” - -“Rot!” growled Conover. “There ain’t a case on earth where it won’t -apply. The price ain’t always money; but it’s always dead sure to -be _somethin’_. Only, I ain’t got time, I s’pose, to find out what -Parkman’s partic’lar rates are. I wish I had. If I’d had wind of this -a week earlier I’d have been able by now to lay my finger on his pet -weakness or fav’rite sin or cash price an’ say ‘Shut up!’ An’ he’d a’ -done it, quicker’n greased lightning.” - -“You’re mistaken,” averred Caine. “But that has nothing to do--” - -“I know it has nothin’ to do with this muddle we’re in now,” snapped -Conover, “I ain’t sayin’ it has. But Parkman has his price just the -same, if only we could find out what it is. There never was but one Man -that hadn’t. An’ that was why they put Him to death. What do you want -for keepin’ the story out of the _Star_?” he ended, abruptly. - -Caine’s handsome face contracted in sudden wrath. Then, in spite of -himself, he broke into a laugh. - -“If only you _knew_ better,” he sighed in comic resignation, “you’d -be horsewhipped three times a week. What a mighty, impregnable armor -is profound ignorance! Unfortunately,” he went on, more gravely, “I -couldn’t avail myself of your very tactfully veiled offer even if I -chose. The _Star_ is but one of Granite’s four daily newspapers. If I -refuse to print the story, the three others remain to--” - -“H’m,” mused Conover. “I s’pose so. I s’pose so. In another five years -there won’t be a paper in Granite that’ll dare print a word I tell -’em not to. I wish now I’d bought up their stock already; instead of -waitin’ until I get some more important deals off my hands. A noospaper -is a good weapon for a big man to keep for emergencies. If ’twasn’t for -the papers I could a’ pulled off lots of dandy schemes. What a cinch -the old-time business men must a’ had before printin’ was invented!” - -His voice trailed away. His head once more sank. His eyes were shut; -his forehead contracted. - -“I thought it only fair--” began Caine. - -“Shut up!” grunted Conover, “I’m thinkin’. Leave me be.” - -Caine, in no wise offended, held his peace, and watched the big -concentrated figure that sprawled so motionless in the desk chair. For -several minutes the two sat in silence. Then Caleb opened his eyes. The -frown had cleared; the light of battle flickered beneath his shrewd -lids. - -“Caine,” he said solemnly, “I got a confession to make. You’re the -first to hear it. So be flattered. Caine, Ol’ Man Shevlin had nothin’ -to do with the Shevlin Contractin’ Company, at the time the City Hall -an’ the County Courthouse was started. Six months before then, he’d -sold out the whole business to me.” - -“What are--?” - -“Hold on a second,” ordered Caleb. “Hear all the sad, sad secret before -you fly up in the air. I bought out the Shevlin Contractin’ Com’pany, -lock, stock an’ bar’l; good will an’ fixtures. I still ran it under -Shevlin’s name, so’s to get the good of his old trade. That’s why I -worked through agents. _I_ didn’t appear in it at all. I built the -Court House an’ the noo City Hall, an’ made close onto a million out -of the deal. It was crooked work if you like. But the statoot of -limitations’ll keep me from bein’ indicted for it, I guess. An’ if I am -indicted, I’ll bet fifty dollars to fifty doughnuts the case’ll never -come to trial. Yessir, I’m the guilty man, all right. An’ I can prove -it.” - -“Are you quite through?” asked Caine with exaggerated politeness, as -the Fighter paused. - -“Yep. That’s ’bout all. Good story for the papers, hey?” - -“An excellent story--for the horse marines,” retorted Caine. “Really, -Conover,” he continued almost plaintively, “I don’t see what overt acts -of idiocy I have ever committed that you should offer so vile an insult -to my intelligence.” - -“What d’ye mean?” queried Caleb with bland innocence. - -“I mean, every word of that rigmarole is a thread in one of the -clumsiest tangles of lies I have ever had the misfortune to listen to. -I thought better of your inventive powers!” - -“You don’t believe me?” exclaimed Conover, aggrieved. - -“I’m not lucky enough to have had the Chess Queen’s training in -‘believing at least three impossible things before breakfast every -morning,’” misquoted Caine. “Really, Conover, did it never occur to you -that telling an unnecessary lie is almost tempting Providence?” - -“The story’s true,” persisted Caleb, doggedly, “Just like I told it to -you. I owned the Shevlin Contractin’ Comp’ny. Shevlin had been out -of it six months. I was the one that did the graftin’ when the two -buildin’s was put up. An’ I ain’t ashamed of it.” - -Caine looked long, quizzically, into the light, alert eyes that so -brazenly met his. - -“I really believe you mean to stick to it,” he said at last. “But why? -And don’t you see that a single glance at the records will disprove it -all? If Shevlin really transferred his business to you, there would be -a record of it.” - -“There’ll be a record--if it’s needed,” countered the Fighter, “That -the easiest part of it all. But it won’t be needed. My say-so will be -b’lieved for once. Folks won’t s’pose a man would accuse himself of -bein’ a crook if he was reelly on the square.” - -“Do as you please,” replied Caine impatiently, “but don’t keep up the -farce with _me_.” - -“All right,” assented Caleb with cheerful acquiescence, “I won’t, if -it jars you. But that’s the story that’s goin’ out under my name. An’ -you’re the man who’s goin’ to help me. Now, listen to me, an’ be sure -you get my instructions right. An’ don’t butt in with any objections. -Because I need you to help me. If you don’t, some other paper will. May -as well get a ‘beat’ for the _Star_. Besides, you know I can help folks -sometimes who helps me. There’s other deals besides Steeloid. Will you -stand by me? Is it a go?” - -The Fighter’s tone had deepened to a growl that held more menace than -appeal. His eyes were fixed in scowling command on his visitor’s face. - -“This cringing attitude of yours touches me to the heart,” said Caine; -speaking lightly, though he felt the other’s magnetic domination -throughout his entire being, “What do you want me to do?” - -“I want you,” dictated Conover, “to go back to your office and send -for your best reporter. Don’t put this up to your managin’ editor, but -handle it yourself. The reporter will work a lot better when he thinks -it’s a story the owner’s int’rested in. That’s workman-nature, ain’t -it?” - -“Go ahead,” smiled Caine, fighting against that merciless domination -which found expression in the man himself, not in his words. - -“Send for your best, sharpest reporter,” resumed Caleb, “Give him an -outline of this case against old Shevlin. Tell him to spread himself -on it. As a starter, tell him Shevlin an’ me used to be friends, an’ -suggest that he’d better chase around here first of all an’ interview -me, to find out if I ever heard of the graft trick that was worked on -those two public buildin’s. I never let reporters get in here; but I’ll -make an exception in this case, ’cause he’ll bring a pers’nal note from -my pers’nal friend, Amzi Nicholas Caine, Esquire. I’ll talk to him kind -of guarded-like. But pretty soon I’ll get rattled under his questions, -an’ let out enough to put him on the right track. Then when I see he’s -s’picious, I’ll give in an’ tell him the whole thing, an’ exonerate -ol’ Shevlin to beat the band. That reporter’ll feel like the man who -went out for squirrels an’ brought home a bear. Then, when he reports -back to you, I want you should be firm in your dooty to the c’moonity. -You must decide that pers’nal friendship can’t stand in the way of the -public’s sacred right to find out things that’s none of their business. -Print the whole terr’ble trooth. Don’t spare _me_. But see that you -clear Shevlin’s name till it shines like it had a Sat’dy night bath. -An’ _Dey--ain’t--to--be--mentioned_! Understand?” - -“Perfectly,” answered Caine, “And I’ll do nothing of the sort.” - -“D’ye mean you--?” - -“I mean just this: You are the most conscienceless, inhuman brute I -ever met; but I have a sort of morbid liking for you. Besides, as -you so often take graceful occasion to remind me, I am in your debt -for certain financial favors. Also, I have some regard for the truth -of what appears in my own newspaper. For all those reasons--and for -several more--I’m not going to help you to commit social suicide, nor -to stamp yourself as more of a highwayman than you really are. Is that -plain?” - -“So plain that it’s plumb ugly,” replied Caleb, “But you’ll do it just -the same. If it ain’t the _Star_, it’ll be one of the other papers. -That story’s goin’ to be in print by to-morrow mornin’. You speak ’bout -likin’ me an’ bein’ in my debt. The best way you can show that likin’ -an’ gratitood is by doin’ as I ask now. The _Star’s_ the best paper in -Granite an’ it’s read by the best people. Don’t you s’pose I’d rather -have folks get their first idee of the story from such a paper as that -than to have ’em see it plastered all over the front page of some -screechin’ sheet, in letters two feet high?” - -“But,” argued Caine, “What sense is there in doing it at all?” - -“From a grown man’s point of view,” admitted Caleb, “There ain’t a mite -of sense in it. It’s straight craziness. But if you think I’m goin’ to -let Dey go around knowin’ the trooth about her old crook of a father -who she worships, you’re wrong. She thinks he was a measly saint with a -tin halo. An’ she gets pleasure out of thinkin’ it. An’ she’s goin’ to -go right on thinkin’ it to the end of the game. What sort of a yellow -dog would _I_ be to let her hear things about him that’d make her cry -an’ that would sure break her heart? There’s another thing: She’s got -into a good crowd now. She goes to folks’ houses an’ has a good time -there. Who’s goin’ to invite a crook’s daughter to their house? Or, -do you think she’d go to such places, knowin’ how they thought of her -father? Not her. She’d die first. Why, ev’ry time folks looked at -her in the street, she’d be thinkin’ to herself: ‘It ain’t because -I’m so pretty an’ ’cause my eyes look like two chunks of heaven, an’ -’cause when I smile at you it makes you feel as if someone had lent -you money.’ She’d think: ‘They’re pointin’ me out as the daughter of -Shevlin who stole cash from the city!’ No, no, son! She ain’t goin’ to -have none of those things happen to her. Not while Caleb Conover’s on -deck. Butterfly smashin’ ain’t in my line. That’s why I say you’ve got -to help me. An’ you’ll do it, too.” - -“Of course you know,” suggested Caine, “that this will ruin those weird -social ambitions of yours?” - -“I know nothin’ of the sort. Even if I did, I s’pose I’d have it to -do just the same. But it won’t. I’m too well off to go to jail; or to -have folks say: ‘Get out!’ when I say ‘Let me in!’ There’ll be a sight -of talk in the papers an’ all through the State. But folks get tired -talkin’, after awhile. An’ _I_ never get tired _risin’_. So I’ll win -out. When I flash on ’em that merger of the Up-State R. R. with my C. -G. & X., they’ll see I’m too big a man to be sat on. That’s comin’ off -next week, by the way. An’ bigger schemes to foller. Oh, folks won’t be -sore on me long! So you see it ain’t such a great stunt of heroism I’m -doin’ for the little girl after all. Now you’d better start. For we--” - -“But Miss Shevlin? She will read what the papers are bound to say of -you. She will hear what her friends--” - -“Yes,” ruefully admitted the Fighter, “She will. I’ll have to take my -chances on that. If she drops me, why it’s better’n if s’ciety dropped -_her_. Better for ev’rybody concerned. Unless maybe for _me_. How’s -Miss Standish?” - -“Quite well, thank you. She--” - -“I’ve been meanin’ to come ’round and pay that dinner call. But I’ve -been pretty busy. An’ Dey says there’s no great hurry.” - -“Just now,” answered Caine, remembering Letty’s moist appeal, “The -Standish household is a little upset. I’d call sometime later, if I -were you. They will understand. Clive Standish is down with mumps, poor -little chap.” - -“There’s only two kind of kids,” philosophized Conover, “Bad ones and -sick ones. But I ain’t afraid of catchin’ anything. I’ll be ’round -there in a day or two, tell her.” - -“By the way,” remarked Caine, to change the subject he found vaguely -distasteful, “Miss Shevlin tells me she has been invited to spend the -summer at the Hawardens’ cottage at the Antlers.” - -“Yes,” returned Caleb, drily, “Kind of Mrs. Hawarden, wasn’t it? Dey’s -as pleased as a small boy with a revolver. She’s been crazy to go to -the Adirondacks. I never knew she wanted to till last week, or--” - -“And Mrs. Hawarden providentially invited her the next day?” put in -Caine, his mouth-corners twitching. - -“That’s right,” assented Caleb, “I guess some big-hearted -philanthrofist just took such a fancy to Mrs. Hawarden as to pay the -whole fam’ly’s board bill there for the season;--on condition she asked -Dey. But keep that to yourself; for maybe it’s just a wrong guess. An’ -I wouldn’t have Dey know it for a thousand dollars. Now go an’ send -that reporter here.” - -“I wonder,” mused Caine, as he departed on his queer mission, “what -Caleb Conover would be if all the rest of the world were like Desirée -Shevlin. It’s more interesting, though,” he added, “to conjecture what -he would be like _without_ Desirée Shevlin. Where would he stop, if she -were out of his life?” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -DESIRÉE MAKES PLANS - - -Next morning, the Granite _Star_ made known to the world at large that -grievous wrong had been done to the city and to its taxpayers when -their two foremost public buildings had been erected. These edifices, -hitherto the pride of Granite, were constructed of cheap, inferior -material: were ill-put together and were, in short, a disgrace, a -byword and a hissing. The city and county had paid for first-class -work. They had received fourth-rate value for their money. - -And the miscreant on whom the sole and total blame rested was Caleb -Conover, President of the revivified C. G & X. railroad. He, hiding -behind the honorable name of a man since dead, had robbed the city with -one hand and the county with the other. Now, through the cleverness of -a _Star_ reporter, his culpability was at last unearthed. - -Further, the _Star_ desired, editorially, to avoid needless -exploitation of scandal and the bringing to light of misdemeanors for -which there now appeared to be no legal penalty. But it owed a duty to -its constituents, the thinking class of Granite. Perhaps Mr. Conover, -having, since the regrettable transactions, reared upon such fraudulent -foundations a fortune which was estimated as verging upon the two -million mark, would see his way toward making restitution. - -To which quip of Caine’s the Fighter retaliated by depressing Steeloid -stock. This bit of practical repartee led to a second editorial to the -effect that what was done was done, and that perhaps the wisest and -most dignified course would be to let the unfortunate matter rest where -it was. The lesser newspapers of the town, having bayed with incredible -loudness and ferocity the moment the _Star_ gave voice, now showed -inclination to follow the leader’s example in letting the scandal die -out. - -There were no further developments in the case to warrant continuous -re-hashing of the story through their columns. Ex-Governor Parkman, -finding himself and his crusade unceremoniously side-tracked by this -more interesting turn affairs had taken, sulked in his tent. Caleb, -after that first momentous interview, would see no reporter. A new -sensation was thoughtfully provided by the assistant cashier of the -Aaron Burr National Bank who wandered one day from his post of duty -and neglected to return; taking with him, in equal absent-mindedness, -$18,000 of the bank’s funds. - -Caleb and his inspired confession, for all these excellent reasons, -were not even a nine-day wonder. Within a week the volcano had -subsided. The incident, apparently, was closed. Whether or not the -Grand Jury would take steps toward criminal prosecution remained to be -seen. - -At the end of the week, Caleb, in answer to a peremptory summons, -called on Desirée. - -“Where have you been?” she catechised with the air of an Angora kitten -enacting the role of Rhadamanthus. - -“I’ve been busy,” he evaded, “Workin’ on a new deal we’re puttin’ -through, an’--” - -“Do you know it is eight whole days since you have been near me?” she -demanded. - -“Nine,” he corrected humbly. “I--I been busy, an’--” - -“And you haven’t called _anywhere_ else?” - -“Where else could I?” he asked in amaze. “There’s only one place I -expected to call. That’s at the Standishes’. An’ they’ve got mumps, -there. Besides, I kind of thought I’d wait until some of this noospaper -talk quieted down before I went anywheres. That’s--that’s why I didn’t -come here, either,” he went on, shamefacedly. - -“I knew it!” she declared. “I _knew_ that was it. I wondered if you -could be so utterly silly. So I waited. And it seems you could. Aren’t -you ashamed? It would have served you right if I hadn’t sent for you -at all. _Why_ didn’t you come, Caleb? You surely don’t suppose all -that newspaper nonsense made any difference to _me_, do you? Now stop -looking at me as if I’d slapped you and promise not to be so bad any -more. Promise!” - -“Look here!” blurted Caleb, at once relieved and puzzled, “How was I -to know you wouldn’t just about hate me when you heard how I’d acted -about those measly public buildin’s? An’ your father’s comp’ny too. -Why, I--” - -“You don’t mean to say you thought I _believed_ any of the absurd -story?” she cried, incredulous. “Why, Caleb Conover, I--” - -“It was true!” he protested vehemently, “All of it was true. It was me, -an’ not your father that--” - -“It was neither of you, if there was anything wrong about the matter,” -she decided with calm finality, “I don’t know business and I don’t -know politics. But I do know you and I knew Dad. And neither of you -could have done a low or dishonest thing if you had tried all day. If -the papers choose to twist your business dealings upside down and try -to make people think either of you defrauded anybody,--why, so much -the worse for people who are stupid enough to believe such falsehoods. -That’s all there is about it. I’ve seen cartoons of you garroting the -city of Granite, and I’ve read editorials that called you ‘Brute’ -Conover and I’ve waded through columns of articles abusing you. And -it all made me angry enough to cry. But not at _you_, you old chum of -mine. At the people who wrote such vile things and tried to make the -public believe them. Now let’s talk about _me_. Are you glad I’m going -away? Please be.” - -“Am I glad I’m not goin’ to see you for more’n two months?” corrected -Caleb, “Not much I’m not. It gives me the blues ev’ry time I think of -it.” - -“But you _are_ going to see me. I’ve thought it all out, and I’ve got -your orders ready for you.” - -“You don’t mean to say you’re not goin’?” queried Caleb in dismay. “But -you’ve got to, Dey. Just think how much you’ve wanted to, an’--” - -“Oh, I’m going,” she replied serenely. “I’ve promised Mrs. Hawarden. -And, besides, I wouldn’t miss it for worlds. But you’re coming, too. -Isn’t that nice?” - -She leaned back to watch his delight in her revelation. But he eyed her -without a ray of understanding. - -“I mean,” she explained, “you’re going to take a nice, long vacation in -August or September and coming up to the Antlers. I talked it over with -Jack Hawarden and it’s all arranged. There won’t be room for you in the -cottage, but you can get a tent or a lodge within a stone’s throw of -it; and we’ll have the gloriousest time you ever dreamed of. Isn’t that -splendid? _Say_ it is!” - -“But Dey,” he objected. “You don’t understand. I never took a vacation -in my life. I ain’t got time to. This is goin’ to be the busiest summer -yet, for me. I’ve a dozen irons in the fire. I’d like awful well to -come an’ see you there, but--” - -“I’ve settled it all,” she replied calmly, “And you’re coming. It will -only be two weeks;--if you can’t get away for longer. But you’re coming -for those two weeks.” - -“I _can’t_, Dey. I’ve got--” - -“Now, I suppose you expect me to be a lowly squidge, and sigh and say -‘Oh, very well!’” she retorted. “But I’m not going to do anything of -the sort. Listen: You’ve never had a vacation. Then it’s time you took -one. I’d be _ashamed_ to be so inexperienced, if I were you. You’ve got -a lot of irons in the fire. Very well then; you have two whole months -to get enough of them out to let you take a fortnight’s rest. You’ve -never gone _anywhere_ with me, Caleb. You’ve just been with me for -an afternoon or an evening when half your mind was on that wretched -railroad. Think of our being together for two gorgeous outdoor weeks, -with nothing to do but have all the good times there are. And in the -Adirondacks, too. _Caleb!_” - -“I’d--I’d love to, Dey, if--” - -“So then it’s all arranged!” she cried, happily. - -“Hold on!” he exclaimed, “I can’t. I--” - -“Now, I shall have to discipline you,” she sighed. “I see that. I was -afraid I’d have to. Look me in the eyes! Now, say after me: ‘I promise -to come to the Antlers for a fortnight this summer.’ _Say_ it!” - -“I--Why, Dey, I--” - -“That isn’t what I told you to say!” she broke in, sternly. “Say it -now. Slowly. ‘I promise to--’--Say it!” - -“I promise to--” he repeated in resignation. - -“Come to the Antlers for a fortnight this summer. Say it!” - -“Come to the Antlers for a fortnight this summer,” he groaned, “Lord! -What’ll my work do, while I--?” - -“_Now_ see how nice you are!” exulted Desirée, “You’re being good -at last. Don’t you feel happier now you’ve stopped being bad and -obstinate? _Say_ so!” - -“Does it make _you_ happier?” he evaded. - -“Of course it does. But,” she added, paying truth its strict due, “of -course I knew you were coming anyhow. Now let’s talk about it.” - -“But say,” he protested, “S’pose you an’ your aunt run down to Coney -Island or Atlantic City after you leave the Adirondacks; an’ let me -come down there instead? There’s lots of fun to be had at those places. -But what can _I_ do up in the woods? Just measly trees an’ sky an’ -water; an’ not even a Loop the Loop or a music hall, I s’pose. Gee! -It’s too slow for my taste.” - -“Then it is my mission to improve your taste,” she insisted, frowning -down his amendment as unworthy of note, “Don’t you _want_ to like the -things I like?” - -“Yes,” he answered, obediently. - -“And when you know it will give me twice as much fun if you’re there -with me, you’ll want to come to the Adirondacks, won’t you?” - -“If it’d make any sort of a hit with you, Dey,” he answered in full -honesty, “I’d spend those two weeks in a contagion ward. An’ you know -it. But what in thunder is there to do, up in the wilderness?” - -“We can go on camping trips, for one thing,” she said eagerly, “and -cook our own meals out in the forest and sit around camp fires and--” - -“I did all those things when I was workin’ on the section gang eighteen -years ago,” interpolated Caleb, “An’ got one-eighty-five a day for -doin’ it. It didn’t get much enthoosiasm out of me then. Maybe it’s -better fun though when you have to pay _ho_tel rates for the priv’lege. -Any more aloorments?” - -“A _great_ many,” said she coldly. “But I shall punish you by not -telling you any of them. You haven’t seen Miss Standish since the day -we went to the Arareek Club?” - -“No,” he answered, too accustomed to her quick changes of theme to -see anything significant in the careless question, “But I hope to see -quite a lot of her this summer. She’s stayin’ late in town. An’ it’ll -be lonesome for me after you’re gone. I guess she an’ I’ll get better -acquainted before fall.” - -“You still have that--plan--you spoke of?” she answered, speaking low -and hurriedly. - -“Sure!” he answered, “I don’t let go of plans, once I’ve took the -trouble to make ’em. I’ll let you know how I come out. But there ain’t -much doubt.” - -He checked himself, remembering all at once how a similar vaunt had -been received by Desirée a few weeks earlier. But now, to his covert -glance of apprehension, the girl’s delicate face showed no sign of -resentment. He noticed, however, for the first time, that her aspect -had but a shade of its usual fresh buoyancy; that the soft rounded -cheek was paler than was its wont. - -“You’re lookin’ all run down, Dey!” he cried, in quick concern, “This -hot weather’s hurtin’ you. It’s high time you went away to--” - -“Yes,” she interrupted wearily, “It’s time I went away.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -THE DUST DAYS - - -July held Granite in a hot, dry grip that parched the leaves and grass -into a grayish green and with every vagrant breeze set the dust devils -a-dancing. - -Almost everybody was out of town,--with the exception of some -nine-tenths of the city’s total population. These unfortunate -town-bound mortals sweltered and sweated in office, store and cottage, -or sweltered and died in the network of mean streets beyond the -railroad tracks. Daily from the slums crept slow lines of carriages, -headed too often by a hideous white vehicle which in grisly panoply was -carrying some silent child on its first trip to the country; there to -have the day of blesséd release from noise and overcrowding marked--if -the parents could scrape together enough insurance money--with a white -stone. In gutter and alleyway of the tenement district swarmed the -gaunt little survivors. In doorways or in shaded corners of roofs or in -overcrowded bars panted their elders. - -The residence streets one by one had gone blind and lay empty, fraught -with a strange lifelessness. Ultra-exclusive Pompton Avenue, its houses -converted into still mausoleums, baked under the merciless sun. Its -lawns ran rank. From the wide thoroughfare itself arose endless whirls -of dust and the smell of boiling asphalt. A few homes still wore the -awnings and veranda lattices of June; proclaiming the presence of -tenants who could not yet shake from their feet--or from any other part -of their grimed anatomies--the dust of the city. - -Caleb Conover, in his suffocating private office, toiled on untiring. -On his chilled steeled nerves and toughened body, the heat hurled -itself in vain. Coatless, collarless, without waistcoat, his shirt neck -wide open, his suspenders hanging, he ploughed his daily route through -mountains of work; his worn out office force plodding wearily in his -impetuous wake. And in these days of dust and scorching sun, Caleb -was indeed making hay, after his own fashion. To him was due the fact -that more Pompton Avenue residences were open this summer than ever -before. Men who in social life were wont to look on him as a pariah, -were none the less jumping as he pulled the commercial strings and were -dancing to his music. For Caleb, his slow lines at length laid out, was -making a general advance upon the financial defenses behind which for -years the staid business men of the county had dozed in short-sighted -security. - -The first news of the attack came with the announcement of his merger -of two railroads--the Broomell-Shelp and the Upstate--with the C. G. -& X.; which virtually gave the last named road a monopoly of state -traffic. Stocks had been hammered down, share-holders stampeded -by calamity-rumors, and holdings bought in at panic rates by the -Fighter. Then had come reorganization and--presto! the C. G. & X. had -benevolently assimilated its two chief rivals. Men who had considered -their railroad stock as safe an investment as government bonds now -stayed in town for lack of funds to go away for the summer; or else -in order to seek eager alliance with the Fighter’s swift-swelling -interests. Pompton Avenue was hard hit. - -Nor was this the sum of Caleb’s warm weather activities. There were -other deals less widely blazoned, yet quite as remunerative; deals -that plunged so far beneath the surface of practical politics as to -emerge black with the mire of the bottom. But it was gold-bearing mud, -and Caleb knew the secret of assaying it. These submerged ventures -brought at odd hours to the stuffy private office a succession of -slum-dwellers; even as the mergers brought, at other hours, the Pompton -Avenue element. Long were the conferences and deeply was the Underworld -stirred thereby. Thus, in the maze of hovels “across the tracks,” as -well as along the hill boulevards, did Caleb Conover cause unwonted -activity of a sort, during the stifling days of dust. - -Caine, remaining in town, more to glean in the path of Conover’s sickle -than to look after the interests of his own newspaper, was moved to -admiring envy. The Steeloid deal which a few months earlier had meant -so much for both himself and Conover, was now but a side issue with -the latter; a mere detail whose ultimate fate could not materially -affect his fast multiplying wealth. The campaign which for years had -been Caleb’s objective, was carried through now with a rush and daring -that led onlookers, who knew not how long-devised was each seemingly -wild move, to catch their breath and wonder when the crash would come. -But the crash did not come. It would not come. Conover could have told -them that, had he in these hot weeks of ceaseless rush possessed the -leisure and will to explain his lightning moves. - -Blacarda, too,--emerging from retirement with scarred face, a useless -left arm and a heart black with mingled dread, deathless hatred and an -obsessed craving for revenge,--Blacarda noted his foe’s sudden triumph -and yearned to the depths of his semi-Semitic soul to turn in some way -the Fighter’s flank. But, for the moment, he was helpless. He could -but set into motion such few schemes of his own as seemed feasible; -and begin a course of underground counterplanning, whose progress was -by no means rapid enough to ease the hate that mastered him. Meantime, -he kept out of the Fighter’s way. For, even yet, his wrecked nerves -thrilled treacherously at fear of physical nearness to the brute who -had broken him. - -To Caine’s casual warning anent Blacarda, Caleb gave no heed whatever. -He had conquered the man once. Should the need arise, he could do -so again. In the meantime he had no time to waste in following his -victim’s crawling movements. - -Great was Caleb Conover. He was fighting. He had always been fighting. -Just now, battle was as the breath of his nostrils. For he was waging -a winning fight; warring and winning on a scale to which he had never -before been able to attain. And the militant bulldog part of him was -strangely elate. - -But, when the hot night came, and the day’s warfare was over, there -would ever come upon Conover an odd sense of emptiness, of lonely -depression. More than once, absent-mindedly, he caught himself planning -to banish the feeling by picking up his hat and hurrying across to -Desirée’s home. Then, with a slight shock, he would remember that -Desirée was in the Adirondacks and that he was--alone. - -He had always known the absent girl was necessary to his happiness; -that without her he was a loveless, unlovable financial machine. But -now he realized with a sick ache at his heart how utterly he had grown -to depend upon her actual presence--on the constant knowledge that she -was near. When this, his first clumsy effort at self-analysis, had -been worked out, Caleb laughed at himself for a fool. But there was as -little merriment in the laugh as with most mortals who seek to evoke -self-amusement from the same cause. - -It was in one of these desolate moods, after a twelve-hour day’s -ceaseless work, that it occurred to Conover one evening to call on -Letty Standish. He had not for a moment abandoned his idea of making -her his wife. But that would come in due time; and meanwhile he had -been busy with matters that could not be so readily postponed. True, -he had at last paid the deferred dinner call. But Miss Standish, the -butler had said, was not at home. Twice he had repeated the visit, and -both times had been met by the same message. This did not strike him as -at all peculiar. In summer, people were apt to be out of doors. Perhaps -to-night he might find her at home. At all events, the walk would -lighten his loneliness. - -Painfully donning his highest collar, gayest tie and new cream-colored -crash suit, the Fighter turned his face toward Pompton Avenue. As he -neared the Standish house, the murmur of voices, occasional bursts -of low laughter and the idle twanging of a guitar reached his ears. -Several people were grouped on the piazza. So interested were they in a -story one of their number was telling that Caleb stood on the topmost -step before his approach was noticed. - -Letty, following eagerly each tone of the narrator’s voice, in search -of the psychological moment for laughing, looked up to see Conover -towering over her, bulking huge against the dying dusk. Her involuntary -little cry brought the story to a premature close. - -It was Caine, who, sitting back among the shadows, rose as usual to the -situation. - -“Hello, old chap!” he said, cordially, as he came forward, “You loomed -up before us like a six-by-four ghost. Letty,--” - -Miss Standish had recovered herself sufficiently to welcome the late -arrival with a deprecatory effort at cordiality and to introduce him -to three or four young people of the neighborhood who dropped in for an -informal summer’s evening chat. - -“Glad to see you again, Miss Standish!” exclaimed Caleb, heartily, -after nodding acknowledgement to the somewhat cold recognition of the -other callers. “I’ve been around two or three times. But you’re always -out when I call. My bad luck. But I’m goin’ to keep on callin’ just the -same. It’s lonesome in town this summer. Lonesomer, seems to me, than -it ever was before. So I’m goin’ to stroll ’round here kind of often if -you’ll let me.” - -He had taken the place on the steps momentarily vacated by a youth who -had been sitting by Letty and who had risen when the girl introduced -Conover. Letty, while she tried to murmur something gracious in reply -to his remark, found herself looking at his shadowy form in abject -terror. Even through the gloaming his light, alert eyes seemed to seize -and hold her will. The hands she clasped nervously in her lap grew cold -and damp. Her nose quivered a distress warning that the cruel darkness -rendered of no avail. - -“Been up to the Arareek lately?” he went on. - -“No. Yes--I--not _very_ lately,” she stammered. - -“Neither’ve I,” he answered. “Too hot for the walk. When it gets cooler -I’m goin’ to try and get there ev’ry week. I ought to go out more. I’m -beginning to see that. My s’ciety manners are gettin’ rusty. Fact is, -I’ve had to hustle so hard all my life I’ve never took time to have -any fun. But things are shapin’ themselves now like I was goin’ to have -a chance to look around me at last. Then I hope I’ll see more of _you_, -Miss Standish,--a good deal more,” he continued, lowering his voice to -a rumble that excluded the rest from the _tête-à-tête_. - -“I--I shall be very glad,” faltered the poor girl. - -“So’ll I,” he agreed. “I’m not such a stoopid, nose-to-the-grindstone -feller as you may think, Miss Standish. I’ve been busy; that’s all. -Now that the cash is runnin’ in, I’m goin’ to enjoy it; an’ try to do -more in s’ciety than I’ve been able to, so far. A single man don’t get -much show to rise in the social back yard; not without he has tricks. -An’ I haven’t any,--thank the Lord! But even if I can’t get a lot of -popularity for myself, why--maybe I can annex some of it in my wife’s -name.” - -“Your wife?” she interposed, a hope breaking through the pall of misery -that was settling over her, “I didn’t know you were--” - -“Married? I ain’t. But I hope to be before I’m so very much older. -Ev’ry man ought to marry. ’Specially a man with my money an’ p’sition. -I’m able to support a wife, better’n any other feller you know. Don’t -you think I’d ought to get one?” - -The girl’s dry tongue refused its office. Conover went on in the same -loathed undertone of confidence: - -“I’ve ’bout made up my mind on that point, Miss Standish. An’ when -I an’ the young lady I have in mind gets to be a little better -acquainted, I hope she’ll agree with me.” - -“Suppose,” gasped Letty, for once fighting back the tears, “suppose the -girl you picked out happened to be in love with someone else? Or even,” -gasping again, at her own boldness, “even engaged to someone else.” - -“I don’t think that’d worry me so very much,” he said slowly, bending -nearer to his shrinking hostess, “I’m in the habit of takin’ what I -want. An’ I never yet found anyone who could keep me from doin’ it. -That sounds like a brag. But it ain’t; as I hope I’ll be able to show -you some day.” - -The girl rose, shaking, to her feet. The advent of a new guest alone -saved her from fleeing panic-stricken to her room. But as a step -sounded on the walk below, she paused irresolute. - -“Good evening!” said the late comer, limping slightly as he mounted the -steps. - -At his voice a murmur of surprise rippled from the others. Letty went -forward to welcome him. - -“Why, Mr. Blacarda!” she exclaimed, “I didn’t even know you were out of -the hospital. I’m so glad to see you again. You came to talk to Father, -of course. I can’t venture to hope we young people drew you here. I’ll -have him sent for,” touching the doorbell, “He’s in his study.” - -As a servant departed in search of Reuben Standish, she went on; -striving by words to drown her dull terror: - -“You know everyone here, I think. Except perhaps--have you ever met Mr. -Conover?” - -Blacarda halted midway in a step forward, and stood uncertain, gaping. -Caleb, however, was charmingly at his ease. - -“Hello, Blacarda!” he said effusively, “Hear you’ve been laid up. Too -bad! What was it that knocked you out?” - -“Nothing that deserves mention from any honest man,” retorted Blacarda, -his voice trembling with rage and an irresistible fear. - -“As bad as that?” cried Conover, with pleasant badinage, “Be careful to -keep out of its way in the future, then, son. These things that don’t -‘deserve mention’ are sometimes apt to be dangerous. ’Specially when -you get a second attack of ’em. Hey?” - -The words, blatantly meaningless to all save Caine and the man Caleb -addressed, deprived Blacarda of speech. The injured guest had an insane -impulse to run away. The coarse joviality of his conqueror seemed more -fraught with menace than an open threat would have been. The situation -was saved by the arrival of Reuben Standish. The banker after a word -of recognition to Blacarda, greeted Caleb with a warmth that sent ice -to Letty’s heart. Not knowing that her father, like Caine, was also -gleaning in the Conover field (and with a profit that bade fair to -rehabilitate the crumbling Standish fortune), the girl read in his -cordiality only the news that another had fallen under the master sway -of the Fighter’s will. - -In the confusion of several guests’ simultaneous departure Letty found -a chance to slip away to her own room. Nor did she reappear until the -sound of a loud “Goodnight!” and the crunch of heavy feet upon the walk -told her that Conover had at last gone. On the veranda she found Caine -waiting in hope of another glimpse of her. - -“What was the matter?” he asked, solicitously, “Why did you run away -from us all? Conover waited a long time, hoping you’d come back. At -last I told him you had a sick headache. Then--” - -“It happened to be true,” she answered brokenly. “Oh, Amzi, I’m so -_miserable_! _Why_ did that man come here? I’ve left word I’m never at -home to him.” - -“Be nice to him for my sake, won’t you, darling?” pleaded Caine, “I -can’t explain. But I--need him very much just now. I can’t afford, for -business reasons, to have him offended.” - -“But if you only knew--!” she cried; then stopped. - -“Knew what? Tell me,” he begged, “Is anything troubling you?” - -The formless fear she sought to voice died on her lips. - -“No,” she said. “Nothing at all. But I’m very tired. Goodnight.” - -And with this lachrymose evasion he was forced to content himself. But -before going to bed, Letty, as a last hope, sought out her father. - -“I wish,” she entreated, nerving herself to the effort, “I _wish_ you -would forbid Mr. Conover the house. I--I hate him. I’m _afraid_ of him. -Oh, Father, _please_ don’t let him come here any more!” - -Standish looked up from his evening paper with a frown of cold -displeasure. - -“I do wish, Letty,” he said with the dry little cough that nowadays -accompanied his every sentence, “that you would learn self control. -You are not a baby any longer. These childish prejudices of yours are -absurd. Mr. Conover is--very useful to me--and to the bank,--just -at present. Out of deference to me, you will please treat him with -courtesy whenever he chances to call!” - -But Letty, weeping uncontrollably, had run from the room. She felt -herself helplessly enmeshed in a net whose cords her best-loved were -drawing tighter and tighter about her. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -CALEB CONOVER GIVES A READING LESSON - - -Conover, during the month that followed, found time from his -financial warfare to make three more calls at the Standish house. The -soft-hearted Divinity of children and fools was merciful to Letty on -those occasions, inasmuch as there were each time other guests on the -dusky piazza. The girl thus avoided intimate talk of any long duration -with her giant visitor. Yet she noted with helpless dread that at every -successive visit the Fighter’s manner told more and more of a subtle -understanding between them; of an increasing sense of possession. -Wildly, impotently Letty resented this. But she watched its growth with -a dazed fascination. - -By turns she clung to Caine in a mad craving for protection; -or repulsed him with pettish impatience as a defense which she -instinctively felt would not be strong enough to guard her when her -hour of stark need should come. - -More than once it occurred to Letty to tell Caine all her fears. But, -stripped of woman’s formless, illogical intuition, what was there to -tell? She had no shadow of actual fact to go on; and men demand facts. -So she continued to puzzle her lover by alternate spells of effusive -demonstration and chilling sulks. - -The ever-ready tears, too, began to leave marks. She was not looking -her best. In her lonely misery the girl was glad of this. She wished -Conover would call by daylight instead of at night, so that he might -see and be repelled by what she was pleased to term the “ravages” -his attentions were wreaking on her once placid face. Caine and her -father, it is true, gave most flattering heed to these “ravages”; but -heartlessly ascribed them to hot weather and need of change to the -country. - -Mrs. Standish’s vitreous gaze, too, mingled a mild curiosity with -its irritating benevolence. Once she asked Letty quite tactfully if -the engagement with Caine were not perhaps a mistake and if the girl -might not be in danger of blighting her God-given young life by a -loveless marriage. To which random shot Letty paid the passing tribute -of a flood of tears that convinced Mrs. Standish of her own spiritual -inspiration in putting the question. The net result of it all was that -Letty and her aunt were packed off, with Clive, to the seaside for a -month. - -Miss Standish’s departure did not greatly trouble Caleb. He himself was -nearing the beginning of his much heralded “first vacation.” Indeed, -Caine, coming disconsolately to the Fighter’s room, one evening, just -after seeing Letty’s train off, found Conover sitting on the floor -beside an open trunk. A mass of clothing, also on the floor, radiated -away from the trunk on every side. Perspiring, red of face, Caleb was -reaching out methodically for garments, folding them with slow care of -the self-made man and stowing them away in fast-rising layers in the -leathern maw that gaped so hungrily for them. - -“I’ve just come from seeing Miss Standish and her aunt off to Block -Island,” announced Caine, routing a pile of clothes from a chair and -seating himself. - -“Block Island, hey?” said Caleb, “Anything like Coney?” - -“No,” laughed Caine, “nor like any other place on earth. A -treeless plateau above the ocean. Ugly at first glance, but with a -hundred-year-old charm that somehow grips one. Sea, sunshine and wind; -and the eternal roar of the surf.” - -“H’m!” grunted Caleb, disapprovingly, “Nice, lively sort of a joint for -a busy man to go lookin’ for fun! ’Bout as jolly as its own jail, I -should think.” - -“It has no jail,” retorted Caine, “No jail, no almshouse, no asylum. -There hasn’t been a criminal, nor a pauper, nor an insane person on the -whole island in a century. There is only one policeman--or was when I -used to go there. And he used to take turns serving as driver of one -of the Island’s two horse-cars. There’s a historic yoke of oxen, too, -that--” - -“Not a jail--or a crime--or an institootion of any sort?” cried -Conover. “Son, you’re stringin’ me! What do the local pol’ticians do -for a livin’, then? If Noo York’s a paradise for grafters, this Block -Island of yours must be a hell for ’em. Ain’t anyone ever waked up -there to the chances that’s layin’ around waitin’ to be took?” - -“Don’t talk that way when you see the Standishes again,” counseled -Caine, “Mrs. Standish looks on Block Island as part of her religion. -She--” - -“Yes,” grinned Caleb. “I s’pose so. I can see the old lady doin’ -saint-poses on the sand there.” - -“All her attitudes are beatitudes,” agreed Caine. But as far as -concerned Conover’s comprehension, he might as well have said it in -Greek. - -“By the way,” went on Amzi, “I have some fairly sure information from -our political reporter that ought to interest both of us. It’s about -Blacarda.” - -“If you mean Blacarda’s got next to the Gov’nor and arranged a special -session of Legislature in September,” interposed Caleb, “I knew that a -week ago. The Starke bill’s to be flashed on ’em in a new form, without -our gettin’ wind of it, an’ it’s to be rushed through, with an idea of -knockin’ our Steeloid combine flatter’n a pancake.” - -“You knew all this a week ago? Why didn’t you--?” - -“It’s my business to know things,” replied Conover, “If I didn’t, I’d -be takin’ orders still, instead of givin’ ’em. As for not tellin’ -_you_, what was the use? You’d a’ found it out soon enough; an’ I’ve -been too busy to run an inf’mation bureau. I’ll be ready for Friend -Blacarda an’ his crowd when the time comes; same’s I was before. -Just because I don’t hire a brass band to p’rade the streets carryin’ -a placard of my plans, you mustn’t run away with the idee that I’m -overlookin’ any bets. I’ve got everything in line. We’ll win out, same -as we did last Spring; an’ by a bigger margin.” - -“But you may be detained as you were before. And next time you may not -get back soon enough. Blacarda will move heaven and earth to keep you -away. He knows by now,--as we all do,--that you weren’t boasting when -you said your presence in the lobby meant all the difference between -defeat and victory.” - -“That’s right,” said Caleb, gently flattered, “But I’ll be on deck. -It’s a way I’ve got. There’s always a bunch of weak-spined chaps in -our crowd in the Assembly that’s so scared at reform threats an’ all -such rot that they’re ready to stampede if I’m not on hand to hammer -the fear of the Lord into ’em. An’ that same crowd’s still big enough -to turn the vote if they bolt to cover. But they won’t. I’ll be there. -Blacarda ain’t likely to play the same game twice. Apart from its bein’ -useless, he’s too scared. An’ there’s not another trick in all the pack -that can get past my handy little bunch of secret service men.” - -“But if the bill _should_ pass--” - -“It ain’t goin’ to. How often have I got to ding that into your head? -It ain’t goin’ to.” - -“Perhaps I’m over-anxious,” Caine defended himself, “But you -must remember, practically all my money is in Steeloid. On your -recommendation I have put every available dollar in it. So have -Standish and a half dozen others I know.” - -“Then lay back an’ be happy,” advised Conover, “After that bill is -smashed an’ the public sees Steeloid is on the ground to stay, the -stock’ll take another big hop. If you an’ Standish an’ the others have -a few thousands to use in buyin’ on margin you’ll clean up a good -lookin’ pile. I’ve got other deals on now that make Steeloid look like -thirty cents. So I ain’t lyin’ awake worryin’ on my own account. It’s -as much for you fellers as for myself that I’m goin’ to get down to -work on the Blacarda matter, as soon as I come back from my vacation. -It’ll mean a week or two of big work, on the quiet. Then the bill’s -comin’ up an’--goin’ down for keeps.” - -“You’re awfully good to give us these tips,” said Caine “And we all -appreciate it. But aren’t you afraid Blacarda may attack some other -interests of yours as well as Steeloid? He hates you; and he is not the -sort of a man to confine himself to a single line of revenge.” - -“There’s where you’re wrong, son,” answered Conover, “The trouble with -you people is, you get all your learnin’ from books wrote by other -folks as stoopid as yourselves. The thing to study ain’t a book. It’s -your feller-man. Then there’d be fewer folks took in by gold-brick -games. Look at me, now, f’r instance. I never read a book clear through -in my life. But there ain’t a man of my ’quaintance I haven’t read -through. So, they’re as easy for me to read as a primer. Now, _you_ -look at Blacarda as a sort of man who’s li’ble to attack me from a -dozen sides at once. That’s ’cause you can’t read him. I can. An’ I -know what he’s li’ble to do an’ what he ain’t. Blacarda b’longs to the -King Cobra class. Harmless as a kitten to them that knows where his -poison’s hid, an’ only dang’rous to folks that picks him up by the -wrong end.” - -Caleb, warming to his theme, leaned back against the corner of the -table and laid down the coat he was folding. - -“Men who read men,” said he, oracularly, “rule men. Men who read books -are ruled by the folks who wrote them. That’s the diff’rence. Let me -explain what I mean by what I said ’bout cobras. I had to run down to -Noo York last fall on business. I had a couple of hours on my hands -an’ I went up for a look at the Bronx Zoo, there. I went into a squat, -Dago-lookin’ joint called the ‘Rept’l House.’ Full of snakes and -crawly, slimy things. Big crowd in front of one glass cage. Only snake -in that cage was a big, long, brown critter with an eye that wa’nt good -to look at. The sign said he was a King Cobra an’ habitated somewhere -or other. The attendant wanted to wash the winders of that cage from -the inside. What does he do? Does he put his arms in an’ wiggle a mop -within reach of Mister King Cobra? Not him. He, or his boss, I guess, -had learned to read snakes like I read men. What does he do? He slaps -open a little door in the back of the cage, slings in a two-foot black -snake an’ slams shut the door, quicker’n scat, before the Cobra knows -what’s up. There lays the little black snake wrigglin’, scared like, on -the floor of the cage among a lot of little red lizards that’s runnin’ -’round in the sand. - -“The King Cobra lifts up till his head’s about six foot above ground, -an’ he looks down at the wrigglin’ black snake, like he was sizin’ up -whether the little feller has any fight in him or not. An’ say! It was -’nough to give a feller the creeps to see that cobra-snake’s eye as he -watched ’tother. Then, he seems to make up his mind the black snake -ain’t bent on c’mittin’ sooside by beginnin’ the fight. So down swoops -the King Cobra with a sort of rustly, swishin’ rush; an’ he grabs the -little snake around the middle. No--not by the head or tail. He’s more -mad than hungry. So he grabs him by the middle. An’ he hangs on. - -“Now what does the attendant do? He opens the door at the back, kneels -on the threshold, leanin’ out right above the King Cobra, an’ ca’mly -begins washin’ the winders with his long mop. Ev’ry swipe that man -makes at the glass, his hand comes within a foot of the Cobra. But he -didn’t even look at the big, pizenous brute coiled up there below his -hand. He goes on washin’ the winder like there wasn’t a snake within -ten miles.” - -“But,” asked Caine, interested in spite of himself, “there was surely -danger that the Cobra might drop the little snake and strike at the -man? If--” - -“That’s just the point!” cried Caleb, “He wouldn’t. His pizen an’ his -temper was otherwise engaged. He’d sunk his fangs into one en’my. An’ -it ain’t cobra natur’ to let go, once he’s got his grip. I found that -out by askin’ one of the keepers. The man with the mop was as safe in -that cage, just then, as he’d a’ been in a Meth’dist Conf’rence. The -Cobra had just one idee. An’ that idee was already on the job. - -“Now, maybe you’re wonderin’ what this long yarn has to do with -Blacarda. It has ev’rything to do with him. He’s the King Cobra sort, -if ever any man was. An’ in his case, I’m the man with the mop. -Blacarda’s fitted out with a whole lot of fancy venom. An’ he’d like -nothin’ better’n to get his fangs in me. I can’t say I exac’ly blame -him. But I ain’t hankerin’ to get bit. So I throws into his cage a -little snake called ‘Steeloid’. An he nabs it. So long’s he’s got -his teeth in that, he ain’t got the bigness of mind to bite anything -else. When Steeloid’s over, I’ll toss him another little snake, an’ so -on to the end of the chapter. He’ll keep gnawin’ away, with the idee -he’s hurtin’ me terr’ble. An’ I’ll go ’bout my winder-washin’ bus’ness -meanwhile; knowin’ he’s too much took up with his little snake to do -me any hurt. Why, son, ’twas one of _my_ men that put Blacarda up to -this scheme of gettin’ a Special Session called so he could knock my -Steeloid Comp’ny out.” - -Caine made no reply; but watched Caleb mop the perspiration of unwonted -verbosity from his forehead. At last he asked, with his bantering smile: - -“Have you read _me_, by any chance?” - -“Have I read my A. B. C.?” retorted Caleb in fine contempt. - -“But--” - -“I’m not buyin’ a red can’py an’ givin’ two-dollar character readin’s,” -said Conover brusquely, “Ever in the Adirondacks? Anything to do there?” - -“Plenty--for the man who can appreciate its glories,” retorted Caine -with pleasant insolence, “Very little for a man of your type, I should -fancy. Why?” - -“I hoped maybe you could put me on to some of the pointers,” answered -Caleb. “It’s the first vacation I ever had. An’ I want all the fun out -of it I can get. But I’m blest if I know where the fun comes in.” - -“A ward-heeler would probably regard a Corot in much the same way,” -observed Caine, still inwardly smarting at the Fighter’s good natured -contempt, “But surely Miss Shevlin must have told you in some of her -letters the sort of life they lead there--something of her amusements? -You can probably get a better idea of it all from her letters than from -anything I could tell you. Doesn’t she--?” - -“Oh, ev’ry letter she writes is full of it,” acquiesced Caleb, -gloomily, “But I can’t make out what the good times are. Just listen to -this, f’r instance. First letter I had from her. No. The second.” - -From a drawer he drew a small metal case, unlocked and opened it. It -was full of letters. Each envelope that met Caine’s inquisitive eye -bore Desirée Shevlin’s handwriting. Selecting one from the budget, -Caleb opened it with a strangely gentle motion of his stubby fingers, -glanced in silence over a few lines, then read aloud: - -“‘It’s like some wonderful dream; and every day I’m afraid I shall -wake up and find it isn’t so. The air is like crystal that has been -dipped in balsam.’ Why in blazes,” interpolated Conover, in perplexity, -“should anybody want to dip crystal in balsam. I can’t--” - -“Go on,” adjured Caine, “I understand.” - -“‘I feel as if I were on the top of the world,’” pursued the letter, -“‘The sky is so big, so near. And it seems to rest on the crests of -these splendid old mountains. The Antlers is on a side hill, partly -cleared of forest and running down to Raquette Lake. The hotel is white -and it’s on the top of the slope. It’s a nice hotel, they say. I’ve -only been in it twice. Almost nobody is ever indoors except at night or -when it rains. And most of the people don’t live at the hotel itself. -They live in the cottages and lodges and tents; and eat in the two big -dining rooms that are houses by themselves. It’s the outdoorest place I -ever saw. We row and fish and tramp and swim and loaf all day, and go -on picnics. And late in the afternoons there’s a regular fleet of boats -that put out into the lake to watch the sunset. “The Sunset Fleet,” I -call them. And in the evenings we go to the open camps and lie back -among the balsam boughs and watch the big camp fires and tell stories -and sing college songs. And sometimes we coax Ed Bennett to come down -to the camp with his violin and give us “_The Arkansaw Traveler_” -or tell us one of his stories. He has the vocabulary of a college -professor. He knows all the Adirondack books, and he reads us chapters -from them. - -“‘And by ten o’clock, generally, everybody is in bed, sleeping as no -one can sleep in town. One man in a tent left his mouth open when he -went to sleep the other night, and made funny V-shaped noises that got -all three of the dogs to barking and waked everybody up. There’s the -_loveliest_ collie here. His name is Rex. He has adopted me and goes -everywhere with me. Sometimes even when I haven’t any candy to give -him. I wanted to buy him and take him home. But Mr. Bennett,--not Ed, -but his brother, the proprietor,--won’t sell him for any price. Isn’t -it horrid? Rex and Siegfried-Mickey would get on beautifully together, -I know. And their color schemes harmonize so perfectly. - -“‘And--Oh, I forgot!--there’s a yellow kitten here, too, that’s made -friends with me. And what do you suppose one of the boys did the other -evening? We had a welsh-rarebit party at the open camp, and he poured -beer all over the yellow kitten’s fur, just before we went away. And -of course, cat-like, she licked it all off. And she came bounding into -my room ten minutes later in a perfectly _scandalous_ condition. The -beer she had licked up from her fur had gone to the poor little thing’s -head. Her eyes were as big as saucers and she purred all the time -like a wagon-ful of rattly steel rails. And she went dancing ’round -in circles on three legs and trying to climb the wall; till she fell -asleep in my waste basket. Wasn’t it a shame? I’m sorry I laughed. But -she _did_ look so weird. And her fur smelt so horribly of beer that I -_couldn’t_ pick her up and try to reason with her. Next day she was the -living picture of remorse. I got her some ice to lap and put a blue -ribbon on her. - -“‘I know you’ll love the Adirondacks. Just think! In six weeks and -two days you’ll be here. By the way, you must remember not to speak -of coming “up” to the Adirondacks, or going down from them. Nobody -does. They all speak of coming “in” and going “out”. I don’t know why. -Neither does anyone I ask. Perhaps that’s the reason. I’m saving all -the beautifullest places to show you. The prettiest rows, the wildest -trails. Perhaps we can see a deer. Wouldn’t it be fun? I do so want -to see one before I go. And we’ll climb Blue Mountain and make the -trip through the chain of lakes, too. Can’t you come earlier than you -planned? I hate to think you’re missing all this glorious time.’” - -“An’ a lot of the same sort,” added Caleb, folding and putting away the -letter with unconscious tenderness, “Writes dandy letters, don’t she? -But it don’t make sense to me. So far’s I can see, there’s nothin’ to -do but get cats drunk and watch camp fires an’ get all het up by rowin’ -an’ climbin’ hills. Where’s the fun in all that for a grown man?” - -“Miss Shevlin will be there,” suggested Caine. - -“Course she will,” said Caleb, “Otherwise, d’you s’pose I’d waste my -time goin’? I wonder how I was ever jollied into promisin’.” - -“Conover,” remarked Caine, rising to leave, “You may have spent a long -time learning to read men; but what you don’t know about women--and -about yourself, for that matter--would fill a Carnegie Library. -Goodnight.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -ON THE TOP OF THE WORLD - - -Conover woke from a quaint dream of being buried alive in an -ill-fitting coffin. And dawning consciousness proved the dream to have -been but a mild exaggeration. For he was ensconced in a sleeping car -berth. Gray light was peeping through the lowered shade. Much-breathed -air, mingled with black dust pressed down upon the Fighter’s lungs. -From a nearby section came the fretful whine of a baby. The stiff -berth-curtains swished awkwardly inward and out, to the swing of the -car. - -Caleb performed, with ease born of long practise, that contortionist -feat known as “Dressing in the berth.” Then, scrambling out, he -lurched down the narrow, dark aisle toward the washroom at the rear. -The place was already full of half-clad, red-eyed, touseled men. Some -were washing, others painfully scraping lather from their jaws with -safety razors; still others ransacking bag or suit case for clean -linen. One early bird had completed his toilet and was lounging in -a leather-and-wicker chair, trying to translate a pink time table; -meanwhile industriously filling the semi-airtight compartment with -cigarette smoke. - -Conover surveyed his taciturn fellow sufferers; glanced over the -too-populous room, from the rack-frieze of neatly triangular folded -towels to the ash-and-cuspidor strewn carpet; then he slouched out into -the relatively fresh air of the aisle. He looked at his watch. The -hour was six-thirty. At seven they were due at Raquette Lake station. -The car was last of the train. It occurred to Caleb to take his first -glimpse of the Adirondacks. He walked to the rear door and looked out. - -Behind him wound the single track of the little spur road. On either -side it was lined by dark evergreens that stretched away in an endless -vista of monochrome until the silver mist that hung low over everything -blotted them from vision. The train seemed to be ploughing its way -straight into the untrodden wilderness; to be the first alien that ever -had intruded upon the vast mystic solitudes of green and gray. - -Caleb looked long and without stirring. Then as the negro porter -chanced to come near, the watcher’s pent up volume of emotion found -vent in one pregnant sentence: - -“Here, you!” he hailed. “I’ll give you a dollar if you can rustle me a -cup of hot coffee!” - - * * * * * - -Out into the clinging mist, onto a long wooden platform, tumbled -the travelers; Caleb in the first rank. There, drawn up to halt -their onset, comic opera chorus-like, were ranged the vociferating -station clerks of the lake’s various hotel-camps. A breath of keen -balsam-tinged air bit to Conover’s very lungs. Instinctively he threw -out his chest drinking in great gulps of strange ozone. From out of the -swirling mist before him rose of a sudden a slight, girlish figure that -ran forward with a glad little cry and caught both his hands. - -“Oh, you’re here! You’re _here_!” rejoiced Desirée, careless of -bystanders. “Mrs. Hawarden said I’d catch my death if I was on the lake -so early. But I got up at the screech of dawn, and came. Isn’t it all -wonderful? This mist will burn up in a little while and then you’ll -_see_! And do Billy and Aunt Mary still like farm life? Oh, it’s so -good--so _good_--to see you! Come. The Antlers launch is around the -other side of the station.” - -Clinging gleefully to one of his big arms, the girl piloted him through -the scurrying groups and the luggage heaps, to a nearby dock where -a half score of waiting launches panted. From one of the largest -fluttered a dark blue flag with the name “Antlers” picked out on it in -white. Into the launch they piled; Desirée still talking in pretty, -eager excitement. - -“This is the south end of the lake,” she was explaining. “There’s the -store over yonder--that farthest red building--and there’s the Raquette -Lake House. We had a dance there one night. And out there--” with a -wave toward the wall of shining vapor, “is where we’re going. It’s only -a mile. We’ll start as soon as the rest can get aboard. Oh, I _wish_ -the mist was gone, so you could see the islands, and old Blue Mountain -keeping guard over--” - -“It’s pretty damp on the water for you, ain’t it?” he interrupted, -drawing her mackintosh closer about her shoulders. “This fog’s wet.” - -“Nobody ever catches cold, up here on the top of the world!” she -disclaimed. “And it _isn’t_ fog. It’s just a little mountain mist. In -another half-hour it will rise.” - -“Just the same,” he argued, “I wish you had come in a carriage, instead -of bein’ on the water so early.” - -“A carriage!” she scoffed merrily. “_Where_ do you think you are? -These,” pointing to the docked rowboats, canoes and launches clustering -about them, “are the ‘carriages’ of the Adirondacks. Why, except for -the white trunk-chariot steed at the Antlers, there probably isn’t a -horse within three miles of here. It’s Venice all over again, in that. -Aren’t you at _all_ glad to see me?” she continued, dropping her voice -and noting the man’s puzzled, unenthusiastic mien. For an instant, some -of the happy light ebbed in the eyes that had been so brimful of joyous -welcome. - -Caleb roused himself with an impatient shake at his own seeming apathy. - -“Glad to see you!” he echoed. “_Glad?_ Well, say, you little girl, -it’s the gladdest thing that’s happened to me since the day you left -Granite. An’ I’d be just as glad even if it was in some worse place -than a wet boat all stalled up with mist. Gee! But the tan makes you -look prettier’n a whole picture album!” - -“Mrs. Hawarden says my hands are disgracefully brown,” said Desirée, -the happiness running back to her eyes at his rough praise. “And my -face is as black as an Arab’s, I suppose.” - -“It’s the prettiest between here an’ Granite, all right,” he declared -stoutly. “Here, let me pull that sweater thing higher up around your -throat. What a funny little _kid_ face you’ve got, anyhow, Dey!” - -He looked at her with frank delight. The girl’s head was bare; the mist -clinging like frost crystals to her shimmering aura of hair. Out of -a flushed, bronzed countenance glowed the wide, child-like eyes that -Caleb had once declared were two sizes too big for her face--and in -whose depths Caine had more poetically located “twin springs of hidden -laughter.” - -It was _good_ to see her. And the man’s business cares, his social -plans, his matrimonial campaign itself, faded into nothingness. He was -here, by her side. That was enough. And doubly he realized how poignant -had been the ache of aloneness at his heart, during every day of her -absence. There was a new peace, an utter content, that enwrapped him -now that he was once more beside her. He did not try to analyze the -emotion. But he knew it mastered him as nothing else had ever done. He -knew it; and, satisfied to look no farther ahead, he was glad. - -The launch had churned clear of the dock and was beating to northward -through the mist barrier. Shadowy shores slipped past them. To their -left, out of the fog, loomed the boathouse of a camp. Beyond its float -men and girls in shiny bathing suits were splashing about in the water. -Caleb trailed his hand over the launch side. At the nip of the icy -water he accorded the swimmers such a glance as he might have bestowed -on the martyrs of old. - -A wind danced down from the north, playfully tearing the lake vapors -to silver tatters. A lance of white sunlight struck through the flying -mist-reek. Out of the obscurity leaped an island; emerald green, -sparkling with diamonds of moisture. Then another, and another. The -mainland’s vague shores took shape and beauty. Broad reaches of water -flashed azure and pale gold under the swift caress of wind and sun. - -“See!” cried Desirée. “Isn’t it perfect?” - -“Yes,” he murmured. “It is.” - -“But _look_!” she commanded. “You haven’t once taken your eyes from my -face. How can you say--?” - -“What I said goes,” he answered curtly. “There’s nothin’ to take back.” - - * * * * * - -Conover’s first day at the Antlers was pleasant; for he and Desirée -were together from morning to night. He was welcomed with effusive -cordiality by Jack Hawarden; with graceful tolerance by the lad’s -mother. The big tent wherein he was quartered was near enough to the -Hawarden cottage to make the trip to and fro seem as nothing. More -and more strongly as the day wore on did he feel as though he had -reached some long-sought Mecca. The beauty of the “top of the world” -was lost on him; but the beauty of the girl had in a moment became an -integral part of his every thought. He was dully surprised at himself. -Heretofore he had always taken Desirée as much for granted as he had -taken the sunlight itself. To her he had turned for whatever was -happiest and restful in his life; had done it unthinkingly, as part of -his established routine. But now, after two months of separation from -her, he grasped for the first time all her presence had meant to him. - -The mighty silences of the mountains--the tumbled miles of multi-shaded -green, strewn with fire-blue lakes--all these carried no message to -the hard-headed Fighter, the man of cities. But ever he caught himself -staring at Desirée in awed wonder; as though some veil between them had -of a sudden been snatched away. - -That first afternoon he and she went for a long walk where the twisting -red-brown trail wound half aimlessly through the still forest; and she -lectured him with a sternness that he found delicious, upon his lack -of appreciation for the vistas, nooks and leafy sanctums she pointed -out. Before supper she made him take her out on the lake, in one of -the long, slender guide-boats, whose over-lapping oar handles he found -so hard to manage. In midstream she bade him stop rowing, and pointed -to the west. Against a green-gold background of sky, long crimson -cloud-streamers flickered. - -“It looks as if the wind were on fire,” she breathed in ecstasy. - -And he, after a perfunctory glance and a word of acquiescence, bent -again to his oars. The lake was dotted with boats of the “sunset -fleet.” The occupants of a dark blue St. Lawrence skiff hailed them. -Caleb, in obedience to Desirée’s gesture rowed closer. The oarsman of -the other boat proved to be Jack Hawarden who was returning with his -mother from a climb of the Crags. - -“Isn’t this sunset well worth traveling all the way from Granite to -see?” called Jack. - -“It _is_ kind of pretty,” assented Caleb. - -“‘Pretty!’” repeated Mrs. Hawarden in gentle scorn. “What a word for -such a scene! It brings out all that is highest and most beautiful in -one!” she went on soulfully. “I wish, instead of rowing back to the -Antlers to supper, I might drift on here forever.” - -“You’d be li’ble to get rather hungry after a few hours of it, I -guess,” volunteered Caleb, feeling he was somehow beyond his depth. - -“Hungry!” shuddered Mrs. Hawarden, loath to come down to earth. “I -should be feasting on the sunset. What more could anyone want?” - -“Well, ma’am,” suggested Conover, dubiously, “if you leave it to me, -I’d rather just now have a tripe sandwich.” - -“Come, Jack,” said Mrs. Hawarden coldly. “I think we’ll go in.” - -“Oh, how _could_ you!” laughed Desirée, in mock despair, as Caleb -and she followed. “Why, her very _boat_ radiates disgust. She’ll -never forgive you for spoiling her rhapsody. A tripe sandwich! How -_could_--?” - -“It was the first thing that came into my head,” he excused. “An’ this -mountain air’s put an edge on my ap’tite that I could shave with. A -tripe sandwich would taste good. I’m sorry if I--” - -“If it had been anything less hideously plebeian!” she insisted. “Even -roast shoulder of tripe would have sounded better. Oh, tripe doesn’t -have shoulders, though, does it?” - -“It may, for all I know,” he returned. “But, say, Dey, have I made you -mort’fied? Honest, I didn’t mean to.” - -“I _ought_ to scold you,” she answered. “But, for letting me see that -look on poor Mrs. Hawarden’s face, I forgive you everything.” - -Jack Hawarden, entering Conover’s tent a half hour later, found the -Fighter struggling into a dinner jacket. - -“For heaven’s sake,” urged the lad, “take that thing off. Except at -dances they’re never worn here. There’s a rumor that the boys ran a -stranger into the lake, one summer, for coming to supper in evening -dress.” - -“First thing that’s struck me right since I came,” grunted Caleb, -eagerly beginning to shed the tabooed garments. “I’ll get into -something comf’table in half a minute if you’ll wait for me that long.” - -“The Granite papers keep us posted on your doings,” said Jack, seating -himself on the bed. “You’ve made the old State sit up this summer.” - -“I’ll have it standin’ on its hind legs an’ beggin’, before I’m done,” -chuckled Conover. “I’m only just beginnin’. How you gettin’ on with -Dey?” - -“How do you mean?” asked Jack, uneasily. - -“Got her to take your view of the marryin’ problem?” - -“No,” said the boy. “I haven’t.” - -“Too bad! Been here all summer with her, an’ had moonlight an’ all that -sort of thing to your favor. I sh’d think if you was ever goin’ to make -her fall in love with you--” - -“I know,” interrupted Jack soberly. “I counted on all that, but--” - -“Can’t get her to see it your way?” - -“Not yet. Sometimes I’m afraid I never shall. But I shan’t give up. -All my life I shall care for her and try to make myself worthy of her, -whether she ever gets to caring or not.” - -“Good book-talk,” commented the Fighter, “but it has a kind of a square -sound to it, too. Well, good luck to you! You can’t say I haven’t given -you all the chances there was.” - -“I appreciate it, sir,” answered the boy. “And soon or late I mean to -win. I--I asked her once more since we came up here--It was about a -month ago. But it seemed to make her unhappy. And I don’t want to spoil -her summer. So I am waiting. I’ll wait for years, if I have to. Some -day she may learn to care.” - -“These fellers around here,--these youngsters that’s spendin’ the -summer at the _ho_tel,” queried Caleb. “Isn’t int’rested in any of -them, is she?” - -“I think not, sir. She’s nice to all of them, just as she is to me. And -there isn’t another girl half so popular. But I don’t think she cares. -I’m sure she doesn’t.” - -Conover wondered why Hawarden’s report gave him an indefinable sense of -relief. He thought the matter over for a moment; then shook his head. - -“‘We’re keepin’ ’em waitin’,’” he said, slapping his hair with the heavy -military brushes on his table. “Come along--” - -As he turned to leave, the canvas curtains slowly parted and a gold-red -collie stepped into the tent. He glanced about him with the air of -one quite at home, and proceeded, with majestic friendliness, to walk -across to where Conover stood. - -“What’s the measly dog doin’ in here?” demanded Caleb, somewhat taken -aback at the visit. - -“Why, it’s Rex,” answered Jack, as though that statement explained -everything. “He goes wherever he wants to. Desirée thinks the world of -him.” - -Caleb, mollified, moved nearer to the dog and proceeded to pat the -downy fur of his head. - -Rex, without the least appearance of rudeness, moved quietly away. - -“That’s like all dogs,” grumbled Caleb. “An’mals just natch’lly hate -me. I don’t know why; unless maybe because I don’t like ’em. What’s he -got in his mouth?” - -“His ball,” laughed the boy. “He always carries one around. We figured -out the other day that he’s stolen at least eighty tennis balls this -season. He has them ‘planted’ all over the place. One under my bed, -another in the hotel woodbox and so on. Then whenever he gets lonely he -roots one of them out and hunts up somebody to play ball with him. And -we usually do it. I don’t know why.” - -They had left the tent and were walking along the wooden path toward -the dining room; Rex trotting just in front of them, and making them -adjust their pace on the narrow footway to his. At the walk’s end, the -dog suddenly bolted; and with ears tucked backward and tail flying, -scampered across to where Desirée was just emerging from the Hawarden -cottage. Caleb joined the girl and her chaperone; and the quartette -started once more to the dining room. Conover and Desirée led the way, -Rex placidly thrusting himself between them, as they walked. - -“Don’t you think he’s a beauty?” asked Desirée. “He’s--oh, look!” - -A baby, perhaps two years old, was weaving a tortuous way, under convoy -of her nurse toward the tents. At sight of Rex, the child deserted her -lawful escort and made a wild, toddling rush for the dog. Six feet away -from him she halted, a gold-and-white fluff of irresolute babyhood, -scared at her own temerity. Rex had paused at her approach and stood -wagging his tail, patiently awaiting the next move. The baby, eyeing -him with furtive longing, made the first advance. - -“_How_-do?” she said, politely, ducking her head in a propitiatory -obeisance at the marvellous gold-red creature in her path. - -As Rex did not reply to the salutation in any language she could -understand, the baby repeated her remark, a shade more dubiously. - -“You darling little thing!” cried Desirée. “He’s forgotten how to talk -or he’d answer you. You want to pat him, don’t you? He won’t bite. Come -along. See, I’m holding him for you,” and she buried a white hand in -the warm fur of the dog’s neck. - -Thus encouraged, the child came nearer, with mincing, uncertain steps, -ever ready to turn and flee should the seemingly quiescent monster show -the slightest inclination to turn and rend her. At length, in a burst -of dashing heroism, she put one pudgy hand on his head in a gingerly -caress. Rex sat down in the path and with a monumental calm suffered -the familiarity. The baby with a squeal of delight at her immunity, -took his furry head to her breast and squeezed it with arms that scarce -met about the dog’s soft throat. Then she ventured on a grandstand -play. Looking, to make sure all saw her, she thrust one small finger -into the dog’s half-open mouth. Rex laid back his ears and rolled up -his eyes in beatific quiescence. - -“The beauty!” applauded Desirée. “See, Caleb! He’s trying to look like -a Numidean lion. He worships children. Look at him!” - -“You forget, Desirée,” said Mrs. Hawarden, in icy pleasantry. “Rex -is not a tripe sandwich. To a rare soul like Mr. Conover’s, even a -sunset,--to say nothing of a mere dog and a child--must yield to the -charms of supper. Come. We’re all keeping him.” - -“I had an idee,” muttered Caleb, as he passed her on the way to the -dining room, “that it was ’tother way round.” - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -CALEB “OVERLOOKS A BET” - - -The ensuing fortnight was at once the longest and the shortest -fourteen days Conover had ever known. So far as his companionship with -Desirée was concerned, the hours had sped with bewildering haste. But, -otherwise, time had limped on leaden feet. The message of the hills was -not for him. - -Green mountains, blue sky and bluer water. And the smell of balsam -that had grown to be dully irritating to him. His senses instinctively -strained for the roar of traffic, the stark hurry of men, the smell of -cities. Throughout the day the universal stillness of the wilds was -broken only by the occasional “tck-tck-tck” of launches. By night, -even this was absent; and as Desirée said, “God seemed very near.” But -the hush, the eternal calm of it all wore upon the Fighter’s nerves. -As well have expected the south wind to draw whispering melodies from -a barrel-organ as for the spell of the forest to lay its blesséd and -blessing hand on the brain of this Man of Cities. - -At times he caught himself counting the days that remained, and there -was an impatient eagerness in the count. Then, ever, would come the -thought that each passing day brought him twenty-four hours nearer to -his parting from Desirée. And eagerness would give way to a sharp, if -undefined pain. - -Another thing wore on him. To prevent Desirée from guessing at his -boredom he was forced to be always on guard. She had at first been -half-afraid he might not be sufficiently alive to the beauty of it all; -and had exhibited to him her adored woodland treasures with the wistful -pride of a child that shows an interested stranger its most cherished -toys. - -To drive the latent wistfulness from her eyes, Conover had soon entered -effusively into the spirit of everything. And Desirée, usually so -mercilessly keen to note his every clumsy effort at deception, was -too happy nowadays to observe his enthusiasm’s mechanical tenor. -Hence, believing she had made a convert, she redoubled her efforts in -educating him up to the loveliness of the place. And, with the heroism -of a Regulus, he suffered himself to be educated. - -At times of course he struck the wrong note. Once, for instance, at -sunset they paddled through the keel-wide sandbar channel from Raquette -into Eldon Lake and found themselves in an unrippled basin of black -water set in a circle of forest and “clearing.” The silence hung heavy -as velvet. It was the hush of a newborn, unknown world. The mystic -wonder of it all, beneath the setting sun, caught Desirée by the throat -and held her trembling,--speechless. Caleb, splashing time with his -oar, began to sing. - -“Oh, _don’t_!” she breathed; as though protesting against sacrilege. - -“Gee! Was I off the blamed key, again?” he asked. - -“No, no,” she answered, the wonder-light dying from her face as the -spell dissolved. “It’s all right,” she went on, seeing his chagrin. -“It’s all right. I’m sorry I was cross. You were so busy with the boat -you didn’t get a chance to notice what a magic lake this is we’ve -come into; or you couldn’t have broken the charm. Look! Can’t you see -Siegfried running through the hemlocks, on his way to Mime’s cave? And -that band of dead gray tamaracks down there with the single flaming -maple in the foreground! Isn’t it like an army of tree-ghosts with the -red standard in its van?” - -So she prattled on, seeking to keep him from seeing how he had jarred -upon her mood. But he knew, none the less. And he realized that there -were times, even on vacation, when one must be silent. But what those -times might be he could not guess. Nor did he dare ask. - -When next day they climbed the Crags and looked down on the gleaming -lake with the scattered green of its islands, she looked at him in -eager expectation of his delight. He surveyed the lake in stony -silence. Then let his gaze run expressionless over the lines of -mountain ramparts far to southward that rose in ever higher swells -until the farthest was half lost in haze. No word did he speak. He felt -he was rising to the occasion. If one must not speak on Eldon Lake at -sunset it followed that one should be equally reticent on the Crags by -the brighter light of morning. - -“Say something!” she commanded, keenly disappointed at his apathy. - -“Noo York must be somewheres in a line with that biggest mountain over -there to the south,” he hazarded; glad to learn that the present was, -for some reason, not one of those mysterious speechless occasions. - -In the evenings, as a rule, they went to the “open camp.” There in -the big three-sided log shed with its evergreen-lined walls and its -deep, blanket-covered floor of soft balsam boughs, a dozen or more -people were wont to congregate by night. In front of the shed blazed a -Homeric camp fire that tempered the mountain chilliness and made the -whole place light as day. The young people,--Desirée and Jack among -them,--usually spent the short evenings in singing and story-telling. -Caleb felt less at his ease here than anywhere else. For the young folk -talked a language of Youth, that he did not understand. The stories -he found somewhat mild, and the point of several of them he failed to -catch. A sense of strangeness prevented him from joining in the songs. -He had had no youth; save that which Desirée had imparted to him. And -he knew himself out of place among the carefree, jolly crowd. It made -him feel ponderous, aged, taciturn. The easy laughter of youth only -perplexed him. His sole joy during these open camp evenings was to lie -in a shadowed corner of the “lean-to” and watch the firelight play on -Desirée’s bright face; to hear her infectious laugh; to see how popular -she was among the youngsters of her own age. So long as she did not -seek to ease his boredom by dragging him into the talk, he was well -content to lie thus and drink the delight of her fresh loveliness. When -she made him talk, he straightway became pompously shy; and managed to -convey his sense of acute discomfort to everyone about him. - -Altogether, the Adirondacks, for perhaps the first time since that -wonderland’s discovery, had found a visitor who did not speedily become -a worshipper. - - * * * * * - -“Receive news!” announced Desirée, one evening as she met Caleb on her -return from a conference with Mrs. Hawarden. “To-morrow’s my birthday.” - -“Did you s’pose I’d forgot?” he asked in reproach,--“There’s two dates -I always manage to remember. One’s your birthday. The other’s the day -you’re comin’ back to Granite.” - -“But _that_ isn’t the news,” she went on. “It’s only a running start -to get you ready for it. Mrs. Hawarden’s going to celebrate by the -gorgeousest picnic you ever heard of.” - -“Last one we went on,” began Caleb, “I burnt two of my fingers; an’ -there was sand in the lem’nade. But,” he broke off just in time, “it’ll -be great to go on another. Where’s it to be?” - -“To Brown’s Tract pond. ’Way up at the head of Brown’s Tract Inlet. You -remember? The inlet that twists around like a snake that’s swallowed -a corkscrew? We’re going to spend the night. Just think of that! All -four of us. The guide is going up early in the morning to pitch the -two tents and get everything ready. And we’re to stramble along at -our leisure and get there about noon. Think! We’re actually to camp -overnight. I wish there were bears or catamounts or something, to come -not _too_ near and growl dreadfully. I’m going to take Rex along if -Mr. Bennett will let me. And--_isn’t_ it a nice way to wind up your -vacation? You’ll have plenty of time. We’ll be back here by noon next -day, and your train doesn’t go till night.” - -“Let’s not talk about my going away,” he replied. “I thought I’d be -tickled to death to get back to the fight. But for the past two days -I’ve been tryin’ to frame up an excuse to myself that’d let me stay -longer.” - -“Oh, why don’t you? Why _don’t_ you?” she cried, all eagerness. “I -stump you to! _Please_ stay!” - -“Don’t, little girl!” he urged. “If I could stay with you an extra -hour, d’you s’pose I’d need to be begged to? It’ a case of _must_. I -got to be on deck day after to-morrow. That special session of the -Legislature I was tellin’ you about meets week after next. An’ I’ve got -to work like a dog till then to lick my crowd into line an’ frame up a -stiff enough defence against your friend, Blacarda. I’ll be as busy as -a one-armed paper-hanger that’s got hives.” - -“But why?” she persisted. “You’ve been working away with both hands all -your life. You’re rich. What’s the use of all that money if you can’t -have some fun?” - -“I get my fun in the winnin’. Not in the holdin’.” - -“But you don’t even know how to rest. And now, just as I’m teaching -you, you run away. You could wait perfectly well, three weeks longer, -and then go back to Granite with us. Just think what a sumptuous time -we’d have here! I’m _very_ wise,” she coaxed. “Won’t you take my advice -and stay?” - -“I’d take it in a minute if I could, girl,” he answered. - -“Oh, dear! That means you won’t. Advice is something everybody asks, -everybody gives--and nobody takes. I _wish_ you’d stay. This has been -the beautifullest, happiest two weeks I ever spent.” - -“Has it, honest, Dey?” he asked, his heavy face of a sudden alight. -“Honest? It’s been ’bout the only long stretch of happy time I c’n -remember.” - -“Then why don’t you stay?” she demanded. “Can’t you see?”-- - -He hesitated. - -“I’ve a good mind to,” he said at last. - -She clapped her hands, then squeezed his arm as they swung down the -hill together. - -“Yes,” he went on. “I b’lieve I’ll do it. It’d be fun to see what’d -happen if I was to cut loose from work for once. An’ you an’ me could -be together--” - -“Would you lose so very much?” she asked doubtfully, in belated -concern. - -“No more’n I could afford. Nowhere near so much as it’s worth to have -that extry time with you. My own Steeloid holdin’s are pretty well -covered. It won’t be _me_ that goes broke. I own my stock outright; an’ -before the winter’s over I’ll get the bill declared unconstitootional. -That’ll bring the price up again. I c’n afford to let up on Blacarda -for once. I’m dead sure to get him later on the same game, as well as -on somethin’ else.” - -“You say it won’t be _you_ who go broke,” she interposed. “Will anyone? -I mean if you don’t go back day after to-morrow.” - -“Well,” grinned Caleb, “If Blacarda’s bill passes, our Steeloid -stock’ll will take a big tumble, of course. For those that owns it -outright that’ll be no great loss; ’cause it’ll rocket again as soon -as I sick one of my judges onto the bill’s constitootionality. But the -fellers I’ve tipped off to buy on margin--d’you understand all this -line of talk?--those fellers are plungin’ pretty deep, I hear, an’--” - -“Will they lose much?” - -“Some of ’em are li’ble to be ’bout wiped out, I guess. The el’gant -Amzi Nicholas Caine, f’r instance, an’ old Reuben Standish. He’ll go to -pot, _sure_. An’ Mr.--” - -“You mean they went into this on your advice, and if you aren’t there -to stand by them they will be ruined?” - -“Just ’bout that, I guess. Don’t blame _me_. They wasn’t ’bliged to -take my tips an’ I’m not responsible for ’em. Anyhow, they’ve made -enough off me this year to--” - -“You must go back,” she declared. “I was very wrong. It just shows what -harm a fluff-brained girl can do by poking her fingers into business -she doesn’t understand. Why, Caleb” she added, with a startled awe: “If -you’d done as I asked, who knows how many families might have been made -horribly poor? And it would all have been my fault. You must go back.” - -“But, Dey!” he protested, “You’re all off. It’s no affair of mine what -that gold-shirt crowd put their cash on. I don’t owe anything to ’em. -An’ if I can give you a good time by stayin’, the whole bunch of ’em -can hire a brass band an’ march to the poorhouse, for all I care. If -you say ‘stay’, I’ll stay.” - -“I say you mustn’t,” she insisted, “And it was dear of you to be -willing to, for my sake. Anyway, I’ll see you again in three weeks. -That won’t be so very long.” - -“No longer’n three years is gen’rally” grumbled Caleb; and the subject -dropped. - -They were on their way to the pretty waterside building that served -the quadruple purpose of casino, store, post-office and boathouse, for -the Antlers. The arrival of the evening mail was one of the day’s two -great events; the other being the morning mail’s advent. The night had -a sting to its air; and the mail-time gathering was held in the lamplit -store instead of on the porch or dock. A tall clerk was busy sorting -letters and packages to eager groups of sweater-clad girls and to men -in cold-weather outing garb. Conover and Desirée, awaiting their turn, -leaned against the glass cases opposite the post-office counter and -watched the laughing, excited guests. - -“What I can’t see” commented Caleb, “is why ev’rybody’s always in such -a sweat about their mail. What is there in it for anyone? To ev’ry -env’lope that’s got a check in it there’s three that has bills; an’ a -dozen with adv’tisements. To ev’ry letter that’s worth readin’ there’s -ten that’s stoopid or grouchy or makin’ a hard-luck touch. An’ as for -soov’nir postals--the only folks _they_ int’rest is those that sends -’em. People come up here to get away from the world they’ve been livin’ -in. Yet they scramble for noospapers an’ letters from that same world, -like they was stranded on a desert island.--Here’s our chance.” - -The crowd had thinned. Caleb and Desirée went forward to the mail -counter. For Conover there were a sheaf of letters in business -envelopes. He thrust them without a glance into the pocket of his tweed -coat. Desirée’s sole mail consisted of a long pasteboard box thickly -strewn with vari-colored stamps and bearing the gold-lettered legend of -a New York florist. - -In a second her quick fingers had torn away the wrappings. As the box -was lifted, a whiff of warm fragrance rushed out; filling the room. - -“Oh!” gasped Desirée, burying her face rapturously in a crimson nest -of American Beauty roses. - -Then, her cheeks aglow and her eyes shining, she lifted her head and -faced Conover. - -“_Thank_ you! Thank you _so much_!” she exclaimed. “It was perfectly -darling of you to remember my birthday so beautifully. And I love -American Beauties so. I might have known you would think of that. It’s -just like you. Smell them! What a dear, thoughtful blesséd old--” - -She checked herself at sight of Conover’s blank expression. If her own -face had borrowed the flush of her armful of roses, Caleb had exacted -similar tribute from a whole wagonload of imaginary peonies. - -“I’m--I’m sorry, Dey,” he blurted out at last, “But they ain’t from me. -I--, well, they must be from somebody who’s got more sense. I didn’t -think to get you anything at all. I didn’t ever know folks gave reg’lar -presents on birthdays.” - -He stopped abruptly. For the fading of the happy light from Desirée’s -eyes had its usual effect of leaving him wordless and miserable. - -The girl, embarrassed, fell to turning the flowers over in their long -box. She looked a little tired and her arrangement of the blossoms was -perfunctory. A card was dislodged from among stems and fell to the -floor. Caleb, picking it up, read Jack Hawarden’s name. - -“The measly brat!” raged Conover, to himself. “He ain’t got a dollar -to his back; an’ yet he can bring off a grandstand play like this, an’ -make her look like she was a kid seein’ her first Christmas Tree! An -now _I’ve_ made her look like she wanted to cry! Lord! If I don’t give -her a whole joolry store for Christmas, I’m a Chinaman!” - -“Never mind, dear old boy!” she whispered, pressing close to his arm as -they turned to mount the hill on the way to the Hawarden Cottage, “I’ll -make _believe_ they’re from you and that will be every bit as nice as -if they really were. And you’ve done more lovely things for me than -everybody else put together. And I won’t have you looking pathetic. -_Stop_ it! Now, smile! Oh, what a squidgy, weak sort of a smile! It’s -all right, I tell you. I know you’d have given me _much_ lovelier roses -than these if you’d thought.” - -“That’s just it!” he growled bitterly, “I _don’t_ think. I never think. -I guess you know I’d let ’em cut me up into city blocks if it’d make a -hit with you, Dey. But what good does that do? When it comes to bein’ -on hand with the million dinky little stunts that women likes, I’m -always a mile away, somewhere, hoein’ corn. I wouldn’t blame you if -you--” - -“Stop!” she cried, a break in her clear voice, “You shan’t talk that -way. Do you suppose all the presents in the world would have made me -half as happy as having you here, this two weeks? Would any present -have cost you one tenth the sacrifice of giving up your work for my -sake? And just now you offered to throw away thousands of dollars and -wreck half a dozen of people’s fortunes in order to please me by -staying longer at the Antlers. What more could _anyone_ do for me than -you do?” - -“I don’t know,” he answered simply, “But some day I may find out. An’ -when I do,--why, I’ll do it. You can gamble on that, you little girl.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -FOREST MADNESS - - -It was late the next forenoon when the quartette, in two guide-boats, -set out from the Antlers dock for their twenty-four hour picnic to -Brown’s Tract Pond. - -A guide had started an hour earlier with the camping equipment and -pack. Jack and Mrs. Hawarden led the way; Desirée and Caleb being -delayed in starting by the vast pressure and vaster quantities of candy -that must be brought to bear on Rex before the collie would consent to -trust his cautious young life in their boat. When at last the reluctant -dog’s fears were overcome and he lay curled in a contented, furry heap -at Desirée’s feet in the stern,--Caleb bent to his oars with a swing -that sent the frail guide boat over the mile of intervening lake in -time to enter the inlet a bare length behind the Hawardens. Under the -low wooden bridge they passed. Then began an erratic progress. - -The sluggish stream wriggles through part of the old government tract -once ceded to “Ossawotamie.” John Brown of anti-slavery memory. -Formerly, green tamaracks lined the lowlands to either side of the -inlet’s banks. The raising of the dams which, years ago, signed the -murder-warrant for so many thousand splendid trees, have left the -tamaracks here--as elsewhere along the watercourses,--a waste of -feathery gray skeletons. - -A bite of Autumn was in the air. From bush and from waterside grasses, -the dying summer flashed its scarlet-and-gold warning of winter’s dread -approach. - -The inlet wound southward in a bewildering series of turns and twists; -perhaps a hundred such abrupt turnings to the mile. There was hardly -scope for three successive oar-strokes between the twists. Fast rowing -was out of the question. A long stroke or two, for momentum; then the -quick backing of an oar and a plunge of the stern paddle; and, unless -the bow caught in the jutting huckleberry bushes of the bank, one turn -was safely passed and another was at hand. - -The gray stone mountains, with their clumps of evergreens shot with -the red and yellow of maple or birch, rose against the sky on one side -of the marsh. On the other, the deep forest ran down to the fringe of -tamarack ghosts; a rare white birch standing out here and there, like -a sheeted giant, amid the dusk of the hemlocks. Above blazed the white -sun. The long grasses hummed with insect life. A mink darted to cover -from beneath the bow of the guide boat. In the black loam of the bank -burrowed a sleek gray water rat. Far to the northeast, a solitary, -everlasting landmark for all the region, crouched old Blue Mountain, -like some benevolent, haze-shrouded mastodon. - -“I can’t remember,” observed Desirée, “when we weren’t squeezing past -one turn and running into another. And I can’t imagine any time when we -won’t still be doing it. It’s like one of those weird maze-places at -Atlantic City where you go through a door only to find yourself staring -at three others. The man who went for a walk and met himself coming -back would have found himself facing whole family groups of selves if -he’d come up this inlet. There’s where the Eighth Lake Carry begins. -Over there to the left; where that tumble-down wooden dock is. We -aren’t anywhere near Brown’s Tract Pond yet. Just hear Jack yodel! He’s -as excited over this picnic as a school boy. He’s rowing like mad and--” - -“Guess somebody must a been feedin’ him meat,” suggested Caleb -unkindly; glancing back over his shoulders at the leading boat whose -oarsman’s enthusiasm had driven its bow into the mudbank at one sharp -turn. “Say, he’ awful much in love with you, Dey. Are you goin’ to end -up by marryin’ him?” - -“No,” said Desirée, shortly. - -Ten minutes later the boats had been dragged over the last impasse and -the pond was reached;--a circular blot of water amid the surrounding -hills; a high island rising in its centre. - -A halloo from Jack brought an answering call from the distant guide. -Slipping along the shore where the yellow sand ran out for yards under -its shallow covering of blue water, the two boats came to rest off the -site chosen for the camp. The two tents were already pitched, and a -fire crackled merrily. The guide was busy frying eggs and strips of -bacon in huge black pans. Potatoes bubbled in one pot above the fire; -while from another came the aroma of coffee. - -“Heaven may be as beautiful as this grove,” sighed Desirée in ecstasy, -“but I’m perfectly sure it will never smell so deliciously appetizing. -I’m starved. Is that drinking-water, Steve?” she asked, pointing to a -pail with a dipper beside it. - -“Yes ma’am,” replied the guide. “Or it will be when I’ve boiled it.” - -“I’m too thirsty to wait for it to boil,” she objected picking up the -dipper. “Won’t somebody else have some?--Mrs. Hawarden?” - -“’Tisn’t healthy to drink water from forest springs till it’s been -boiled,” put in the guide. “It’s likely to be all chock-full of germs. -Boilin’ kills em,” he added, proud of his scientific lore. - -“I’d as lief be a germ aquarium as a germ cemetery,” decided the girl, -drinking deep of the cold, limpid water, “Is there any fishing in this -pond, I wonder?” - -“Well,” drawled the guide, piqued that his medical advice should have -gone for naught, “there’ll be better fishin’ to-night than there is -just now. There’s pretty sure to be a heavy mountain fog after a day -like this. And those fogs get so thick, around here, sometimes, that -the fish can’t tell the difference between the fog and the water. And -they swim right up into the tents. I’ve caught ’em that way dozens of -times. Forrest Bird and ‘Smiling’ Kelly was telling me they came here -once and--” - -“Was it _that_ sort of a bait you used?” asked Desirée innocently, -pointing to a flask-neck that had worked its way into view from the -pocket of the guide’s jacket as he leaned over the fire. - -He shoved back the offending flask; grinning sheepishly. - -“Because” went on Desirée with the same wide-eyed innocence, “I’ve -always heard it attracted more snakes than fish. Isn’t it lucky there -are no snakes in the Adirondacks?” - -Rex sniffed longingly at the candy-box lying on the pile of wraps near -the fire. Then he looked at Desirée and waved his tail with an air of -disinterested friendliness. After which he resumed his study of the box. - -“It will make you quite ill if you eat candy before dinner, Rexie,” the -girl told him. - -The dog seemed impressed; for he moved away from the coveted treasure. -But he eyed Desirée so sadly that she relented. Opening the box she -searched till she found a chocolate wafer and tossed it to Rex. He -caught it in mid-air. Caleb absent mindedly helped himself to a piece -of candy from the open box. - -“There was a young man so benighted,” she admonished Conover, - - “He never knew when he was slighted. - He’d go to a party - And eat just as hearty - As if he’d been really invited. - -“And the moral of this is:--Wait till people say ‘Please have some’ -before you dip in. _Where_ are your manners, Caleb? _Now_, what are you -looking at?” - -“Say, but you’re pretty, to-day!” remarked Conover, his glance roving -appraisingly over her trim figure in its roughing costume, and at the -tanned, eager little face, “As pretty’s you can be.” - -“I suppose everyone is,” laughed Desirée, in embarrassment; noting Mrs. -Hawarden’s air of seeming not to have heard the bald praise, “Oh, see -the beautiful green caterpillar that’s come to our party! And a whole -army of nice hungry ants! There’s a spider, too. _Do_ drive him off, -Jack! Don’t kill him, though. It’s bad luck. For the spider, anyway.” - -“Avaunt, dread monster of the wilderness!” declaimed Jack; brushing the -offender away. - -Dinner and a long lazy afternoon. A row of exploration about the pond’s -edge, a visit to the island; a ramble through the woods;--and nightfall -found the campers eating a firelight supper with the crass hunger of -the unaccustomed outdoor sojourner. Then a short, yawn-punctuated chat -around the camp fire, and the signal for bed. - -It is one thing for a man of cities to be delightfully sleepy after his -first long day in the woods. It is quite a different matter for him to -be able to fall asleep on a many-projectioned bed of balsam, while -a guide snores raucously on one side of him and a second man tosses -in uneasy, muttering slumber on the other. After counting up to one -hundred, and keeping tabs on a flock of visionary sheep as they leaped -an equally mythical wall (and hoping in morbid disgust that some of -them would fall and break their imaginary necks), Conover rose quietly, -pulled on such garments as he had removed, groped about till he found -his thick waterproof coat and stumbled out into the open. He kicked the -fire’s smouldering logs into a blaze and looked at his watch. It was -barely nine-thirty. He took out a cigar and prepared to sit down beside -the logs and smoke himself sleepy again. - -Then she came. - -He was not surprised. Even before he turned his head or noticed the -fall of her light feet on the mold, he somehow knew she was drawing -near. He looked around to find her close behind him. Her hair was -caught up loosely, and shimmered like a rust-shot aureole in the waning -firelight. She wore the sweater and walking skirt of the afternoon. But -her high boots had been changed for moccasins. - -“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered, clasping the hands he held out to -her, “All the forest and the silences seemed calling to me. Besides, -Mrs. Hawarden sleeps so,--so audibly. All at once, I felt you were out -here. So I came. Is it very late?” - -“No,” he answered in the same key, “Not much mor’n half past nine. Sit -down here an’ I’ll get a blanket to wrap ’round you. I ought to send -you back, so’s you won’t catch cold. But it’s--somehow it’s so good to -have you right here by me. This time to-morrow night I’ll be glad to -remember it.” - -“Don’t get me any wrap,” she forbade, stretching out her hands to the -blaze he was again stirring into life, “I’m warm enough. And you’d fall -over something and swear and that would wake somebody. Then I’d have to -go back to the stuffy tent.” - -Rex, curled up asleep on the far side of the fire, lifted his head; -wakened by the sibillant whispering. Seeing Desirée, he began to smite -the earth resoundingly with his wagging tail. - -“Hush!” whispered the girl, raising her finger in warning; as the -collie’s sleepy, golden eyes blinked more and more friendly greetings -and the bushy tail increased the tempo of its beats. Mistaking her -gesture, Rex rose with lazy grace, stretched himself, alternately, fore -and aft, collie-fashion; and picked his way daintily across the cleared -space to Desirée’s side. He lay down at her feet, thrusting his cold -nose affectionately into the hollow of her hand. - -“What a gorgeous night!” murmured Desirée looking up at the black, -star-strewn sky, “And we were going to waste it in sleep! The woods are -calling. The dryads and fauns want us to come to their enchanted dell -and dance with them. Shall we?” - -Understanding not a tithe of her words the man nevertheless caught the -flickering light of adventure in her eyes. - -“I’m always game for anything you put a name to” he made answer, “I’m -kind of heavy for dancin’. But if it’ll be any sort of pleasure for -you, I might have a try at it.” - -“Hush!” she warned, “If you speak as loudly as that you’ll be sure to -wake them. Isn’t this _fun_?” she went on with a happy little laugh, -“I feel as if we’d run away from school and were going to be scolded -terribly hard when we get back. I dare you,--oh, I _dare_ you! I -_double_-dare you!” - -“To what?” he demanded, infected by the sudden rush of mischief to her -face and voice, “I’ll do anything you say. Want me to haul out Steve -Martin an’ Jack an’ lick ’em for you, or set fire to the old lady’s -tent?” - -“Neither,” she decreed sternly; adding with perverse wistfulness, -“Though it would be interesting to see how Mrs. Hawarden’s airy dignity -would sustain her in a blazing tent. No, no. What I was going to dare -you to do is much less spectacular. Nothing more exciting than a walk.” - -“A walk?” echoed Conover, “Why, it’s near ten o’clock, an’ cold as -charity. Besides, it’ll be all dark an’ damp in the thick part of the -woods.” - -“But I’m _sure_ we’ll run across a ring of fairies,--or a satyr, at the -very least. Oh, the night is throbbing with magic! And the forests are -calling. Shan’t we answer the call?” - -“Sounds to me more like katydids,” he demurred, “But, if you like, we -can take a stroll. We’ll be back in half an hour or so, an’ that ought -to be early enough, even for old Mrs. Propriety in there,” with a nod -toward Mrs. Hawarden’s tent, “But you’ll want some wrap, won’t you?” - -“No. I’m warm as toast. This sweater’s so wudgy and soft; and it’s as -thick as thick can be. Come along!” - -Laughing excitedly under their breath, after the manner of school-boys -making safe escape to truancy, the two stole away on tiptoe from the -radius of fire shine. Rex, waking again at their departure, sighed as -devotion dragged him from sleep and warmth; and trotted along solemnly -in the wake of the two truants. - -Before them lay a natural vista winding between ranks of black trees. -Starlight filtered through, giving an uncanny glimmer to the still -darkness. - -“It is like breaking into fairyland!” gasped the girl, tense and -vibrant with the hushed wonder of it all, “We are mortals. We have no -right in Oberon’s domain. But he sees what very _very_ nice, harmless -mortals we are. So he doesn’t change us to bats or fireflies. He just -lets us trespass all we want to. And perhaps he’ll even let us see a -real fairy. An elf, anyway.” - -Caleb laughed, in sheer happiness. Of her Oberon rigmarole he grasped -little. But he saw she was in childishly wild spirits, and the -knowledge of her joy thrilled him. The cold bit deeper as they struck -rising ground and followed the glimmering forest-vista upward. Both -instinctively quickened their pace to keep from shivering. But mere -cold could not quench Desirée’s pleasure in the simple escapade. - -“We are runaway slaves!” she cried, her mood shifting from fairyland to -a newer fantasy, “We are escaping from a fearsome Simon Legree named -Conventionality! Conventionality is a wicked master who has whipped us -and piled chains on us ever since we were born. And now we’ve put him -to sleep in two tents and we’re running away from him. He’d be furious -if he woke up. But he’s snoring very industriously. And he surely won’t -wake,--in either tent--for at least an hour. And by that time we’ll be -safe back again with our chains all nicely riveted on. And he’ll never, -never even guess we once ran away from him. No,--I’d rather think we’re -running away forever and ever and ever,--and then some more after that. -And he’ll never find us, no matter how long he hunts. We’ll spend the -rest of our life in the enchanted woodland, and live on berries and -nuts. And our faithful hound who’s followed us from slavery will catch -venison for us. And--and if you ask him _very_ politely, Caleb, perhaps -he’ll catch a tripe sandwich sometimes for you.” - -“Still rememberin’ that awful break of mine?” chuckled Caleb, as -unreasonably excited as she. “That ain’t fair!” - -“It, _wasn’t_ a break!” she pronounced judgment. “It was a smashing -blow at our Simon Legree, Conventionality. You are a hero. Not a lowly -squidge. See how silver the light is getting! I’m sure that means -we’re on the courtyard of the fairy palace. I shouldn’t be one atom -surprised if--” - -With a little cry of alarm she clutched Caleb. From almost under her -feet a partridge whirred upward, his beating wings rattling through the -stillness like double castanets. Rex, with one staccato growl deep down -in his throat, gave chase. But as the bird utterly refused to fly fair, -and even resorted to unsportsmanlike rocketings that carried it far -up through the treetops, the pursuit was quickly over. Rex, his ruff -a-bristle, strutted back to the girl, walking on the tips of his toes -and casting baleful glances of warning to left and right at any other -lurking partridge that might be tempted to brave his ire. - -“What was it? What _was_ it?” demanded Desirée, startled far out of her -fit of eerie gaiety. - -“Maybe ’twas one of those fairies or satires you was hopin’ would drop -in on us,” suggested Caleb, cruelly, “It was a reel treat to see how -glad you was to meet him.” - -“You’re horrid!” declared the girl. “As if any self-respecting fairy -would jump up with a noise like ten gatling guns! I--Oh, the silver is -turning gray. It’s fog! The fog Steve Martin said we’d have to-night. -And it’s coming down around us like, like a Niagara of--of--” - -“Of pea soup,” supplemented Conover. “It’s thick enough to cut. An’ ten -minutes ago the sky was perfec’ly clear. Best get back to the camp, -before the measly stuff makes us lose our way. Then we _would_ be in a -sweet fix.” - -Backward they turned upon their tracks. Already the guiding tree vistas -were wiped out. The two walked rapidly, pushing along with no better -guide than their sense of general direction. For a full half hour they -walked; Caleb helping Desirée over a series of fallen trees, gullies -and boulders that neither had noted during their outward journey. - -Then, out of breath, Desirée halted. - -“We’re not going the right way!” she exclaimed. “We’re going up-hill. I -know we are. I can tell by the feeling. And the camp lies down by the -pond.” - -They struck off at another angle. After ten minutes of fast, difficult -walking, through the water-thick mist, Desirée came again to a halt. - -“This rock,” she declared, “is the very one I leaned against when we -stopped before. I’m certain. We’ve been going in a circle.” - -“Maybe we were going right, in the first place,” said Caleb. “On the -way out we went up hills an’ down ’em, too. Maybe if we’d kep’ on going -upward we’d a come out on the hill above the camp.” - -They started once more; going purposely upward this time; groping their -way through the blinding mist without speaking. - -Of a sudden the fog was gone from before them. A step or two farther -and they stood on a hilltop, under the stars. - -Desirée sank wearied on the stump of a twin tree, her back against the -trunk of the unfelled half. Caleb glanced about to locate the camp. His -exclamation of wonder brought the tired girl to her feet. - -It was no hilltop they stood on. It was a tiny island jutting upward -out of an immeasurable sea. In the distance to either hand rose similar -islets. Above was the cloudless sky. Below, lay that vast waveless deep. - -“It’s the fog!” cried the girl, finding her voice as the marvel -explained itself. “Don’t you see? It lies low, over the water and the -valley. And we’re above it. It has settled down over everything like -a white cloud. But some of the hilltops pierce the top of it. We’re -‘above the clouds!’” she quoted, laughing; her spirits coming back with -her returning strength. - -“We’re above that one, anyhow,” assented Conover. “You’re right. But -where’s the camp?” - -“Down there, somewhere,” she replied, vaguely. - -“But how can we find it?” he urged. “We don’t know which side of this -hill it’s on. It may be five miles away. If we go down, the chances -are a million to one we won’t strike it. An’ then we’ll have to wander -’round all night in that slimy white cloud, like we’ve been doin’ for -the past hour. We’re up against it, girl.” - -“I wouldn’t spend another hour in that mist for a fortune,” she -shuddered. “It stifled me; and hideous woozzey faces seemed to be -peering at us out of it. I could hear invisible things whispering all -around us. Ugh!” - -Caleb filled his lungs and shouted across the sea of mist. Again and -again he bellowed forth his long-drawn halloo. To anyone on the nearer -hilltop islands his call might readily have been heard. But human voice -could as readily have penetrated a mountain of cotton-batting as carry -sound through that waste of cloud-reek. - -At length the two fugitives realized this. A last shout, a final -straining of ears for some answering cry; then Conover turned again to -the girl. - -“They wouldn’t hear us a hundred yards away,” said he, “even if they -was awake. We’ll have to,--Why, you’re shiverin’!” - -To Desirée the glow of the long climb was giving place to the chill -air of the Adirondack autumn night. Her teeth were chattering; but she -bravely scouted the idea of discomfort. - -Nevertheless, in an instant Caleb had whipped off his thick mackintosh -and wrapped her in its huge folds. She vainly protested that he must -not rob himself; but the cozy comfort of the big garment as well as -his flat refusal to let her remove it soon silenced her objections. -Conover had taken charge of the situation. It was the work of a minute -to scratch together an armful of twigs, chips and small boughs,--relics -of the hewn tree,--to thrust under the heap a crumpled letter from his -pocket, and to set a match to the impromptu fire. - -Then, as the twigs crackled and blazed, he scoured the hilltop for -larger wood. Half rotted logs that would smoulder like peat, huge tree -branches that must be dragged instead of carried to the fire; a bulky -length of lumber overlooked when the tree had been cut up and carted -away. These and lesser fuel served in an amazingly short time to turn -the sputtering flamelets into a roaring camp fire. - -Piece after piece of his gathered wood Caleb fed to the blaze; Desirée -leaning back, deliciously warm and happy, to encourage the labor. A -second journey into the dark and Conover was back with more fuel, which -he piled in reserve beyond the reach of the flame tongues. - -“You work like a veteran woodsman,” she praised. - -“Why wouldn’t I?” he puffed, dragging in a new bunch of long boughs for -the reserve pile. “I had to hustle fires an’ grub for the section gang, -ten months or more, when I was a youngster. That’s why it seems funny -to me that folks should pay big money for a chance of chasin’ out to -the wilderness an’ doin’ the chores _I_ used to get $1.85 a day for. -Still, once in a lifetime, it comes in handy to know how.” - -The heat was fierce. Caleb drew back from the fire, mopping his red -face. Then he took off his tweed jacket. Crossing to Desirée, he lifted -his mackintosh from her shoulders and made her put on the jacket. -The latter’s hem fell to her knees. Conover rolled back its sleeves -until her engulfed hands were once more visible. Then he spread the -mackintosh on the ground near the fire; incidentally dislodging Rex -from a carefully chosen bed. - -“There!” proclaimed the Fighter. “_That’s_ done. Now you’ve a camp bed. -Lay down on that mackintosh an’ I’ll wrap you up in it. You won’t catch -cold, even if the fire dies out. Which same it won’t; for I’m goin’ to -set up an’ keep it burnin’.” - -“In other words,” she said with the stern air of rebuke that he loved, -“I am going to curl up in all the wraps there are and go fast to sleep, -while you sit up all night long and keep the fire going? I think I see -myself doing it!” - -“If we had a lookin’ glass along,” he answered, unruffled, “you could. -As it is, you’ll just have to take my word for it. I’ll set back on -that stump where you are now, an’ I’ll have that big trunk to rest my -head on. An’ I’ll sleep a blamed sight better’n I ever do in a Pullman. -When I feel cold I’ll know the fire’s dyin’ down an’ I’ll get up an’ -tend it, an’ then go to sleep again. It’s a--” - -“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” contradicted Desirée. “I’ll--” - -“Listen, you little girl,” put in Caleb with rough tenderness. “I like -nothin’ so well, as a rule, as to let you boss me. But here’s the one -time that _I’m_ goin’ to do the bossin’. You’re tired out, an’ you’re -li’ble to take cold unless you keep wrapped up an’ get a good comf’tble -sleep. An’ you’re goin’ to get it. Don’t you worry ’bout _me_, neither. -By the time I’ve been restin’ ’gainst that tree trunk five minutes I’ll -be in the arms of old Morpheus. It seems a kind of measly trick to put -up on Morpheus, whoever he may be. But it’s what I’m goin’ to do.” - -The quiet mastery of the man permitted no argument. Indeed, Desirée for -some strange reason felt herself unaccountably stirred by it. - -“Now,” he went on, “one more armful of this stuff on the pile an’ then -I’ll warm the mackintosh for you by the fire an’ let you go to sleep. I -wish I’d wore a vest to-day.” - -“Why? Oh, you’re cold! You need this--” - -“No. I’d like it to roll up into a pillow for you. I’m warm, all right. -An’ this fire’ll stay goin’ all night if I feed it up once or twice -before mornin’.” - -He picked up one of the longer boughs and swung it onto the blaze. The -sweep of his arm sent the end of the branch against Desirée. She was -rising from her tree-stump seat, at the moment; and the impact of the -strong-swung bushy end of the bough threw her off her balance. Not in -the least hurt, she nevertheless lost her footing and fell, with an -exclamation of dismay, to the ground. - -At her cry, Caleb turned. Realizing that he had knocked her down and -fearful lest she be badly bruised by the blow, he sprang forward; and -with a volley of loud self-reproach, lifted her to her feet. - -The grip of his powerful arms gave Desirée a sense of utter peace and -protection. That and something more. Something she could not--would -not--analyze. Unresisting, she let her body rest inert in his mighty -grasp the fraction of an instant longer than was perhaps really needful. - -And in that atom of time the mischief was made. - -Conover was staring down at her in eager solicitude; still begging her -to tell him if she were hurt. She looked up, and their eyes met. Hers -were sick with a love that transfigured her. And before their gaze, -Conover’s heavy face went blank; then filled with a light of wonder and -utter rapture that fairly frightened the girl. - -His arms tightened about her in a clasp that robbed her of breath,--and -of all will to breathe. She felt herself crushed against the man’s -chest, and her upturned face was buried in fierce ecstatic kisses. -Kisses wildly awkward and vehement; those of a man unused to giving or -receiving caresses. Kisses that kindled in the girl a swift bliss that -blinded,--enthralled her. - -For a moment Desirée stood moveless, leaning back limply in the iron -arms that bound her to her lover’s breast. His kisses rained down on -her rapt, white face; upon her wide, starry eyes, her loosened hair. - -Then, with a gasping murmur of joy she could not put into words, she -suddenly threw her arms about Conover’s thick neck and gave him kiss -for kiss. The rank scent of tobacco upon his lips,--the bristle of -a day-old beard,--the ugly face itself with its undershot jaw, its -square, crude massiveness,--all these things were nothing. Behind them -she read and gloried in the love that blazed in the Fighter’s pale -eyes. That was all she saw,--had ever seen,--would ever see. - -Whether for a minute or for a century the two stood clasped heart to -heart, soul to soul, neither could ever remember. At last the great -arms released her. The triumphant love that shone in Conover’s face was -again tinged with a wonder that was almost reverence. - -“Why in blazes didn’t we know this before?” he demanded, hoarse and -shaking. - -“Speak for yourself!” sobbed the girl. “I’ve known it always, always, -_always_! Ever since I was a child. Every minute since then. There’s -just been _you_! Nothing else counted. And--and you never--” - -“Never cared?” he guessed. “Girl, I’ve cared so much it was the life -of me. An’ because it was the life I lived n’ the breath I breathed, -I didn’t even guess it. Never once. Oh it’s like I’d been trav’lin’ -through heaven blin’folded. Why didn’t you _tell_ me? Why wasn’t it -like this two years ago? Dey, if I’d known--if I’d understood I felt -that way ’bout you, I’d a’--no, I wouldn’t, either. I’d a kep’ away for -fear of breakin’ my heart. For it wouldn’t a’ seemed possible you could -love me. _Say_ you love me, girl!” he ordered, fiercely. “Say it over -an’ over--a lot of times!” - -“Love you?” murmured Desirée, her sobs dying away. “_Love_ -you?--Why,--!” - -With a sudden passion of adoration she flung her arms again about his -neck, straining him close to her. She could not speak. She could only -press her soft, hot face close--ever so close--to his rough cheek; and -cling fast to him as though she feared he might vanish, dreamlike, from -her clasp. - -“When you went away,” he continued after a divine silence, “it was -like the heart of me had been torn out. I didn’t know what ailed me. -I thought it was a craze to work. An’ I worked till I set all Granite -to totterin’. An’ all the time it was you,--_you_! Then when I saw -you again, there at the station in the mist, it seemed like I’d come -home. I wanted to catch hold of your dress an’ beg you never to get out -of my sight again. An’ I was ashamed of feelin’ that way, an’ I was -afraid you’d find out an’ laugh at me. I was wild in _love_ with you, -girl,--an’ I never knew it. Did--did _you_ know I was?” - -“I always knew it,” she whispered. “I knew you loved me. That you cared -almost as much as I cared. But you never even suspected. And,--oh, how -could _I_ tell you?” - -Again they were silent for a space. Then she said, a little timidly: - -“God meant us for each other, dear love. I believe in such things. And -so must you. And we have found each other at last. Here, alone, on -the top of the world. Just as He meant us to. Oh, I must be good--so -good--if I am to deserve all this.” - -“Deserve it?” he echoed in choked amaze. “Girl, you make me feel like -hidin’ my head somewheres. What is there in all this for _you_? I’m -a rough, uneddicated chap that most folks look down on, an’ the rest -don’t look at, at all. I got nothin’ but my money an’--Oh, Dey, I got -_you_! An’ I’m the happiest man that ever got lost in this measly, -heavenly wilderness. It ain’t true. An’ presently I’ll wake up. But -while it lasts--” - -“It will last forever, darling,” she interposed. “Forever and a day. -We couldn’t be brought together like this, just to be parted again. -Even Fate couldn’t be as cruel as that. Tell me why you didn’t know -you loved me. Sometimes, when you used to talk about marrying--someone -else,--I had to bite my lips to keep from calling to you--‘You _can’t_! -It’s _I_ you love!’” - -“Why didn’t you, then? You saw me stumblin’ along in the dark. Why did -you let me do it, when if you’d said the first word--?” - -“I should have said it some day. I know I should. Some day before it -was too late. Oh, beloved, did you really think I was going to let you -marry--her? Why even _she_ knew better.” - -Conover threw back his head and laughed long and loud. A laugh of -absolute boyish happiness that rang out over the miles of fog like a -challenge to Fate. - -“Oh, Lord!” he gurgled. “Gener’lly it gets me wild to be made a fool -of. But this is the dandiest joke ever. The whole crowd was on, you -say? Ev’rybody but me!” - -He grew grave and drew her to him once more. Not impetuously now, but -with a gentle reverence. - -“Sweetheart,” he said, “I ain’t fit to kiss one of those soaked -little mocc’sins of yours. I never worried much, before, ’bout such -things;--but now--I kind of wish I’d done diff’rent in lots of things; -so’s I could tell you I was reely worth your marryin’. But if you’ll -help me, Dey, I’m goin’ to be everything you’d want. An’ one of these -days I’ll make you proud of me.” - -“I’m prouder of you now, dear,--and I’ve always been prouder--than I -could be of any other man alive,” she insisted. “Oh, the miracle of it!” - -Before he could stay her, or so much as guess her intent, she had -slipped to her knees. Stooping to raise her, he saw her hands were -clasped and her lips moving. Awed, he drew back a pace, and looked -timidly upward into the Star Country. Then, shutting his eyes very -tight he opened communication with Heaven for the first and last time -in his life. - -“Thanks!” he muttered under his breath. - -A pause of mental hiatus,--a helpless groping for words in a wild -universe of incoherent gratitude;--then once more a mumbled, shy -“Thanks!”--and the prayer,--two words in all,--was ended. - -It is possible that longer, more eloquent orisons than his have -penetrated less far beyond the frontier of the stars and less close to -the ear of the Hearer and Answerer. - -Desirée had risen. Simply, half-shyly, like two little children, they -kissed each other. - -“Now you must go to sleep,” he ordered, picking up the mackintosh and -wrapping it closely about her. - -“To sleep!” she echoed. “After _this_? I don’t think I shall ever throw -away happy hours again by sleeping through them. I couldn’t sleep now -to save my life, even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to. Please let -me do the bossing just a _little_ longer, dear heart.” - -He had flung another armful of wood upon the fire. Now, picking Desirée -up as he might have lifted a baby, he returned to the stump seat. -Holding her in his arms, close to his breast, he sat there, and gazed -into the flames. - -Tired, deliriously content, she nestled to him with a sigh of absolute -rapture. There they remained; still; ineffably beatific; at rest; while -the fire snapped merrily and the dog at their feet growlingly pursued -numberless coveys of low-flying partridges through the aisles of -dreamland. Then-- - -“I don’t s’pose I’ll ever reely understand it,” mused Caleb. “Here I’ve -always been thinkin’ I looked on you like you were my daughter an’ that -I was a million years older’n you’d ever get to be. An’ now in just -one second the whole world turns inside out, an’ I land in heaven; I’m -talkin’ ’bout ‘heaven’ to-night like any sky-scout, ain’t I? But it -sort of seems the only word.” - -“It is very near us,” she made reply, softly. “See,” raising herself in -his arms and looking out over the star-gleaming mists below them. “See, -the world is new. The seas have swept over all its old sins and follies -and sordid workaday life. This island stands alone in the universe. -All the rest is engulfed. And you and I are the only people on God’s -new earth. We have risen above the old life of mistakes and blindness. -Here,--alone--in our new marvel world,--forever and ever.” - -Her head sank on his breast. He buried his face in the fragrant wonder -of her hair. And once more they fell silent. - -“There ain’t a thing I won’t do for you, girl,” went on Conover, by and -by. “All by myself I’ve got rich an’ I’ve won ev’ry fight I’ve made. -With you to work for I’ll hammer away at Old Man Dest’ny till I’ve got -the whole State in my vest pocket. Yes, an’ I’ll try for the White -House, too, before I’m done; if you’d like me to. We’re goin’ to build -the biggest, most expensive house, right off, that was ever put up in -Granite. We’ll build it on Pompton Av’noo, right in the thick of the -swells. White marble we’ll make it. An’ you’ll have all the servants -an’ horses an’ joolry an’ everything else you want. There won’t be a -thing money can buy that you can’t have. I’ll fight the whole world -till I’ve piled up such a fortune as’ll make those great big eyes of -yours dazzled. An’ it’ll all be for _you_. All _yours_.” - -“You darling old schoolboy!” she laughed. “Even your daydreams are -studded with dollar signs. What do you suppose I care for such things? -I have _you_, and we’re to be together always and always. What else -could I want? And, dear,” more gravely, “I’d rather we stayed just as -we are and not try for more wealth or more power. I seem to see such -things in a new way to-night. Every dollar you win, every forward step -in fame or fortune that you take, may mean unhappiness for someone who -is less lucky. And, we are so happy, heart of mine, that we can surely -let others be happy, too. Can’t we? Let us be content where we stand. -You are so rich already that everyone envies you. Don’t let’s turn that -envy into hatred by wringing more from people who already have less -than we. It will make me so much comfortabler to feel we are using our -wealth for happiness. Both for our own and for other peoples’. Am I -talking like a goody-goody Sunday School teacher? I don’t mean to. But -I know my way is best.” - -“It’s always best,” he agreed after a moment. “An’ even if it wasn’t, -it’s _your_ way; and so it goes. We’ll do whatever you say. It’ll seem -queer to stop fightin’. But,--it’ll seem nice, too. I never thought -I’d feel that way. But I do now. An’ I always shall, while you’re by -me. You can do anything you want to with me. You always could, an’ you -always can.” - -“Your arms are so big--so strong,” murmured Desirée. “I seem to be in a -fortress where no ill can ever get to me. I’m _home_!” - -He wrapped the coat more closely about her and held her tenderly as a -mother, reverently as a priest might bear the Host. And after a time, -as she lay against his broad breast, the long curling fringe of her -eyelashes began to waver. Sleepily she lifted her face. - -“Kiss me goodnight,” she said, her voice slow with drowsiness. - -The fire died down and the ring of heat-ramparts it had reared against -the autumn cold crumbled away. The sleeping girl rested cozily warm in -Conover’s arms. The man, his back against the tree, sat motionless; -fearing by the slightest move to disturb her sleep. - -He dared not rise to replenish the smouldering fire. He was coatless, -and the growing cold gnawed with increasing keenness through the thin -négligée shirt, into his arms and shoulders. It was the coldest night -he had known since his arrival at the Adirondacks. - -As the last flame died down upon the bed of red-gray coals, Rex woke -with a quiver of chilliness, crept close to the embers and lay down -again. Caleb, first making sure the movement had not disturbed Desirée, -fell to envying the dog. The cold had sank into his very bones. The -impossibility of shifting his stilted position galled him, as the -endless hours crept by. Cramped, half frozen, racked with the agony -of stiffening muscles and of blood that could no longer circulate, he -clenched his teeth over his underlip from sheer pain. The girl, who at -first had lain feather-like in his arms, now seemed heavy enough to -tear loose his throbbing biceps. Nor would he, for all the physical -anguish of his plight, move her body one hair’s breadth. - -And so, like a sleepless Galahad before some old-world forest -shrine,--like Stylites on his pillar,--worshipping yet in infinite -suffering,--he sat the long night through. - -At length his body grew numb, his blood congested. Aching discomfort -and cold had wrought their worst on his frame of iron and had left -it hardily impervious to further ill. His mind, when bodily surcease -came, awoke to new activity. His thoughts, at first disjointed and -wonderingly happy, settled down soon to their wonted sharp clearness. -Then it was he coolly weighed this thing he had done. - -It was like him to array in battle-order all the contrary arguments of -the case; that with the brute force of his domination he might batter -them to pieces. And a long array they were. - -First,--his own social yearnings, his golden dreams of a secure place -within the inner charmed circle of Granite society! The only road of -ingress had been through marriage with a daughter of that circle. -Preferably with Letty Standish. Now all that was out of the question. -Desirée herself was popular. But he knew she could not drag up to -social prominence a man like himself. She had not family nor other -prestige for such a tremendous uplift. Nor, as she herself had said, -did she value such position. - -Had she married Hawarden, Caine or any of a half dozen other eligible -Granite men, Desirée’s own place in society would straightway have -become more than assured. With Conover as a husband, she must take -rank--or lack of rank--with him. Nothing higher could be in store for -her. Forever, Caleb must assail the circle in vain, or else sink back -content with his own lot far outside its radius. - -The very fact that he was married,--and married to an outsider who -would not second his attack,--would render the walls of society -impregnable against him. As a single man,--with money and with the -power to use the money as a battering ram,--he had already knocked -great breaches in the fortifications. Now he could never pass -triumphant through those gaps. - -A life-ambition,--all-compelling even if unworthy of a strong man,--was -wilfully to be foregone. He, who had ever fought with all that was -within him for the gratification of his few desires, must now forever -abandon the earliest and greatest of them all. On the very eve of his -career’s most complete victory he must for all time lay aside the sword. - -Something like a sigh broke from between his blue-cold lips. The sound -made the girl stir ever so slightly in her sleep. Caleb glanced down in -alarm, dreading lest he had broken her slumber. There, against his arm -rested Desirée’s upturned face. The dark silken lashes lay peacefully -above the sleep-flushed cheeks. She was so little, so helpless, so -wonderful, to the eyes bending above her! Inexpressibly precious -to him always; a thousand-fold more so, now, in the hour of his -renunciation of all else for love of her. - -A wave of undreamed-of tenderness swept over Conover; possessing him to -the utter extinction of every other thought or passion; sweeping away -in its headlong rush all vestige of doubts and regrets. In an instant -of blinding soul-light he saw once and for all the futility of what he -had abandoned; the God-given marvel of what he had won in its place. - -The battle was over. Caleb Conover had lost--and won. In his heart he -knew he was no longer the Fighter; no more a seeker for Dead-Sea Fruit. -His battles, social and financial, were at an end. This coming clash at -the Legislature,--this mission on which Desirée was dispatching him, -her true knight, to save the fortunes of others,--should be his last -field. After that, a new, strange peace!--and Desirée! - -Defiantly, Conover glared out into the night, beyond the smoking -remnant of the fire; as though challenging the ghosts of slain -ambitions to rise again before him that he might confound them all by -merely pointing at the girl who slept in his arms. She--the mere sight -of her--should be his reply to their taunts. - -Something in his own look or attitude stirred a latent chord of memory. -He recalled, by an odd turn of thought, a double-page drawing in one of -the English weeklies that he had long ago seen at Desirée’s:-- - -A rocky hillock whereon sat a man clad in skins;--in his arms -an unconscious woman whose long hair streamed over her loose -robe;--confronting the twain a shadowy, armored goddess into whose -commanding eyes the skin-clad man was staring with an awed courage born -of desperation. Beneath the picture were the lines: - -“_So grüsse mir Walhall! Grüsse mir Wotan! Grüsse mir Wälse und alle -Helden! Zu ihnen folg’ ich dir nicht!_” - -Desirée had translated the words for Caleb. She had told him the -pictured man was Siegmund; who, pausing in his flight to a place of -refuge, with the fainting Sieglinde whom he loved, beheld the Valkyr, -Brunhilde, and was told by her that a hero’s death and a hero’s reward -in Valhalla were in store for him. There in the Viking Paradise, waited -the warrior-parent he had lost; there Wotan the All-Father would -welcome him. The Valkyries were preparing his place. The heroes of -olden days would be his boon companions. - -And Siegmund, the Luckless, heard with joy. But one question he asked -the goddess:--Would Sieglinde, his fellow fugitive, join him in that -abode of the blest? Brunhilde scoffingly replied that Valhalla was for -heroes; not for mere women. Then, unflinchingly casting aside his every -hope of Paradise, Siegmund kissed the senseless woman’s brow; and, -again facing the goddess, made answer: - -“Greet for me Valhalla! Greet for me Wotan! Greet for me my father and -all the heroes! To them, I’ll follow thee not! Where Sieglinde bides, -there shall Siegmund stay.” - -Caleb at the time had been but mildly interested in the tale. The fact -that Desirée could translate such queer-looking words was to him the -most noteworthy feature of the whole affair. Now, with a whimsical -comparison to his own case, the incident recurred to him. - -Was he not, like Siegmund, keeping watch and ward in the wilderness -over the unconscious woman of his heart? Was not the Brunhilde of -ambition standing there somewhere in the mystic star-shadows before -him, pointing out all that might be his were he to renounce love? And -was he not making reply as defiantly, if perhaps not in quite such -highflown terms, as had that Dutch chap in the bearskin clothes? - -The idea tickled Conover’s torpid imagination; he dwelt upon it with -some pride at his own powers of analogy. Then he fell to dreaming of -his vast new happiness, of the golden vista that stretched before him -and Desirée. And again a wonder, almost holy, filled his heart. - -The night voices ceased. Brunhilde, piqued at such unwonted obstinacy -from one who had ever heretofore been her slave, had scuttled back to -Valhalla in a fine fit of rage; leaving this latter day Siegmund and -Sieglinde to their own foolish, self-chosen fate. The cold pressed in -more and more cruelly as the night waned. It pierced at times through -Caleb’s numbness. He had great ado to keep his teeth from chattering -so loudly as to wake the exhausted girl on his breast. The stars grew -dim. The dawn-wind breathed across the sky. A paleness crept over the -eastern horizon of the fog-sea. The man’s heavy head nodded;--once--and -again,--then hung still. - - * * * * * - -With a sensation of being stared at, Caleb Conover opened his eyes. The -pale shimmer in the east had given place to gray dawn. The dawn-wind, -too, had waxed stronger; sweeping the fog before it. No longer were -the man and woman on an island; but on a hilltop whence on every side -stretched away leagues of dull green landscape. Only over the pond did -the mist still hover. Directly below, not a quarter mile away, lay the -camp. - -Nor were they alone on their wonder-hill. On the far side of the dead -fire Jack Hawarden stood eyeing them. And his face was as gray and as -lifeless as the strewn ashes at his feet. - -Conover and the lad looked at each other without speaking. Long and -expressionlessly Jack gazed at the waking and the sleeping. Conover -noted that the boy’s eyes were haggard and that the youth and jollity -had been stricken from his face as by a blow. It was Hawarden who spoke -first: - -“No one down there is awake yet,” he said, whispering so low that the -girl’s slumber was not broken. “I woke up and missed you. I came out of -the tent and saw you up here. I didn’t know when you would wake and I -was afraid the others might see. So I came. Don’t let her know.” - -There was a catch in his breath at the last words. He turned abruptly -on his heel and sped down the hillside; his stockinged feet making no -sound on the damp mold. Caleb looked dazedly after his receding figure. - -“He’s white,” muttered Conover. “White, clear through!” - -Desirée moved at sound of his voice, and opened her eyes. For a moment -she gazed up into Caleb’s face with blank amaze. Then she knew. Up went -her arms, like a waking baby’s, and about his neck. As he bent to kiss -her the agony of his stiffened muscles wellnigh made him cry out. - -Flushed, laughing, big-eyed from her long sleep, Desirée sprang to her -feet. Her glance caught the white gleam of the tents below. - -“Oh what luck!” she exclaimed, delightedly. “Not a soul astir! We can -get back without anyone knowing. What time is it? Or has time stopped -being?” - -He rose to feel for his watch;--rose, and toppled clumsily to his -knees. His benumbed body refused to obey the will that was never numb. -But, mumbling something about having tripped over a root, he forced -himself to rise and to put his torturing muscles into motion. - -“You’re cold!” she cried, accusingly. “The fire’s out and--” - -“Not a bit of it,” he denied, compelling his teeth not to chatter. “I’m -as warm as toast. Never felt spryer in my life. Say, girl,” he went on, -to turn the subject from his own acute ills, “you’ve had your wish, -all right. You said you wanted to give the slip to a Simon Legree chap -named Conventionality. An’ I guess we done it.” - -His arm about her, her hands clasped over one of his aching shoulders, -they made their way down the hillside to the silent camp in the -waterside dusk below. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -CALEB CONOVER RECEIVES NEWS - - -The night train “out,” full of brown and disgruntled returning -vacationists, drew away from Raquette Lake Station. Caleb, in the -smoking room, his hat pulled over his eyes, his eternal cigar -unlighted, sat with shut lids, trying to summon up the memory of -Desirée’s big brave eyes as she had bidden him goodbye on the dock. -Instead, he could only recall the sweatered, cloaked crowd at the -Antlers pier, waiting in the lantern-light to say goodbye to the -launchful of departing guests; the two or three cards that had been -thrust into his hand,--and of whose purport he had not the remotest -idea; the screech of the launch-whistle, and the churning out of the -boat into the dark; dragging Caleb away from the happiest hours of all -his life. - -A man he had met at the Antlers entered the smoking room and tried to -talk to him. Conover’s answers were so vague and disjointed that the -other soon gave over the attempt. A fellow railroad-magnate from a camp -near the lake glanced in at the door and nodded affably to the rising -power in the provincial railroad world. Conover did not so much as see -the greeting. He was trying once more, with shut eyes, to conjure up -Desirée’s face. - -He stopped over a train, in New York, next morning; took a cab to -the store of a famous Fifth Avenue jeweler and demanded to see an -assortment of engagement rings. The clerk laid on a velvet cushion half -a dozen diamond solitaires averaging in size from one to two karats and -variously set. Caleb waved the collection aside, after a single glance. - -“I want the biggest, best diamond ring you got in the place,” he -demanded. - -A second, far more garish array was produced. Caleb chose from it a -diamond of the size of his thumb-nail, looked it over critically and -said: - -“This’ll do, I guess. Biggest you’ve got? How much?” - -At the astounding price named he merely smiled, and drew out his check -book. - -“That ought to tickle her fancy,” he mused. “Ain’t a di’mond in Granite -as big.” - -“What size, sir?” asked the clerk. - -“Why, _that’s_ the one I’m takin’. That size,” replied Conover, -perplexed. - -The clerk explained. - -“Oh, I see,” stammered Caleb. “I--I didn’t think to ask her. I didn’t -even know fingers went by sizes. But--her hand’s a lot smaller’n mine, -if that’ll help you any.” - -The clerk looked away at some point of interest that had suddenly -sprung into his vision at a remote part of the store. Caleb picked -up the huge diamond and began to fit the ring on his own fingers. His -little finger alone would permit the circlet to slip down as far as the -first bulging knuckle-joint. - -“It won’t even go on my little finger,” he observed. “I guess that’ll -be just ’bout the right size for her.” - -“If I might suggest,” offered the clerk, “why don’t you leave the ring -with me until you can find out the size of the lady’s finger? Then -notify us and we will have it adjusted at once and forwarded to you.” - -This in no way suited Caleb’s ideas. He had planned to put the ring -on Desirée’s hand, the evening of her return to Granite, three weeks -hence. He wanted to witness her delight and surprise. It would offset -the incident of the American Beauties. Neither of them had said a word -during that last, all-too-short day, about an engagement ring. He hoped -she would think he did not know enough to get her one. The girl’s -amazement and joy would be so much the greater. Whereas, if he asked -her beforehand about the size-- - -“That’s all right,” he decided. “I’ll take it with me. If it don’t fit -she can send it back. But I guess it will.” - - * * * * * - -It was the eve of the Legislature’s special session. Conover had moved, -three days earlier, to the Capital and was massing his legislative -cohorts for the charge which was forever to annihilate the revised -Starke bill. - -The price of Steeloids had slumped ever so little in view of the coming -test. Caleb welcomed the slight drop; assuring Caine, Standish and -the rest that it but preluded an unheard of “boom” in the stock the -moment the result of the Assembly vote became known on ’Change. As to -that result he had not an atom of doubt. He knew his strength to the -minutest degree. Blacarda had made inroads upon his ranks, it was true; -but the breaches were unimportant. And Caleb’s presence in the lobby -on the day of the vote, together with certain highly effective secret -manœuvres which were to be put into operation that day, would far more -than offset them. Compared to the victorious struggle of six months -earlier, he prophesied, this second affair would be no contest, but a -rout. - -The time was long since past when any of Caleb’s financial -beneficiaries could receive the lightest of their leader’s forecasts -with doubt. Hence the Steeloid ring rejoiced mightily; and plunged so -heavily in the stock that the price took a swift preliminary climb even -before its promised rise was due. - -Caine, and more than one other of Conover’s business associates -wondered at the subtle change that two weeks of absence had wrought in -their champion. He was as shrewd, as daring, as resourceful as ever. -Yet there was a difference. Caine voiced the general opinion when he -said to Standish, the day the Assembly opened:-- - -“If I believed in miracles I should fancy a stray grain of humanity -had somehow found its way into the man’s brain.” - -The first day’s session of the Assembly was given over to the usual -formalities. On the morning of the second, so Conover’s agent in the -enemy’s camp reported that night, Blacarda intended to put forward his -bill. Caleb was well prepared for the issue. One thing only puzzled -him. Knowing Blacarda as he did, he could not understand why the man -had tried no subterfuge this time, to draw his arch-opponent away from -the scene of action. That such a trick could be attempted without -Conover’s learning of it seemed impossible. Yet no tidings of the sort -had reached him. And it was not like Blacarda to go into battle against -a stronger foe without trying to weaken the odds against himself. - -These things Caleb was pondering in his hotel room, early on the -evening before the Starke bill was to be presented. He was dressing to -go with Caine to a conference of political and business associates, to -be held a mile or so distant. And, as he made ready to start out, the -answer to his conjecture was received. - -It came in the form of a telegram: - - “_Train derailed near Magdeburg. Miss Shevlin badly injured. At - Magdeburg hotel. Wire instructions and come by next train. Dangerous._ - - “_J. Hawarden, Jr._” - -For the briefest of intervals Conover’s blood settled down stiflingly -upon his heart. Then he laughed in grim relief. - -“I thought Friend Blacarda was too sharp to try the same trick twice -on me,” he growled, handing the dispatch to Caine, “an’ I thought he’d -be afraid to. Seems I was wrong. He knew Dey was at the Antlers with -the Hawardens, of course. But he might a’ took the pains to find out -she wasn’t goin’ to leave there for a fortnight. I had a letter from -her, there, to-day. An’ any railroad man could a’ told him,” he went on -contemptuously, “that no train either from Noo York or the Ad’rondacks -passes through Magdeburg. But most likely he chose that because it’s -an out-of-the-way hole that takes f’ever to get to. Why couldn’t he a’ -flattered my intelligence by a fake that had a little cleverness in -it? Come on. We’ll be late to that meetin’. I’ll settle once more with -Blacarda, afterward. An’ this time he won’t forget so soon.” - -“I doubt if Blacarda had any hand in it,” said Caine, as they left the -hotel. “There are only two general divisions of the _genus_ ‘Fool.’ And -Blacarda belongs to the species that doesn’t put his fingers in the -same flame a second time.” - -“You don’t mean you think there’s a ghost of a chance the tel’gram’s -the reel thing? If I--” - -“No, no,” soothed Caine. “As you’ve shown, it’s a palpable fraud. -But there are others beside Blacarda who want the Starke bill to go -through. The story of his ruse last spring has gone abroad in spite of -Blacarda’s attempt to strangle it. And someone, remembering how well -the trick worked then, has tried its effect a second time.” - -“I’ll put some of my men on the track of it to-morrow,” answered Caleb. -“By the time they’re through, I guess there won’t be many crooks left -in the State who’ll dare to use Dey Shevlin’s name in their fake -mess’ges. Maybe you’re right ’bout its not bein’ Blacarda himself. I’m -kind of glad, too. He’ll get enough gruellin’ to-morrow without any -extrys thrown in.” - -“Poor old Blacarda! I’m afraid you’ll take away his perpetual grievance -against you and leave him nothing but grief.” - -“Grievance!” scoffed Conover. “He’s got no grievance. All’s he’s got -is a grouch. There’s all the diff’rence in the world between the two. -A white man with sense may have a grievance. But only a sorehead an’ -a fool will let their grievance sour into a grouch. Blacarda’s grouch -against me is doin’ him more harm than all my moves could. He hates -me. That’s where he makes his mistake. Hate’s the heaviest handicap a -feller can carry into a fight. If you’ve got a grievance against a man -or want to get the best of him, don’t ever spoil your chances by hatin’ -him. It won’t do him any hurt, an’ it’ll play the dickens with your own -brain an’ nerves.” - -“I suppose,” queried Caine ironically, “there was no hatred in your -attack on Blacarda in his hotel room last spring? Pure, high-souled -justice?” - -“No,” grumbled Caleb. “It was hate. An’ I got it out of my system the -quickest, easiest way I could. If I’d bottled all that up an’ let it -ferment till now, I’d be layin’ awake nights, losing sleep an’ health -an’ nerve while I figgered out how cute he’d look with his throat cut -from ear to ear. As it is, I’ve no more hard feelin’ about crushin’ -Blacarda than I’d have if he was a perfec’ stranger. Yes, son, hate -harms the hater a lot more’n it harms the hatee. You can bank on that.” - -“I wonder if young Hawarden will agree with your peaceful doctrine,” -hazarded Caine, “when he hears how some financial heeler has taken his -name in vain in that telegram?” - -“He’ll most likely hunt the feller up an’ lick him,” responded Conover. -“He’s all right, that boy is. I’ve took a shine to him. Pity he ain’t -got some commonsense ambition instead of hankerin’ after litterchoor. -Kind of petty trade for a grown man, ain’t it?” - -“No,” dissented Caine. “I should call slow starvation one of the big -things of life. There’s nothing petty about it that I can see.” - -“That’s the answer, hey? He told me ’bout a feller he’d met once at the -Antlers who made twenty thousan’ a year just by writin’ novels ’bout -s’ciety. Now, Hawarden knows all ’bout the s’ciety game. I sh’d think -he’d write such stories fine.” - -“The stories of Jack’s that I’ve read,” answered Caine, “all centre -around labor problems and other things the boy knows as little about as -if he had taken a postgraduate course in ignorance. He couldn’t write -a society story if he tried.” - -“Why not? I sh’d think--” - -“Because he’s been born and brought up in that atmosphere. A society -man could no more write about society than he could write a love sonnet -to his own sister.” - -“But that kind of stories get written,” faltered Caleb, grubbing vainly -for a possible jest in his friend’s puzzling dictum. “_Somebody_ must -write ’em.” - -“On the contrary,” denied Caine. “Nobodies write them. For instance, -there is a man who was born in South Brooklyn or somewhere; and spent -a year or two in Europe. So much for his environment. He used to -write charming stories. They were fairly vibrant with satire, humor, -color and a ceaseless rush of action. His nature-descriptions were -revelations in word-painting. I always read every line he wrote. So did -some other people. But only _some_. Then he moved to a little village, -away from the centre of things, and forthwith began to write novels of -New York Society. - -“It was very easy. The Sunday papers cost him no more than they cost -anyone else. He fell to describing the innermost life of New York’s -innermost smart set. He scorned to depict a single character that -wasn’t worth at least a million. Silver, cut glass and diamonds strewed -his pages; till one longed for brown bread and pie. He flashed the -fierce white light of unbiased ignorance into the darkest corners of a -society that never was by sea or land. And what was the result? In a -day he leaped to immortality. The shop-girl read him so eagerly that -she rode past her station. The youth behind the counter learned to -rattle off the list of his books as easily as the percentages of the -base ball-clubs. In the walks of life that he so vividly portrayed, -such people as read at all made amused comments that could never by any -possibility reach his ears. We others who had reveled in his earlier -books felt as we might if an adored brother has left the diplomatic -service to become a bartender. But we were in the minority. So we -re-read Browning’s ‘Lost Leader,’ dropped the subject and sought in -vain for a new idol.” - -“I s’pose so,” agreed Caleb, hazily, recalling his wandered attention -as Caine paused. “I wish I hadn’t got that tel’gram.” - - * * * * * - -It was after midnight when Caleb Conover returned to his room. Three -more telegrams awaited him, as well as a penciled request that he -call up Magdeburg Hotel on the long-distance telephone. While he was -profanely waiting for the operator to establish the connection, Caleb -ripped open the telegrams one after the other. All were from Jack. Each -bore the same burden as the message that had come early in the evening. -The last of the trio added: - -“Long-distance ’phone wires here temporarily out of order. Will call -you as soon as they are repaired; on chance your train may not yet have -gone.” - -“Here’s your party, sir,” reported the operator. - -Curiously sick and dazed, even while his colder reason assured him the -whole affair was probably a fraud, Conover caught up the receiver. - -“That Magdeburg?” he shouted, “Magdeburg _Ho_tel? This is Conover. -Caleb Conover. Lady named Shevlin there? Is she hurt?” - -“Yes,” came the answer, droned with maddening indistinctness through -a babel of buzzing sounds. “Lady’s hurt pretty bad. If she ain’t dead -already. I just come on duty five minutes ago. So I don’t--Wait a -second. Gentleman wants to speak to you.” - -Then, through the buzz and whirr, spoke another voice. Unmistakably -Jack Hawarden’s. - -“Mr. Conover?” it called. - -“Yes!” yelled Caleb, driving the words by sheer force through the -horror that sanded his throat, “Go ahead!” - -“You haven’t even started?” cried the boy, a break in his voice. “For -God’s sake, come! Come _now_!” - -As no reply could be heard, Jack’s tones droned on; their despair -twisted by distance into a grotesque, semi-audible squeak: - -“She may not live through the night, the doctor says. You see,” he -rambled along, incoherently talkative in his panic, “we were called -away from the Antlers, suddenly, by a letter telling my mother her -sister in Hampden was ill. So we all left, two weeks earlier than we -had meant. When we got to Hampden my mother stayed there and I started -back to Granite with Miss Shevlin. We took the branch road; and just -outside of Magdeburg--” - -“Party’s rung off long ago,” put in the operator. - -Caleb, at Jack’s second sentence, had dropped the receiver, bolted from -the hotel and hailed a night-hawk hansom. Already he was galloping -through the empty streets toward the station; scribbling with unsteady -hand on envelope-backs a series of orders and dispatches that should -assure him a clear track and a record-breaking journey from the Capital -to Magdeburg. This detail arranged, his brain ceased to act. Sense of -time was wiped out. So, mercifully, was realization of pain. In the -cab of the road’s fastest engine he crouched through the long hours -of darkness; while the wheels jolted out an irritating, meaningless -sing-song refrain that ran: - -“_Haven’t--you--started?--For--God’s--sake,--come!_” - - * * * * * - -To still the hateful iteration and to rouse himself to some semblance -of calm, Caleb pulled from his side pocket a bunch of letters brought -on from his office at Granite that same afternoon, by his secretary. -He had been busy when the package arrived and had thrust it into his -coat. Now he drew it forth and mechanically began to glance over the -envelopes. - -It was personal mail and had been accumulating for days. Desirée always -addressed her letters to his hotel at the Capital; and his secretary -attended to official mail. So Caleb had not ordered the forwarding of -such personal letters as might come to the office. In fact he had been -mildly annoyed at the secretary’s well meant act in bringing them to -him. - -Through the small sheaf of envelopes his thick fingers wandered. -Suddenly, the man’s lack-lustre look brightened to one of astonishment. -Midway in the package was an envelope in Desirée Shevlin’s hand. -Letting the rest of the letters slide to the swaying floor the Fighter -nervously caught this up. Why had she written to the office instead of -to his hotel? Probably, he thought, by mere mistake. A mistake that -meant a few moments of surcease now from his nightmare journey. - -With ice-damp fingers Conover held the letter; tore it open as though -the ripping of the paper caused him physical pain; smoothed wide the -pages with awkward, awed gentleness, and read: - - “Heart’s Dearest:--Just as soon as you’ve read this, you can come - straight to see me. Honestly! For I’ll be at home. Mrs. Hawarden’s - sister is ill. We only heard of it by this noon’s mail and we are - leaving by the night train. At first I wanted to telegraph you at - the Capital. But if I do I’m so afraid you will drop everything and - come to meet me. And you _mustn’t_. You must stay at the Capital - till you win your fight there for all the men who have put money in - Steeloid. We are so happy we can’t afford to do anything now to make - other people blue. Can we? So stay and win for them. That’s why I’m - sending this to your office. - - “You have just come back to Granite all tired from your work. Then - you saw my letter and opened it and--I’m _afraid_ you’re on your way - to my house before you’ve gotten this far. - - “Oh, dear! This is the last of my little batch of Adirondack love - letters. And I believe you’re rushing off to see me instead of - reading it. And it isn’t a love letter after all. For it’s going - to be only a note. I’ve all my packing to do and the ‘white-horse - chariot’ comes for our trunks at six. It has been a beautiful - vacation. Two weeks of it was heaven. And the memory of that last - golden day of ours makes something queer come into my throat. - - “But I’m oh so glad,--so _glad_--we are coming away. Every minute - brings me nearer to Granite. You won’t be there when I arrive; but - I’ll be where you have lived. And I’ll be waiting for you every - minute till you come back. Just thinking about you and loving you, - heart of my heart. - - “I’m glad, too, that we are leaving the Antlers before everyone - else does. It is sad, somehow, to watch the boat-loads go off into - the dark and to be part of the dwindling group that is left. It is - pleasantest to go away from a place,--yes, and from the world, too, - I should think,--while everything is at its height; before friends - thin out and the jolly crowd falls away and the happy, happy times - begin to end. To leave everything in the flood-tide of the fun and - to remember it as it was at its best; to be remembered as a little - part of the happiness of it all. Not as one of the few last ones left - behind. - - “What a silly way to write! This isn’t a love letter at all. I told - you it wasn’t. But I had a _horrid_ dream last night and it has given - me the shivers all day. I think some of its hagorousness has crept - into my pen. No, I won’t write it. I’ll tell you all about it when I - see you. And then you can put your darling strong arms around me and - laugh at me for letting myself get frightened by a silly dream. I - wish this was a love letter. I never wrote one till this past week. - So I don’t know how to say what I want to; to say all the wonderful - things that are in my heart. But I _love_ you, my own. And the whole - world centres just around _you_. It always has. But now that you - _know_ it does, I feel so happy it frightens me. We’re going to be - together forever and ever and ever--and ever,--and _then_ some more. - _Aren’t_ we? _Say_ so! - - “Say so, beloved, and hold me very tight in your arms, very near to - your heart when you say it. For to-day I’m foolish enough to want to - be comforted a little bit. I wish I hadn’t had that dream. It was all - nonsense, _wasn’t_ it? Dreams _never_ come true. So I won’t worry one - minute longer. Only,--I wish I was with you, my strong, splendid old - sweetheart. The only dream that can possibly come to pass is the - glorious one we dreamed that night up on the mountain with the sea of - mist all around us and God’s stars overhead. And we will never wake - from it. - - “The gentle, friendly northland summer is over now and the frost lies - thick nearly every morning. It is time to go. - - “Oh, my darling, I am coming home to you. _Home!_ We must never be - away from each other again. Not for a single day;--so long as we - live.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -“THE STRONG ARM OF CHRIST” - - -The sky was gray with morning as Conover stumbled into a sitting room -of the little Magdeburg Hotel. Two men turned toward him. One of them, -his arm in a sling--a great plaster patch on his forehead and dried -blood caking his face,--hurried forward. Caleb looked twice before he -recognized Jack Hawarden. - -“Thank Heaven you’re here!” exclaimed the lad. “She--” - -“She’s alive yet?” croaked the Fighter. - -“Yes, yes! In there,” pointing to a closed door. “Wait!” as Caleb -reached the door at a bound. “Dr. Bond is dressing some of her hurts -again. He’ll be through in a minute. Then I’ll take you in. Mr. -Conover, this is the Reverend Mr. Grant. He has been very, very kind. -He helped us lift the wreckage from her, and--” - -“Is she goin’ to get well?” demanded Caleb, wheeling about on the -clergyman. - -“All is being done that mortal skill can do,” answered Mr. Grant with -gentle evasion, “The local physician--” - -“‘Local physician?’” mocked Caleb. “Here, Hawarden! Sit down there an’ -tel’graph to Dr. Hawes an’ Dr. Clay at Granite. Tell ’em to come here -in a rush an’ bring along the best nurses they can find. Tel’graph my -office in my name to give ’em a Special an’ to clear the tracks for -’em. Tel’graph to Noo York, too, for the best specialists they’ve got. -An--” - -“I’m afraid, sir” interposed the clergyman, “there is no use in sending -to New York. No doctor there could reach Magdeburg--in time.” - -“You do’s I say!” Caleb ordered the lad. Then turning fiercely on Mr. -Grant he demanded: - -“What d’you mean by sayin’ he won’t get here on time? She’s goin’ to -get well, if a couple of million dollars worth of med’cal ’tention can -cure her. If not--” - -“If not, sir,” said the clergyman, speaking tenderly as a father, “we -must bear God’s will. For such as she there is no fear. She has the -white soul of a child. She will go out of this lesser life of ours -borne on the strong arm of Christ. She--” - -“No ‘fear’ for her?” yelled Conover, catching but a single phrase in -the other’s attempt at comfort, “Who the hell is fearin’ for _her_? -That girl’s fit to look on God’s own face an’ live. It’s for _me_ that -I’m afraid. For _me_ that I’m afraid. For _me_ that she’d leave to live -on without her through all the damned dreariness of the years. What’d -there be in it for _me_ to know she was in heaven? I want _her_. I want -her _here_. With _me_! An’ she’d rather be with me. I know she would. -I’d make her happier’n all the angels that ever--” - -“You don’t mean to blaspheme,” said the clergyman, “You are not -yourself. She is brave. She knows no dread. Can’t you be as brave -as she is,--for _her_ sake? She is learning that Death is no longer -terrible when one is close enough to see the kind eyes behind the mask. -I know how black an hour this is for you. But God will help you if only -you will carry your grief to Him. When man can endure no more, He sends -Peace. If--” - -The door of the inner room opened, and a bearded man emerged. He paused -on the threshold at sight of Caleb. The Fighter thrust him bodily -aside, without ceremony; entered the room the doctor had just quitted -and closed the door behind him. - -The light burned low. In the centre of the big white bed,--a -pathetically tiny figure,--lay Desirée. Her wonderful hair flowed loose -over the pillow. The little face, white, pain-drawn, yet smiling joyous -welcome from its great eyes, turned eagerly toward her lover. With an -effort whose anguish left her lips gray she stretched forth her arms to -him. - -An inarticulate, sobbing cry that rent his whole body burst from the -Fighter. The dear arms closed above his heaving shoulders and his head -lay once more on the girl’s breast. Through the hell of his agony stole -for the moment that old, weirdly sweet sense of being at last safe from -all the noise and battle of the world;--at _home_. And, as a mother -might hush a frightened child, the stricken girl soothed and comforted -him; whispering secret love-words of their own; lulling to rest the -horror that was consuming him. - - * * * * * - -And after a time the shock passed, bringing the man’s inborn optimism -back with a rush. This girl who spoke so bravely, who even laughed -a little in her eagerness to comfort him,--she _could_ not be at -death’s door. This local pill-mixer who had pulled so long a face,--he -and the parson chap whose business it was to speed earth’s parting -guests,--between them they had cooked up a fine alarm. They had scared -him,--they and that fool boy who knew nothing about accidents and whose -own minor injuries no doubt made him think Desirée must be incurably -hurt. - -Caleb had seen many men who had been injured in railroad smashups. -They had writhed clumsily, emitting raucous screams ’way down in their -throats;--or had lain senseless in queer-shaped heaps, from the first. -Not one of them had been coherent, calm,--yes, even cheerful,--like -this worshipped little sweetheart of his. The first shock was bringing -its normal reaction to the Fighter’s brain and nerves. As ever, it was -imparting to them a redoubled power to cast off depression. - -He raised his head; and, by the dim light, studied Desirée’s face. The -brave, beautiful eyes met his with a message of deathless love. The -tortured lips were parted in a smile. - -All at once he knew he was right. She would get well. The enginery that -had made his fortune would not crush out her life. The railroad that -had brought him wealth was not to bring him desolation as well. The -foreknowledge set his blood to tingling. - -“Are you sufferin’ so very much, girl?” he asked. - -And she, reading his thoughts as she had always done, smiled again as -she answered: - -“Not very much, dear heart. Hardly at all, now that you’re here. Oh, -it’s _good_ to have you with me again! I was afraid you mightn’t--” - -She stopped. He thought he knew why, and made answer: - -“Thought I mightn’t come, hey? Why, girl, if you had a smashed finger -an’ sent for me to come clear across the world to kiss it an’ make it -well, I’d come. An’ you know I would. An’ you’re really better since I -got here?” - -“Much, much better.” - -“I knew it!” he declared, in triumph. “I knew you’d come ’round all -right. I had a hunch you would. An’ my hunches don’t ever go wrong. -I’ve sent for the best doctors in America. If there’s better doctors in -Yurrup I’ll send for those, too. An’, among ’em they’ll have you fit -as a fiddle in no time. You’ll get well, for _me_, darling. You’ll get -well! You’ll get _well_!” - -He struck his hand on the bedpost to drive home the prophecy. - -“Yes, dear,” she whispered, faint with a new spasm of pain as the jar -of his hand’s impact shook the bed. - -“Oh!” he laughed, nervously, “I was so scared, girl. So scared! It -seemed like the world was tumblin’ about my ears. If I’d come here an’ -found--” - -He could not go on. - -“I know, dear, I know!” she told him, stroking his bristled red hair -as she spoke, “It would be terribly lonely for you if--if anything -happened to me. You are so strong in some ways. Yet in others you are a -child. No one understands you except me. No one else can break through -the rough outer-world shell to the big gentle boy that hides inside -it. If I were not here with you, no one would ever look for that boy. -No one would even suspect he was there. And by and by he would die for -lack of companionship. The hard rough armor would go on through life. -But the soul,--the boy I love,--would be dead. Oh, you need me, dear! -You _need_ me! The poor helpless friendly little boy behind the brutal -shell,--the real _you_,--needs me. He can’t live without me. No one -else will love him, or even know he is in his hiding place waiting and -longing to be made friends with, _I can’t let you go_!” - -The soft voice broke, despite the gallant spirit’s commands. And the -tone went through Conover like white-hot steel. - -“Don’t talk so, Dey!” he implored, “Don’t speak like you weren’t goin’ -to get well. You _are_, I tell you!” - -“Yes, dear,” she assented once more, petting the big awkward hand that -clung to her. - -“Of course you are,” he protested valiantly, “It’s crazy of me to a’ -thought anything else. An’ I didn’t, really. You’ll be as well as ever -you was, in a week or less. I’m havin’ nurses tel’graphed for, too. The -best there are. An’,” a veritable inspiration crossing the brain he was -racking for further words of encouragement, “An’ I’ve got a present for -you. A dandy one. Guess what it is.” - -“Flowers?” she asked, forcing an interest into her query. - -“Flowers!” he echoed in fine scorn, “Somethin’ nicer’n all the flowers -that ever happened! See!” - -He fished from his waistcoat pocket a little box wrapped with tissue -paper that was none the cleaner for a week’s companionship with -tobacco-dust and lead pencils. - -“Oh, let me open it!” she commanded, with a vestige of her old sweet -imperiousness. “That’s the best part of a present.” - -She undid the grimy paper, opened the box and gazed in childish delight -at the gorgeous diamond in its platinum setting. - -“I knew you’d like it,” he chuckled, “Han’somest ring in New York. From -the best store there, too. See the name on the box-cover. How’s _that_ -for an engagement ring?” - -“It’s beautiful! Beautiful!” she murmured. - -She slipped it on her third finger, whence it hung heavy and -ridiculously loose. - -“Maybe it’s a little too large,” he confessed, “But we’ll have that -fixed easily enough. I didn’t want to ask your size beforehand for fear -you might suspect somethin’. So I had to guess at it.” - -She praised the diamond’s beauties until even Conover was content. Then -she lay back among the pillows and fought movelessly for endurance. Her -waning strength, keyed up to its highest pitch for Caleb’s sake, was -deserting her. To hide her weakness she began playing with the ring; -slipping it from finger to finger until at length the circlet hung -loose from her thumb. Caleb watched her slender hand toying with the -gift. - -“It’ll be a mighty short time, now,” said he, “before we fit on a plain -gold ring above that! Hey?” - -At his words the girl, to his dismay, broke into a passion of tears. - -“There! _There!_” he consoled, passing his arms about the frail -tormented body, “Why, what is it, sweetheart? Too much excitement after -your accident? I ought to a’ had better sense than to keep you talkin’ -like this. Try an’ get some sleep. An’ when you wake up you’ll feel -better. Lots better. Don’t cry! It breaks me all up to have you do it. -_Don’t_, precious!” - -“I--I love you so,” panted the girl, “There’s just you in all the -world, Caleb! You’ll stay close by me _always_, won’t you? Just as long -as I live?” - -“You bet I will!” he declared, “An’ I’ll never let you out of my sight. -I ain’t more’n half myself when you’re away. I need you worse’n you can -ever need me, Dey. You’re just the heart of me.” - -“Don’t take your arms away,” she begged, “They are so strong, so -safe. Listen, dear:--I want you to pick me up,--I’m not too heavy, am -I?--Pick me up and carry me. I want to be close to you,--closer than I -ever was before. You are so big,--so powerful. And--I feel so weak. I’m -a little restless; that’s all,” she added hastily, “And it will quiet -me to be held.” - -He gathered her gently to his breast. Her arms clasped his neck; her -face was buried in his shoulder to stifle the cry of agony evoked by -the movement of lifting. Then, carrying her closely to his heart, -Conover began to pace the room, bearing the girl as easily and as -lightly as though she were a baby. - -The tenderness of his caress now held no roughness. The motion and the -reliance on his perfect strength quieted her suffering and gave her the -sense of utter peace she had known when she fell asleep in his arms on -the Adirondack hilltop. - -“I am _very_ happy!” she sighed, “Do I tire you?” - -“Not much you don’t, you little bit of a girl!” he laughed, “I could -carry you always. An’ I’m goin’ to. Right close in my heart. Say, -there was a man out in the other room when I came. A minister. He said -a queer thing. Somethin’ ’bout bein’ carried on the ‘strong arm of -Christ.’” - -“I think I know what he meant,” said Desirée, softly. - -“H’m! Sometime when you’re better I’ll get you to explain it to me. I’d -rather talk ’bout you, just now. D’you remember that time I sat by the -fire an’ held you like this while you went to sleep?” - -“Do I _remember_?” she answered, “There has never been one hour I’ve -forgotten it. It made me feel so safe from harm; so sure, so happy. -Perhaps,--yes, I’m _sure_--that’s the way one must feel when--” - -“Are you thinkin’ ’bout what that preacher said?” asked Caleb, -miserably, “Don’t, girl! It’ll be years and years before you ever need -to think ’bout those things. A month from now we’ll both laugh over the -scare I had.... Your eyes get wonderfuller all the time, Dey. I never -knew quite how lovely they were till now. There’s a light in ’em like -they was lookin’ at somethin’ a common chap like me couldn’t see.” - -She drew his head down and their lips met in a long kiss. As he raised -his face he half-fancied she whispered some word; but he could not -catch its purport. - -He resumed his pacing to and fro. After a time Desirée’s lashes -drooped. Her quick breathing grew slow and regular. - -“I didn’t think--anyone could--be so--happy,” she murmured, drowsily. -“It’s sweet to--to rest--in your arms.” - -He bent to kiss her on the forehead. The brow that had been so hot to -his first touch was cool and moist. - -“You’re better already!” he cried in delight. “Say, sweetheart, I got -an idea. To-morrow let’s get that preacher chap to marry us. Shan’t -we? Then as soon as you get well enough, we’ll go somewhere for the -dandiest weddin’ trip on record. To Yurrup, if you like. Or back to the -Antlers. Or anywhere you say. An’ I’ll buy you the prettiest clo’es in -all Noo York; an’ you can get a whole cartload of joolry, if you like. -I’d pay ev’ry cent I got in the world to keep that wonderful, happy -light in those big eyes of yours. Will you marry me to-morrow, girl?” - -Desirée did not answer. She was asleep. On tiptoe, Caleb crossed to the -bed. He laid her down upon it, smoothing the hot tumbled pillows with -his unaccustomed hand. Then he tiptoed with ponderous softness out of -the room and closed the door silently behind him. - -“Well!” he exclaimed gleefully, addressing Jack and the doctor who were -consulting at the far end of the next room. “Guess I had my fright for -nothin’! She’ll get on fine. She’s sound asleep, an’ her forehead’s--” - -“It is the morphia I gave her to deaden the pain,” said the doctor. -“If she had not been suffering so terribly it would have taken effect -before.” - -“Morphia? Sufferin’?” repeated Caleb. “Why, she’s hardly sufferin’ at -all. Told me so, herself. Look here!” he went on, bullyingly, as he -advanced on the physician, “D’ye mean to say there’s a chance she -_won’t_ get well?” - -“There is no earthly power,” retorted the doctor, nettled at the -domineering tone, “that can keep her alive ten hours longer.” - -“You lie! Don’t I know--?” - -“I cannot thrash you in the anteroom of death,” answered the doctor, -“and I take your sorrow into consideration. But what I just said is -true. Miss Shevlin has sustained internal injuries which cannot but -prove fatal. Nothing but her yearning to see you again has kept her -alive as long as this. It is best to be frank.” - -Caleb was eyeing him stupidly. At last he turned to Jack. - -“Did you send those tel’grams?” he asked; and his voice was dead. - -“Yes, sir,” replied Hawarden. “I sent them, but--” - -“But I told him it was useless,” put in the doctor. “There is not -a fighting chance. She will not come out of this morphia stupor. -The moisture on her forehead is what you laymen would call the -‘death-sweat.’ She--” - -“You lie!” broke forth Caleb, beside himself. “You may fool women and -children by your damn profess’nal airs, but it don’t go down with -_me_. I’ve seen folks die. An’ they ain’t sane an’ cheerful an’ bright -like Dey Shevlin was just now. You quacks make a livin’ by throwin’ -med’cines you don’t half understand into systems you don’t understand -at all. As long’ it’s a triflin’ case of mumps or headache, you look -all-fired wise an’ write out p’scriptions in a furren language to hide -your ignor’nce. But when anything’s reely the matter you’re as helpless -as a drunken longshoreman. If the patient dies from your blunders an’ -from the dope you throw hap-hazard into him, he ‘hadn’t a chance from -the start.’ If he gets well in spite of you, it’s your almighty skill -that ‘pulled him through.’ When a feller gets colic an’ you call it -appendicitis, what do you do? You don’t rest till you get a chance -to stick your knives into him. If he gets well, it’s a ‘mir’cle of -modern surgery.’ If he croaks, the ‘op’ration was a success,’--only -the patient got peevish an’ died. There never yet was an appendicitis -case where the quack in charge didn’t say there’ a been ‘no hope if the -op’ration had been delayed another two hours.’ Oh, you’re a fine lot of -fakers an’ gold-brick con men, you doctors! An’ now you say my little -girl’s dyin’! God damn your soul, I tell you again you _lie_!” - -The doctor picked up his black bag without replying and moved toward -the outer door. - -“Where you goin’?” demanded Caleb. - -“I’m going home,” was the stiff retort. “I drop this case. I do not -care to be associated longer with a wild beast like--” - -The words were choked in his mouth. At a spring, Conover had cleared -the space between them, had caught the physician by the throat and -was shaking him back and forth with jerks that threatened to snap -the victim’s spine. Then he hurled him to the centre of the room and -towered over him, ablaze with fury. - -“Yes, I’m a wild beast, all right!” he snarled. “An’ I’m li’ble to -become a hom’cidal one at that. ‘Drop the case,’ would you? Sneak out -an’ leave that poor kid in there to lose what chance she might have -from your help? Well, Mr. Doctor, if you take one step out into that -hall, the next step you take’ll be in hell. What’s more, you’ll go back -to that sick room, right now; an’ you’ll work over Miss Shevlin like -you never worked before. If I catch you neglectin’ her or tryin’ to get -away,--by the Eternal, I’ll tear you in half with my bare hands! Now -_go_! Go in there!” - -The doctor, his rage tempered by the memory of the iron fingers on -his windpipe, glared at the madman in angry irresolution. Caleb’s -muscles tightened ominously. The physician recoiled a step in most -unprofessional haste. - -“You are a dangerous maniac!” he said somewhat unsteadily, “and you -shall go to prison for this outrageous assault. For the present, I -shall remain on the case. Not because of your threats, but from common -humanity toward--” - -“Toward yourself,” finished Caleb, satisfied that he had won his point. -“An’ just to make sure, I’ll lock the outer door of this suite an’ -pocket the key. Now go back to your patient!” - - * * * * * - -Outside, there was glaring, heartless sunshine. In the sick room stood -Caleb and Jack, one on either side of the bed over which the doctor was -bending. With closed eyes, Desirée Shevlin rested where Conover had -laid her. For hours she had lain thus. - -“I can do no more,” pronounced the doctor, rising and meeting Caleb’s -glazed eye. “The end may come now at any moment.” - -The Fighter, his every faculty drowned in the horrible egotism of -grief, made no answer. - -“If only there were someone to pray!” muttered Jack, battling to keep -back the tears. “I wish Mr. Grant was--” - -“Pray?” echoed Caleb, rousing himself and clutching at the faint hope. -“It can’t do any harm. Pray, man! _Pray!_” - -“I--I _can’t_!” babbled the boy. “I don’t know how. I never prayed in -my life. I--” - -“Try it!” groaned Caleb. “_Try_ it, I say! You may have beginner’s -luck!” - -“No use!” interposed the doctor. “It’s over.” - -As he spoke, Desirée stirred ever so slightly. Her closed eyes opened. -She seemed to settle lower in the bed. Then she lay very still. - -With a sobbing cry Jack Hawarden rushed from the room. Conover stood, -dumb, petrified, staring wildly down into the unseeing, all-seeing -eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -THE LAST FIGHT - - -Under the concentrated anguish of Conover’s gaze the girl’s long -lashes seemed to flicker ever so slightly. Through the Gethsemane of -the moment the impossible fancy that she lived pierced Caleb’s numbed -brain; tearing away the apathy that was closing over him. All at once -he was again the Fighter,--the man who could not know defeat. - -“She is alive!” he persisted as the physician turned from the bed. -“Look! She--” - -Dr. Bond’s bearded lip curled in a sad derision that woke Caleb’s -smouldering antagonism into flame. With a sudden insane impulse the -Fighter knelt on the edge of the bed and caught up the pitifully still -little hands. - -“_Dey!_” he cried, his great rough voice echoing through the dreadful -hush of the room. - -Bond opened his mouth to protest; then shrank back to the wall, staring -in heavy wonder. - -“_Dey!_” called the Fighter again, an agony of command in his tone. -“Dey! _Come back!_” - -It was not the wail of a weak nature vainly summoning the Lost to -return. Rather it was the sharp, fierce call of the officer who by -sheer force of accepted rulership rallies his stricken men. Sublimely -imperious, backed by a will of chilled steel and by a mentality that -had never been successfully balked, the Fighter’s voice resounded again -and again in that harsh, domineering order: - -“_Dey! Come back!_” - -Calling upon his seemingly dead love to re-enter the frail flesh she -was even now quitting, Conover threw into his appeal all the vast -strength that was his and the immeasurably enforced power of his -despair and adoration. He held the white hands gripped tight to his -chest; his face close to the silent girl’s; his light eyes blazing into -hers; his every faculty bent with superhuman pressure upon drawing an -answering sign from the lifeless form. - -“It is madness!” muttered the doctor; infected nevertheless by the -dominant magnetism that played about the Fighter and that vibrated -through every tone of his imperative voice. “It is madness. She is -dead, or--” - -Conover did not heed nor hear. He had no consciousness for anything -save this supreme battle of his whole life. Vaguely he knew that the -innate mastership within him which for years had subdued strong men to -his will had been as nothing to the nameless power that love was now -enabling him to put forth. - -From the threshold of death,--yes, from the grave itself,--she should -come at his call; this little, silent wisp of humanity that meant life -and heaven to him. - -The red-haired man was fighting. - -He had always been fighting. But the fiercest of his campaigns had -hitherto been as child’s play by comparison with this contest with the -Unknown. Once again he was “taking the Kingdom of Heaven by violence!” -This time literally. - -The mad whim had possessed him through no conscious volition of his -own; and he had acted upon it without reflection. He was matching his -mortal power against the Infinite. - -He was doing what Science knew could not be done; what the most -hysterical spiritualist had never claimed power to achieve. He was -trying, by force of personality and sheer desire, to check the flight -of a soul upon the Borderland. - -And over and over again his voice swelled, untiring, through the room, -in that one all-compelling demand:--a demand that held no note of -entreaty, nor of aught else save utter, fierce domination. - -“_Dey! Come back!_” - -The doctor, scared, irresolute, slipped from the room. This type of -mania was outside his experience. In time it would wear itself out. In -the meanwhile, his nerves could not endure the sound of that ceaseless -calling; the sight of the tense, furiously masterful face. - - * * * * * - -It was two hours later that Dr. Colfax, the first of the summoned New -York specialists, arrived. Jack Hawarden met him at the entrance of the -hotel and briefly explained the case. - -“I wish,” the boy added, “you would go in and see what you can do for -Mr. Conover. I’m afraid he has lost his mind. I looked into the room -several times and--” - -He shuddered at the picture conjured up. His nerves had gone to pieces. - -“It was terrible,” he went on. “I didn’t dare interrupt him. He was -crouching there, holding her close to him and looking at her as if he’d -drag her spirit by main force back into her body. And all the time he -was saying over and over--” - -“I will go up,” said the specialist, cutting in on the narrative. “Even -if the local physician did not complete a full examination to make sure -she was dead, such insane treatment would destroy any chance of life. -Show me the way.” - -Together they entered the sick room. Conover had not stirred. Through -the closed door they had heard the hoarse rumble of his eternal -command:-- - -“_Dey! Come back!_” - -Dr. Colfax walked briskly across to the bed. - -“Here!” he said, addressing Caleb in the sharp tones used for arousing -the delirious. “This won’t do! You must--” - -He paused; his first idle glance at Desirée’s pale face changing in -a flash to one of keen professional interest. He caught one of her -wrists, at the point where it was engulfed in Caleb’s great hand; held -it for an instant; then, turning, flung open his black medical case. - -Jack, who had lingered at the door, hurried forward on tiptoe. - -“You don’t mean--?” he whispered quaveringly. - -“The local physician was mistaken,” returned Dr. Colfax in the same -key. “Or she--” he hesitated. - -“I have heard of such cases,” he murmured, in wonder. “But I only know -of two that are authentic. It is more probable that she was merely in a -collapse. I can inquire later.” - -While he talked, he had been selecting and filling a hypodermic needle. -Now, stepping past Conover, who had not noted the newcomers’ presence, -he pressed the needle-point into Desirée’s forearm. - -“You really think then--?” cried Jack. - -“I think it is worth a fight!” snapped the doctor. “Go down and see if -my nurse has come. I left her at the station. She could not walk as -fast as I. Go out quietly. This man doesn’t even know we are here, but -I don’t want to take any chance just yet of breaking his ‘influence.’ -Time enough for that when the digitalis begins to act.” - - * * * * * - -Caleb Conover stretched himself and sat up. He felt oddly weak and -depressed. For the first time in his life he was tired out. - -For twenty hours he had slept. The afternoon sun was pouring in at the -windows. Caleb glanced stupidly about him and recognized the anteroom -leading off from the sick chamber. Vaguely at first, then more clearly, -he recalled that someone--ever and ever so long ago--had shaken him -by the shoulder and had repeated over and over in his ears “_She is -alive!_” - -Then, at last the iterated words of command that had been saying -themselves through his own lips for three hours had somehow ceased, and -something in his head had given way. He had lurched into the anteroom, -tumbled over on a sofa and had fallen asleep at once from sheer -exhaustion. And Dey--? - -Weakly cursing the gross selfishness that had let him sleep like a -log while Desirée’s life had hung in the balance Conover got to his -feet and made for the door of the sick room. His step was springless, -clumping, noisy. Dr. Colfax, hearing it, came out from the inner room -to meet him. Caleb gazed at the man with dull vacancy. He did not -remember having seen him before. - -“Miss--Miss Shevlin?” asked Conover, thickly; his throat agonizingly -raw from the long hours of tireless, unremittent calling. - -“She will get well, I think,” answered the specialist. “The crisis -is past. The spine was not injured. But convalescence will be slow. -Nursing is the only thing left to do now. I am leaving for New York by -the six o’clock train.” - -Caleb’s apathetic look slowly changed to deep, growing wonder. - -“I think,” went on Dr. Colfax, watching Conover, narrowly, “it may be -barely possible that you can thank yourself for her recovery. Perhaps -I am mistaken. You see we doctors deal with _facts_. But, once in a -century something happens outside the realm of fact. Mind you, I don’t -go on record as saying this is one of those exceptions. But--I should -like to ask you some questions when you are rested enough to--” - -“By and by,” assented Caleb. “But I’m going in there to see Dey now, if -you don’t mind. Can I?” - -“Yes. She has been asking for you. Be careful not to excite her, or--” - -“I’ll be careful,” promised Caleb. - -Then, with a sheepish laugh, he added: - -“I’m glad you didn’t make me put up a fight about goin’ in to see her. -I--I kind of feel as if there wasn’t any fight left in me.” - - -THE END - - - - -_GET THE BEST OUT-DOOR STORIES_ - -Stewart Edward White’s - -Great Novels of Western Life. - -GROSSET & DUNLAP EDITIONS - - -THE BLAZED TRAIL - -Mingles the romance of the forest with the romance of man’s heart, -making a story that is big and elemental, while not lacking in -sweetness and tenderness. It is an epic of the life of the lumberman of -the great forest of the Northwest, permeated by out of door freshness, -and the glory of the struggle with nature. - - -THE SILENT PLACES - -A powerful story of strenuous endeavor and fateful privation in the -frozen North, embodying also a detective story of much strength and -skill. The author brings out with sure touch and deep understanding the -mystery and poetry of the still, frost-bound forest. - - -THE CLAIM JUMPERS - -A tale of a Western mining camp and the making of a man, with which a -charming young lady has much to do. The tenderfoot has a hard time of -it, but meets the situation, shows the stuff he is made of, and “wins -out.” - - -THE WESTERNERS - -A tale of the mining camp and the Indian country, full of color and -thrilling incident. - - -THE MAGIC FOREST: A Modern Fairy Story. - -“No better book could be put in a young boy’s hands,” says the New -York _Sun_. It is a happy blend of knowledge of wood life with an -understanding of Indian character, as well as that of small boys. - -Each volume handsomely bound in cloth. Price, seventy-five cents per -volume, postpaid. - - - - -FAMOUS COPYRIGHT BOOKS IN POPULAR PRICED EDITIONS - -Re-issues of the great literary successes of the time. Library size. -Printed on excellent paper--most of them with illustrations of marked -beauty--and handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents a volume, -postpaid. - - -BEVERLY OF GRAUSTARK. By George Barr McCutcheon. With Color - Frontispiece and other illustrations by Harrison Fisher. Beautiful - inlay picture in colors of Beverly on the cover. - -“The most fascinating, engrossing and picturesque of the season’s -novels.”--_Boston Herald._ “‘Beverly’ is altogether charming--almost -living flesh and blood.”--_Louisville Times._ “Better than -‘Graustark’.”--_Mail and Express._ “A sequel quite as impossible as -‘Graustark’ and quite as entertaining.”--_Bookman._ “A charming love -story well told.”--_Boston Transcript._ - - -HALF A ROGUE. By Harold MacGrath. With illustrations and inlay cover - picture by Harrison Fisher. - -“Here are dexterity of plot, glancing play at witty talk, characters -really human and humanly real, spirit and gladness, freshness and quick -movement. ‘Half a Rogue’ is as brisk as a horseback ride on a glorious -morning. It is as varied as an April day. It is as charming as two most -charming girls can make it. Love and honor and success and all the -great things worth fighting for and living for the involved in ‘Half a -Rogue.’”--_Phila. Press._ - - -THE GIRL FROM TIM’S PLACE. By Charles Clark Munn. With illustrations - by Frank T. Merrill. - -“Figuring in the pages of this story there are several strong -characters. Typical New England folk and an especially sturdy one, old -Cy Walker, through whose instrumentality Chip comes to happiness and -fortune. There is a chain of comedy, tragedy, pathos and love, which -makes a dramatic story.”--_Boston Herald._ - - -THE LION AND THE MOUSE. A story of American Life. By Charles Klein, - and Arthur Hornblow. With illustrations by Stuart Travis, and Scenes - from the Play. - -The novel duplicated the success of the play; in fact the book is -greater than the play. A portentous clash of dominant personalities -that form the essence of the play are necessarily touched upon but -briefly in the short space of four acts. All this is narrated in the -novel with a wealth of fascinating and absorbing detail, making it one -of the most powerfully written and exciting works of fiction given to -the world in years. - - -LAVENDER AND OLD LACE. By Myrtle Reed. - -A charming story of a quaint corner of New England where bygone romance -finds a modern parallel. One of the prettiest, sweetest, and quaintest -of old-fashioned love stories * * * A rare book, exquisite in spirit -and conception, full of delicate fancy, of tenderness, of delightful -humor and spontaneity. A dainty volume, especially suitable for a gift. - - -DOCTOR LUKE OF THE LABRADOR. By Norman Duncan. With a frontispiece - and inlay cover. - -How the doctor came to the bleak Labrador coast and there in saving -life made expiation. In dignity, simplicity, humor, in sympathetic -etching of a sturdy fisher people, and above all in the echoes of -the sea, _Doctor Luke_ is worthy of great praise. Character, humor, -poignant pathos, and the sad grotesque conjunctions of old and new -civilizations are expressed through the medium of a style that has -distinction and strikes a note of rare personality. - - -THE DAY’S WORK. By Rudyard Kipling. Illustrated. - -The _London Morning Post_ says: “It would be hard to find better -reading * * * the book is so varied, so full of color and life from end -to end, that few who read the first two or three stories will lay it -down till they have read the last--and the last is a veritable gem * * * -contains some of the best of his highly vivid work * * * Kipling is a -born story-teller and a man of humor into the bargain.” - - -ELEANOR LEE. By Margaret E. Sangster. With a frontispiece. - -A story of married life, and attractive picture of wedded bliss * * * -an entertaining story or a man’s redemption through a woman’s love -* * * no one who knows anything of marriage or parenthood can read this -story with eyes that are always dry * * * goes straight to the heart of -everyone who knows the meaning of “love” and “home.” - - -THE COLONEL OF THE RED HUZZARS. By John Reed Scott. Illustrated by - Clarence F. Underwood. - -“Full of absorbing charm, sustained interest and a wealth of thrilling -and romantic situations. So naively fresh in its handling, so plausible -through its naturalness, that it comes like a mountain breeze across -the far-spreading desert of similar romances.”--_Gazette-Times, -Pittsburg._ “A slap-dashing day romance.”--_New York Sun._ - - -DARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES. By Irving Bacheller. With illustrations - by Arthur Keller. - -“Darrel, the clock tinker, is a wit, philosopher, and man of mystery. -Learned, strong, kindly, dignified, he towers like a giant above the -people among whom he lives. It is another tale of the North Country, -full of the odor of wood and field. Wit, humor, pathos and high -thinking are in this book.”--_Boston Transcript._ - - -D’RI AND I: A Tale of Daring Deeds in the Second War with the - British. Being the Memoirs of Colonel Ramon Bell, U. S. A. By Irving - Bacheller. With illustrations by F. C. Yohn. - -“Mr. Bacheller is admirable alike in his scenes of peace and war. -D’ri, a mighty hunter, has the same dry humor as Uncle Eb. He fights -magnificently on the ‘Lawrence,’ and was among the wounded when Perry -went to the ‘Niagara.’ As a romance of early American history it is -great for the enthusiasm it creates.”--_New York Times._ - - -EBEN HOLDEN: A Tale of the North Country. By Irving Bacheller. - -“As pure as water and as good as bread,” says Mr. Howells. “Read ‘Eben -Holden’” is the advice of Margaret Sangster. “It is a forest-scented, -fresh-aired, bracing and wholly American story of country and town -life. * * * If in the far future our successors wish to know what were -the real life and atmosphere in which the country folk that saved this -nation grew, loved, wrought and had their being, they must go back to -such true and zestful and poetic tales of ‘fiction’ as ‘Eben Holden,’” -says Edmund Clarence Stedman. - - -SILAS STRONG: Emperor of the Woods. By Irving Bacheller. With a - frontispiece. - -“A modern _Leatherstocking_. Brings the city dweller the aroma of the -pine and the music of the wind in its branches--an epic poem * * * -forest-scented, fresh-aired, and wholly American. A stronger character -than Eben Holden.”--_Chicago Record-Herald._ - - -VERGILIUS: A Tale of the Coming of Christ. By Irving Bacheller. - -A thrilling and beautiful story of two young Roman patricians whose -great and perilous love in the reign of Augustus leads them through -the momentous, exciting events that marked the year just preceding the -birth of Christ. - -Splendid character studies of the Emperor Augustus, of Herod and his -degenerate son, Antipater, and of his daughter “the incomparable” -Salome. A great triumph in the art of historical portrait-painting. - - -THE FAIR GOD; OR, THE LAST OF THE TZINS. By Lew Wallace. With - illustrations by Eric Pape. - -“The story tells of the love of a native princess for Alvarado, and -it is worked out with all of Wallace’s skill * * * it gives a fine -picture of the heroism of the Spanish conquerors and of the culture and -nobility of the Aztecs.”--_New York Commercial Advertiser._ - -“_Ben Hur_ sold enormously, but _The Fair God_ was the best of the -General’s stories--a powerful and romantic treatment of the defeat of -Montezuma by Cortes.”--_Athenæum._ - - -THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS. By Louis Tracy. - -A story of love and the salt sea--of a helpless ship whirled into the -hands of cannibal Fuegians--of desperate fighting and tender romance, -enhanced by the art of a master of story-telling who describes with -his wonted felicity and power of holding the reader’s attention * * * -filled with the swing of adventure. - - -A MIDNIGHT GUEST. A Detective Story. By Fred M. White. With a - frontispiece. - -The scene of the story centers in London and Italy. The book is -skilfully written and makes one of the most baffling, mystifying, -exciting detective stories ever written--cleverly keeping the suspense -and mystery intact until the surprising discoveries which precede the -end. - - -THE HONOUR OF SAVELLI. A Romance. By S. Levett Yeats. With cover and - wrapper in four colors. - -Those who enjoyed Stanley Weyman’s _A Gentleman of France_ will be -engrossed and captivated by this delightful romance of Italian history. -It is replete with exciting episodes, hair-breath escapes, magnificent -sword-play, and deals with the agitating times in Italian history -when Alexander II was Pope and the famous and infamous Borgias were -tottering to their fall. - - -SISTER CARRIE. By Theodore Drieser. With a frontispiece, and wrapper - in color. - -In all fiction there is probably no more graphic and poignant study -of the way in which man loses his grip on life, lets his pride, his -courage, his self-respect slip from him, and, finally, even ceases to -struggle in the mire that has engulfed him * * * There is more tonic -value in _Sister Carrie_ than in a whole shelfful of sermons. - - -THE AFFAIR AT THE INN. By Kate Douglas Wiggin. With illustrations by - Martin Justice. - -“As superlatively clever in the writing as it is entertaining in -the reading. It is actual comedy of the most artistic sort, and it -is handled with a freshness and originality that is unquestionably -novel.”--_Boston Transcript._ “A feast of humor and good cheer, yet -subtly pervaded by special shades of feeling, fancy, tenderness, or -whimsicality. A merry thing in prose.”--_St. Louis Democrat._ - - -ROSE O’ THE RIVER. By Kate Douglas Wiggin. With illustrations by - George Wright. - -“‘Rose o’ the River,’ a charming bit of sentiment, gracefully written -and deftly touched with a gentle humor. It is a dainty book--daintily -illustrated.”--_New York Tribune._ “A wholesome, bright, refreshing -story, an ideal book to give a young girl.”--_Chicago Record-Herald._ -“An idyllic story, replete with pathos and inimitable humor. As -story-telling it is perfection, and as portrait-painting it is true to -the life.”--_London Mail._ - - -TILLIE: A Mennonite Maid. By Helen R. Martin. With illustrations by - Florence Scovel Shinn. - -The little “Mennonite Maid” who wanders through these pages is -something quite new in fiction. Tillie is hungry for books and beauty -and love; and she comes into her inheritance at the end. “Tillie is -faulty, sensitive, big-hearted, eminently human, and first, last and -always lovable. Her charm glows warmly, the story is well handled, the -characters skilfully developed.”--_The Book Buyer._ - - -LADY ROSE’S DAUGHTER. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. With illustrations by - Howard Chandler Christy. - -“The most marvellous work of its wonderful author.”--_New York World._ -“We touch regions and attain altitudes which it is not given to the -ordinary novelist even to approach.”--_London Times._ “In no other -story has Mrs. Ward approached the brilliancy and vivacity of Lady -Rose’s Daughter.”--_North American Review._ - - -THE BANKER AND THE BEAR. By Henry K. Webster. - -“An exciting and absorbing story.”--_New York Times._ “Intensely -thrilling in parts, but an unusually good story all through. There is a -love affair of real charm and most novel surroundings, there is a run -on the bank which is almost worth a year’s growth, and there is all -manner of exhilarating men and deeds which should bring the book into -high and permanent favor.”--_Chicago Evening Post._ - - -BARBARA WINSLOW, REBEL. By Elizabeth Ellis. With illustrations by - John Rae, and colored inlay cover. - -The following, taken from story, will best describe the heroine: A -TOAST: “To the bravest comrade in misfortune, the sweetest companion -in peace and at all times the most courageous of women.”--_Barbara -Winslow._ “A romantic story, buoyant, eventful, and in matters of love -exactly what the heart could desire.”--_New York Sun._ - - -SUSAN. By Ernest Oldmeadow. With a color frontispiece by Frank - Haviland. Medalion in color on front cover. - -Lord Ruddington falls helplessly in love with Miss Langley, whom he -sees in one of her walks accompanied by her maid, Susan. Through a -misapprehension of personalities his lordship addresses a love missive -to the maid. Susan accepts in perfect good faith, and an epistolary -love-making goes on till they are disillusioned. It naturally makes a -droll and delightful little comedy; and is a story that is particularly -clever in the telling. - - -WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE. By Jean Webster. With illustrations by C. - D. Williams. - -“The book is a treasure.”--_Chicago Daily News._ “Bright, whimsical, -and thoroughly entertaining.”--_Buffalo Express._ “One of the best -stories of life in a girl’s college that has ever been written.”--_N. -Y. Press._ “To any woman who has enjoyed the pleasures of a college -life this book cannot fail to bring back many sweet recollections; and -to those who have not been to college the wit, lightness, and charm of -Patty are sure to be no less delightful.”--_Public Opinion._ - - -THE MASQUERADER. By Katherine Cecil Thurston. With illustrations by - Clarence F. Underwood. - -“You can’t drop it till you have turned the last page.”--_Cleveland -Leader._ “Its very audacity of motive, of execution, of solution, -almost takes one’s breath away. The boldness of its denouement is -sublime.”--_Boston Transcript._ “The literary hit of a generation. -The best of it is the story deserves all its success. A masterly -story.”--_St. Louis Dispatch._ “The story is ingeniously told, and -cleverly constructed.”--_The Dial._ - - -THE GAMBLER. By Katherine Cecil Thurston. With illustrations by John - Campbell. - -“Tells of a high strung young Irish woman who has a passion for -gambling, inherited from a long line of sporting ancestors. She has a -high sense of honor, too, and that causes complications. She is a very -human, lovable character, and love saves her.”--_N. Y. Times._ - - -THE SPIRIT OF THE SERVICE. By Edith Elmer Wood. With illustrations by - Rufus Zogbaum. - -The standards and life of “the new navy” are breezily set forth with a -genuine ring impossible from the most gifted “outsider.” “The story of -the destruction of the ‘Maine,’ and of the Battle of Manila, are very -dramatic. The author is the daughter of one naval officer and the wife -of another. Naval folks will find much to interest them in ‘The Spirit -of the Service.’”--_The Book Buyer._ - - -A SPECTRE OF POWER. By Charles Egbert Craddock. - -Miss Murfree has pictured Tennessee mountains and the mountain people -in striking colors and with dramatic vividness, but goes back to the -time of the struggles of the French and English in the early eighteenth -century for possession of the Cherokee territory. The story abounds in -adventure, mystery, peril and suspense. - - -THE STORM CENTRE. By Charles Egbert Craddock. - -A war story; but more of flirtation, love and courtship than of -fighting or history. The tale is thoroughly readable and takes its -readers again into golden Tennessee, into the atmosphere which has -distinguished all of Miss Murfree’s novels. - - -THE ADVENTURESS. By Coralie Stanton. With color frontispiece by - Harrison Fisher, and attractive inlay cover in colors. - -As a penalty for her crimes, her evil nature, her flint-like -callousness, her more than inhuman cruelty, her contempt for the laws -of God and man, she was condemned to bury her magnificent personality, -her transcendent beauty, her superhuman charms, in gilded obscurity at -a King’s left hand. A powerful story powerfully told. - - -THE GOLDEN GREYHOUND. A Novel by Dwight Tilton. With illustrations by - E. Pollak. - -A thoroughly good story that keeps you guessing to the very end, and -never attempts to instruct or reform you. It is a strictly up-to-date -story of love and mystery with wireless telegraphy and all the modern -improvements. The events nearly all take place on a big Atlantic liner -and the romance of the deep is skilfully made to serve as a setting for -the romance, old as mankind, yet always new, involving our hero. - - -GROSSET & DUNLAP,--NEW YORK - - - - -BOOKS ON GARDENING AND FARMING - - -THREE ACRES AND LIBERTY. By Bolton Hall. Shows the value gained - by intensive culture. Should be in the hands of every landholder. - Profusely illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, 75 cents. - -Every chapter in the book has been revised by a specialist. The author -clearly brings out the full value that is to be derived from intensive -culture and intelligent methods given to small land holdings. Given -untrammelled opportunity, agriculture will not only care well for -itself and for those intelligently engaged in it, but it will give -stability to all other industries and pursuits. (_From the Preface._) -“The author piles fact upon authenticated instance and successful -experiment upon proved example, until there is no doubt what can be -done with land intensively treated. He shows where the land may be -found, what kind we must have, what it will cost, and what to do -with it. It is seldom we find so much enthusiasm tempered by so much -experience and common sense. The book points out in a practical way the -possibilities of a very small farm intensively cultivated. It embodies -the results of actual experience and it is intended to be workable in -every detail.”--_Providence Journal._ - - -NEW CREATIONS IN PLANT LIFE. By W. S. Harwood and Luther Burbank. - An Authoritative Account of the Work of Luther Burbank. With 48 - full-page halftone plates. 12mo. Cloth, 75 cents. - -Mr. Burbank has produced more new forms of plant life than any other -man who has ever lived. These have been either for the adornment of -the world, such as new and improved flowers, or for the enrichment of -the world, such as new and improved fruits, nuts, vegetables, grasses, -trees and the like. This volume describes his life and work in detail, -presenting a clear statement of his methods, showing how others may -follow the same lines, and introducing much never before made public. -“Luther Burbank is unquestionably the greatest student of human life -and philosophy of living things in America, if not in the world.”--_S. -H. Comings, Cor. Sec. American League of Industrial Education._ - - -A WOMAN’S HARDY GARDEN. By Helena Rutherfurd Ely. Superbly - illustrated with 49 full-page halftone engravings from photographs by - Prof. C. F. Chandler. 12mo. Cloth. - -“Mrs. Ely is the wisest and most winsome teacher of the fascinating -art of gardening that we have met in modern print. * * * A book to -be welcomed with enthusiasm.”--_New York Tribune._ “Let us sigh with -gratitude and read the volume with delight. For here it all is: What -we should plant, and when we should plant it; how to care for it after -it is planted and growing; what to do if it does not grow and blossom; -what will blossom, and when it will blossom, and what the blossom will -be. It is full of garden lore; of the spirit of happy outdoor life. A -good and wholesome book.”--_The Dial._ - - -GROSSET & DUNLAP,--NEW YORK - - - - -NATURE BOOKS - -With Colored Plates, and Photographs from Life. - - -NATURE’S GARDEN. An Aid to Knowledge of Our Wild Flowers and Their -Insect Visitors. 24 colored plates, and many other illustrations -photographed directly from nature. Text by Neltje Blanchan. Large -Quarto, size 7-3/4×10-3/8. Cloth. Formerly published at $3.00 net. Our -special price, $1.25. - -Superb color portraits of many familiar flowers in their living tints, -and no less beautiful pictures in black and white of others--each -blossom photographed directly from nature--form an unrivaled series. By -their aid alone the novice can name the flowers met afield. - -Intimate life-histories of over five hundred species of wild flowers, -written in untechnical, vivid language, emphasize the marvelously -interesting and vital relationship existing between these flowers and -the special insect to which each is adapted. - -The flowers are divided into five color groups, because by this -arrangement anyone with no knowledge of botany whatever can readily -identify the specimens met during a walk. The various popular names -by which each species is known, its preferred dwelling-place, months -of blooming and geographical distribution follow its description. -Lists of berry-bearing and other plants most conspicuous after the -flowering season, of such as grow together in different kinds of soil, -and finally of family groups arranged by that method of scientific -classification adopted by the International Botanical Congress which -has now superseded all others, combine to make “Nature’s Garden” an -indispensable guide. - - -GROSSET & DUNLAP,--NEW YORK - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIGHTER *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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