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THE MAN
WHO WAS GUILTY
BY
FLORA HAINES LOUGHEAD

li
RES
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS


AL 2392, 5.50
COLLEGES
HARYA
2!1111927
LIBRARY
wiriam Roaceticis
Copyright, 1886,
BY FLORA HAINES LOUGHEAD.
All rights reserved.


Pedicated
TO
MY LITTLE NELLO,
IN THE HOPE THAT HIS PURE EYES, FROM ANOTHER WORLD,
MAY LOOK WITH APPROVAL UPON
HIS MOTHER'S WORK.





OONTENTS.
CHAPTER
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.
.
PAGE
. 1
.?
. 26
39
. 49
65
. 81
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.
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.
. 110
.
.
.
I. A JOURNALISTIC ENTERPRISE . .
II. THE CASE OF PHILIP KING . . .
III. A WOMAN IN THE CASE . . .
IV. THE SENTENCE OF THE LAW . . .
V. IMPRISONMENT . . . . .
VI. RELEASE . . . . . . .
VII. UNDER SUSPICION . . . . .
VIII. DISCOURAGEMENT
IX. DESPAIR . . . . . . .
X. RECOGNITION . .
XI. A FRIENDLY INTERVIEW
XII. A MESSAGE FROM THE PAST . . .
XIII. THE SKIRMISH BEFORE THE BATTLE .
XIV. THE BATTLE . . . . . .
XV. A SILENT PARTNER . . . .
XVI. A LION WHO WOULD NOT ROAR . .
XVII. An Old FRIEND . . . . .
XVIII. PROGRESS. . . . . . .
XIX. A RIDE TO THE BEACH . . .
XX. A PLEA FOR THE CHILDREN . . .
XXI. FATHER AND DAUGHTER . . .
XXII. BACK TO THE PRISON . .
XXIII. “WE HAVE FOUND A MAN”
XXIV. IN THE RECEIVING HOSPITAL .
XXV. THE MAN JIM . . . . .
XXVI. BEFORE DEATH'S TRIBUNAL .
XXVII. HOW THE BABY WON THE CASE .
XXVIII. AN ENGAGEMENT THAT WAS MET . .
XXIX. RECALLED
XXX. Two GIFTS . . . . .
.
.
.
140
. 150
159
. 182
193
. 207
?
213
.229
243
. 255
265
.
.
.
.
281
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294
. 301
319
328
351
.
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391





THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
CHAPTER I.
A JOURNALISTIC ENTERPRISE.
JOURNALISTIC ENTERPRISE.
He did not look like a convict. There were fine
lines in his face, his forehead was intellectual, and
his eyes had a studious, reflective habit. An un-
prejudiced observer, meeting him anywhere else,
would have pronounced him a gentleman by in-
stinct and breeding, and withal a man of refined
pursuits. His coat, a garment of some non-com-
mittal gray stuff, helped to perfect the illusion, and
only his striped pantaloons proclaimed a ward of
the State.
Business is business, and the young man who
was stupidly staring at him could ill afford to waste
time analyzing his own impressions.
“May I ask what is the charge against you ? "
he said, delicately, to open conversation with the
fellow.
The convict looked his questioner square in the
eye for a moment, as if to fathom the motive which
bad prompted the inquiry.
“I stole ten thousand dollars from the bank of


THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
Yerba Buena,” he said, bluntly. “I believe they
called it embezzlement.”
The man who had asked the question was
abashed. A young college graduate and newly
fledged reporter on the staff of the "San Francisco
Hornet,” he was still in that verdant stage of expe.
rience when journalism appears to be a lofty calling,
conducted for the amelioration of the race rather
than for personal profit, and various philosophical
questions were revolving in his brain, to be dished
up for the benefit of the public. He had already
precipitated upon the community a hot and ani-
mated discussion of the causes governing the origin
and growth of the hoodlum population. Clergymen
considered it in their pulpits, orators debated it
upon the rostrum. It was made the subject of
leading editorials, and he had fanned the popular
flame by publishing a series of opinions on the sub-
ject, gleaned from interviews with the prominent
men of the Coast. Following this, it occurred to
him that it would be unique as well as interesting
to interview some representative members of the
criminal class itself, regarding the influences which
had operated to bring them to grief.
“I don't think, my boy,” said the friendly
warden, as the great iron gates of San Quentin
creaked dismally to admit the visitor ; “I don't
think, my boy, that a word of caution will be
amiss. You say this is your first visit to a state
prison. Remember that you are among a cunning
lot of men, with whom deception and falsehood are
habitual. You 'll find, when you come to question


. A JOURNALISTIC ENTERPRISE.
them, that there is n't a guilty man among them.
Don't be hoodwinked.”
If the reporter colored a little under this well-
meant admonition, he resolved none the less to be-
have like an experienced man of the world. Sub-
sequent events justified the warden's prediction.
A singular and almost universal innocence appeared
to prevail among the permanent residents of San
Quentin, and the stories to which he listened would
have wrung the heart of a credulous humanitarian.
The population seemed to be exclusively composed
of victims of conspiracy and prejudice; highway-
men who had stopped stages when out on a lark,
and forced express messengers to disgorge their
treasures at the muzzles of empty rifles; men who
roused from a prolonged debauch to find themselves
under arrest for murder ; practical jokers who had
borrowed strange steeds, designing to return them
before their absence was discovered; forgers who
had playfully put familiar signatures at the bottoms
of checks, and then filled them out and cashed them
in moments of forgetfulness ; and every man among
them was on the alert to make proselytes to faith
in his innocence, in the furtherance of certain deep-
laid plans by which he expected to achieve his deliv-
erance from the vile durance in which he was held.
The visitor looked, therefore, with not a little
curiosity and surprise at this fellow, who stood up
so boldly as his own accuser.
“ And your name?” he said, briefly.
“ Philip King.”
A train of recollections awakened at his reply.


THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
Five years before, while the reporter was in the
junior class at the University of California, San
Francisco society had been stirred by an event
which struck to its very core, when young Philip
King,- a trusted employé of one of the soundest
commercial institutions in the State, had been found
guilty of appropriating the funds of the bank, and
was sentenced to San Quentin for an unconscion-
able term of years. The fellow had acted like a
lunatic in the outset, for when he had got safely off
to a country where no extradition law could touch
him, he had voluntarily given himself up to a crazy
detective who had followed him on a wild-goose
chase, and returned like a lamb to the slaughter.
Egad, how the fellow must have suffered ! He
was little more than twenty at the time — a mere
boy — and ranked a veritable Adonis in society;
and here he was, five years later, looking like a
man of forty, with the hard, tense lines about his
face which are the unmistakable record of severe
mental torture. But he was a handsome man still
- the handsomest he ever saw, the visitor reflected,
staring at him with a boy's undisguised sympathy.
He weakened under the look. His lips set in a
straight, grim line, and a quiver shot over his face,
as if for a moment the rigid guard he had set upon
himself was in danger of giving way. In an in-
stant, however, the expression of calm endurance
had returned, and he lifted his eyes in cool inter-
rogation.
To bridge the embarrassment of the moment,
the reporter rattled off to him, in what must have


A JOURNALISTIC ENTERPRISE.
5
seemed a very ingenuous way, the motives which
had prompted his visit to the penal institution, wind-
ing up with a lame apology.
“And if you would be so kind as to help me out
a little from your own experience, Mr. King - don't
think I confound you with the rest ” —
The convict cut him short with another of those
penetrating glances, that somehow reminded the
visitor of a blow straight from the shoulder.
“ There is no reason for making any distinction.
I am here on precisely the same level as my fellow-
prisoners.” He squared his shoulders resolutely,
as if to meet and sustain the full burden of his
crime. “If there is any difference in our early
training, so much the less excusable the taint I
have incurred. If I hold myself free from further
contamination in the midst of these surroundings,"
— with a slight wave of his hand, indicating the
forbidding quadrangle with its moving population
of low-browed ruffians, and the murky air reeking
with foul and unclean language, — “that is my own
affair, and a matter of future demonstration.” The
concluding words had a despondent ring, and his
head bent forward, while his eyes sought the damp
pavement.
He was the first to break the silence which en-
sued.
“You wish me to recapitulate the causes which
have made me what I am. I might answer, briefly,
Speculation in stocks ; ' but there must be some
downfall in a man's moral nature before he can
risk, for his own selfish gain, funds which are in-


THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
trusted to his honor. You will excuse me now, sir.
I have some finishing touches to give a lot of furni-
ture that is to be shipped to the city to-morrow.
If I have made a failure of life in other ways, I
am making a small success as a cabinet-maker.” A
faint glimmer of a smile played about his lips as
he bowed himself away.


CHAPTER IL
THE CRIME OF PHILIP KING.
PHILIP KING's flight to China, on the eve of the
discovery of his defalcation, was his one cowardly
would gladly have recalled the step. He asked
himself what consolation or relief he could expect
in a foreign land, with the dark shadow of an un-
atoned crime forever following him. With the
secret consciousness of guilt in his heart, could he
ever look a fellow-man in the eye without a miser-
able sense of hypocrisy, and the conviction that if
the truth were known be would be spurned by every
honest man ? A thousand times better to return
and bravely face the penalty of his crime. When
the Oceanic reached Hongkong, a week after his
arrival, and a keen-faced little man with ferret-like
eyes sprang on shore, the first person he perceived
was Philip King, haggard and hollow-eyed, pacing
up and down the wharf. The detective decided at
once upon the tactics to which he would resort in
bagging his prey. Clapping him upon the shoulder
in a genial way, be cried, -
“A fine day, King! And so I shall have the
pleasure of your company on the steamer Satur-
day.”


THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
King shook off his touch and quietly faced him.
“No extradition can reach me here, old fellow.
But you will have my company all the same, and
you can get out your papers when we run into San
Francisco.”
The detective viewed him with a curiosity not
unmixed with suspicion. The calling he pursued
was one calculated to inspire anything but an op-
timistic view of human nature. A man whose
moral constitution was so lax as to enable him to
plunder his fellow-citizens of thousands of dollars
without a qualm, and who was yet burdened with
conscientious scruples that debarred him from mak-
ing the most of his liberty when he had escaped
beyond the pale of legal jurisdiction, was a moral
anomaly, partaking of the nature of both hypocrite
and knave. He would bear watching.
During the days that followed, King noted with
quiet amusement that wherever he went through
the narrow streets of the ill-smelling foreign city
his steps were persistently dogged. On several oc-
casions he turned and encountered Fleece face to
face, and that worthy greeted him with an assump-
tion of indifference that ill sufficed to cover his
secret anxiety lest the game he had come so far to
capture should yet succeed in eluding him. As
King boarded the steamer a week later, he noted
with some compassion that the rubicund little man
who followed at his heels had lost color and flesh
in the prosecution of his self-appointed vigils. Once
relieved from his apprehensions, the detective, bar.
ring a grim undertone of authority, became a pleas-


THE CRIME OF PHILIP KING.
ant and genial companion, and would have treated
the voyage as a jolly episode of travel had not
King's graver mood precluded such a possibility.
It was nearly dusk on a summer night when the
huge ocean steamer drew up to the wharf in the
southern portion of San Francisco. The half mena-
cing, half protective air Fleece had assumed toward
King on the high seas, was exchanged for an air of
arrogant authority as he beheld his prey safe within
the jurisdiction of the port. As the boat's side
groaned against the timbers of the dock he pro-
duced a pair of steel hand-cuffs and clapped them
upon his prisoner, who submitted to the indignity
without a word of protest or appeal.
Even in the dim light it was apparent that an
unusually large number of people were gathered at
the landing to welcome the great ship’s human
cargo. Fleece observed the circumstance with un-
disguised gratification, and pressed his way to the
front, blandly receiving the enthusiastic cheers ac-
corded to him and his charge. As he stepped along
the gangway he made an adroit turn to one side to
avoid the crowd, and roughly assisted King into a
cab, summoning a blue-coated officer to a seat on
the driver's box, in ostentatious precaution.
As the vehicle sped along Second Street the pris-
oner leaned forward and looked through the open
window, absorbing in deep-drawn breaths the fresh
vigor of the ocean breeze, already waving its phan-
tom banners of mist over the western hills. Re-
turning to his country after a secret and shameful
fight, with the prospect before him of serving out


10
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
a felon's sentence, the young fellow was suddenly
moved by some deep latent sentiment of patriot-
ism, and he thanked God that he was born in a
land where justice was dealt out with an impartial
hand, and the same principle of society which de.
manded retribution for a crime committed, held out
a promise of redemption to the man who honestly
repented of his error, and made earnest effort at
reparation.
The ground on either side of the roadway climbed
higher and higher, until the lights from the houses
on each side twinkled like stars along the verge of
a rocky chasm. As the street emerged from the
shadows the prisoner looked back, straining his
eyes to discern the outlines of a quaint Gothic cot-
tage, perched like an eyrie on the highest point of
Rincon Hill. At that instant a light gleamed
through the window of an upper room, piercing the
darkness — a symbol and a promise. Something
very like a sob burst from the young man's lips at
the sight.
“Oh, come now, brace up! Don't be trying to
get a sight of home, or worry over what the folks
are thinking. Keep a stiff upper lip for the boys.
Those newspaper chaps will be round you, thick as
bees, in five minutes more, ready to gauge every
breath you draw and tally down every beat of your
pulse,” admonished Fleece, not unkindly. “Hear
about Halford, of the daily Commercial,' at
O’Kane's execution, last month? Begged leave to
go on the scaffold just as they were pulling the
black cap over the villain's head; stalked up to


THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
tage of the momentary halt to thrust his bead out
of the window, and a broad smile of satisfaction
crossed his face as he read the announcement:-
BAGGED IN HONGKONG.
DARING AND BRILLIANT CAPTURE.
The Embezzler King Arrested in a Foreign Port, by the
Able Detective S. B. Fleece.
Full Particulars, etc., etc.
The crowd parted, and the cab rattled noisily
over the pavement, making a swift turn into a nar-
row lane lined with dingy buildings. A sudden
halt told that their journey's end had been attained.
The prisoner was so absorbed in thought that he
did not observe the rough crowd who had gathered
about the entrance to the prison to do honor to the
arrival of a distinguished guest. As he stepped
from the cab he stumbled, and, throwing up his
manacled hands in an ineffectual effort to save him-
self, would have fallen to the ground had not Fleece
seen his plight and sprung to his relief. A jeer
arose from the coarse observers, caught up and re-
peated by dark forms in the rear, until the mocking
cry changed to a fiendish shout of exultation — the
demoniacal rejoicing of a multitude of human be-
ings over the downfall of a fellow-creature. If the
prisoner recognized its import he gave no sign, but
moved with firm and measured step into a large
bare room containing a number of lounging police-
. men. A massive iron door opened and closed be


THE CRIME OF PHILIP KING.
13
hind him ; he was conducted along a dark passage.
way, through a barred gate, into a brightly lighted
office, and stood in the presence of the captain of
the prison.
In the world without King had been a person of
some consequence, — a gay young society fellow
whose career had been nipped short by one false
step; a daring villain who had spirited away the
funds of his employers. Here his identity was lost,
his individuality obliterated. He was simply one
of many thousand other criminals who annually
came and went, who must be fed and housed and
cursed into submission to the rules, or, if need be,
locked in a dark cell and starved into compliance.
An animated and prolonged discussion arose regard-
ing the quarters to which the newcomer should be
assigned.
In their consideration of the weighty question of
the disposition of his physical frame the prison offi-
cials paid no regard to the movements of the pris-
oner, who sank down upon a wooden chair and sur-
veyed the scene before him with unconcealed loath-
ing and disgust. The air reeked with vile odors
and foul gases, and the lights burned with a dim
and sickly glare. The uneven stone floor was
coated with slime and mottled with patches of filth.
One side of the long open passage into which he
had been ushered was lined with a succession of
great cages with barred fronts, and through the
gratings the haggard faces of men and women, like
caged wild beasts, looked out upon him. Every
type and phase of vice were there, from the low-


14
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
browed, brutal faces of abandoned ruffians, to the
weak features, with their lines of indecision, which
characterize the novice in crime; while in the dim
shadows, standing or sitting apart from their fel-
lows, he noted the melancholy visages of men whom
fatality, or want, or a moment's wild indulgence of
passion, had plunged into the devouring maelstrom
of sin.
During his listless observation he marked one
singular fact which after experience confirmed.
Whereas among the men varying grades of guilt
and degradation were discernible, and the humbled
and remorseful faces of a few held out a faint
promise of regeneration, the women appeared to
have sunk to one common level of depravity.
Whether because from the shining heights of pure
and sinless womanhood the impetus of the unhappy
creatures' fall had served to carry them to a greater
depth of iniquity, or because of the intricate man-
ner in which all feminine virtues are interwoven
and made dependent the one upon the other, so
that the breaking of a single fibre leads to the de-
struction of the wbole fabric, certain it is that upon
every woman's face was written the language of
hopeless moral pollution. Crazed by liquor, in-
flamed by base passions, enraged by confinement,
the abandoned creatures beat against their bars,
joining in a foul chorus of obscenity and profanity
and coarse abuse of their captors, at which the
most accomplished of their masculine competitors
became abashed, conceding the defeat of their own
ineffectual efforts at rivalry.


THE CRIME OF PHILIP KING.
15
Gazing appalled upon this scene of horrible rev-
elry, Philip King became aware of a movement at
his side, and looking in the direction from whence
he bad entered, saw a long bench upon which were
ranged half a dozen children of tender years, gazing
upon the repulsive sight with varying emotions of
curiosity, amazement, and fear. Among them was
one little girl some four years old, attired in dainty
garments, soiled by contact with the mire of the
street - a mother's darling, in search of whom
anxious hearts were even then scouring the city,
and whose innocent eyes opened wide with piteous
horror at the fearful spectacle before her. As the
child encountered King's sympathetic gaze she
sprang from her hard seat, and running to the
prisoner's side, hid her face upon his knee and
sobbed out her grief and terror. Her new-found
friend sheltered the silken head with a caressing
movement of his manacled arms.
“ In the Lord's name, what does this mean?”
demanded King of the turnkey, who presented him-
self, keys in hand, ready to show the prisoner to his
quarters.
You 're to come to No. 1, and don't be all night
about it, neither.”
“What are these children doing here?” King's
voice was stern, but the child who clung to him
smiled up into his face with loving confidence.
“That's right! Go prying into affairs that are
none of your concern, will you ? That's the way
with you high-toned thieves. 'T ain't enough that
you should make a big haul and get a nice place to


THE CRIME OF PHILIP KING.
17
ity, his rash folly, his insensate greed for wealth
and position, he had not alone abdicated all claim
to the trust and esteem of his fellow-men, and in-
curred the heavy penalty of the law. He had for-
feited the right to shield a little child from harm.
He dropped upon the low pallet in the cell to
which the turnkey had conducted him, taking no
inventory of its dreary interior: the thinly white-
washed walls, the single stool, the narrow aper-
ture high in the door, through which faint rays of
light struggled in from the dim passage-way out-
side. Burying his face in his hands, he reviewed
the circumstances of his crime. He had been per-
mitted to read the San Francisco papers as the
vessel ploughed her way homeward over the calm
waters of the Pacific, and his heart smote him as he
recalled the staunch defense his friends had made,
their unfaltering advocacy of his innocence, in the
face of his suspicious disappearance. He had pic-
tured them gathering about him on his return,
and shrank with keenest pain from the confession
he must make, the lie he must give their confidence
and trust. But now, as in the solitude of his cell
he awaited their coming, he thought that it would
be sweet to clasp a friendly hand and meet a pity-
ing eye, even though their regard was altered into
the compassion honest men exhibit toward one who
has been false to his standard.
As time wore on and no one came save occasional
journalists, who fulfilled the predictions of the de-
tective, and punctually presented themselves to
gain all possible information, the prisoner arrived


18
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
at a dim realization of the truth, that with the first
conviction of his guilt his friends had fallen away.
He had fancied, too, that she might come, the blue-
eyed, winsome girl, who had lured him into tempta-
tion with her careless words. In imagination he
saw her again, and caught the flash of her eyes as
she uttered the words that had proved his doom.
They had been discussing the wealth of certain local
magnates, and the uncertain moral foundations upon
which their hoards of gold had been accumulated.
“ But they are rich,” she had said, “ and riches
are more substantial than principles. The only sin
in stealing is in being found out.”
Ay; he had committed the unpardonable sin.
Not in making too free with his neighbor's money,
She recognized no crime in such a deed. But he
had been found out. The money he had taken
with a wild hope that by brilliant speculation he
could achieve a fortune that would enable him to
offer her bis band and the heart that was already
in her keeping, had proved his ruin. The bottom
had dropped out of the market. That was all.
The situation had not even the redeeming grace of
novelty, for the bottom was forever dropping out
of the stock market, and plunging a flock of over-
confident speculators into a pit of irretrievable dis-
grace.
Hour after hour passed by, and his solitude re-
mained undisturbed. His faith in human friend-
ship waned, but he looked forward with ever in-
creasing confidence to the coming of one upon
whose constancy he knew he could rely, though all


THE CRIME OF PHILIP KING.
19
the world beside proved false. As the clock in the
tower of St. Mary's Cathedral chimed the hour of
midnight, he heard the rustle of a woman's gar-
ments in the dark passage-way, and the sound of a
quavering voice addressing the turnkey, and he
knew that she had come. Lifting his eyes to the
narrow grating, he saw, framed in masses of soft
hair that bad become thickly threaded with silver
during the past six weeks, divine love and com-
passion and forgiveness in her eyes, his mother's
face. Another moment and the key grated in the
lock, and the door was thrown open.
“Mother!”
She put her arms about him, and gently drew his
head down to her bosom, stroking his hair with
trembling hands, her tears raining upon his head,
calling him her poor, dear, unhappy boy, while he
confessed his penitence and remorse upon the breast
that had cradled him in infancy.
He passed a miserable and restless night, tossing
upon his hard bunk, beneath vermin-infested blan-
kets, at times sinking into a state of semi-conscious-
ness that was more lethargy than slumber, only to
be aroused by blood-curdling yells from remote
portions of the building, mingled with the curses of
officers, who endeavored to stem with a counter-
current of profanity the mad flights of brains dis-
eased by alcohol or vice. The groans of a wounded
patient in the Receiving Hospital echoed like a dull
refrain of misery throughout the night. In the
underground dungeon of which his cell formed a


20
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
constituent part, no straggling ray of sunlight was
ever admitted to betray the line of demarkation
between day and night; and it was only by the
renewal of the rumble on the streets above that he
knew when morning approached, and the com-
mencement of the day's traffic was at hand.
As he lay stretched upon his bunk, trying to
reconcile himself to his unaccustomed surroundings,
the door opened, and a man appeared, bearing a tin
dish filled with an unsavory compound of meat and
potatoes, flanked by a chunk of coarse bread and a
tin cup of muddy-looking coffee.
When the fellow closed the door behind him,
King sat up and viewed the food with undisguised
loathing. He said to himself that if his life de-
pended upon it, he could never bring himself to
taste the stuff.
The next minute he took himself to task for his
squeamishness. Thousands of honest, hard-work-
ing men in San Francisco, and all over the world as
well, — mechanics at the bench, farmers behind the
plough, gallant soldiers in the field of duty, —
would consider themselves blest if they were pro-
vided with fare half as wholesome and substantial.
And who was he, that his epicurean tastes should
revolt against such frugal fare? No industrious
laborer, putting to noble use the strength and mus-
cle with which the Creator had endowed him ; no
soldier, risking his life in his country's cause. A
common thief, forsooth; a felon awaiting sentence; a
man who had laid hands upon property not his own,
and was suffering the logical consequences of a guilty


THE CRIME OF PHILIP KING. ' 21
deed. A month later would in all probability see
him an inmate of San Quentin, condemned to years
of penal servitude, a conscious, living machine,
his individuality forgotten, doing the bidding of a
harsh master. It would be prudent to overcome in
the outset any delicacy regarding the manner and
service of the food necessary for his daily suste-
nance, and he addressed himself resolutely to the
task.
His repugnance refused to be conquered. With
the basin on his knees, he was patiently endeavor-
ing to consume his rations, when an early visitor
was admitted, and King suspended his meal to give
vent to an ejaculation of surprise.
The newcomer was a man about thirty years of
age, tall and jaunty, attired in the most exquisite
taste, with a face whose prototype is daily encoun-
tered in any club-room where young society men
congregate. Intelligent, courteous, dignified, his
prevailing air of well-bred indifference was for the
moment disturbed as he beheld the sorry plight of
his friend.
" What! Dartmoor ?”
“Yes, King."
Nothing could have presented more forcibly to
King the contrast between the life he had led and
the new era upon which he had entered, than the
advent of this punctilious man of the world. The
two had sustained a friendly intimacy for years,
and the younger man had enjoyed the freedom of
the elder's luxurious bachelor apartments, while ex-
tending to him in turn the hospitality of his own


22
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
home. Together they had built many a stately cas-
tle in Spain, and watched the airy edifices topple
over into space, moved only by a secret determina-
tion to some day build them upon sure foundations.
And yet this intimacy had been a superficial, casual
tie, based only upon a whimsical preference for each
other's society, and never ennobled by any conge-
nial interest or unselfish regard that would cause
either to turn instinctively to the other in time of
need. Indeed, King reflected in quick self-reproach
that Dartmoor was one of the last men he should
have called upon for help or sympathy. Yet he
had presented himself unbidden in that noisome
spot, and was regarding the prisoner with pitiful
eyes that took in every detail of his miserable sur-
roundings, leaning up against the wall as if faint
and sickened at the revelation, grasping the pris-
oner's hands with the involuntary gesture of one
who would fain lift his friend from the slough of
wretchedness into which his feet had strayed.
Dartmoor's agitation was so frank and unaffecteá
that King was deeply moved, and he was not sur.
prised when, instead of the usual formula of con-
dolence or stiff-necked reproof tendered by friends
on such occasions, there came instead a sorrowful
exclamation, -
“ Oh, King! The pity of it!”
The guilty man had no response ready. His
mind roved back to the day when he first took his
position in the bank, jubilant in the assurance of a
handsome salary, and looking forward to a prosper.
ous and upright career. How bright the world


THE CRIME OF PHILIP KING.
28
had seemed then, and how easy he had thought it
would be to win advancement through industrious
application and faithful adherence to the old-fash-
ioned principles of truth and honor. Hope, ambi-
tion, happiness, all sacrificed by one false step.
"I don't know what made me, Dartmoor," he
replied, shakily. “A year ago I'd have sworn I
would cut my throat first, but the devil himself got
hold of me. I let go of honor, principle, reason, all
at once. When I realized it, it was too late.”
Dartmoor answered this confession with a sym.
pathetic pressure of the hand.
“What did you do with the money, King ?” he
asked, after a short pause.
“ Stocks."
“ Do you suppose it can be traced? Who was
your broker ? Were the transactions confiden-
tial ?"
“ Confidential as such things usually are,” re-
plied the prisoner, responding first to his friend's
last query. " Raymond Brothers were the firm.
I don't suppose they would volunteer any informa-
tion.”
“ Then it will be easy enough to cover up the
thing,” said Dartmoor, confidently. “What coun-
sel have you engaged ?”
“I have no use for counsel. I shall offer no de-
fense."
“No defense !” Dartmoor stared as if he thought
the young man had gone mad. “No defense !
What are you thinking of, King? How do you
expect to get off ?”


24
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
ates you that could nich the
“I don't expect to get off. I stole the money,
and I mean to face the music. I have n't the slight-
est ambition in the world to ape Floyd or Riley, or
the rest of those fellows, - employing a set of sharp
attorneys and hired witnesses; escaping justice by
taking a shrewd advantage of crotchets of the law.
Besides, Dartmoor, what is to be gained ?”
• What is to be gained ?" echoed the other, in
open amazement. “Liberty, happiness, a spotless
name, - everything worth having. As I under-
stand it, you have n't said a word yet that really
criminates you. There is n't an atom of proof
against you that could n't be overturned. There
are a dozen ways in which the money might have
been abstracted without involving anybody in the
bank's employ. Say you found out the deficiency
and feared it might be charged upon you, so made
off, eh? Think it over, King. Don't be hasty."
“ Think it over,” returned the prisoner, slowly.
“I have been thinking it over for the last six weeks ;
and I tell you I had a thousand times rather be
working out the honest penalty of my crime, branded
as a thief for all the rest of my days, than to tread
the streets of San Francisco a free man, borne down
with a secret burden of perjury and sin, knowing
myself to be a fraud upon the community, offering
an insult to my fellows every time I touch the hand
of an honest man, conscious that I am lower and
viler than the meanest vagabond in the crowd! I
appreciate your kindly motives, Dartmoor, but I
don't think I was ever cut out for a hypocrite. I
could n't do the whited sepulchre business.”


THE CRIME OF PHILIP KING.
25
Glancing up at his visitor as he concluded, the
criminal wondered what had come over Dartmoor.
The latter stood silent and motionless, his features
working under the influence of some strong emo-
tion, but his eyes glowing with a look of high re-
solve so foreign to his accustomed expression that
King marveled and was dumb, awaiting in breath-
less expectation the moment when his agitation
should be translated into words.
That moment never came. With a sudden im.
patient gesture Dartmoor seemed to rid himself of
an unwelcome thought, and he was the man of the
world again, shrewd, keen-eyed, practical, respect-
ing conventionalities, disdainful of false sentiment.
“ King, you are doing yourself an injustice. It's
plain to me you never meant to steal the money.
Granted that you committed an error ; circum-
stances made you a thief.”
He drew out his watch, a handsome gold time-
piece, and consulted it carelessly, then frankly ex-
tended his band.
“ It is evident, old fellow, that you want to make
a martyr of yourself, and I for one shall do my best
to prevent it. You 'll be brought up to plead in
the police court to-day at ten o'clock; consider
well what you say. I'll bring Shaver, the attor-
ney, round with me, - a man sharp as a steel trap;
the very one to get you out of this scrape.”
King listened to his friend's sophistry with grave
attention, but as they parted he met Dartmoor's
searching glance with a look of inflexible resolu-
tion.


CHAPTER III.
A WOMAN IN THE CASE.
AFTER a few hours the door of King's cell was
flung open, and he was marshaled along the central
passage of the prison, to where a group of fellow-
prisoners stood on the damp stones of the pave-
ment, and answered to their names as they were
called off the great register. Like a flock of sheep
they followed the bailiff up a steep, narrow flight
of steps, some bearing themselves with an air of
reckless bravado, others with subdued hilarity,
while now and then one seemed wrapped in sad
introspection, and shrank from the curious glances
of spectators, apparently not so far lost to the bet-
ter sentiments of his manhood as to have alto-
gether forfeited his sense of guilt and shame.
Passing through the doorway at the head of the
steps, they entered a small pen partitioned off from
the main floor of the court-room by a wooden rail-
ing, and furnished with long benches. On an ele-
vated platform at the left, upon a high seat uphol.
stered with crimson damask, and overhung with a
dingy canopy of the same material, a small, gray-
haired man, clad in a dark suit of citizen's clothes,
was seated. His forehead was full and prominent,
and the skeptical expression that rested on his face


28
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
indictment was repeated more distinctly. It was
the first time he had ever entered a court-room, and
he was ignorant of the accustomed rules of proced-
ure, while dimly conscious that something was ex-
pected of him, the precise nature of which he did
not know. The bailiff awakened him to a sense of
his remissness by a sharp tap of his cane.
“Well, what ’re you keeping the court waiting
for? What's your plea ? "
King knew that the critical moment of his life
was upon him ; that if he should maintain his in-
nocence he might be acquitted for lack of evidence,
and even in the event of his conviction there would
always be many who would believe that he had
been guiltless. He saw Dartmoor lay his hand on
the shoulder of a lawyer who stood by his side, ac-
companying the act with an interrogating look,
and he answered with one of silent negation. He
turned and faced the court, and replied to the
charge, in a voice in which there was no hint of
indecision, -
“ Guilty.”
The brief silence that followed was succeeded by
an unintelligible utterance from the judge, and
another name was called by the bailiff, when the
court was scandalized by an unprecedented pro-
ceeding.
“ If it please the court !”
The prisoner, who, after his plea of guilty, had
been remanded to his quarters in the tanks be-
neath, instead of obeying the order, remaines
standing somewhat unsteadily upon his feet, lean.


30
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
“ If it please the court, I have a protest to make.
I protest against innocent children being thrust into
that hot-bed of crime below. I protest against their
sensitive lungs being forced to inhale the foul air of
an underground dungeon, their tender feet treading
the moulding stones, their little bodies being bruised
by contact with hard wooden benches, when they
should be tucked into bed in a pure, wholesome at-
mosphere.”
Unheard of impudence! Outrageous audacity!
That a thief should dare to rise in open court and
level such infamous slanders at a time-honored in-
stitution of San Francisco, within whose precincts
better men than he had languished, suffered, sick-
ened, and died without complaint! Away with
him to his rightful place in the dark cell, where the
slime oozes from the stones underfoot, and count-
less millions of bacteria, germs of untold disease,
coat the walls !
Two officers hastened to the speaker's side and
laid their hands roughly upon him, and the judge,
taking advantage of the momentary check, inter-
posed a mild remonstrance :-
“ Really, Mr. King, you are entirely out of or-
der.”
Out of order, prisoner! A score of weighty cases
are ready to be called. Opposite stands a gallant
young member of the force, who captured a half-
dozen opium lay-outs last night, and the eager peo-
ple strain their eyes for a glimpse of the curious
implements of intoxication, while a score of pig.
tailed Mongolians wait to swell the city treasury


A WOMAN IN THE CASE.
31
with their glittering double eagles, before starting
out to ply their infamous trade in new and hidden
quarters. The drunken Irishman, who hit his wife
over the head with a billet of wood, has reserved a
rich fund of Hibernian eloquence with which to
regale the waiting audience, when he rises to speak
in his own behalf. The red-faced, goggle-eyed
hoodlum, who relieved a mansion on Van Ness
Avenue of its newly manufactured heirloom of
family plate last month, has engaged able counsel
to argue in his behalf. The drunken sailor, robbed
and beaten by a boarding-house keeper for refusing
to ship on a deep-sea vessel, must be consigned to
San Quentin for a goodly number of years, on the
charge of employing a deadly weapon to resist the
persuasions of his well-meaning friends, — fitting
rebuke to a miscreant who has had the temerity to
assert that the boarding-house runners are part and
parcel of that honorable body, the United States
Shipping Commission! The pair of yellow-haired
courtesans will thankfully accept a month's incar-
ceration in the House of Correction, to recuperate
from the effect of last night's orgie. In the pres-
ence of weighty matters of this ilk, what claims has
innocent childhood to the consideration of a tribu-
nal of justice ?
But what is this? The prisoner shaking off the
detaining grasp of the officers, standing firm and
erect in the dock, his eyes ablaze with indignation,
and his voice ringing throughout the hall in warn-
ing and appeal.
" I invoke the humanity of our people, the honor


32
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
of this court, to see that this outrage upon civiliza-
tion is no longer tolerated.”
“Mr. King, I have no responsibility in the mat-
ter.” The judge is constrained to answer the in-
dictment at last. An angry murmur arises from
the crowd, but the officers of the law are not slow
to express their impatience and disgust.
Shameless effrontery! Brazen insolence! The
prisoner yields at last to the fierce demands of the
bailiff, and consents to be escorted to his subterra-
nean residence.
And the children — stray lambs, lost for a time
from the parental fold, while anguished mothers
scour the streets in vain for a trace of the tiny wan-
derers! These little waifs, as well as the wee mis-
chief-doers bred in unsavory precincts of the city,
or juvenile outlaws who play on, forgetful that the
fatal hour of eight has chimed, continue to be gath-
ered into the reeking atmosphere of the prison,
where all night long they occupy a cage in full
view of the demons of drink and sin who are
dragged in from the street. Their open cage ad-
joins another of similar construction, where sinning
women make the air hideous with their blasphemous
shouts. A night spent in this proximity is a lib-
eral education in evil. A lifetime of patient school-
ing will not suffice to wipe away its lessons of deg.
radation.
As the heavy iron door of the cell swung upon
its hinges, King drew back with a questioning look,
for another shelf bad been let down at the side, and
on the rude bunk a man reclined in an easy atti:


A WOMAN IN THE CASE.
33
tude, his head resting in his hand. The guard, a
man thoroughly imbued with the dignity of his
position, was unable to conceal his disgust at this
unconscious movement of the prisoner he had in
tow.
“Get in and be d-d, you devil of an aristo-
crat! Want the city to furnish you with a high-
toned suite of rooms, all to yourself, don't you ?
Next thing, you 'll be calling for oysters and chicken
salad — yes, and plum-pudding, by ginger !”
Unheeding the turnkey's bullying tone, King had
walked quietly into the cell, and heard the key click
in the lock. The newcomer had risen to his feet,
with the air of a man accustomed to a punctilious
observance of the etiquette of prison life, and with a
gracious sweep of his hand waived his claim to the
stool which constituted the solitary furniture of the
apartment. King obeyed this silent invitation, and
the two men steadily regarded each other. The
stranger was a man not far from his own age, with
a frank, good-natured face, and a head that bespoke
much latent intellectual capacity of a practical, pro-
saic character. His coarse, sandy hair was cropped
close to his head, a suspicion of a reddish beard
adorned bis chin and upper lip, and when he spoke
there was a slight trace of the mother brogue in his
utterance. His genial blue eyes searched King's
face with the slow dawn of recognition, which
widened into a startled look that was not without
a tinge of self-congratulation.
“Ef it ain't Phil King!”
King greeted the announcement with a puzzled


34 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
expression, and tried to think where he had met
the man before, conning over the list of itinerant
gardeners and journeymen who had been at one
time and another in his father's employ, but was
forced to concede that his memory was at fault.
A shade of annoyance passed over his comrade's
face.
“Now don't be after sayin' ye can't rimimber,
Master Phil. Rest a bit, while I give your thinkin'
machinery a lift. Recollect whin you lived at the
old place at the Mission, — the big house with the
iron fence and the young deer on the lawn ? Right.
And a block further down the strate was the small
corner-grocery, where the women of the neighbor-
hood wint for flour and sugar and saleratus, and
the men for their beer and baccy. Good! Now
don't ye mind the avenin' one summer that you
stepped in on some triflin' errand, quite late, -
the first night of the big fair for St. Francis's
Chapel, on Twenty-Fourth and Valencia, and the
Industrial School band — seein' it were a worthy
relaygious charity — was sint over there to play?”
King's face brightened with the recurrence of
some long-forgotten recollection, and his cell-mate
burst into a low, exulting laugh.
"I thought I'd bring the thing back bright as
day, Master Phil. Lord, how you did give it to
the old rascal that kept the shop, and promise
howly retribution to the taycher that had us young-
sters under his wing, for lettin' the old man set up
the drinks for us little fellows! I can see Robinson
now, white to the lips, and shakin' in his boots for


A WOMAN IN THE CASE.
35
fear you'd betray him, and he'd be losin' his foine
salary. Lord bless ye, 't was n't the first time the
band had washed down their throats with beer
and whiskey, nor the last time nayther, by a long
shot."
He was silent for a moment, then resumed his
good-natured and garrulous talk.
“ Not that I'd be after talkin' in an uncivil way
of an institution so dear to the citizens at large,
and so profitable to the politaycians of the city, as
the one I'm namin'. Sure I'd be an ungrateful
chap to do so, for there I was housed and fed and
clothed, and taught after the fashion of the divil's
own heart, a matter of fourteen odd years. Of
course you know, Master Phil, being born and bred
in this glorious city, that when the law claps its
hand on a lad for any little roguery, he 's sent to
the school till he's twenty-one, unless belike he
has somebody with a bit o' influence in the ward to
intersayde for him with the supervisors. My old
mother might as well have tried to swape back the
waves of the sea with her broom as to move them
with her pitiful cries. I served' out my sintence,
Master Phil, barring a couple of weeks skulkin'
round the sand-hills, when a brace of us managed
to scale the wall one dark night, to our everlastin'
misery when we were hauled back. A nice pill,
now, was n't it, sir, for touching a match to a pile
of straw in the back yard at home, with niver a
thought of the wooden fence that was too near ?
Fourteen years in that stinkir' puddle of wicked-
ness, by the side of which the state prison is a day


36
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
cent and respectable place ! and begorry I ought to
know, for I've had a fair trial of both, and am in
a fair way to go up the bay agin," and he laughed
carelessly.
“But sure, Master Phil, if you did n't kape ac-
count of the blowing-up you gave the band-master,
you 'll be after seeing my name quite frequent in
the papers. And did you niver notice what was
said of the doin's of Stubbs, the housebreaker ? "
He spoke in an indifferent tone, and his companion
failed to observe the eager pride in his face, the
anxiety with which he awaited a reply.
“I don't recollect, I'm sure,” said King.
“Oh, but think a moment, sir! Michael Stubbs,
ailyus Mickey the Irishman, ailyus Red-headed
Jack, ailyus Stubbs, the crack burglar of the coast.
Ha'in't you niver heard none of them names?"
Stubbs was well nigh frantic with disappoint-
ment and humiliation. Had a lifetime of consis-
tent rascality and unremitting defiance of the law
of the land then been ineffectual to lift him above
the obscurity of the common herd? Were fame
and distinction such worthless baubles that one of
his own townsmen could not so much as recognize
any of his varied appellations ?
“I think,” said King, slowly, “ that I have heard
of Red-headed Jack. Did n't he have something
to do with that affair at Colonel Windom's on Pine
Street, some weeks ago, when a complete sweep
was made of all the gas and plumbing fixtures in
the house, during the family's absence ?”
The burglar slapped his knee as a token of his
hearty satisfaction.


A WOMAN IN THE CASE.
37
“ Right you are, sir! Here's the boy that did
that very job.”
King had listened idly to these queer biograph-
ical reminiscences and libelous reflections upon one
of San Francisco's most venerated institutions,
speculating upon the inherent qualities and out-
ward influences which had contributed to mould a
character seemingly so destitute of the ordinary
instincts of manhood as to stand confessed of a
career without a single redeeming act or trace of
honest ambition. He was surprised to see the care-
less manner thrown off like a mask.
“ An' now, Master Phil, for what have the div-
ils been takin' you up ?”
It was so plain that his fellow-prisoner conceived
him to be the victim of some base conspiracy, that
King felt unaccountably embarrassed and humili-
ated. It was by no means a pleasant duty to con-
fess his guilt to a man who had evidently for years
regarded him as an example of fearless moral hero-
ism.
“ It is n't an agreeable thing to be or to tell,
Stubbs. Two months ago I had a position of trust
in the Bank of Yerba Buena. To-day I am here
for making away with funds under my charge."
“But you niver did it!”.
Stubbs's voice held a menace as well as an em.
phatic denial. King felt himself weakening. It
was difficult to muster a vigorous feeling of parti-
sanship in the advocacy of his own guilt.
“I am sorry to disappoint you, Stubbs,” he said,
weakly, “but I can't deny the truth. I'm sure
I'd be only too glad if it was n't so.”


38
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
“Do you think I don't know a thafe when I see.
him?” demanded Stubbs, with a rare mixture of
sternness and drollery. “Sure I've the opportu-
nity of lookin' at one of the rogues ivery mornin' of
my life that I've a glass to dress by. No, Master
Phil, you can't fool an old hand like me. You
niver laid a finger on the money. You 're takin'
the blame for somebody else."
This unexpected mark of confidence from a man
he had never seen in his life but once before af-
fected King. He made a final effort to convince
the housebreaker of his criminality.
“I wish with all my heart that your faith was
better founded, Stubbs. Three months ago it
would have made me very happy to know that a
stranger would believe in me under such suspicious
circumstances. Now, I should be a worse scoun-
drel than I am if I allowed you to think me inno-
cent. I took the money myself. Nobody else had
part or parcel in the deed.”
“Thin," said the housebreaker, rising to his feet,
his face dark and wrathful, “ there is a woman in
the case.”
King had no reply to make to this charge. The
face that haunted him day and night rose again
before his vision, fair and winning in its beauty.
Stubbs saw that his accusation had struck home.
“Curse 'em! Curse 'em!” he muttered. “Don't
they bring damnation enough to men already on
the road to hell, to leave the honest ones alone ?"


CHAPTER IV.
THE SENTENCE OF THE LAW.
THE prominent social position of the culprit, the
irreproachable character he had hitherto sustained,
together with the daring nature of the theft, and
the commercial standing of the corporation he had
80 adroitly victimized, invested King's case with
considerable celebrity.
The beginning of the trial in the district court
was a field-day for the newspapers, whose repre-
sentatives made up a goodly delegation, noting
each shade of emotion that passed over the pris-
oner's face, and carefully treasuring every scrap of
gossip bearing upon his social life. Many refined
people, in whose families Philip King had been a
frequent and welcome visitor, were annoyed be-
yond measure at seeing their names paraded before
the public as intimate associates of the dashing
young malefactor. King made his appearance un-
attended by counsel, but when the full text of the
charge was read, and he learned that he was ac-
cused of the embezzlement of twenty-five thousand
dollars, he begged leave to amend his former plea,
answering only to the appropriation of two-fifths of
the specified sum.
This proceeding brought down upon him not a


THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
little ridicule and resentment. It was really very
amusing for the confessed thief of thousands to
stand upon ceremony regarding so small a matter.
The judge, who had forecast a quick trial and
swift settlement of the suit, and had arranged the
cases upon his docket accordingly, was vexed al-
most beyond endurance. The lawyers, disgusted
from the first at the prisoner's weak capitulation,
which deprived them of an opportunity for the cun-
ning cross-examination and masterly sifting of tes-
timony anticipated at the outset, were in no degree
mollified by this new turn of affairs, which threat
ened to divert their talents from the oratorical
channel in which they could be exerted to the best
advantage, and condemn them to a tedious quest af.
ter the disposition of the missing funds. The bank
officials, smarting under the outrageous betrayal of
trust by a man in whom they had placed implicit
confidence, were incensed anew by the obstinacy
with which he tried to force upon them a paradox-
ical theory. Aside from King, only three men had
access to the bank safe, and each of the three had
a direct interest in the safe and honorable conduct
of the affairs of the institution. Two of them, the
president and cashier, had a heavy capital invested.
The third, Henry Dartmoor, was a man whose
honor was above question. Up to the time of
King's sudden flight not a breath of suspicion had
ever attached to an employee of the bank, and the
directors had mentioned the fact from time to
time with commendable pride, and pointed with
gratification to their ever-increasing list of depos-


THE SENTENCE OF THE LAW.
41
good miliation jeans
itors, - infallible witness to the confidence of the
community.
Many who had been King's personal friends
went to him and urged him to confess the disposi-
tion he had made of the surplus sum, arguing that
the legal penalty would be in nowise altered, and
that to a wealthy corporation like the bank the
appropriation of the greater sum would appear no
more heinous than the peculation of the less.
Even Dartmoor, failing in his good-natured at-
tempt to save his friend from the humiliation of
penal disgrace, counseled him to make a clean
breast of the whole transaction. But the prisoner
remained obdurate.
At the end of the first day's proceedings, King's
fellow-prisoner received him with eager expec-
tancy. Failing to receive a voluntary confidence
from bis mate, his curiosity escaped restraint.
“ Was she there ?” he anxiously queried.
“She! Who ?”
“She — the woman."
6 No.”
“ Have to keep out of the way for fear she 'll git
nabbed by the cops ?”
“ Look here, Stubbs,” said King, with dignified
resentment, “ don't you ever refer to this matter
again in such a fashion. You don't understand the
case at all. She has done nothing.”
“ Jist like the rest of thim, — clane gone on her,
and no use prachin' to him," sagely commented the
housebreaker. “ Thinks there 's not another girl
alive fit to step in her shoes, and all that sort of


42
THE THE
MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
stuff. But you hear me, Master Phil, some of thim
'll show a hape of grit, stickin' to their men through
thick and thin. There's Jimmy Black's little girl,
Hepsy, — the boys call her Hep for short, - she's
the one that niver missed a day when he was up
for crackin' Goodhue's safe last year; and when
he went off on the boat — a triflin' business of my
own called me up to San Quentin the same day -
there was the young craytur on the pier kissin' the
bracelets on his wrists, if you 'll belayve me, and
the last thing we saw was her wavin' her handker-
chief that was drippin' with her tears. While this
girl of yours — the ungrateful, traycherous hussy!
has"
Stubbs had no opportunity to complete his sen-
tence. King sprang to his feet, his face livid with
passion, and twisting his hand in the burglar's col-
lar, gave him a kick that stretched him full length
upon the floor.
A turnkey in the passage outside heard the sound
of the fall, and rushing to the door, peered through
the grating, only to see King standing with blaz-
ing eyes at the side of the cell, while Stubbs, with
a dazed look, raised himself to a sitting posture on
the floor.
" What's the row in there ? You two trying to
murder each other ?”
“ Nary a bit, my friend ! ” jovially responded the
housebreaker. “ You see, my airly education 's
been niglicted, and Mr. King here's been givin'
me a lissen in eticat. Try him yourself some day.
Your manners are in nade of improvement.”


THE SENTENCE OF THE LAW.
43
To the few who believed King's statements, the
trial presented a curious and pathetic spectacle.
On the one hand the young fellow, so lately an
honored and respected member of society, whose
self-reproach could be augmented by no legal edict
or popular verdict, standing alone and defenseless,
bowed down beneath the humiliating consciousness
of crime, eager only to have the trial ended and
sentence passed, that he might shoulder bis burden
of shame and penance and apply himself to a phil.
osophical solution of the problem of existence.
The distrust and contempt with which his state-
ments were received at times appeared to confuse
his mind, and render him incapable of intelligent
reflection ; but he aided the prosecution to the full
extent of his power, recounting with painful exact-
itude the story of his misdeeds ; relating, like a
man in the toils of some hideous dream, his initial
steps in dishonesty ; exhibiting in open court a
small account-book, wherein the various súms he
had appropriated and disbursed were entered with
absurd fidelity, -- for, like many another rascal who
has robbed his master and met his deserts at the
hands of the law, his original design bad evidently
been to merely borrow the money for purposes of
speculation, and to replace it before its loss should
be detected. So far as they went, his statements
were corroborated by his brokers, — honest men, as
stock-brokers go, and in no wise accountable for
the unexpected depression of the market, which
betrayed the young man's hopes and demolished
his golden visions. He went to a certain point


44
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
with his confessions, but no farther, being appar.
ently unmoved by entreaties or threats, or the
scornful attitude of the prosecuting attorneys, who
on the other hand met his frank acknowledgments
with incredulous smiles and open sarcasm. Dart-
moor, who was repeatedly called to the stand on
behalf of the prosecution, gave his testimony with
manifest reluctance and a confessed regard for the
prisoner, which touched the latter, and aroused the
sympathy of spectators.
When two weeks passed, the prosecution, em-
ploying the sharpest detectives and most able at-
torneys, failed to discover the slightest trace of the
missing money, and resolved to abandon the search.
Throughout the community and among bis busi-
ness associates, the general opinion prevailed that
King had either cached the missing sum for future
use, or that some shameful secret, which he feared
to disclose, was connected with its disappearance
Some of his male companions, with the light disre
gard of morality which young men delight to affec?
before a large experience of life has taught them to
value honesty and purity in every relation, laugh-
ingly repeated Stubbs's assertion that there was a
woman in the case, and were disposed to look upon
King's sin more leniently, believing him to have
shared in the almost universal defilement that tar-
nishes the nobility of California manhood.
The court had no time or inclination for specu-
lation upon such themes. For many reasons it was
desirable that the trial should be brought to a
speedy issue. The complaint was amended, the


THE SENTENCE OF THE LAW. 45
prisoner was promptly convicted of the embezzle.
ment of ten thousand dollars, and one sultry Sep-
tember day sentence was passed upon him.
The judge who presided over the court in which
Philip King was tried, and whose province in our
tale has hitherto been to sit with lofty dignity upon
his elevated throne, to listen gravely to the evi-
dence, and rule upon trivial points of law, was a
man of remarkable character. Possessed of rare
legal acumen, a finely balanced and judicial mind,
he added to these traits an impressive personal
presence, and oratorical gifts that had early achieved
distinction for him in his pleadings at the bar.
Upon the bench he discharged his duties with a
fidelity that for the time divested him of every per-
sonal sympathy and human weakness, meting out
justice to evil-doers with such an unsparing and
impartial hand that he had become the terror of
the criminal class, and was known far and near as
the “ Iron Judge.”
There was something leonine in his aspect as he
prepared to pass sentence upon the prisoner, — in
his massive head, his corrugated brow, his Roman
nose and inflated nostrils, — his sullen eye brood-
ing with the portent of a coming storm. As he
swept the court-room with his glance the prisoner
quailed beneath his look, a wave of excitement
passed over the spectators, and the lawyers shriv-
eled with an humbling realization of their petty
aims, their unworthy subterfuges, their greed and
insincerity.
He began with a review of the testimony that


46
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
had been presented during the trial, — a recital so
mechanical in composition, so emotionless in its
analysis, so metallic in utterance, that a superficial
hearer would have predicted a calm and dispassion-
ate conclusion; yet when he had finished his sum-
mary, the criminal breach of faith, in all its black
hideousness, was imprinted on every heart. The
judge paused, reaching out his hand to take up a
small volume of the criminal code of the State, flut-
tering the leaves with a contemptuous motion, then
tossing the book back to its original place.
" In the face of the conclusive proof that has
been presented during this trial, and his own un-
qualified confession as well, I can do no less than
find the prisoner guilty of the charge. Guilty !
An unscrupulous thief, lost to all principles of
honor, treacherous to those who have befriended
him, a moral firebrand among his associates !
Guilty! But what can we do with him ?
- What is the extreme penalty of the law for his
offense ? Ten years of idleness in the penitentiary
of the State, comfortably housed, well fed, neatly
clothed, treated with more consideration and re-
spect than the average honest laborer of our city,
under a discipline less rigid than that of the pri-
vate soldier, virtually unrestricted in his communi-
cations with family and friends, and with an excel-
lent chance of being pardoned out on the next
change of administration. What terrors does such
a doom hold for the criminal ?
“Our system of prison management is radically,
wrong. Unless our prison directors imbibe suffi.


THE SENTENCE OF THE LAW.
47
eient severity of doctrine to make the institutions
under their charge a deterrent influence upon ill-
doers instead of a refuge for paupers and law-
breakers, the criminal element of our State will
increase with such rapidity that it will overwhelm
the land, and erase every vestige of virtue and
honor.
“I regard the prisoner at the bar as one of the
most pernicious examples ever presented to the
youth of our fair city. He is a moral leper in the
community, whose career will exert an infectious
influence wherever its knowledge extends. The
excellent character he has hitherto borne, instead
of constituting a redeeming feature of the case,
renders his crime the more heinous, and his exam-
ple the more perilous to society. While applying
the utmost rigor of the law, and condemning him
to serve ten years behind the bars of San Quentin,
I have no hesitation in saying that if it were in
my power to increase the severity of the legal pen-
alty of his crime, I would stipulate that he should
be placed in solitary confinement, and sentence him
for life.”
The judge wiped his forehead as he concluded.
Attorneys smiled their appreciation of one of the
most unique opinions ever delivered in a California
court. No one who looked upon the inexorable
face of the Iron Judge would have credited the fact
that not a month before, discovering a systematic
series of petty thefts on the part of his own confi-
dential clerk, - peculations extending over a term
of years, — he had not disdained to shed a tear or


48
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
so in secret, and had dismissed the fellow with a
fatherly admonition, offering him a free field in
which to retrieve his misdeeds. Precept and prac-
tice do not always go hand in hand, particularly
when the precept inculcates a lesson of stern jus-
tice, and a great heart rules the man.
And the prisoner, the reprehensible sinner who
added to his other iniquities the unpardonable
crime of possessing a hitherto unblemished moral
character ? Score another in the black category of
his sins!
Not content with sapping the moral foundations
of San Francisco society, he must conclude his pub-
lic career with a lame spectacular effect. Shame-
ful prostitution of dramatic purpose! Nauseous
appeal to the sympathy of the spectators ! Puerile
exhibition of physical weakness! Overcome by an
appalling realization of the consequences of his
crime, weighed down with a hopeless sense of the
degradation he has incurred, the rascal has fainted
in the dock.


CHAPTER V.
IMPRISONMENT.
DURING the brief interval that elapsed between
the passing of King's sentence and its execution,
Stubbs had been tried and convicted before another
tribunal. Both prisoners were arraigned for trial
in a hapless period. The rapid growth of crime
throughout the State, the contemptuous disregard
of the laws evinced by criminals high and low, at-
tributed to the wanton miscarriage of justice in the
cases of several notorious offenders, had so incensed
the people that they had risen in a solid phalanx
at the last election. Eschewing the delicate polit-
ical apparatus of the primaries, they had seated on
the bench a body of men of stern fibre and unim-
peachable integrity, pledged to carry out the laws
in their most stringent application. Under such
circumstances, Stubbs's bold career as criminal and
outlaw served him ill, and after a scathing denun.
ciation from the bench — a dissertation to which
the housebreaker listened with an expression of affa-
ble approval — the evil hand of well-deserved Fate
descended upon him, and the State adopted him as
its ward for a term of twenty years.
The two men set out together upon their journey
one rainy autumn day, their wrists linked together


50
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
by a stout steel chain, – outer emblem of the sub-
tle bond of crime, — moving down an obscure side
street, under convoy of a deputy sheriff. King
walked the pavement with a mechanical tread, look-
ing neither to right nor left, apparently wrapt in
sad meditation. The chill of his companion's mood
seemed to infect the other prisoner's happy spirit,
overclouding his jolly face and checking his cus-
tomary volubility.
No sympathetic convention of friends with noisy
demonstrations of regret, no parting mementos of
affection or good-will, marked their departure from
their native city into long and ignominious exile.
Even the housebreaker's boon companions, whose
profession may be assumed to have afforded them
ample leisure by day, and who hailed with avidity
every occasion that admitted of boisterous celebra-
tion, guided either by motives of delicacy toward
their luckless comrade or a wholesome dread of ven-
turing in too close proximity to the minions of the
law, gave the trio a wide berth.
As they reached the wharf and stood outside the
ferry gate, their progress delayed by a lock of ve-
hicles, King felt a cordial slap on his shoulder, and
turned to see a huge fellow in a rough gray suit,
armed with the accoutrements of a freshly returned
traveler.
“ How are you, King ?”
“Home again, Rutherford ?"
The traveler did not observe the Aush of shame
that darkened the young man's face, the embar-
rassed tone that distinguished his greeting.


IMPRISONMENT.
51
“ We've had a capital three months' outing, -
a fine lot of specimens, I assure you. But moun-
taineering is rough business in wet weather, and
I'm glad to be back again.”
He spoke with a hearty candor that was good to
hear, and King's heart failed him as he met his
friend's true and honest eyes.
- What's up? A hunt up country? You should
be differently rigged out for such weather,” signifi-
cantly touching the young man's light suit.
With a despairing gesture King raised his right
hand, and the glittering steel bracelet came into
view, while the pendent links rattled a dismal ac-
companiment to this act. His friend recoiled, over-
come with indignation and disgust.
“ What wretched buffoonery is this, King ?” he
demanded, sternly.
“ I tell you it is no buffoonery. It is the awful
reality,” insisted the miserable man.
“ No talking to prisoners, sir. Beg pardon, but
them 's my orders.”
The deputy touched his hat civilly to the trans-
gressor as he spoke, for he recognized an old and
well-beloved citizen of San Francisco, whose scien-
tific achievements rendered him illustrious through.
out two continents.
Overcome by the shock of the intelligence, John
Rutherford allowed the party to pass on without fur-
ther parley. King did not lift his head again until
they stood on the boat and a hoarse steam whistle
announced her departure. Then be scanned the
loiterers on the wharf. There was the usual quota


52
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
of water-front officials, clad in dark uniforms with
shining brass buttons, and moving about with pom:
pous authority. Empty express wagons were driven
noisily off in the direction of the city. A few well.
dressed people lingered on the pier, waving fare-
well to friends on board the steamer. One figure
alone attracted his attention. It was that of a
woman who had sought shelter from curious gaze
in a retired nook of the wharf, at the rear of a huge
freight warehouse. Clad in a long gray cloak that
concealed the outlines of her form, with the hood
drawn closely about her face, she was half leaning
against, half clinging to a stout pile that rose above
the edge of the pier. As the boat swung around
on her course, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the
woman's face, and for the moment — so powerful
are the optical illusions sometimes wrought by the
fancies of a disordered brain, so distinctly are such
fancies sometimes photographed upon the actual
vision - he could have sworn that it was the face
of Margaret Thaxter, the girl who had unwittingly
worked his ruin.
He had prepared to encounter a new world at
the prison, foreign in appearance, antipodal in
tastes, distinct in character, impulses, and temper-
ament, from the mould of society in which his lot
had been cast. He found himself one of a large
community typifying in a marked degree the great
world of which each had at some time been a com-
ponent part. Victims of misguided passions or of
moral weakness, their brotherhood in crime had not


54
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
and no one had cared to enumerate them. A
California Street broker of prestige in the flush
days of the passing decade occupied the cell next
to his own. He recognized in the dishwasher a
darky who had served him daily for a couple of
years in a fashionable Pine Street coffee-house. A
hack-driver named Burke, against whose extortions
he had once protected a couple of ladies, - a mild
species of highway robbery, which Burke pursued
with such success that he afterwards took to the
road in genuine professional form, — was under
life sentence, and had risen to the proud post of
trusty, a position which afforded fine opportunity
for the exercise of personal spite. Before the ex-
piration of his term King had for a neighbor the
retiring secretary of the light-house commission, —
a genial and popular fellow, whose pardon for a
gross malfeasance in office was the last official act
of a retiring President of the Union.
King was by no means popular among his fellow-
prisoners. He did not possess the elasticity of tem-
perament which might bave enabled him to laugh
away his disgrace, forgetful of the past and careless
of the future; nor was he hypocrite enough to feign
a lightness of heart that he did not feel. His tidy
personal habits, his habitual reserve, his honest and
straightforward course, united with his decency of
speech and manner, alienated him from the vulgar
and unlettered rabble, although a quiet and unde-
monstrative friendship grew up between him and
others, who, like himself, had permitted the weak.
ness of a moment to blight the promise of a life
time.


IMPRISONMENT.
55
Toward the officers of the prison who came most
in contact with his daily life, he occupied the un-
fortunate relation of a man whom circumstance
and his own error had placed in an attitude of the
most humiliating subordination, but who was nev-
ertheless their superior in education and breeding.
With the suspicion of coarse natures, they were
ready to misinterpret and distort his most inoffen-
sive act. His unfailing obedience to their rules
was construed into a derisive recognition of their
power ; his respectful courtesy seemed a cloak for
hidden mockery ; his taciturnity was translated to
signify the bitterness of contempt.
Stubbs, on the other hand, was on terms of the
most cordial friendship with every one within the
grounds, from the surliest turnkey to the gruffest
of his fellow-prisoners. His jolly face, genial man-
ner, and spontaneous wit made him a general fa-
vorite. To him the penalty he had incurred pos-
sessed no element of embarrassment or terror. The
needs of his nature were by no means exacting. A
whole roof above his head, warmth and plenty, and
a crowd at hand who could appreciate the merits of
a good story made up the sum total of the demands
of his existence. It is true that the curtailment of
his liberty was something of a hardship to a man of
his temperament, but it is possible that within the
hidden depths of his soul he realized his utter in-
stability and incapacity to cope with temptation,
his total inability to serve any good use in the econ-
omy of civilization. Opposed to this philosophic
consolation was the prospect that some of his ardent


56
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
friends outside might contrive to procure the exer-
cise of executive clemency, - a possibility which
introduced into his somewhat monotonous life an
agreeable and exciting element. He realized, in a
dim way, that some subtle difference in the fabric
of King's inner being created demands which were
beyond his comprehension, and prevented his friend
from finding solace in the vulgar comforts that
served his use; but he never guessed the bitter
inner conflict that raged within the young fellow's
soul, the sickening repulsion that crept over him,
the utter impossibility of assimilation with the
coarse natures by whom he was surrounded. There
were times when it seemed as if the monotonous
routine of daily duty, the changeless scene, the
sight of the same discouraged and sullen faces,
would drive King mad. But he resolutely denied
his impatience all outward demonstration, and
thereby scored a victory over himself that was
never entered on the prison records, and endowed
him with a power of self-control that served him
well in after days. He sometimes comforted him-
self with the thought that during the years of his
imprisonment there might arise an opportunity for
valorous action or self-sacrifice, by which he might
assert bis manhood and offset the unhappy deed
that weighed him down in public estimation ; but
he was destined to be one of the silent majority of
penitents whose sacrifices are never reckoned, whose
victories are unseen.
The chance for which King had vaguely longed
arrived in due course of time, and passed him by.


IMPRISONMENT.
57
When, several years after the date of his incarcera-
tion, a fire broke out in the warden's house, it was
Stubbs who luckily chanced to be on the outside,
who recognized the peril and the need, who grasped
the momentary danger of insurgency, and realized
the frightful consequences if an army of over a thou-
sand criminals should break loose ; who seized a
rifle dropped by an excited guard, and mounting
the broad wall which served as a beat for the sen-
tries, aided by several brave and determined men,
quelled a riot in its inception, and organized a val-
iant and reliable company of volunteers to fight the
devastating element; Stubbs, who boldly made his
way where the blaze was fiercest and the heat most
intolerable, who incited others to courageous deeds
by his own intrepid example, and, when the flames
were finally vanquished, was led from the spot with
singed hair and eyebrows, scarred face, and blinded
eyes.
While these exciting events transpired, King was
lying in the hospital, safely removed from all dan.
ger of conflagration, delirious in the clutches of a
low malarial fever. His first conscious act was to
read an official document aloud to a fellow-prisoner
who wandered through the ward with bandaged
eyes. The fellow-convict was Stubbs. The paper,
which bore the governor's signature, was a free and
unconditional pardon.
King made the most of the occasion, and during
the quiet days that followed had many serious talks
with the housebreaker in relation to the errors
of his past life and the possibilities open before


58
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
him. Stubbs heard him without demur, assenting
to his admonitions with a rare mixture of integrity
of purpose and laxity of principle that undermined
King's gravity. When his eyesight became finally
restored, and there was no longer any excuse for
delaying his departure, Stubbs evinced a singular
disinclination to avail himself of his freedom, and
when at length, after repeated false starts, he stood
at last, bundle in hand, on the threshold of the
sick-ward, he regarded bis friend with wistful eyes.
“ What is it, Stubbs ? ” said King.
Stubbs cleared his throat vigorously, decided to
rest his weight upon one foot, then shifted it to the
other.
“ If it's not askin' too much, is it sure you are,
Mr. King, that you 'll kape straight while I 'm
gone?"
The absurdity of the appeal, coming from such a
source, the unconscious implication that the speaker's
absence would be a temporary episode, stirred King's
sense of bumor.
“ If I was half as sure of you, my boy! You ’ve .
got a brand-new start, Stubbs. Apply that pluck
and obstinate determination of yours in the right
direction, and there is n't anything you can't accom-
plish. Your gallant behavior at the fire has made
you a host of friends among influential people.
Stand up on the strength of that, and, above all
things, keep yourself clear of any entanglement
with the old gang."
.“ And indade I'll do the same, sir,” replied the
pardoned convict, with dignity. “It's ashamed


IMPRISONMENT.
59
I'd be to be reckoned amongst the boys these days,
the way they do their work in San Francisco. I'd
smile to see myself spakin' to chaps that go through
a house the way Billy Coogan and his pals handled
the Widow Green's place on Mission Street, the
other night, raisin' a cry of fire in the street and
sneakin' through the hallways, grabbin' overcoats
and seal-skin sacks and ivery thing that could be
aisily idintified, whin there was the alleyway, quiet
and convanient by night, an'a thin-bladed knife
as would undo the fastenin's of the butler's pantry,
an'a cool thousand dollars of rale old family plate
in the closet, that could be melted down in no time.
It's a cryin' disgrace to the profession.”
Strong as was Stubbs's determination to lead an
honest life, his ambition to show Billy Coogan and
his pals a specimen of really artistic work in the
line of their mutual profession was stronger. One
night, some six weeks later, as he was departing
from Vanderheyden's jewelry manufactory, laden
with a rich booty of watches and brooches, he
walked into the arms of a couple of policemen,
whom a hidden burglar alarm had summoned to
the spot. A month later he was receiving the cor.
dial greetings of his old comrades in San Quentin,
and the sly taunts of Billy Coogan and his gang.
During the brief period of Stubbs's retirement
from the world, the judiciary of his native city had
twice undergone a change. Satiated with their
former triumph, the more intelligent of the citizens
had relapsed into their customary state of indiffer-
ence to matters political, and the “ bosses ” again


60
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
took undisputed possession of the field. The wor-
thy incumbents of the bench, who had served their
constituencies faithfully for a brief period, were
summarily deposed, to be replaced by men who
were in some instances their peers in loyalty of
purpose and purity of principle, but who possessed
more pliable natures. Under these happy auspices,
Stubbs's good-humored pleasantry, his frank contri-
tion, his philosophical view of the situation, and
his eloquent promises of reformation, so impressed
the court, that upon his fifth conviction for burg-
lary he was let off with a few words of gentle ad-
monition and a five years' sentence.
The skepticism with which Stubbs had first re-
garded King's confession of guilt had succumbed to
the latter's unwavering insistence, but as the house-
breaker progressed from avowed incredulity to un-
willing conviction, to his simple mind King stood
forth as a tangible promise of moral regeneration,
and all his own hopes of reformation were staked
upon his friend's perseverance in an upright path.
Like the single-bearted devotee of a Catholic coun-
try, who watches his sculptured saint with unflag-
ging vigilance, fearful lest wind or weather, or the
impious hands of heretics, should mar its noble lines
or disfigure its chiseled beauty, Stubbs followed
King's movements in open apprehension that the
corrupt atmosphere of prison life might'undermine
bis virtuous resolves or taint his spiritual nature.
On his return to the penitentiary the reprobate
redoubled his vigilance, for it seemed as if the lower
he sank, and the more hopeless the conviction of


IMPRISONMENT.
his own fallibility, the more King's integrity be-
came a question of fearful moment. The very fact
that the latter had placed a strict embargo upon
the introduction of vulgar or profane language in
their intercourse together increased the wonder-
ing respect with which Stubbs regarded him, and
served to distinguish him above all the rest of his
associates.
On the rare occasions when King departed from
his customary reserve to speak words of earnest ad-
vice to the housebreaker, reminding him of the pos-
sibilities of good still before him, and pointing out
the incentives that existed for an honest life, his
auditor heard him with undisguised delight, less
moved by the substance of the appeal than by the
quietus to his own misgivings.
“Good for you, Master Phil,” he would respond
on such occasions. “I'll stake my bottom dollar
ivery time on a man that can prache like that.”
Years of hard toil, of patient endeavor, of upright
action, steadily adhered to in spite of the atmos.
phere by which he was surrounded ; weeks of sick-
ness on a hard cot in a stifling ward, watched by
compulsory attendants, whose ruling consideration
was how best to evade any overstress of duty; hop-
ing, striving, working for an honorable release at
the earliest lawful date; counting up the credits al-
lowed by law for good behavior, and reckoning the
days of freedom they represented; and when six
years and one month had passed and King looked
forward to certain discharge some eight weeks
thence — an excavation was discovered in a wall of


62
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
masonry, and the instruments that performed the
work were found concealed beneath the bedding in
his cell. The credits accumulated by years of pa-
tient labor and consistent obedience were wiped
away in a moment, and four years more of hopeless
endurance succeeded.
When the knowledge of the prolongation of his
sentence came upon King, the courage and patience
that had hitherto sustained him yielded to the un-
expected strain. It would be impossible to convey
any adequate conception of what those last four
years represented to the weary and heartsick man.
Each day of the first twelve months was in itself
an infinite cycle, which dragged its interminable
length along a course beset with torment and shad-
owed by the darkness of despair.
He sometimes wondered that he did not abandon
all restraint, and become one of the reckless, un-
scrupulous, blaspheming throng about him. He
accredited his self-command to constitutional aver-
sion rather than any heroic principle of action. By
degrees the galling sense of injustice, the miserable
consciousness of valuable time consumed in need-
less sacrifice, ceased to sway his mind, and the same
stoical calm that had distinguished him during the
earlier years of his imprisonment was restored.
In the prison library he spent many profitable
hours, delving among its dregs of worthless litera-
ture for stray volumes of interest and worth, or
culling from its dry theological tomes occasional
pearls of thought and stimulating sentiment. The
last year of his confinement he was called upon to


IMPRISONMENT.
63
labor in a new field. The child convicts, from ten
to fourteen years of age, sentenced by the district
courts of interior counties for the heinous crimes
of horse-stealing, burglary, grand larceny, and the
ilk, were segregated from the older prisoners and
gathered into a little day-school, under the auspices
of the good old chaplain. King was requested to
assist in this work, and labored efficiently and well.
It is said that the only professions of penitence or
regret that ever fell from his lips — for in after life
he was a man of deeds rather than words — were
uttered during his ministrations among these erring
youths.
In the early days of his imprisonment his mother
was stricken down with a slow and wasting disease.
The faithful affection and encouragement that she
was unable to express in person were conveyed to
him through the medium of her letters. Could the
Iron Judge have been aware of the influence ex-
erted by these tender missives, he would bave con-
ceded the fallacy of one of his foremost tenets of
penitentiary government. These messages of love
and hope were the prisoner's sole stimulus to good
in an atmosphere thick with the taint of corruption.
They steeled him against temptation and rendered
him proof against sin. More than all, the constant
reminder that the world still held one whose trust
in him was unshaken, and who looked to the future
with a tender dependence upon his aid, preserved
alive within his soul that precious spark of immor-
tal fire which men call self-respect, and which is
the very germ and essence of all human progress.


THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
NR
| A letter from John Rutherford was delivered to
him during the first month of his imprisonment,
and its contents were treasured in his heart. It
was short and terse, with a subdued vigor of mean-
ing characteristic of the man, and read as follows:
Philip King, San Quentin — My Dear Boy: Noth-
ing that has passed has served to alter my friendship.
There are some who have faith that you will prove the
master of circumstances, and achieve a noble record yet.
Bear this in mind, and when you return, do not fail to
call upon your sincere friend,
JOHN RUTHERFORD.


CHAPTER VI.
RELEASE.
“ My soul!”
The watchman on the wharf at San Quentin ut-
tered the exclamation under his breath, as a man
approached, walking slowly and wearily, and com-
ing from the direction of the prison buildings. The
officer had a good memory for faces, but he looked
at the new-comer with a puzzled expression, started
to address him, checked himself, then ventured a
doubtful inquiry.
“Beg pardon, sir. You 're not Philip King ?”
The man nodded an affirmative. The watchman
looked at the dark hair thickly sprinkled with gray,
the sunken cheeks, the hollow eyes, the contracted
lines of the face, the thinned and stooping form.
He repeated the ejaculation again, this time aloud,
and with reinforced vigor, —
“My soul!"
He recalled the athletic, boyish figure that had
descended the gangway of the steamer ten years
before, the young and handsome face that had
greeted him with a look of pathetic inquiry, the
quick, impatient movements of the young fellow
who had never known restraint, and contrasted him
with this feeble spectre of a man, who bore a look
of premature age. Yet there was a subtle some-
Sreeted him Young and be the steamore that had


66
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
thing about the man, he could not for the life of
him say what, that exerted a singular fascination,
and commanded his respect as the boy had never
done.
“ Going back, sir ? "
“ Yes."
6 Glad to hear it."
It was plain that the watchman desired to be
sociable. After a pause he renewed the conversa-
tion.
“ Standing here year in and year out, seeing men
coming and going like so many bees, and being
chaffed by all sorts of people, don't take away all
the human feeling a body has. I'm free to con-
fess I'd rather see a man going out than coming
in.”
This magnanimous concession elicited no com-
ment from the freed convict, who was gazing out
upon the bay to where a small steamer glided
swiftly onward, nearing the pier with every revolu-
tion of her wheels. It was an October day. The
air was fresh and mild. The clear blue sky looked
down serenely upon its own reflection mirrored in
the broad expanse of water, unbroken save where a
light breeze dimpled the smooth surface with sil.
very ripples. Across the bay the crests of the pur-
ple hills of the Mount Diablo range were gilded by
the morning sun.
As the boat approached the wharf several other
passengers made their appearance, and one among
them came quietly to King's side.
“Why, Stubbs, I thought you left a week ago."


RELEASE.
67
“ To be sure, Mr. King. But I could n't help
feelin' I'd make a better start like if I could go out
with you. Belike it ’ll sort o' brace me up, for
you know it's dead in arnist that I am this time.”
As the boat swung from the dock the two men
lingered on deck, and King looked back toward the
grim quadrangle where the best ten years of his
life bad been spent. He left it without regret, but
he thought sadly of several men in whose souls the
honest leaven had long ago worked atonement for
youthful crimes, and reflected upon the doom of
Winchester Doyle, the life prisoner -- instance of
one of the most flagrant miscarriages of justice that
ever disgraced a fair State — whom California had
done the dual wrong of first condemning for a justi-
fiable act of self-defense, and afterwards failed to
compensate for noble service rendered the State in
time of peril.
As the two men entered the upper cabin, King
hesitated a moment before taking a seat on the
plush cushions, and cast an uneasy glance about,
as if expecting to hear a rough voice order him
to join the chattering throng of Chinamen on the
lower deck. He had put his hand in his pocket -
it was a novel and delightful sensation to wear a
decent suit once more — and, as he did so, his fin-
gers came in contact with a small roll that had
been handed him by the warden on his dismissal.
He resumed conversation with the housebreaker.
“Take my advice, Stubbs. Cut San Francisco
and your old cronies. Get off to a new place where
you stand an equal chance with other men. Old
associations will be too much for you here."


68
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
Stubbs scratched his head reflectively. “Shouldn't
wonder if it was in the right you are, Mr. King,
but it's not an aisy thing to do. Travelin' on this
coast costs a hape of money. Begorra! there's
that crib on Sutter Street me an' the boys was
about to tackle when they hauled me in, last time.
And if iver you see a nater job than I make " -
“Oh, Stubbs, Stubbs!” King was in despair.
A promising beginning, indeed, for the rascal to be
planning another robbery the first ten minutes after
his embarkation.
“Where 's the money they gave you when you
were discharged ?”
“Money! An' how many miles will five dollars
carry a man, to say nothin' of four days' livin' taken
out of it already ?”
Stubbs's astonishment paralyzed him for a mo-
ment. King sat silently thinking. The sum he
received then must have been deposited by his
mother. A sudden whim moved him.
“ Have you any spare change about you, Stubbs ?
I may want a little myself when I get down to the
city.”
The housebreaker plunged bis band into his
pocket and drew out a small handful of silver, the
sum and substance of his worldly possessions. King
watched him narrowly, and hastily counted over
the pieces. There was a balf-dollar, two quarters,
a dime, and a couple of nickels. Stubbs picked out
one of the quarters and handed the balance to his
friend, with the air of a prince of the crown. King
deliberately pocketed it. Then he laid in Stubbs's
great paw the roll he had drawn from his pocket.


RELEASE.
69
“ Be the powers ! But that weighs down solid.”
“ Take it, old boy."
" And what is it you 're takin' me for, Master
Phil ?”
Amazement, incredulity, admiration of King's
generosity and virtuous self-denial, passed in quick
procession over Stubbs's open countenance as he
resolutely extended the roll to his friend. But
King had thrust his hands into his trousers' pock-
ets, and looked a decided negative to the other's
attempts to make restoration.
“ Now, Stubbs, be reasonable,” he remonstrated.
“ Let me have my way, like a good fellow. This
money will carry you away from temptation, and
you will have a chance to begin an honest life. I
am determined to start just where I left off, and
fight my way up single-handed. I want no odds
from the world. I. can never feel myself a man
again until I have worked myself unaided from
the pit into which I deliberately plunged.” Lines
of grim resolution displayed themselves about his
mouth as he spoke, but he ended with a light jest.
“ If I fail, then I can apply to you, and out of the
small fortune you will have amassed by that time
down in New Mexico or Arizona, you can easily
spare enough to help out an old friend.”
The good-natured fellow's irresponsible tempera-
ment blossomed into glad certainty at the mere
suggestion.
- By thunder, that I will! I'll take up some
government land and stock it with sheep; it's the
straight and aisy road to fortune. This is the time


70
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
I'll be turnin' a new leaf in faith. And you shall
be my partner, Master Phil. Cracky! how we'll
get on!”
The boat ran into a new slip, and all the sur-
roundings were strange and unfamiliar. As the
oddly assorted pair parted on the wharf, Stubbs
laid his hand on King's arm with awkward affec-
tion.
“ I suppose it's no use talkin', Mr. King. But
if you'd only be makin' up your mind to kape
clear of her.”
“What?” “King's thoughts had turned to pro-
saic subjects at that moment, and he was deciding
in what direction he would go for a bath and shave
before presenting himself at home.
“ Her. The woman in the case.'” Stubbs's
eyes twinkled as he recollected the abrupt terminus
of their last discussion of the subject.
“You need have no concern on that point, Stubbs.
Our paths have parted forever. She would n't so
much as look at me if I met her in the street; and
there is n't the slightest chance of my seeing her,
for she's over five thousand miles from here at
this moment.”
“ Then you ’re safe!” rejoined his companion,
heartily, and turning on his heel, he disappeared in
the great vortex of humanity which centred on
lower Market Street.
The housebreaker's warning lingered in King's
mind. The peril he had to apprehend was beyond
Stubbs's comprehension, and consisted in the frailty
of his own soul, which clung with unconquerable


RELEASE.
tenacity to an illusive dream, to hopes that all
decency demanded should have been buried ten
years ago. He had tried to forget her, tried to
ignore the fact that any such woman ever existed;
but occasional references in his mother's letters,
chance bits of newspaper gossip, and the treacher-
ous weakness of his own heart, had kept her mem-
ory alive. But a short time previous to his release
he had learned of her departure for Europe.
He trod the streets of the busy city, an exile
returning to the place of his nativity after years of
absence and separation, but, alas ! a miserable and
dishonored exile; wearing no cross of honor or
proud decorations proclaiming sore penance val-
iantly undergone for his nation's sake, or heroic
warfare in support of a noble principle; a man
with lowered standard, and despondent heart, de-
prived of the dearest rights of citizenship through
willful disregard of his country's honored laws -
sorry spectacle, indeed, for the honest crowd! Of
the few who recognized him none stopped to speak,
but one man thought he read back of the sensitive,
shrinking face a hidden force of resolve which might
yet prove the criminal's redemption. King only
observed the president of the bank he had robbed, a
man who had once honored him with implicit trust,
but who now passed him with a single cutting
glance and a distant recognition.
He struggled to free himself from oppressive rec-
ollections, and to uproot all unhealthy sentiment
from his mind. The world was still green and
beautiful; flowers of exquisite forms and hues fung


72
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
their perfume along the dusty highway; the voices
of happy children echoed on every side; the sun
bathed all the earth in gladness, and the air was
full of the subtle suggestion of renewed growth
and vigor that follows the first rains of the season.
Hope and faith still remained for the erring, and
as for him, bad he not one dear and faithful friend
to cheer and bless existence ?
But one thought should have dominion in his
mind that day. He was going home to his mother
- his mother! whose love had never failed him
during the long ordeal of sin and disgrace; who
would welcome him with a brave face and con-
soling words, and who would rejoice in his suc-
cesses, comfort him in discouragement, exult in his
dearly won victories. He recalled the fabled story
of Antæus, whose strength increased a hundred-
fold at every contact with mother earth, and felt
that his own courage would spring into new vitality
when his eyes rested upon that dear face. One
touch of her hand, her kiss upon his cheek, and the
haunting sense of misery and loss would be stifled,
and he would be a man once more, ready to do, to
dare, and to suffer.
There is no truth in the subtle undercurrent of
foreboding which is fabled to presage impending
sorrow. Philip King's heart was lighter than it
had been for years as he neared his home. He was
at the gate before he observed that the unusual
blockade of vehicles in the street centred at his
father's house. No suspicion of what awaited him
forecast its shadow upon his path as he proceeded


RELEASE.
73
slowly up the graveled walk, looking about him
in wondering inquiry. The porch and hall were
crowded with people, many of whom were strangers.
A man's voice within was lifted in exhortation.
Some one stepped to his side and led him gently
into the parlor. Beneath the arch that ran across
the room stood a bier, draped with black cloth, and
covered with flowers.
Painfully, like one who learns the meaning of a
strange language word by word, ignorant of its
connection with what is past and unseeing what is
to come, he crossed the room and stood behind the
coffin. Still and unresponsive, the light of a heav-
enly peace on her worn features and pale brow, he
saw his mother, cold and dead.
The funeral was over, and father and son entered
together their desolate home.
"Father, for her sake!” Philip King could say
no more, but he stretched out his hand in humble
appeal. The eyes of the elder man were blinded by
sorrow. He failed to see, or seeing, failed to read
the meaning of the deeply-graven lines on the
young man's face. He only remembered that the
boy had been the one to bring disgrace on an hon-
ored name, to drag down his own commercial credit,
and to cloud his mother's life with sorrow. This
mention of the dead stirred his smothering resent-
ment to a low flame.
6. For her sake!' I have no intention of turn-
ing melodramatic, Philip, of disowning you as my
son, or of visiting upon you a father's curse. Crime


74
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
itself entails a heavier curse than human lips can
pronounce. But don't appeal to her memory. You
broke her beart ten years ago. She never held up
her head after that day. Had it not been for you
she might have been alive and happy here to-day.”
The justice of these accusations sank deep into
the soul of the younger man ; but ten years of
rough schooling among a hardened crowd had done
their work, and he gave no outward sign of the
misery that racked bis being, nor could his tongue,
long used to silence, express the bitter penitence
he felt.
The father, his hands clasped behind his back
and his head bowed low upon his breast, paced up
and down the room. The son stood motionless, his
eyes fixed upon a faded portrait of his mother in
her youthful days, which hung on the opposite
wall. Following with painful intentness the resem-
blance between the fair young countenance and the
aged face he had seen lying in the coffin, he scarcely
observed that the elder man had again approached
him and prepared to resume the conversation.
“I am going away, Philip,” he said. “ Affairs
have not prospered with me this last ten years.
The house is mortgaged for more than half its
value. Next week it passes from my hands, and
with the little I shall have left I have decided to
go up the coast to Seattle and try to get a foothold
there. It will be better for Fred. The boy has
had a hard struggle here ; it is not the best recom-
mendation in the world for a young man to be
known as a felon's brother.”


RELEASE.
75
He waited as if he expected some word of self-
defense or extenuation from the silent man before
him, but none was forthcoming.
“ Your room up-stairs has always remained as
you left it,” he continued. “She wished it so. I
would rather you took the things away before the
rest of the house is disturbed. In a drawer of the
dressing-case you will find a small sum she put by
for your use."
As if the effort of speaking so long had been
more than his feeble strength could sustain, the
gray-baired man sank wearily into an arm-chair,
and pressed his thin hands over the old eyes, that
were weak with weeping, weary of life with its at-
tendant train of misery and shame.
The returned convict looked at him a moment in
irresolution, then turned and left him. With heavy
heart and lagging step he traversed rooms whose
every association was fraught with memories of for-
feited happiness, and passed up the broad, old-fash-
ioned staircase. He stood before the door of the
little hall chamber he had called his own, as one'
lingers and procrastinates before the chamber of
death. The sound of a door, his brother's, shutting
sharply on the opposite side of the hall, stimulated
him to enter, and he went in, closing the door softly
behind him.
He stood in the presence of mute witnesses of
blighted hopes and ruined aspirations. Around him
were countless mementos of his lost boyhood and
wrecked manhood. He sat down in a cushioned
chair beside the window, whose gay patchwork


76
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
covering was the work of hands forever still. On
every side were tokens of her tender love. The
slipper-case at the head of the bed, the embroidered
slippers inside, the dressing - gown on the hook
above, the pretty mats on wash-stand and dressing-
case, a rug at his feet, — all were evidences of his
mother's faithful care.
Resting his elbows upon his knees, he buried bis
face in his bands. Even in that hour of bitter ret-
rospection, the stern discipline of his prison life
was strong upon him, and he neither groaned nor
wept.
How long he remained there he could not have
told. He rose at length, and moved slowly about
the room, taking down little ornaments from the
wall, opening drawers, and putting some articles in-
side. He opened the door of a clothes-press, and
took the key from the lock of a small trunk; then
lifted out a larger one and placed some articles of
clothing inside, locked it, and pocketed the key.
Evidences of his mother's forethought greeted him
on every hand. The abundant store of fresh linen
was redolent with the fragrance of sweet clover.
Some needful additions had been made to his ward-
robe, and all was in scrupulous order. In the
drawer of a small desk at the side of the room he
found the letters he had written to her, carefully
preserved and tied with ribbon, along with a faded
photograph taken in his boyhood. Long afterward
he learned that it had been one of her last acts
feebly to climb the stairs and closet herself in his
room.


RELEASE.
77
As he passed the dressing-case he picked up a
small fan-shaped tablet with an ivory-headed pencil
pendent from silken tassels. It was the dancing
programme he had carried that last fatal night be-
fore his flight. A smile that was not good to see
flickered about his lips as he observed the frequent
repetition of the name “ Margaret Thaxter," writ-
ten in a round, girlish hand. Then he recalled his
father's words, and, opening a small drawer, was
surprised to see a roll of coin. Who, then, had sent
that other sum that had been handed to him by the
warden in the morning? Standing there, engaged
in deep speculation, he chanced to look up, and saw
his own reflection in the glass before him. The
package dropped from his hands, the glittering
coins struck the marble with a dull ring, and free-
ing themselves from their envelope, chased each
other over the carpet.
Mirrors were considered superfluous commodities
at San Quentin. He looked upon his own image
for the first time in ten years.
Dumb with anguish, blinded with sorrow, he
moved down the stairs, and was passing through
the outer door when a low voice spoke his name,
and he turned to find his father gravely regarding
him, the sternness vanished from his features, and
replaced by a look of wistful pain.
“Don't think unkindly of my action, Phil. I
am an old man, and my shoulders are none too
strong to carry my own burdens. There was a time
when I looked forward to leaning on my eldest son
in my old age.”


78
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
His voice shook, and he stopped abruptly. Fa-
ther and son sadly viewed each other across the
barrier of years, recalling for the moment the old
tender relation of love and confidence.
“ That is the hardest of all, father.”
“ There, there, boy ! ”
He extended his hand and took his son's for a
moment, in a warm grasp, but whatever the senti-
ment that agitated his heart, it remained unspoken.
Philip King walked slowly down the street, pon-
dering his situation. The sum of money in his
pocket was sufficient to carry him to some distant
point where he could start out in the world anew,
and where no knowledge of his past life would fol-
low to overcast his future. But his mind was firmly
made up on one point. He had shown the white
feather once, and for the last time. He would take
up life where he had dropped it, and fight out the
battle of existence on the same ground where he
had once striven and lost. He realized that the
odds against him were well nigh overwhelming, but
they were of his own making. Persistent effort
might yet undo past error.
His first step was to secure a quiet room in a
cheap quarter. He found the place he wanted, on
a narrow street within a stone's-throw of his old
home. The house stood on the slope of a hill, and
had valiantly resisted the attempts of municipal
committees to reduce it to the level of the street,
until it stood in solitary supremacy above its neigh-
bors, and was accessible only by long flights of steps
cut in the solid rock. The landlady was a feeble


RELEASE.
79
gentlewoman, whose failing fortunes had made it
necessary to let apartments to eke out her declin-
ing income. And because the house was old-fash-
ioned in its architecture, and reveled in sunshine
and fresh air rather than stateliness and gloom, and
because it stood on the side of a picturesque hill
which wind and fog instinctively avoided, instead
of towering from the bleak summit of the western
heights whither wealth and fashion had long since
fled, the schedule of prices was on a commensurate
scale. King found himself in possession of a cheery
and comfortable room on the second floor, for which,
unfurnished, he paid the modest sum of six dollars
a month.
When he had transported thither his simple be-
longings, he lost no time in lamenting his unhappy
fate or bemoaning his grief, but resolutely faced the
situation. One steady purpose had entered his
mind during the earlier days of his confinement,
and had grown and strengthened with the years.
It had survived the cruel test of scorn, the rankling
scrutiny of unbelief. Even the dense coils of injus-
tice had been impotent to stifle it. To accomplish
his end he must have steady and paying occupa-
tion.
If he thought with unavailing regret of the easy
and lucrative post that had seemed to him so slight
a thing in his mad folly ten years before, it never
occurred to him to seek employment in his former
field. He looked only to his trade for support.
No other course seemed possible to him but to start
out in a new line, where industrious habits and


80
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
manual skill would be their own best recommenda-
tions; where no man would be required to honor
him with his confidence, or risk aught by taking him
into his employ.


CHAPTER VII.
UNDER SUSPICION.
The first place he visited was a large factory on
the south side of Market Street, a house which had
taken several important state contracts, and main-
tained a small army of workmen. The business
was conducted by a stock company, which had its
regularly chosen officers and directors, including
among them some of the wealthiest and most prom-
inent men in the city
Unused to the formalities of such establishments,
King asked to see the head of the house, and a
courteous salesman directed him to a row of neatly
fitted offices partitioned off from the main exhibi-
tion room.
He found the president of the company busily
writing at a desk. The accumulation of a large
and handsome property had not served to disturb
the systematic business methods of Jasper Blake-
man. Holding himself a little aloof in social inter-
course, in his commercial relations he prided him-
self upon being a man of working habits — a man
of the people. At this particular epoch his activity
had received fresh stimulus from the circumstance
that a United States senatorship would soon be va-
cated, and his friends were advocating his nomina-


82
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
tion, on the score of these very praise worthy and
popular attributes.
He did not do the new-comer the grace of lifting
his pen from the paper, but, after one careless
glance, saluted him with an indifferent greeting.
“Well, what's wanted ?”
“Work.”
66 What trade ?”
“ Carpenter - cabinet-maker.”
“What name?”
“Philip King."
“Ed, call Jobson.”
The general superintendent made his appearance
- a short, compactly built man, whose brisk air
proclaimed him to be an exponent of his employer's
principles.
“ Any men needed on wood-work, Jobson ?”
“We could make use of half a dozen more hands,
Mr. Blakeman. That lot of chairs for the Sacra-
mento theatre is promised the first of the month,
and we are pretty close run.”
“ Where have you been working ?”
This query was addressed to King, who met it
without hesitation or surprise. It was what he had
expected.
" At San Quentin.”
“ Penitentiary?”
6. Yes."
Humiliating as it was to make this public confes-
sion, the applicant was not blind to the fact that
his announcement had produced a singular and un-
accountable effect upon the head of the establish-


UNDER SUSPICION.
83
ment. Jasper Blakeman was a tall man, broad and
portly of figure, and carried himself with the dig-
nity and pomposity befitting a man of his impor-
tance; but as he shifted his attitude with a nervous
movement, he seemed to shrink and collapse, as if
some inner spring of pride or self-respect had been
roughly jarred, and his eyes dilated with a hunted
look.
Was it mere physical fear, the insensate horror
and repulsion that sometimes seizes men on contact
with an avowed criminal ? King asked himself the
question in wondering speculation.
The president's next act was in distinct rebuttal
of this theory. He spoke to the two other men.
“ That 'll do, Jobson. Ed, take this bill around
to Failing & Winchester's.”
Left alone with his visitor, he addressed him
with an anxious and deprecating air, which prer
sented a curious contrast to his usual self-sufficient
bearing.
“ Mr. King, why did you come to me?" He
dwelt upon the last word in such a way as to im-
part a peculiar personal significance to the question.
King received it with unfeigned suprise.
“ Because I wanted employment; because I knew
you had the largest furniture establishment on the
coast; because I knew you had three hundred men
in your employ ; because” –
“That is enough.” The equanimity of the ques-
tioner was restored by this candid statement of fact,
and a flavor of his customary arrogance returned.
“ Nevertheless,” he added, “I can't employ you.


84
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
It would be entirely opposed to our policy, sir; en-
tirely opposed to our policy. However, I appre.
ciate the hardship of your position, and I don't
mind doing so much.”
He pulled open a drawer as he spoke, and taking
out a twenty-dollar gold piece, placed it deliberately
on the end of the desk nearest to where his visitor
stood. King contemplated the money for a mo-
ment as if he were unable to grasp the meaning of
the act, and was trying to decipher it on the face
of the coin; then his eye traveled with keen curios-
ity to the face of the donor.
“If you can't give me work,” he said, bluntly,
“I don't see why you should expect me to take
your money.”
He suddenly ceased speaking, for beneath the
gladness of worldly prosperity, the complacency of
unsullied position, and the consciousness of popular
esteem that rejoiced in every line of the manu-
facturer's broad countenance, he detected a mystic
and indelible imprint. In the anxious face, the
averted eye, the uncertain gesture, he read the ac-
knowledgment of a hidden bond of affinity ; the
comfortless, the shameful, the tragical fellowship
of crime.
King went the rounds of the other factories in a
methodical and mechanical fashion. Easy as the
undertaking seemed, it was not a task that could be
accomplished in a day, nor yet in a week, for there
were tiresome spells of waiting before his applica-
tion could be heard, and in many cases he called
again and again, only to find the employer absent


UNDER SUSPICION.
85
or engaged. By many he was met with courtesy,
and he received sympathy from a few, but as a rule
he found every place already filled, and in the few
instances where a vacancy afforded room for a faith-
ful and capable man, his questionable credentials
lost him the day. He finally took his way to a
cabinet-maker on Fourth Street, an old friend of
his father's, with whom they had dealt in the time
of their 'prosperity. The convict shrank from re-
calling himself to this man, but some remembrance
of his kindly face caused him to think that his ap-
plication would not be in vain. He found that the
small establishment had given way to a mammoth
building with large show-rooms, presenting a glass
front to the street; and the blockade of teams out-
side, the hurried movements of men within, gave
evidence of sound financial prosperity.
“Good day, sir."
The owner turned and greeted him with a brisk
business air.
“Don't you remember me, Mr. McAllister? My
name is King, Philip King."
“ Bless my soul !” The manufacturer shook
hands with him in an awkward way, without en-
thusiasm or warmth.
“I called,” said the returned felon, “ to ask for
work; joiner, turner, finisher, — anything in the
line of ordinary cabinet work. I ought to under-
stand my trade. I have served a long apprentice-
ship.” And he gave a short, bitter laugh.
McAllister listened with a troubled look.
“Come with me, Mr. King," he said, as the young


86
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
man concluded. He led the applicant through the
ware-rooms and a large store-room in the rear, fra-
grant with the smell of spicy woods ; then up a
flight of stairs to where an open doorway com-
manded a view of a long apartment, in which stal-
wart workmen flitted back and forth, busy as bees
in a bive.
“ Look there, King."
The two men viewed in silence the scene of hon-
est activity, noting the cheerful faces of the work-
ers, their quick, firm tread, their strong, skillful
hands; and a pleasurable sensation stirred in both
their breasts.
“I have over a hundred bands in there,” said the
head of the establishment, slowly, “and I believe
every one of them is an honest man ; they have all
been tried and proved. Many of them have wives
and children. They are a sober, hard-working,
steady set, trained to the bench from their youth.
If one of them drops out to-day there will be a score
of his kind ready to take his place to-morrow. I
put it to your sense of justice, King: do you think
I would be justified in shipping one of them and
taking – you — in his place ?"
King shook his head in silent negation. They
descended the stairs and walked slowly toward the
outer door. The puzzled expression worn by the
manufacturer from the commencement of the in-
terview deepened. At the door he turned to the
younger man, with a deprecatory shrug of his shoul
ders, —
“I can't say I exactly understand, King, how you


UNDER SUSPICION.
87
should be in precisely this position. It was a pile
of money to sink inside of six weeks.”
“ You remember I accounted for every cent. It
all went up in Bullion, one of the worst wildcat
stocks ever floated on the market.”
“ I know; I know. But there was fifteen thou-
sand besides. There, there ; don't get excited, man.
If you don't choose to give a friend your confidence,
nobody 's going to force it.”
The subject of the missing money, which had
wholly passed from King's mind, had been sprung
upon him so unexpectedly that in his surprise and
consternation he was only capable of a confused
protest. He found himself in the street before he
could frame an intelligent denial, and then his mind
was so occupied with the substance of what he had
heard that he did not trouble himself with useless
regrets over the omission. So the missing funds
had never been accounted for, and people still
hugged the delusion that he had appropriated tho
greater as well as the lesser sum, - he, who had
not another resource in the world aside from the
little sum provided by his mother's tender fore-
thought, and who already reckoned forward by
days to the time when that would be exhausted.
The tragedy of the position impressed him far more
than its absurdity.
Abandoning all hope of procuring work at the
large factories, he undertook a thorough canvass of
the smaller establishments, beginning with the differ-
ent planing mills where the manufacture of furni-
ture was carried on in a small way, and ending


88
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
with the 5 In the latter
frequently ha
with the small repairing-shops scattered throughout
the city. In the latter places he encountered an
unforeseen difficulty. It frequently happened, un-
der an extra pressure of work, that a hand was
needed, but each man was expected to provide his
own kit of tools, a purchase involving the outlay
of a considerable sum, and the applicant had nei-
ther money nor credit. After a while he became ac-
customed to disappointment. He rose in the morn-
ing prepared for misfortune, and fought the day's
losing fight with a serene and expectant face. Now
and then he gave himself over to long fits of medi-
tation, curiously speculating as to how it all would
end. So long as his health and strength held out
his duty was clear; but there was a limit to all
things, and time was swiftly advancing with its
stern restrictions.
He walked along Front Street early one forenoon,
his hand thrust into his pocket, with a tight grasp
upon the single coin it held. This piece of silver
was literally his last dollar, and he clung to it with
a tenacity little short of superstition. He had gone
without his breakfast that morning sooner thar
break the coin, and as he loitered in front of the
great wholesale market he pondered the stories he
had heard of men who made their fortunes through
shrewd investments of trifling sums, speculating
upon his own qualifications for an itinerant fruit-
vender or street mercbant. Whimsically indulging
his day-dream, he plunged into a series of abstract
computations, in which the silver dollar compounded
daily at a fabulous interest, speedily attaining the
proportions of a colossal sum.


UNDER SUSPICION.
89
His visionary calculations were interrupted by
the appearance of an old woman, who came out of
a dingy alley, walking feebly, and crossed the side-
walk before him. Her hands were swollen and
distorted by the ravages of some painful disease,
and her garb of rusty black hung in tatters about
her. In her hand she carried a long stick, and as
she reached the curbstone, first looking around as
if to assure herself that her action was not observed,
she extended the staff and eagerly poked over the
mass of refuse dumped from the vegetable carts.
Her object was revealed when her search was re-
warded by a sound white turnip, accidentally
dropped in the basty transfer of the produce from
carts to the market. Gathering up the skirt of her
dress, to form a receptacle for her gleanings, she
hurriedly stooped and secured her prize. A small
crimson beet, a couple of new potatoes, a fragment
of cauliflower, and some cabbage-leaves repaid her
further search, and sighing heavily, she turned to
go.
King craved no further evidence of the old crea
ture's want. Her bowed and decrepit form, her
wrinkled face, her gray hairs, her shrinking man-
ner, and the pathetic episode of which he had been
an unseen witness were sufficient vouchers of her
need. Stepping rapidly and with caution, he
neared her side, and stealthily extending his hand,
dropped the coin into her skirt and started to move
on. A gruff voice arrested bim.
He turned and saw a policeman, who bore down
upon him with an air of wrathful authority. The


90
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
old woman halted, alarmed and trembling, looking
from one man to the other, in fear and consterna-
tion.
“ Before the Lord," she asserted, “I've done
nothing out of the way.”
“ No more do I believe you have, Susan,” the offi-
cer assured her, in a friendly tone. “You've lived
on Brenham Place a matter of fifteen years or more,
and there's not one can say you've ever laid hands
on other people's property, or been anything but
an unfortunate, harmless old soul. But this here
man 's a different case. He's a bad one. Six
months out of prison, and never once turning his
hand to honest work. He's Under Suspicion, he
is.” And the blue-coat riveted upon King a lofty
and dramatic glare, which the latter made no feint
of resenting.
“ The question is,” continued the officer, slowly
and impressively, “what was the fellow sneaking
after you for, and catching hold of your dress ?
What have you got in your skirt, Susan ? Don't
be afraid to let me see," he said, kindly.
Thus exhorted, the old woman dropped her skirt,
and her motley collection tumbled pell-mell upon
the sidewalk, but a shining silver coin was swifter,
and struck with a musical clink, curveting around
the inequalities of the pavement, and finally com-
ing to rest in a little hollow.
“Oh, I beg you 'll believe me, sir, when I say I
never saw it until this moment! I never knew it
was there. It must have been caught in the cab-
bage leaves, as I scrambled them up, or else" -


UNDER SUSPICION.
91
She looked at King with a sudden light in her faded
eyes. The policeman's gaze was also concentrated
upon the young man's face, scanning it with a look
of sharp inquiry. The suspicion vanished from the
officer's face.
“ Well, you are a soft one, and no mistake.” He
uttered the words slowly, and with an oracular air,
regarding King with the look of a man accustomed
to rank all mankind according to their suscepti-
bility.
“Don't you know you 're playing the fool,
young man, encouraging street beggary and the
like?” he demanded, testily.
“ There was an old man died of starvation up on
Bartlett Alley the other night. At the end of your
beat, is it not ? Suppose some one had happened
along in time to play the fool with him ?”
“Go on with your blasted nonsense, then, if you
have the tin to back it,” returned the policeman,
“ only I warn you the whole force is on the look-
out for that hidden treasure of yours. We 're sure
to come across it some day, and then all your fine
notions will be played out;” and he laughed, a
rough guffaw which was a rare mixture of good-
nature and irony.
The street was so quiet and deserted at that time
of day that King fancied the little episode had es-
caped observation, but a man who trod the pave-
ment behind him had been a spectator of the cu-
rious by-play, and quickened his pace to overtake
the surreptitious almsgiver. A big hand fell on
King's shoulder, as it had fallen on a memorable


92
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
occasion more than ten years gone by, and he turned
with a look almost as shamefaced as on that pre-
vious meeting, to encounter a pair of honest blue
eyes beaming with friendly feeling.
“ King, how are you?”
Voice and words and manner unchanged. John
Rutherford's tone was as hearty, his greeting as
cordial and unembarrassed, as if the man before
him bad just returned from a long and perilous
journey. For the first time since his release, the
freed convict met an honest man on the plane of an
equal. For the first time he felt himself a recog-
nized element of the world from which he had lived
so long apart.
" I see you have received a high honor since I
saw you last. The office could not have fallen on
more worthy shoulders,” said King, recalling a leg-
islative act which had created the office of State
Mineralogist, and elevated John Rutherford to the
place.
“ Thank you. It gives me a chance to ventilate
some of my hobbies,” and the man of science gave
a genial smile.
“Hobbies! Everybody knows what noble proj-
ects for the good of the people you delight in
masking under that title,” and King's earnest eyes
rounded the compliment his lips had essayed to
utter. They progressed along the street, chatting
on topics of mutual interest. So pleasantly did
John Rutherford conduct the conversation, so deli-
cately did he avoid all reference to the past, that
King for once lost sight of the humiliations of bis


UNDER SUSPICION.
93
situation, and it seemed the most natural thing in
the world when the mineralogist followed a discus-
sion of some of his own plans with a direct personal
inquiry.
“By the way, King, what are you doing now?”.
“Endeavoring to live on faith and my own wits ;
trying to determine what possibilities of distinction
and profit are open to a man destitute of reputa-
tion, capital, and friends."
“ Have a care what you say. What was that
last clause?”
“Well, let me amend it, my dear fellow, and say
one staunch friend, who could not help me if he
would, and ought not if he could.”
“King, why have n't you been around to see
me?”
“Because I liked you too well, Rutherford.”
“Drop nonsense, and talk plain English.”
“Because you are in a position where every act
as an individual is open to public scrutiny. Be-
cause I did not wish to compromise you."
“Compromise me!”
It was quite remarkable how a man like Ruther-
ford, given to gentle speech and courteous phrase,
could concentrate so much contempt and scorn into
two words.
“Yes, compromise you. Intercourse with a con-
victed felon would besmirch your own character,
and compromise you in the eyes of your constitu-
ents.”
“Look here, King! You don't mean it, but you
are making me dwindle in my own self-respect as
Seando


94
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
Good hendes have
upon
the most caustic utterances of my enemies have
never done. Compromise me! Good heavens! is
my character then based upon so slight a fabric of
public confidence that it could not endure a test
like that? I would throw up my position to-day
if I believed it.”
His stormy outburst concluded with a hearty
laugh.
"I had a scheme in my mind when I watched
that little performance of yours over by the mar-
ket, Philip,” he proceeded, “but, by George, you
make me almost afraid to suggest it. I need an
assistant in my laboratory. Fifteen years ago, when
I gave lectures on chemistry at the University, I
recollect you had quite a leaning that way yourself.
Don't you think you could brush up your knowl-
edge and take hold with me for a time ?”
“Rutherford, are you sure you 're not making
the place for me?”
“Morally certain,” replied the mineralogist. “I
had a German chemist for a while, but he left me a
week ago for a place with a patent medicine com-
pany, which offered him a handsomer retainer than
the State could afford. I would n't like to make
any reflection on our California Legislature, but it
is an uncommonly curious arrangement that they
should make one of their departments dependent
on the very institution it is designed to destroy.
The whole end and aim of my office is to suppress
stock-gambling, and direct capital to the support
of legitimate mining. Yet by a brilliant proviso
of the bill creating it, our chief revenue is derived


UNDER SUSPICION.
95
from a ten-cent tax on each transfer of mining
stock made in the market. Every stroke of work
we have done since we were established has been
a direct blow at our own income. Starting out
with a round sum, it has been steadily diminishing,
until I have been obliged to become my own clerk,
secretary, and janitor. So you see I have no very
flattering prospect to offer you.”
Oppressed by many misgivings, King assumed
the post so kindly tendered him, resolved to per-
form his duties with such diligence and fidelity
that his friend would have no cause to regret the
offer. His chief duties consisted in making exami-
nations of specimens from mineral discoveries in
different portions of the State, as the basis of offi-
cial reports — a service freely tendered by the State
to the humblest of her citizens. Laboring in care-
ful compliance with Rutherford's directions, he exe-
cuted his work with such accuracy and dispatch
that correspondents were spared the vexatious de-
lays which had hitherto ensued when they de-
sired a prompt analysis of an unknown mineral, or
speedy analysis of a specimen of ore. Rutherford
did not hesitate to express his satisfaction in une-
quivocal terms.
“I don't see how I ever got along without you,
King. You are simply invaluable to me.”
“ You are reckoning only the material service.
Wait until you hear from other quarters. We
shall soon be under fire."
King's predictions were soon verified, and the
mineralogist was brought face to face with the


96
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
problem whose very suggestion he had so indig.
nantly repudiated on their first encounter. Upon
the presentation of the vouchers for King's first
quarter's salary, the horde of hungry office-seekers,
who keep a zealous watch over all matters savoring
of political patronage, promptly resurrected the his-
tory of his past career, and industriously circulated
the tale that the mineralogist, ignoring the claims
of honest men who were in need of work, had
taken a discharged convict into the employ of the
State. Men of influence and wealth took up the
hue and cry. The newspapers reëchoed it, and de-
manded the discharge of the offensive assistant.
Some even went so far as to insinuate that King
had made his way into the office in pursuance of a
preconcerted plan to rob the State Museum of valu-
able specimens of gold and silver ore which it con-
tained. Rutherford's friends appealed to him to
respect public sentiment and discharge the objec-
tionable employee, but he stood firm.
“King has erred, it is true,” he argued ; “ but
how many men in the community are exempt from
blame? The man is making a gallant struggle,
and I have n't one in my employ who is doing such
good service to the State.”
At the first intimation King received of the op-
position his appointment was arousing, he proposed
to abdicate his place, but was reassured by Ruther-
ford's careless rejoinder:-
“Pay no attention to the matter. It is the work
of a few political shysters, and will soon blow
Dver.”


UNDER SUSPICION.
97
King, leading a secluded life, seeing few people,
and in the absorption of his professional duties
rarely taking time to read a newspaper, was one
of the last to learn the true extent of the commo-
tion. Stepping into his chief's room one day dur-
ing the latter's absence, his eye fell upon a news-
paper open at the editorial columns, and seeing
Rutherford's name and his own in close proximity,
he sat down and deliberately read the context. Ho
was appalled at the substance of the article. Tak-
ing for its text the employment of a discharged
convict in the State Mining Bureau, which was
characterized as a rank act of injustice and a griev-
ous insult to honest men, it proceeded to a most
malignant attack upon Rutherford's personal char-
acter, and a venomous denunciation of the conduct
of the office.
King sat down at his friend's desk and wrote
rapidly and hurriedly, looking up at the outer door
from time to time, as if in apprehension lest the
occupant of the room should arrive before he bad
finished.
When John Rutherford returned a half hour later,
he found the street door locked, and searched in
vain for his assistant. He seated himself at his
desk, and the first thing he saw was a marked pas-
sage in a newspaper, and beside it a folded paper
containing King's resignation.


CHAPTER VIII.
DISCOURAGEMENT.
IF King had hitherto been inclined to avoid men
of his own class and escape the recognition of old
acquaintances, he had now a definite and rational
motive. He was in constant apprehension lest some
clew to his movements should reach John Ruther-
ford, or he should encounter the mineralogist upon
the streets, for he doubted his own ability to with-
stand the eloquent persuasion of his friend, the con-
tagion of his courage, the challenge of his brave
blue eye. That Rutherford should jeopardize his
own position further through befriending him was
a disaster to be prevented at any cost. He there-
fore resolved to keep out of sight until he could
present himself with good news. When he got
into something paying and permanent, it would
become a natural and agreeable duty to confide his
good fortune to his friend, and load down the latter
with tender reproaches for the unwarrantable risks
he had incurred in his behalf.
He no longer canvassed the offices of wholesale
establishments, seeking a subordinate clerical posi-
tion, or visited mills and factories, in a vain hope
of finding work at his trade. His industrial beat
was now confined to the lower portions of the city,


100
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
were accustomed to strike him for a quarter, in-
creased his sense of humiliation, and tended to dis-
courage any secret ambition he may have cherished
to regain the respect of the better element of so-
ciety. Even the columns of the daily papers con-
stantly renewed the dismal recollections of the past,
and scarcely a day elapsed without the annals of
the police court, with their record of misery and
crime, reviving memories of old acquaintanceship,
and adding another black page to the history of
men whose lives had been inextricably interwoven
with his own in daily association behind prison
walls.
The time had been when he had reasoned with
himself that his transgression was an offense against
society, and that by serving out the sentence im-
posed by the law, which is supposed to be society's
constituted voice, he would have expiated his sin.
Slowly he acquired the painful lesson that his grav-
est crime had been the sin against himself, and that
the most stringent legal penalty, patiently under-
gone, could not undo the result, nor efface the brand
upon his soul.
The episode with Jasper Blakeman was only the
beginning of a series of puzzling and annoying ex-
periences. In the course of his long and profitless
search after occupation, he came constantly in con-
tact with men whose faces he had never seen before,
whose very personalities were unknown to him, but
who still addressed him in varying tones of severity,
caution, apprehension, or kindness, while between
their souls and his own a strange light of recogni.
tion flashed.


DISCOURAGEMENT.
101
In later years he arrived at a clearer understand-
ing of these vague intimations, and the undefined
suspicion of wrong assumed shape and form. When
he had reached this stage of philosophy he did not
look far or search deeply for underlying principles.
As a man who himself passes through the sharp ag-
ony and slow misery of a wasting disease becomes
an infallible witness of its development and prog-
ress in others, so the man who has experienced the
deadly ravages of concealed guilt working upon a
human existence recognizes by unerring intuition
the symptoms of moral disorder and decay. As a
physician acquires in hospital practice a nice discrim-
ination between symptoms, and a skillful classifica-
tion of disease, the man who receives his schooling
in a state prison, and views with a studious mind
the traits and idiosyncrasies of the moral invalids
by whom he is surrounded, gains a peculiar insight
into the spiritual condition of fallen men; and these
perceptions are only sharpened if for a time he
shares their estate.
Let men preach, if they will, the strong ties of
human love, the sacred links of friendship, the holy
sanctity of the marriage tie. I will show you a
bond more powerful than all these, more enduring
than human affection, more indissoluble than priestly
rite, more tenacious than friendship: and it is the
humiliating fellowship of crime. There is only one
tie on earth that is stronger, and that is the bond
of suffering and loss.
The time came when King no longer demurred
at the verdict society and the business world had


102 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
combined to render against his claims to renewed
trust.
Returning from a fruitless pilgrimage one day in
early summer, as he turned up Folsom Street he
observed that a man was following him. Walking
slowly, to give the fellow opportunity to decrease
the distance between them, he wheeled suddenly
about and encountered a well-known figure. An
incredulous exclamation escaped him.
“Stubbs!”
“Hist, Master Phil; don't be after spakin' the
name so loud. Jist walk along as if nothin' was
up, an' let me kape pace with you on the edge of
the curb — so.”
The two men proceeded in silence for a while.
King was the first to speak.
“How does the stock-raising come on, Stubbs ?
Do you think you are exactly wise to come back
here among your old associates ? ”
Instead of hanging his head or beginning a lame
apology, the criminal looked King square in the
eye, with an expression that was new to him, and
was at the same time honest and deprecating.
“ An' you ’ll not be makin' game of me, Master
Phil, when I'm tellin' you ? ”.
“I think I can promise to keep sober, Stubbs.
To my mind it's no laughing matter."
“ The truth to tell, I have n't been out of town
at all. Walk on a little ahead, an' don't seem to
be takin' any notice of me. There's a cop a-stand-
in' on the corner by the side of the fire hydrant, an
lookin' moighty sharp this way.”


DISCOURAGEMENT.
103
This penal Rubicon passed, Stubbs accelerated
his steps and resumed his confidences.
“I don't so much mind tellin' you, Master Phil,
but I would n't like the rest of the boys to git hould
of it. I've an old mother livin' over there on Te-
hama Street,” inclining his head in the direction of
a little lane, where squalid homes were elbowed by
grogshops, and half-clad children wallowed in the
dirt. “I wint up that way the day we came back,
d'ye remember? and found the old lady bent up
double with the rheumatics, not a blissid cint in the
house, an' they threatenin' to turn her out for two
months' rint due. What could I do but empty my
pockets to the last dollar ? ”
He looked at King as if expecting to hear some
word of rebuke for his prodigality or weakness, but
received a reassuring reply.
“Good, Stubbs. I thought it was in you.”
Stubbs brushed his sleeve impatiently across his
eyes. Words of commendation were not so common
an occurrence in his life that he could listen to
them unmoved.
“There was no gittin' off after that till I made a
raise.”
He stopped short, and King gave him kindly en-
couragement.
“ Hard to find work, is n't it, old fellow?”
“ Hard!” Stubbs’s voice had a ring of angry
contempt. “Hard! I call it allfired mane for
thim idintical snobs that is always prachin' honest
work to a man, to turn about and tell him to rot or
starve, whin he begs them to give him a show.


104
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
Such treatment is a bid for diviltry, an' a fellow is
a fool who'd stand it.”
This very natural if not exactly creditable sen-
timent passed unchallenged by his companion.
"I'd better be turnin' off here, Master Phil. I
would n't like to have it known that I was with you
this night. I'm off to Mexico in the mornin', and
whin I rayalize on some goods down there I'll pay
you back the money you was so good as to loan me.
Or if a bit of change would come in convanient just
now "- He thrust his hand into his pocket, and
his friend heard the jingle of loose coin.
“ Tell me one thing first, Stubbs,” he earnestly
insisted. “ Did you come by this money hon-
estly?"
King's query, was answered in an unexpected
manner. Stubbs's arms were pinioned from behind,
and a pair of handcuffs clicked together around his
wrists.
“Call round at the police court to-morrow morn-
ing, and you 'll find out where the scallawag got
it,” said a gruff voice to King. “Lucky for you,
my man, you put that question just this moment, or
we'd have taken you along, sure as sin.”
The next day the town rang with the account of
a daring robbery perpetrated in the storage base-
ment of a large dry goods store — an event which
had occurred some days previously, but which had
been hushed up to enable the detectives to appre-
hend the thieves, one of whom was captured on the
eve of leaving for the southern coast with his ill-
gotten gains. A few weeks later Stubbs was en


DISCOURAGEMENT.
105
route for San Quentin for the sixth time in his ex-
perience, sentenced for life, as a hardened and incor-
rigible criminal.
This episode only served to emphasize the con-
viction already established in King's mind, that the
man who has once stooped to crime is tenfold more
liable to yield to temptation than one who has pre-
served his moral integrity intact. He questioned
whether he himself would impose trust in a man
who had once proved unworthy, notwithstanding
the insight his own miserable experience had given
him, into the discouragement and needs that beset
a fallen man in his endeavors to extricate himself
from the quagmire into which he has deliberately
walked. A sense of moral despondency overcast
him like an impenetrable cloud. He grew so ac-
customed to failure that he no longer prosecuted his
search for employment with a remote hope of suc-
cess, but made his requests in a dejected tone,
which anticipated and invited denial. In more than
one instance he secured a refusal where a bolder de-
mand might have inspired confidence in his ability.
Meanwhile, the little store of money that he had
put by from his salary while in the State Museum
was steadily decreasing, and his needs grew des-
perate. One morning he saw an advertisement
calling for several hundred men to work on the sea-
wall in process of construction at North Beach. He
presented himself promptly at the designated hour,
and found himself one of an ignorant crowd, chiedy
of foreign extraction. The foreman gave him a
sharp glance as he enrolled his name upon the


106
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
books, and King was conscious of an answering
sense of ignoble confusion. In all his life he had
never disdained honest work, or regarded the exer-
cise of muscle unworthy of the best of men. To be
without any alternative but recourse to manual la-
bor was an altogether different matter. He knew
that he was engaging work for which he was phys-
ically unfitted, and for which his previous training
had rendered him ill adapted. It was another nail
in the coffin of his once promising career, and there
was added degradation in the thought.
Such employment offered absolutely no future,
no opportunity of distinction. Working side by
side with him were men of stalwart frame and iron
muscle, who could easily discount his utmost physi-
cal effort. To eat, to drink, and to sleep; to pro-
vide a homely shelter and coarse living for their
families, if they possessed any; to go on a rousing
spree every Saturday night, whether or no they
were troubled with any such minor dependencies,
was the sum of their ambition. Their treatment of
a man whose dress and manner proclaimed him
their superior was well nigh intolerable; but King
nerved himself to let their jeers and taunts pass un.
heeded, in the hope of laying by a small sum which
might enable him to embark in some independent
business on a small scale. He had reached that
point in his experience when the possession of a
little vegetable stand in an humble quarter of the
city, or the establishment of a repairing shop for
furniture, over which he could maintain undisputed
dominion, appeared to him like a small dukedom.


DISCOURAGEMENT.
107
He was punctually on hand every day, laboring
no longer and no less than his fellow-laborers, and
though he attempted no remarkable spurts of work,
he noticed with grim satisfaction that his muscle
steadily increased, and that in aspect and habit he
was gradually becoming attuned to the common
level of the workmen. One day he received unex-
pected encouragement. A man was needed to do a
fine job of finishing on the interior of one of the
long warehouses, and King applied for the berth.
His application was received with surprise and
incredulity. They looked at his laborer's garb, by
this time soiled and worn, and contrasted it with
the refinement of his face and his well-bred man-
ner.
“Show us what you can do,” said a master work-
man, and he placed some tools at the new-comer's
hand.
A half-hour's trial served as a conclusive test of
his ability, and his name was struck off the pay-roll
of the laborers, to be assigned to a new place, with
more than double his former pay.
He pocketed his first week's wages with a feeling
of renewed energy and ambition, confident that he
had at last secured a foothold, and that he could
reckon upon an advance in the future. On the
way to his lodgings he indulged in the unwonted
luxury of a pair of new shoes, and gratified his land-
lady by presenting her with a couple of months'
room rent in advance, reserving only sufficient
money to carry himself through the coming week.
On the following Monday morning he made an


108
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
early start, tramping across the hills with a free
step and renewed courage. For the first time, he
realized that the severe labor of past weeks had
acted as a spiritual tonic, for the mind has neither
time nor inclination to brood when every sinew of
the body is strained to its utmost tension in hard
physical exertion.
So deeply was he absorbed in his work that he
did not notice the superintendent, as he approached
on bis regular morning round. That dignitary crit-
ically examined a section of redwood counter upon
which King was working, and gave it the seal of
his approval.
“ An excellent job, my man. I don't know when
I ve seen a neater piece of joining."
King looked his gratification at this remark, but
did not cease his work.
“ A fine job, an excellent job,” repeated the
superintendent, slowly. “Where did you learn
your trade ? "
The tool King was using fell from his hand and
clattered noisily upon the floor. He stooped to pick
it up before he replied. The temptation was strong
upon him to give a false or evasive answer.
“Where did you learn your trade ?” The super-
intendent was a tenacious man, and the brief delay
only served to whet his impatience.
“ I learned my trade at San Quentin.”
His questioner gave vent to an impatient ejacu-
lation. “And how long since you came down from
there?”
“ About two years ago.”


DISCOURAGEMENT.
109
“ Discharged or pardoned ?”
“ I served out my time.”
King made no further pretense at work, nor did
his questioner appear to expect it. He summoned
the foreman of the carpenters with an imperious
beck of the hand. The latter approached with an
anxious and apprehensive air.
“ See here, Dick, do you know this fellow's ante-
cedents ?”
“I only know he was at work on the wall when
we took him. He came in here the day McDonough
took sick.”
“It is your business to know. What do you say
to putting a convict at work here, among all this
fine stuff, where he can help himself to any amount
of valuables lying around loose, or cut our throats,
as like as not, if he gets a chance ?”.
"I don't care a button what charge you went up
on,” he hastily added, as he saw that King was
about to speak. “Murder or forgery or arson or
horse-stealing - it's all one to me. You ’re a bad
lot together. I would n't trust one of you with a
jew's-harp. You may consider yourself discharged.”
King returned to his lodging-house, and sitting
down in his lonely room, gave up the struggle.
He had lost faith in himself.


CHAPTER IX.
DESPAIR.
THERE came a morning when he awoke with a
heavy weight on his brain. A voice to which he
had hitherto refused to listen rung the same cry
with ceaseless repetition in his ear. His wearying
struggles and hopeless failures, the insults he had
received, the incredulity with which his protesta-
tions of reform had been met, trooped before him,
a maddening procession. Impelled by a vague un-
rest, he took his way on an aimless tramp across
the Presidio military reservation, and crossed the
bleak hills on the south flank of the Golden Gate ;
passing the neat rows of houses marshaled with
stiff precision in right lines about the well-kept
lawns and tidy barracks, he followed the road to
where it made a sharp turn about the old adobes,
last relics of the Spanish occupancy of the eight-
eenth century. Then he struck off across the
barren wastes that stretch between the Presidio
and Fort Point.
A gentle mist brooded overhead, and through its
hazy envelope the sun was visible, a great red ball
high in the eastern sky. The turbulent sea beat
with mad fury against its rocky barriers, and the
roar of incoming breakers echoed like a sullen


DESPAIR.
111
murmur in the distance. One moment ploughing
through loose sand in which his feet sank to his
ankles, the next treading wet bogs where unseen
springs renewed the earth's humidity and fostered
a vegetation of surprising luxuriance, he at length
seated himself upon a wind-swept slope and viewed
the solitary wastes below. No effort he could make
served to shake off the oppressive influence. Earth
and air and sky were filled with the same pitiless
refrain.
The distant rocks assumed fantastic and forbid-
ding shapes. A freshly upturned heap of earth by
his side, to his distorted vision, took the form of a
new-made grave; the waters of a shallow brook
which wound its way through the valley below,
borrowing its color from some hidden chemical in
the soil, were dark as the waters of Lethe ; a little
bird that poised itself for a moment on a low shrub
near by and trilled forth its plaintive lay, sang the
requiem of buried hopes. Resting his elbow on
the ground and supporting his chin in his hand, he
girded up his mental strength anew, in a vain effort
to solve the problem of existence. Reviewing his
meagre resources, conning the lessons of past expe-
rience, bitterly deploring his errors, questioning the
justice of his repeated misfortunes, wrestling with
despair, he absently fixed his eyes upon the form
of an armed sentry slowly advancing up the western
road. Suddenly he was startled by a movement in
a thicket of tall brakes below, and the figure of
a man, crouching away from the sentry's line of
vision, presented itself to the lonely watcher.


112
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
“ Burke !"
“King!”
Two miserable men, alike outcasts from the
world's respect, gazed into each other's faces with
unconcealed aversion. The man who had arisen
from his hiding-place in the brakes was emaciated
almost to a skeleton. His head was bare, and his
matted hair was entangled with the burrs of a low
plant common to that region ; his grimy face ex-
hibited a beard of several weeks' growth; his
ragged clothes but ill-sufficed to hide his shivering
form, while the long nails that terminated his bony
fingers had a claw-like aspect, as if they had learned
to dig beneath the soil for sustenance.
As the man encountered King's searching eyes
and caught his startled exclamation, he dropped to
the ground with a weak gesture of surrender.
“ Game's up!” he feebly acknowledged.
As King viewed the hunted creature before him,
and beheld the approaching sentry, there came be-
fore his mental vision the text of an advertisement
he had scanned in the columns of a newspaper a
few days previously.
$2,000 REWARD. — The State of California offers one
thousand dollars ($1,000) reward for the capture, dead
or alive, of the convict Jerry W. Burke, escaped from
San Quentin on the night of November 30th, 188- Said
Burke was arrested in San Bernardino County, in the year
1876, for the crime of highway robbery, and sentenced
to a term of twenty years' confinement. He is a man of
strong physique, six feet one inch in height, with brown
hair, sandy beard, and at the time of his escape was


DESPAIR.
113
clothed in a brown woolen shirt, black and white pants
with lengthwise stripes, and had on a pair of low cowhide
shoes.
The board of supervisors of San Bernardino County
offers a similar reward for his recapture.
Two thousand dollars! A prodigious amount in
the eyes of a starving man. The avenue of escape
from all his troubles was flung wide open before
him, if he chose to avail himself of the chance.
And yet there was that on the face of the man
who cowered in abject humility beside him, which
made him pause and reflect whether relief at such
a price were worth the having. He, too, had known
what it was to be friendless and forlorn, to hearken
in apprehension for the sound of approaching foot-
steps; and if, in the strength of youth and the rec-
ollection of virtuous teachings, he had chosen to
turn and face bis penalty, he was none the less sen-
sible to the horrors of the fugitive's situation.
“Pretty hard work to grub a living from this
soil, old man ?" King was temporizing with him-
self and the temptations that assailed him. Burke
faced the situation with the courage of despair.
- You 're in luck this time, King, d- you!
You can pay back the old score now with interest.”
" Then you were the one, Burke ?” King's tone
was less expressive of interrogation than of quick
conviction. At the convict's remark his mind trav-
eled intuitively to the day, some six years gone by,
when he had looked forward with eager craving to
a speedy release, and the score of credits won by
years of patient endurance and faithful compliance


114 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
with prison regulations had been wiped away in a
moment by the discovery of an undermined wall
and some rude tools secreted in his cell. It was
a wrong, the enormity of which could not be esti-
mated; which, beside prolonging the term of his
imprisonment, had set him finally at liberty with-
out even the seal of the prison authorities' approval,
and increased the opprobrium he already bore in
the community with which his lot was cast; which
had added another weight to the heavy burden that
taxed his mother's feeble strength, with what direct
influence on the events that followed would never
be known.
King's face underwent a subtle change as he re-
viewed this grim passage of his career, and a fierce
greed for vengeance gleamed in his eyes. His jaw
was hard and set. The sardonic likeness of a smile
that hovered about his compressed lips told Burke
that he had nothing to hope. His sentence of doom
finally came in hoarse, choked utterance.
“Pay for it! Yes, you scoundrel. And a heavy
debt it is. Robbing a man of four of the best years
of his life ; of the last grain of trust in the hearts
of his fellows; of a last sight of his mother's
face!”
The convict cringed visibly under this indict-
ment. The most hardened criminal finds a panacea
in forgetfulness, and shrinks from being brought
face to face with the consequences of his misdeeds.
He did not attempt any defense, but spoke in a
weary, hopeless tone.
66 Don't pile it on too thick, King! I pay heavily


DESPAIR.
115
enough. You lost four years, hang you! But you
know the law in a case like mine — all my credits
gone, and ten years' extra confinement. And I
had twenty years before! My last chance for an
honest life is gone. And my wife and babies-- oh,
God!”
The slow tread of the sentry was plainly audible
as he commenced to climb the slope. The two
men were silent and motionless — the one doggedly
awaiting his fate, the other watching him with an
inscrutable expression in his eyes. Nearer and
nearer the sentry approached, until he stood a dark
figure on the crest of the hill above, where he
halted a moment to cast his eyes over the barren
landscape and rocky seashore. The faintest cry, a
beckoning gesture, would have attracted his atten-
tion and brought him promptly to the spot; but
King sat as if turned to stone. Not a muscle of
his face quivered, not a movement of his body be-
trayed his presence to the guard.
The vagabond heard the firm tread of the re-
treating sentry, and gazed with wondering incre-
dulity into King's calm eyes.
“What, King ? Oh, Lord! You don't mean
it!”
The wretched man put his hands to his eyes to
force back the weak tears that welled forth as he
comprehended his adversary's generous act. Then
the two men sat on in silence.
“What are your plans, Burke ?" King's voice
was low and kind. He had fought down the demon
that had risen in his heart.


116 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
" To Gautemala. She is there — and the chil.
dren. They have a little coffee plantation. It was
her brother's plan” –
He broke off and clutched King's shoulder in ex-
citement, pointing to a dim, ghostly shape just
rounding a point of rocks on the shore.
“ There she comes — the boat I was waiting
for."
They looked silently into each other's eyes.
Something of his lost manhood struggled back to
life and shone through the hard lines on the fugi-
tive's face, but he would not take the proffered
hand of the man he had wronged.
"I'm not fit, King,” he said, shaking his head.
Then in a sudden access of resolution, “But I
shan't forget. You've given me back my liberty.
I swear it shall not be ill used.”
King watched the little sail-boat receive its liv.
ing freight, then rose and pressed his way west-
ward, hoping to find the rest of spirit which is
frequently the compensation for great bodily ex-
haustion, and thus found his way at last to a narrow
cañon with precipitous walls, where the breakers of
the incoming tide cast themselves with unavailing
fury, and fell back spent and exbausted. At the
mouth of the narrow inlet, where the water swept
past with a mighty surge, and the eddying waves
told of a deep undercurrent, a curious bit of sea-
weed had lodged, far down on the slippery face of
the rocks. He swung himself down to secure it,
with no foothold but slimy grooves hollowed out
by the breakers, fastening his hands in lichenous


DESPAIR.
117
growths in the crevices of the rocks above. As he
regained the summit of the cliff in safety, he looked
back with dry wonderment upon the slippery de-
scent and the dark pool beneath. He picked up a
small fragment of rock and tossed it into the water.
It disappeared, leaving not so much as a ripple in
its wake. Just as silently and pitilessly would the
waters have closed over a wasted human life.
He tore himself away from the spot, frequently
pausing and looking back, in strange irresolution,
at the silent pool overhung by slippery rocks.
The sun had set, and darkness fell like a tender
mantle upon the city, hushing its strife, and offer-
ing a charitable cover for its misery, its sorrow, and
its sin. The night was damp and chill, but the
man who toiled along the road that crossed the
bleak summit of the western hills was unconscious
of the antics of the wind which skulked along the
road and lay in wait for him at every turn and
bend, tearing open his light overcoat in petulant
gusts, or striking him full in the face in angry
blasts. He did not see the city, a mass of dark
and indistinguishable objects, following the irreg-
ular outlines of the hills, and scintillating with a
hundred thousand lights. Once he looked back,
and saw the tall cross, planted upon Lone Moun-
tain by the hands of the pious Mission fathers,
standing white and shining above the shadows, as
the thick clouds overhead parted for a moment and
a single shaft of moonlight fell to earth.
On his way through the streets he was jostled
by brisk pedestrians, hastening to happy homes


118 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
where wives and children eagerly awaited their
coming. Laborers in coarse attire emerged from
corner groceries, clay pipes between their teeth,
their arms laden with bundles, and a look of stupid
content upon their faces. Street cars, freighted
with merry passengers, glided past, and occasion-
ally a cab sped over the pavement, its occupant
looking intently through the window to distinguish
the number of his destination. A ragged fellow,
seeing a stranger approaching alone and on foot,
waylaid him on a street corner, and began his dole-
ful whine for help, but before King bad spoken a
word in reply, some mysterious bond of communi-
cation warned the man that he had approached an-
other unfortunate, and he slunk off without finish-
ing his appeal.
As King plodded down Geary Street, he came to
an old building of gray stone, whose walls were half
buried beneath a dense growth of English ivy,
which framed the arched doorway. Some meeting
was being held inside, and through the stained-glass
windows the light fell in brilliant patches on the
moist, green sward, revealing the outlines of a low
gothic tomb, where all that was mortal of Starr
King had been placed by loving hands, in sight of
the church that had been the scene of his unselfish
ministrations. In his extremity of need the deso-
late man outside clung to the iron palings, while
his heart cried aloud to the friend of his boyhood
days, but no answer came from the silent sleeper.
He reached his room, and lighting the solitary
gas-burner, looked around him. Heaven pity the


DESPAIR.
119
man or woman who goes at night to a room which
no other human eyes ever see, and whose floors
never echo to the sound of a friendly tread. King's
face had all day worn the look of a man pursued by
a foe he dared not meet.
At last he turned and faced his pursuer. Why
not yield, once for all, to the phantom ready to
fold him in an icy embrace that meant oblivion and
peace? He was not a coward, but there comes to
many logical men a time when they are impelled
to question whether life is worth the struggle. He
was snared in the meshes of prejudice and unbe-
lief. The valiant resolves with which he had taken
up life anew were strangled in their infancy. Some-
where in the universe there must be room for him,
a place where he could work out the problem of
existence.
The refrain of a little song he had some time
heard constantly recurred to him, — “Six feet of
earth make us all of one size.” The idea did not
present itself to him in any finite sense. He pos-
sessed a firm faith in the immortality of the soul,
as they phrase it in the old church creeds. The
grave was merely a gateway to the future, a Pro-
crustean bed through which the spirit, divested of
all worldly advantages, released from accidents of
fortune, of material condition, no longer restrained
by physical disabilities or worldly impediments,
could pass untrammeled to the hands of its Maker.
The body was little more than a garment, he ar-
gued, — a mere “flesh overcoat,” which the soul
must some day throw aside. Could there be any


120
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
ment?
As a rule, he disapproved of suicide. There
were few men who did not owe a duty to society,
to family, to some one near and dear. In his case
there were no restraining influences. He could not
think of a soul on earth who would sorrow for his
loss. Society had no place for him ; even the great
working world had repulsed him. He realized a
sense of fitness in the deed which should crown a life
disgraced with a suicide’s grave. For a long time
he sat without stirring, his hands clasped behind his
head. Could his spiritual vision have been opened,
who can tell what pitying faces might have greeted
him. Once he started and looked eagerly around
the room, unable to divest himself of a fancy that
his mother's hand had been laid softly upon his
head. But he could only see the phantom at his
elbow, which mocked and jeered and beckoned him
on.
He rose at length and went to a bureau drawer.
A small mahogany case was lying there. Unlock-
ing it, he drew out a revolver and examined its
charges. His face was calm and his hands steady.
He looked about the room, and idly wondered who
would be its next occupant. Some compassionate
thought of his quiet landlady flitted through his
mind, and he stood for a moment in quiet reflection.
Whatever the subject of his thoughts, they bore
fruit in action. He caught up his hat, and thrust-
ing the weapon into his breast-pocket, hurriedly
left the room, and passed out into the street.


DESPAIR.
121
A dim fancy framed itself in his clouded brain
that he would like to reach the lonely rock over-
hanging the deep pool, where he had wandered in
the afternoon. No food had passed his lips for
more than twenty-four hours, and he was weak and
exhausted; but he plodded wearily down Third
Street, and along Mission, past brightly-lighted
shop-windows with their array of showy goods, to
where a tide of people was pouring out of the opera
house, and he found his progress momentarily
checked.


CHAPTER X.
RECOGNITION.
It was Saturday night, and a large and fashion-
able audience had gathered at Wade's Opera House
to celebrate the first appearance in the city of a
famous prima donna. Although far past her youth,
the cantatrice was a woman of rare personal charms,
and as she made her appearance upon the stage she
was greeted with the well-bred courtesy character-
istic of a California audience, — a carefully modu-
lated note of applause, deficient neither in cordial-
ity nor grace, which yet conveyed an intimation of
something withheld, of pent-up possibilities of en-
thusiasm, which only an actual demonstration of
her gifts could evoke.
She had received the tribute due her fame. The
spontaneous expression of the favor of her audience
could only be awarded upon the proof of her power.
There was one among the audience who divided
attention with the singer. She sat in a lower pro-
scenium box, surrounded by a gay party, and leaned
forward in her chair, her arm resting lightly upon
the cushioned balustrade, so intent upon the scene
before her that she was unconscious of the glasses
focused on her from all quarters of the house. Clad
in mauve velvet, with a great cluster of purple vio-


RECOGNITION.
123
lets on her bosom, the pliant fabric of her dress
revealed the exquisite modeling of her figure, and
her head rose from the simple costume with the
queenly poise and delicate beauty of a flower that
has burst its sheath. The coiled masses of brown
hair, under the scintillating circles of light above,
caught a golden sheen, and her face was animated
with the divine light and glow of early woman-
hood.
The voice of the singer soared heavenward, in
rich, full notes that uplifted every soul, then died
away in a gentle cadence like the sighing of the
summer breeze. It rang out in glad notes of exul.
tation, or sobbed and languished, waking echoes of
passion and pain. It swelled in triumph, wailed in
supplication, mourned, found consolation, rejoiced,
and finally ceased with a trill of melody, pure and
sweet as the notes of a bird.
There succeeded the perfect silence that is the
bighest tribute ever paid to noble effort. Then
the house shook with a storm of applause.
People rose to their feet and cheered in a frenzy
of joy. Women clapped their gloved hands, or
sobbed aloud in hysterical delight. Floral offer-
ings flew so thickly through the air that the singer
was obscured from view. Smiling ushers dragged
across the stage various eccentric monstrosities of
the florist's art; and Margaret Thaxter, slowly
awaking from her reverie as the tumult subsided,
caught from her breast the bunch of violets and
flung it to the singer.
The impulsive act called forth new and deafen-


124
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
ing demonstrations from the excited people, directed
as much toward the beautiful woman who had im-
pulsively despoiled her toilet to do honor to the
singer, as to the diva herself. The cantatrice caught
the infection of the popular sentiment, and turned
with a radiant smile to the donor, who drew back
in the shadow of the box.
The play was over, and Margaret Thaxter, the
centre of an admiring party, crossed the pavement
beneath an awning, to where a row of carriages
stood along the curb. A man who loitered on the
sidewalk was arrested by the sight, and paused to
stand grimly in the pouring rain, thinking of what
life had brought to her, and of what he had lost for
her sake. A singular change in her face caught his
eye, and he sought to grasp its meaning. The old
girlish prettiness had vanished, to be replaced by
something infinitely more noble and beautiful.
Scorned and disgraced, prematurely aged, with all
the light and promise gone from his life, he looked
upon the woman who had unwittingly been his
spirit of evil, and as he marked the perfect compos-
ure of her face, he pictured the contempt that would
curve her lips and flash from her eyes if he should
present himself in the midst of her gay friends, –
he, bowed down beneath the weight of crime, and
disfigured with the curse of a social blight.
Yielding to an unreasoning and despairing im.
pulse, he pressed forward, and her friends fell back
in dismay at the impudence of the shabby-looking
man, his seedy garments dripping with the rain,
who had so rudely forced his way into their charmed


RECOGNITION.
circle. He was conscious only of a desire to draw
down upon himself her scorn and disdain. His cup
of misery needed that one drop to be filled to over-
flowing. A whispered intelligence ran round the
little group, but the central figure remained uncon-
scious, until she turned from a gay word with a
friend and saw him, standing in the full glow of
the electric light, a wan and haggard apparition
with avenging eyes that seemed to say, “ Behold
your work!”
Every vestige of color forsook her face, but she
displayed no other outward manifestation of emo-
tion. Bowing with the grave, marked courtesy we
pay to a friend who, however humble, is robed in
the dignity of sorrow or affliction, she addressed
him in clear, vibrating tones.
“ Remember, I expect to see you at my reception
Monday night, Mr. King.”
He stood on the wet pavement and watched the
carriage disappear in the maze of vehicles that
thronged the street, conscious of a singular change
in himself. He was no longer the weak misan-
thrope, feebly surrendering himself to a miserable
fate. A new energy coursed through every vein.
He seemed to have undergone a sudden moral re-
generation. What was the exact nature of this
powerful influence which had wrought so rapid
and miraculous a transformation, and infused such
vital strength and courage into his life, he did not
stop to analyze. It was enough that he felt no
longer the poor and hapless coward he had been an
hour before, but stood once more a man among his
fellow-men.


126 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
The crowd had dispersed, but he remained in the
same place and attitude, his eyes fixed on vacancy,
while his brain leaped into new activity. Obsta-
cles which before seemed insurmountable became
so many mole-hills. He would start out on the
morrow and canvass the city to obtain honest work.
A truce to all false delicacy, to pusillanimous con-
fessions and timid pledges. Had she not thought
him worthy of honorable recognition ?
A policeman, who had been narrowly observing
him from a comfortable post in the shelter of a door-
way near by, strode to his side and rudely touched
his shoulder.
“ Better move on!” he said, menacingly.
Instead of humbly yielding to the mandate, as
he would have done twenty-four hours before, King
shook off the touch and turned upon the officer with
the resentment natural to any inoffensive citizen
who feels his rights invaded. The blue-coat fell
back with a muttered apology.
The incident served to recall the loiterer to a
sense that he was making himself conspicuous in a
public place, and after a moment's delay, a needful
act of self-assertion, he turned and walked steadily
down Market Street to Kearny. Uncle Lazarus, a
tall, stoop-shouldered Israelite, was in the act of
locking his safe, preliminary to closing for the
night. He lifted his head with an impatient ex-
pression at the sound of entering footsteps. No
customer worth having was liable to make an ap-
pearance at that hour. His countenance changed
as he met his visitor's eye. Whatever the man's
errand, he meant business.


RECOGNITION.
| 127
King drew the revolver from his pocket, and laid
it carelessly upon the counter.
“ A toy I have no use for,” he simply said.
The pawnbroker examined the weapon curiously,
raising his eyebrows slightly as he perceived the
untouched cartridges. The weapon was a costly,
silver-mounted affair, of foreign workmanship, a
relic of youthful extravagance. Under ordinary
circumstances the usurer would have expatiated
upon the rusty barrels, the defective action, the
old-fashioned style, with an adroit allusion to the
depressed state of the money market, and the effect
of the excessive rains on the crops of the coming
season; but frequent contact with varying types
of human nature had not been without its lesson.
He pushed a small gold piece over the counter.
King pocketed it and walked out, whistling as he
went.
A brightly lighted French restaurant next at-
tracted his eye. It was almost midnight, and only
a few belated guests were scattered about the ta-
bles. The negro waiter, in a white linen coat,
and with a napkin over his arm, who stepped up
to serve him, gave a pleased exclamation of recog-
nition. It was his old acquaintance, the dish-washer
at the penitentiary. He insisted upon relieving the
guest of his wet overcoat, and hanging it where it
would dry. Instead of the simple coffee and rolls
which King bad ordered, the man placed before him
an appetizing little supper, composed of the best vi.
ands the depleted larder would afford. Meanwhile,
as he busied himself arranging the dishes and at-


128
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
tending to the comforts of the guest, he carried on
a low-voiced conversation...
How long had he been out? “Six weeks. Got
place as waitah one week aftah.” Did his employer
know his antecedents ? “ Not much! Tink I'se
a fool?”
“What if he should find out some day?"
“Not let him find out. Wait three, fo' months,
tell him myself. He know me den. Am shoah he
can trust me. Tell him now, he be sho' I steal
his money; maybe he fea' people know me, and
his business done get ruined. Heah 'bout Stubbs ?
Some fellabs blow up powdah magazine; had a
big fight wid three fellahs ; tink dey get away.
Stubbs get a cut in his abm ; but he put out de
match and he shoot. Warden get him pardoned.
Out next week. Dey say he lehn de locksmith trade
mighty good; say be best safe-cracker on de whole
coast. Reckon he go tinkerin' at lock on Safe De-
posit next -- he, he! Not have no mo'dat chicken
salad, sir ? Mighty good fo' de digestion, sir. Go-
ing, Mr. King? Get ovahcoat fust; rainin' right
hard yet. If you 'd do me de honah, sir, heah 's
an umbrella. I got no use fo’ it; sleep in kitchen.
No hurry 'bout retuhning, - no mo' rain dis sea
son."


CHAPTER XI.
A FRIENDLY INTERVIEW.
THE exulting sense of courage and power had
not abandoned Philip King when he awoke the next
morning, but as he calmly reviewed the occurrences
of the previous night, one fact stood preëminent
before him. He must not compromise this fearless
friend by taking advantage of the honor she had so
publicly shown him. Whatever her motive, —
whether it sprang from the pitiful impulse of the
moment, or from some stronger, deeper purpose,
nothing but ill could result from assuming the am-
biguous position in which an acceptance would place
them both. He would go to her early on the mor-
row, and, while thanking her for her gracious ac-
knowledgment of the old friendship and confessing
the renewal of self-respect it had inspired within
him, explain to her why he could not avail himself
of the courtesy she had extended.
The next day he walked with firm, ringing tread
the street he had hitherto sedulously avoided, no
longer shrinking from the gaze of passers-by, but
meeting fearlessly the glances that were cast upon
him.
He opened the iron gate and proceeded slowly up
the walk, noting in his passage the changes that the


130
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
years had wrought. The small palms he had seen
when he last visited the place had grown to stately
trees. The bed of pansies that had gleamed a brill-
iant spot of color from the green setting of the
lawn, had given way to a mammoth harp, strung
with blood-red coleus, and set in a frame of mari-
golds. The fuchsia that formerly wreathed the base
of the bay-window had made a daring ascent to the
roof, and dropped its red and purple pendants from
the eaves. The house itself was little changed.
Years of sunshine and rain and fog had imparted a
grayish tinge to its stuccoed front, and a stained-
glass window had been inserted. Aside from these
slight alterations, it was the same. Even the gray-
haired woman who opened the door bore a familiar
look; but she stared at the new-comer as if he were
a wraith.
“ Master Philip ?” The old soul was incredu-
lous.
“ Yes, Betsey.” In the old days when he had
freely come and gone from the house the stern-vis-
aged creature had been a veritable dragon, ever on
the alert to discountenance an excess of gayety on
the part of her young mistress, - a grim wardsman
to be circumvented and assuaged. But now she
looked into the man's face, and her old eyes were
shocked and dismayed at the story they read.
“ Is Miss Thaxter at home ?”
“ The same voice, but the face — what a change!
Did a body ever see such a change? Yes, I'm
thinking she 's in her room. Just walk into the
library, and we 'll see," and the good soul bustled


A FRIENDLY INTERVIEW.
131
on before him, ever repeating under her breath,
" Dear boy! what a change, what a change!”
He stood looking out of a window upon the lawn,
when he heard a soft rustle in the hall, and the
woman he sought stood in the door. In her neat
morning robe, with a touch of some bright color at
her neck, she seemed so like the same winsome girl
to whom he had talked sweet nonsense a dozen years
before, that for a moment he started to meet her,
oblivious of all that had intervened. Then he re-
called the present, with its grim shadow of dis-
“I am sorry to disturb you, Miss Thaxter," he
said, coolly, a fierce anger struggling into his heart
at the sight of her beauty, and the consciousness of ·
his old passion wakening to life, in spite of all it
had cost him. “I merely came to offer an apol-
ogy and a regret. I cannot attend your reception
Monday night.”
as And why?” She had taken a low seat near ·
the fire, and spoke with the easy unconcern with
which she might have challenged the whim of an
ordinary man of the world, who chose to withdraw
himself from social life for a season.
“ It is hardly necessary to explain the reason."
“ But I am not accustomed to excuse my friends
so lightly. Pray take a seat, Mr. King. Do you
not find a fire refreshing these chilly mornings ?”
He would not pretend to heed her little byplay
of small talk, but proceeded directly to the point at
issue.
" Why? Because I am no longer one of your


132 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
gay society world. I have forfeited my place in
public esteem”-
- Retrieve it!”
Her air of easy composure was gone. A lofty
courage shone in her face, and her voice had the
ring of inspiration. For a moment an answering
spark leaped into his eyes and met her own in quick
response. But the light as speedily faded.
“ You speak so confidently. You do not know
the humiliating consciousness of guilt that fetters
courage and paralyzes ambition. The worst enemy
a man has to contend with in such a struggle is the
doubt of his own capacity to withstand temptation.
Still, if one could stand alone, compromise and in-
volve no one but himself in his success or failure !
But to risk bringing disgrace upon a friend — I
cannot do it.”
She thought he had never looked half as manly
as when he made this brave self-arraignment, but
*she replied only to his closing words.
“ If my position in society is held by so slight a
tenure, it is not worth the keeping."
“ But what is to be gained ?”
“ A wider sphere of usefulness; purging away
the stain that rests upon your name ; honor, trust,
- everything worth having. Do you mean to say
that you are satisfied with your present life? Does
it fulfill in any way the ambition of your early life
— your mother's hopes ?”
She waited long for a response. The reference
to his mother had stirred the hidden springs of his
being. The life that she had planned and the life
that was rose in grim contrast before his vision.


A FRIENDLY INTERVIEW.
133
“ You forget the force of example, for the sake
of which I have suffered so long and justly. The
interests of society are concerned.”
“Show society a better example. Show that a
man can prove superior to circumstances, even
when those circumstances involve his own error.
Give it the stimulating example of one who re-
trieves a false step through his own honest exer-
tions. Take your stand in society as a man who
has expiated his offense against its laws; who is
entitled to a place of respect, and means to keep it.
I know what you mean to say,” she cried, lifting
her hand in deprecation. “Of course, there will
be plenty to misunderstand, to fancy you are gov-
erned by some vulgar ambition. Let them alone;
they will learn differently by and by.”
“ It has never been done before," he returned,
after a pause. “I have heard and known of con-
victs who have figured in society under a false
name, concealing the circumstances of their crime,
but never of one who openly acknowledged his er-
ror, and yet retained his place.”
“ All the more necessity for a brave man to pave
the way for those who come after him,” she ear-
nestly rejoined, “ for as long as the world endures,
men of true principles and upright life will lose
their moral balance and expiate a moment's weak-
ness with years of penance.”
“ I want you to straighten up,” she said, lightly
touching the shoulders that had learned to bow be-
neath their load of shame. “ Carry yourself so !”
and with the light pressure of her hands she made


A FRIENDLY INTERVIEW.
135
but her honest eyes looked a fearless challenge.
He could no longer withstand her sweet seriousness
of voice, her resolute probing for his hidden wounds,
with the gravity of a physician who hurts that he
may heal.
“I see you do not mean to spare me,” he said.
“ Very well. It has been hard. The way is not
clear yet.”
“ What have you done since you left the State
Museum ?”
“ Patrolled the streets for work.”
“ What sort of work ? "
“ Any honest labor to which I could turn my
hand.”
- For instance ?”
• Work at my trade, copyist, clerk -any vacancy
that was open to an industrious man.”
“ With what success ?”
“I have occupied the proud position of night
watchman on a lumber pier — a temporary place,
as substitute. I drove an omnibus car seventeen
hours a day, at the handsome rate of one dollar and
seventy-five cents per diem, for a month, when
three days' illness cost me my place. I also had
the honor of breaking rock and shoveling sand on
the sea wall, and by a lucky accident was promoted
to the proud position of a carpenter on the long
warehouse. I own that about that date I cherished
the illusion that some time in the remote future I
might achieve the preëminence of a master-work-
man; but my hopes were dashed to the ground.
The superintendent asked me where I learned my
trade.”


136
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
He had remained standing by the mantel, toying
with a costly bit of Sevres ware that stood on a
plush-covered shelf above. Margaret Thaxter lis-
tened with quiet attention, but at his concluding
words she rose hastily and stepped to the window,
so that her face was turned away for a moment.
When she resumed her seat she held her handker-
chief lightly pressed to her lips.
“ And now what has my small mentor to sug-
gest ? ” Margaret Thaxter was by no means a
woman of inferior stature, but as he looked down
upon her with a strange, tremulous smile, seeing
only the moisture that dimmed the brightness of
her eyes, the diminutive fell unconsciously from his
lips. The first touch of human sympathy that had
come to him after years of proscription and almost
universal distrust unnerved him oddly. Yet the
look he gave her had in it the suggestion of manly
strength. He was thinking how mean a stimulus
the man had who battled only for himself. Had
that dream of the by-gone years, that dream that
was never to be realized, only reached fruition,
how strong he might have felt to do and to endure.
" Why have you not gone among those you used
to know, those who were acquainted with your ca-
pabilities?” Her voice, with its quiet business air,
brought him back to actualities.
“Because I would not cast the burden of my
troubles upon my friends. The experience with
Rutherford was an accident, brought about through
a chance meeting and his own persistent self-immo-
lation. The result was enough to persuade me of


FRIENDLY INTERVIEW.
137
the injustice of taking such a course, if I had needed
persuasion.”
“But how do you suppose other people account
for your action ? Nothing is more important for
you in your present position than to stand right
with the community. Have you never thought of
the suspicions such an avoidance might excite?”
“ Never until this moment. I did not suppose
any one cared enough to discuss me or my actions."
“People never shirk their responsibilities where
their neighbors' business is concerned,” she said, la-
conically. “Will you let me tell you where I think
you bave erred? I think you have been trying to
make your way in the wrong field. It is not your
past life alone that hurts you; it is your total un-
fitness for what you try to do. You were never cut
out for a trade. Men see it and realize it. They
like to be able to condescend to a man in their em-
ploy. What is more, the disparity between you in-
creases their liability to distrust. They would be
twice as ready to have faith in one of their own
class who has gone astray. There is no use deny-
ing that we have classes in this country, as well as
elsewhere. Wherever men come together in a com-
munity, kind will crystallize with kind, and each one
find his proper level, so that different social strata
must inevitably result. For a man of superior so-
cial standing, of higher culture, of refined tastes, to
come to them and claim the recognition he has not
ventured to ask from his own set — it is too great a
temptation to meet his intellectual pretensions with
the assertion of their moral superiority. Don't you
see ? »


138 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
He nodded gravely, wondering that a woman's
quick intuition should so readily solve the problem
that had baffled a man's broader analytical powers.
“ You should go among men of your own kind,
claim recognition, and then prove your claim by
consistent action.”
“With what result, may be predicated from my
experience in the Mining Bureau.”
“ That was a mere political pretext. It was pre-
mature for your friends to undertake a public sup-
port at that time. For all that, one cannot do with-
out them. I was reading a book by a great philos-
opher the other day, and he says, “There is no such
thing in creation as an independent, unconnected
existence; nor could anything survive in that con-
dition. But there are different ways of acknowl-
edging the dependence. Assume an attitude which
will enable those who like to show their friendship,
but will exact no man's favor. In other words, fol-
low a business which demands a proper exercise of
your abilities, and at the same time brings you in
contact with men of your own class.”
“I concede your logic,” he frankly yielded; “ but
what do you advise ?”
“I heard you quite distinguished yourself by
your method of microscopical analysis of rock dur-
ing your brief connection with the Mining Bureau.
Able assayers and chemists are always in demand
in San Francisco.”
“ True.” His face brightened, and he took a
turn about the room. “I still have my microscope.
I assure you I should not, if it had not been too


A FRIENDLY INTERVIEW.
139
old-fashioned to be salable; but it will answer all
my purposes."
“And I think it will be well, as a preliminary
step, to allow your name to be proposed for mem-
bership of the Academy of Sciences. That will
give you a recognized position among scientific
men, and may help you in other ways. I myself
am a member of the academy. Perhaps you know
that I have developed a taste for science, Mr.
King ?"
“I understand it is quite the fashion for young
women to have such notions nowadays.”
“ Yes. Since we met last I have taken up sev-
eral — notions," with a slight halt and a faint em-
phasis as she came to the concluding word.
“ There are other matters to be considered,” he
said, thoughtfully. “However, I will think of it."
- If you are thinking of the needful expense in
starting,” she commenced, with heightened color;
but he checked her with an imperative gesture.
“Not that. Do not let me have the degradation
of owing dependence to a woman. Rather than
that, let me lie in a gutter” –
He was arrested by the piteous appeal in her
face, and back of that another underlying senti-
ment that bared itself for a moment in agonized
self-accusation. He passed his hand over his eyes,
in bewilderment and consternation. Was this
strange divination of human weakness growing into
a mania, that he should fancy for the instant he
detected a consciousness of guilt in the woman he
revered above all the world ?


A MESSAGE FROM THE PAST. 141
away his head King discovered that to one of the
soft curls a magnificent butterfly was clinging, his
golden wings outspread, and the great peacock eyes
on their tips reflecting back the light in burnished
shades of blue and bronze.
“Shall I show you where he is, Leon ? Hold
very still.”
With a light touch of his hand he persuaded the
gorgeous creature to release his hold upon the silken
lock and accept the hospitality of his outstretched
finger. The child turned and viewed him with a
cry of mingled awe and admiration. Racing up
and down the lawn with the glorious insect was a
very different matter from entertaining him in such
close quarters. Then he smiled a farewell upon
his quondam playmate.
“ Now fly!”
As if in obedience to his command, the butterfly
spread his golden pinions and mounted skyward.
They watched him until he poised at length on the
fragrant blossoming bough of a lemon verbena;
then the little one turned to King with curious
speculation in his face, and spoke in a soft, sweet
voice.
“Philip, will you tell me do horses and pigs have
wings when they die ?"
6 Why, my little comrade, what has put that into
your head ? "
“ So they can go to heaven. How could they go
if God did n't give them wings ? But tell me,” he
persisted.
66 What formidable questions for a small boy!”


142 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
laughed King, seizing his questioner and swinging
him up to a seat on his shoulder, steadying him
with one uplifted arm, and holding tightly in his
own the little warm hand that passed around his
neck. The child bore the sudden transportation to
this elevated perch with composure and evident
satisfaction. It was plain that a perfect under-
standing existed between these two, and that they
were old and established friends. .
“ If you don't tell me I shall find out myself,"
gravely asserted the boy.
“ How ?”
"I will go up to heaven myself, and knock on
God's door, and he will take me into his house and
tell me."
“My dear little boy, I could n't tell you if I
would,” said King, unwilling to destroy any tender
fancy the child might have cherished. “We can't
know everything in this world ; so be patient and
wait.”
" Then I must go on praying God to give them
wings,” said the little fellow, with resignation.
“ Praying !” exclaimed King, recalling the mo-
notonous forms of prayer which he had been ac-
customed to repeat, without deviation, in his own
childhood. “And does your mother teach you to
pray for horses and pigs ?”
“My mamma says praying is talking to God,"
replied the child, with dignity. “I talk to him to
make me tell true, and let me buy my mamma a
nice house and a carriage to ride in, and make me
not afraid of cows; and when I come to a mud-


A MESSAGE FROM THE PAST. 143
puddle help me to jump over the mud-puddle and
not fall in; and make all the mens good, and have
my papa be good, too.”
King felt that these communications were reach-
ing a point where delicacy forbade his receiving
them. They had entered his room, and the boy,
swung down from his high seat, had stretched him-
self at full length on a rug before the grate. His
host interrupted his reminiscences by tossing him
a couple of gay-colored advertising cards which he
had picked up on the streets; and as the child
seized eagerly upon them, and rolled over to raise
himself upon his elbows and feast his eyes upon his
newly acquired treasures, King pondered the words
he had heard.
It was not the first time he had anxiously specu-
lated upon the mystery which overhung the occu-
pants of the cottage. The mother was an innocent
young Danish girl, who lived a quiet, secluded life,
discouraging all advances on the part of her neigh-
bors, apparently too engrossed in her household
cares and in her love for her child to entertain any
interests outside of her family circle.
There were rumors of an erratic husband, who
came and went at irregular intervals, under the
cover of darkness ; and King, returning from an
evening stroll, had more than once perceived a dark
figure slouch along the dim passage-way, passing
noiselessly into the cottage, as if desirous of escap-
ing observation.
The air of secrecy that enshrouded the little
household was emphasized by the singular reserve


144
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
of the young matron; and when one more bold
than the others had pressed her for her name, com-
plaining that they were ignorant of the proper form
in which to address her, she had answered with a
quick blush and appealing look —
“My name is Pauline. Be so good and call me
Mrs. Pauline."
The odd title had been generally adopted, and
Mrs. Pauline became a recognized factor in the
humble neighborhood.
In King's lonely and desolate state the child had
first attracted his attention, stretching out little
dimpled hands as he passed, and by many a gentle
art and loving act taking up his abode in the heart
of the friendless man. As his fondness for the lit-
tle fellow increased, King became more and more
apprehensive that the father might belong to that
class of skilled professionals so adept in their crim-
inal callings, so successful in covering up their
tracks, that their identity remains forever a mys-
tery to the police.
He looked up from his meditations to find the
large brown eyes of the boy calmly regarding him,
and made another desperate effort to grasp the
strangely fleeting resemblance that often puzzled
him. Could the hardened features of a fellow-con-
vict have aught in common with the sweet purity
of the infant countenance ? He spurned the thought
indignantly.
6 What nonsense !”
He stooped and stroked the boy's bright hair in
gentle atonement for his suspicions, as he crossed


146
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
into the cosy room. King watched the action in
silent amusement, speculating on the difference in
certain national traits, which made this sunny-tem-
pered little European resent as an unseemly in-
truder what a woman of his own race would have
hailed with unalloyed delight. Then his eyes wan-
dered idly about the room, growing perplexed as
they rested upon little signs of elegance and com-
fort, incongruous features of the humble home.
One article arrested his attention — a case of crim-
son velvet, marked with an elaborate monogram
embroidered in silver and gold, from the top of
which protruded the ivory handle of a small whisk
broom. There was something curiously familiar in
the monogram, but, strive as he might, he could
not succeed in deciphering the letters that com-
posed it. His reflections were arrested by a little
cry of surprise from Mrs. Pauline.
“And you, too, have one of these strange coats,
Mr. King. How they would laugh to see them in
the old country! I tell my man, the first time I see
him in one, he do look so queer, so queer!” She
held up the swallow-tail coat as she spoke, laughing
again at the recollection. But there was no an-
swering smile on King's sober face. His original
hypothesis respecting the mysterious husband was
overturned. Thieves and gamblers, fugitives from
justice, who ply their nefarious callings under cover
of the night, are not given to parading dress suits.
Mechanically he recalled a dozen circumstances he
had hitherto allowed to pass unobserved. Glancing
around the room, and taking an inventory of its


A MESSAGE FROM THE PAST.
147
contents by the new light her chance remark had
shed, his suspicion was confirmed. This errant
spouse, this truant father, was a man belonging to
the foremost circles of society; doubtless a welcome
visitor in happy homes, who took pure young girls
by the hand, or clasped their waists in the ball-
room, while this shadowy episode in his life re-
mained unseen and unguessed, like many another
fashionable exquisite. Such instances were by no
means new to King; but as he found himself
brought face to face with the consequences of one
of the most deplorable crimes against society, he
was conscious of a strong recoil, in which abhor-
rence of the deed blended with pity and foreboding
for the innocent victims. He felt as if he had
caught a glimpse into the bottomless pit of an iniq-
uitous deed. With an instinctive delicacy which
would have done credit to a man of blameless char-
acter, he forebore to follow up the clew uncon-
sciously afforded him, and made no reply to the ex-
clamation of his little neighbor.
As she spread the coat upon the table, prepara-
tory to moistening the creases with a damp sponge,
the pockets were inverted, and something fluttered
to the floor.
“Ah, Mr. King! You must take better care of
your love-letters.” She extended the missive to
him with an innocent laugh. Forgetting the years
that the suit had been shut away in the little trunk,
King drew out the sheet of note-paper and curiously
examined it, recognizing the answer to a forgotten
note of invitation, written in a girl's dainty hand.
He folded it quickly as he observed Margaret Thax-


148 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
ter's signature, and would have thrust it back into
the envelope, but encountered a hidden obstacle.
Inverting the envelope, and tapping it softly with
his fingers, a faded flower fell upon his knee. Like
one who tries to decipher some unknown language
whose records are interwoven with his own history,
be bent his face over the fragile flower, from which
color and perfume had vanished.
As he looked, a series of disjointed recollections
presented themselves in dissolving view before his
troubled mind. He beheld a rattle-brained young
fellow penning a note of invitation to a yachting
cruise; a half avowal of protective tenderness that
escaped him almost unaware; his return from a gay
party late the next morning; a letter, brought by
a messenger-boy during his absence, lying on his
desk; the eagerness with which he had torn it open,
hoping for some response to his fervid utterance; a
perfume that issued from some unseen source; the
cool and stilted language, that seemed a sharp re-
buke to his effusive words, awakening a sense of
humiliation and shame; the sudden desperate re-
solve to win her at whatever cost; the high stakes
he had played and lost. Had he then sacrificed
honor and manhood and freedom, only to forever
forfeit a treasure already in his keeping ?
He forgot the scene about him — the fair-haired
woman bent low over the ironing-board, the child
playing at his feet. Clenching his hand with an
unconscious gesture of despair, he groaned aloud.
The shy messenger of a girl's affection told its una-
vailing story after a lapse of twelve weary years.
“ Why, Mr. King! What is the matter ?”


Á MESSAGE FROM THE PAST.
149
The honest Danish face bent over him in unaf-
fected concern.
“ It is nothing, my little neighbor. Only an old
pain that came back for a moment."
“ Is it a pain in the chest ? I have it some days
bad myself. But I have a bottle of patent drops
that are very good indeed, and if you will let me”-
the little woman eagerly suggested.
“ It will soon pass away. Come here, Leon!
This is the best remedy.” He stooped to the child,
and catching him in his arms, swung him once,
twice, thrice, so that the small outstretched hands
touched the low ceiling, and shrieks of merriment
issued from the pouting lips. The woman pursued
her task, watching him shyly the while, and noting
the sober eyes that belied the forced smile. By the
sympathetic instinct of one who had herself suffered
and learned to conceal her anguish, she recognized
the shallow ruse, but her mind owned no analytical
power which would enable her to determine the na-
ture of the pain.
“Very well, if you say so, Mr. King,” she reluc-
tantly conceded. “But if you should ever have a
pain in the chest, I would be very glad if you would
try the drops. For, indeed, it is a big bottle!” –
with a parabolic sweep of her left hand to describe
the vastness of the measure — « more than I could
use in my life. And it is too bad that so good med-
icine should be thrown away.”
She concluded with a deprecatory shrug of her
shoulders, and secret complacency. For indeed had
she not advanced an adroit argument to dispel any
false delicacy her visitor might entertain ?


CHAPTER XIII.
THE SKIRMISH BEFORE THE BATTLE.
An evening reception in San Francisco is a very
gay affair, and lacks none of the essentials of a fash-
ionable party. The latter title has in fact become
almost obsolete in the first society. At a reception
there is the same display of elegant evening cos-
tumes, harmonious or gaudy, decent or décolleté, ac-
cording to the taste and modesty of the wearer; the
same commingling of incongruous elements, where
purity and vice, refinement and vulgarity, intelli-
gence and ignorance, wit and wealth, meet on a
common level. There is the same lavish floral dec.
oration throughout the house, only possible in a
land where perpetual summer reigns, and profes-
sional florists bring taste and ingenuity into service.
Ballinger's string band sounds its enticing strains
from a remote balcony ; young and old obey its
summons and move with varying degrees of agility
and grace through the rhythmic measures of the
dance, or turn from the heated air of the ball-room,
and with people whose minds are cast in a graver
mould, wander wherever they elect, finding enter-
tainment in more dignified pastime.
If Miss Thaxter had hitherto drawn her lines a
little closer than her neighbors, those favored by


THE SKIRMISH BEFORE THE BATTLE. 151
her preference had dismissed the implied comment
on their own social latitude with an indulgent smile.
The rumor of the flagrant breach of propriety
which the evening was to witness had been re-
ceived with general consternation, provoking hot
discussion and stern disapproval, whose acerbity
was only tempered by widespread incredulity. San
Francisco society, though willing to condone much,
did not relish the idea of taking to its bosom an
outcast from its own circle, one whom it had petted
and caressed, only to be stung in its most vulner,
able point — its reputation. Foreign adventurers
from strange lands were received without question;
but those of its own number, who had fallen by vir.
tue of its very temptations, became pariahs to all
the social world.
Margaret Thaxter had been accused of many
things: of indolence, a charge to which she had as-
sented without a word; of leading an aimless exist-
ence, which she candidly indorsed, claiming herself
as the victim of circumstances. She told her friends
that she had slipped into a groove when she was a
mere child, and that it had grown deeper and nar-
rower as the years advanced, until self-extrication
had become an impossibility. Some day her prison
walls would fall away and she would be set free,
and then she would try her wings, she laughingly
assured them.
The allusion needed no explanation, for she occu-
pied a position that was unique. Orphaned in early
childhood, up to the age of fourteen she was bred
to the simple ways and strict restraint of a New


152
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
England farm-house. At that epoch of her life a
wealthy uncle, who had emigrated to California in
the days of the first gold excitement, and afterward
accumulated considerable wealth, prostrated with
sickness and believing his end to be near, had dedi-
cated his entire property to the establishment of
worthy institutions for the benefit of the public. A
prolonged illness and long convalescence awakened
in his heart the latent affection for his own kindred,
and he sent for his orphan niece to share his home,
designing to make ample provision for her future.
But so conclusively had he disposed of his estate,
80 stringent were the conditions to which he had
forced his trustees to subscribe, that, when he un-
dertook to conduct his business interests once more,
he found himself in the hands of conservators of his
own appointment, who considerately allowed him
to retain his house and a portion of the income from
property that had been his own. But one revenge
remained to him, and he determined to exercise it
to the utmost extent in his power. Fifteen years
had already passed, and Matthew Thaxter was still
a hale man, resolved to live to a green old age, in
defiance of his waiting beneficiaries.
That Margaret Thaxter should have abandoned
the security of her New England home to share the
uncertain fortunes and anomalous position of her
uncle, bad not served to lay her open to the charge
of eccentricity. The question of her ultimate des-
tiny was as evident to her friends as it had prob-
ably been to her eccentric relative when he had
placed her at the head of his household. She would


THE SKIRMISH BEFORE THE BATTLE. 153
marry. Marriage is the manifest destiny of all wo
men who are passably good-looking, free from mel-
ancholy, healthy, and of a well balanced mind; and
Margaret Thaxter possessed all these qualifications,
both positive and negative. The volatile influences
of life in a gay Western city, engrafted upon a staid
and puritanic childhood, had produced a character
of singular complexity, and she sometimes appeared
enigmatical to her friends.
To the world generally she was simply a beauti-
ful girl with charming manners, who retained her
good looks in a remarkable degree, although fast
nearing thirty, and she possessed the latitude of ac-
tion universally conceded to a lovely woman who
has held herself unstained by contact with the
world. But there were some things not to be
brooked by society, even at the hands of Margaret
Thaxter.
“I cannot credit it,” declared Miss Jennie Spar-
thorpe, pursing up her red lips, as she fastened a
jeweled dagger more securely in her dark hair, and
viewed her own reflection in the mirror in the la-
dies' dressing-room. During the preceding winter
Miss Jennie's parents had been foremost in extend-
ing social recognition to a young English baronet,
who had turned out a swindler, a liar, and a profli-
gate ; but the blue blood which coursed through his
veins atoned for all his shortcomings.
“ It seems incredible, but I am afraid it must be
true," sighed a languid blonde, who had been the
rage for two seasons, but, having no graces of mind
or character to support her charms, was fast retir-


154
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
ing to the shades of a sour old maidenhood, as her
eyes and complexion faded. “Mrs. McKineban
herself heard her tell him she expected him, in front
of the Baldwin Theatre, Saturday night.”
“Oh, you 're surely mistaken!” chimed in an-
other voice. “It was the Unitarian church. But
there comes the General.”
There was a little hush of expectancy as Mrs.
McKinehan bustled into the room, and allowed her-
self to be divested of her wraps, disclosing a gor-
geous toilet of blue silk and brocaded cardinal vel-
vet, very copious as to train and very meagre as to
corsage. This striking costume only served to ren-
der more conspicuous a tall, massive figure, with a
fleshy neck and a pair of muscular arms. The lady,
an acknowledged leader in society, had achieved
her prestige less through attractive personal quali-
ties than by the possession of a powerful executive
ability — a quality so rare among women that it
rendered her an almost indispensable factor in cer-
tain emergencies where a clear head and steady
purpose outweigh more delicate and womanly qual-
ities.
The same extraordinary gift had served her well
in other circles, and she was a recognized power in
the church society of which she was a member.
Harsh in speech, coarse in manner, habit, and
thought, never by any chance committing herself
to the utterance of a charitable word, she had, nev-
ertheless, for years held a responsible post on the
board of one of the foremost and best endowed
charities in the city, a position from which not all


THE SKIRMISH BEFORE THE BATTLE. 155
the influence and high standing of her opponents
had sufficed to dislodge her. Among certain irrev-
erent young persons she was known by the unfem-
inine sobriquet of “The General,” a title awarded
to her for her soldierly mien, her pugnacity, her ar-
bitrary edicts, and her managerial ability.
“Mrs. McKinehan, is it true that Philip King,
that awful man who was sent to San Quentin for
burglary or highway robbery, is to be here to-
night ?”
“So I am told.” She raised her head with a bel-
ligerent snort, and the timid plucked up courage at
the sight.
“ Is n't it scandalous ! ”
“ Insulting to every invited guest.”
- What shall we do?”
“ Sit down on him!”
As Mrs. McKinehan uttered this didactic senti-
ment the younger ladies surveyed her portly form
with suppressed mirth. If so much avoirdupois
were suddenly to be precipitated upon the average
society man, his shrift would indeed be short.
“But how, Mrs. McKinehan? It will be so em-
barrassing! What shall we do?”
“Do ?” The General rose to the occasion, set-
tling the stiff folds of her resplendent costume as
she spoke. “Refuse to see him ; decline introduc-
tions; deny acquaintanceship; walk away as he ap-
proaches; discountenance all who appear to tolerate
him. We have a duty to fulfill to society. If our
hostess violates a law of moral ethics, we must show
her the mistake she has made.”
Forthwith an animated discussion of the line of


156
MA
THE THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
battle began, and different suggestions were ad-
vanced as to the most decisive and telling manner
of expressing their condemnation. No one dis-
sented from the universal sentiment that it must
be done. For the sake of example, this quixotic at-
tempt to foist upon society a man who had left it
in disgrace must be resisted. Many who were ten-
der-hearted, and would not have had the nerve to
precipitate the social verdict, possessed less courage
to hold back when stronger natures took the lead.
A few were so bold as to openly deplore the neces-
sity, and studied to express their disapproval in
some delicate manner that would not offend the sen-
sibilities of their hostess. Others foolishly and in-
consequentially revived recollections of the winning
traits and virtues that had characterized the lad
who had once been so cordially received in their
own homes.
The subject of their discussion found an advocate
in a quarter least anticipated. A little woman clad
in quiet brown silk had entered the room unob-
served. Her slight figure was below the medium
stature, but nevertheless conveyed the impression
of height, the result of a dignified carriage and
classical proportions. Her features were delicately
chiseled, and a square of costly lace rested like frost-
work on her silvered hair, but her dark eyes shone
with a steady light, and her gently modulated voice
and magnetic manner bespoke her Quaker ances-
try.
“ Ladies, are you passing judgment on Philip
King ?”
The General confronted the questioner in evident


THE SKIRMISH BEFORE THE BATTLE.
157
confusion. The quiet, forceful little woman before
her was the only creature in the city to whom she
had ever lowered her crest. Intellectual, delicately
bred, a model wife and mother, and a rigid church
member, Mrs. Brayton was foremost in all good
works, the president of a state benevolent associa-
tion, and held quiet dominion over the hearts of all
with whom she came in contact.
"I am sure you will approve, Mrs. Brayton.
Think of the influence upon our own fathers, hus-
bands, brothers, if we give a cordial reception to a
returned convict. What will deter any man from
committing a crime when he sees a criminal taken
to the bosom of society, and feasted like the prodi-
gal son ?” The General's voice was almost suppli-
cating in tone.
“Had you thought it over carefully, Mrs. Mc-
Kinehan ? Philip King transgressed the law, it is
true, but he refused to palliate his guilt, and bore
the penalty bravely. I am inclined to think he is
quite as deserving of our recognition to-day as he
was twelve years ago ; quite as deserving as half of
the men here to-night. I have a young son of my
own, and I would give more for the example of
such a life as Philip King's, to warn him against
yielding to the temptations that beset a young
man's path, than for those of a dozen of those petted
young fellows who have never sinned because they
never had the opportunity."
“But the missing money — the fifteen thousand
dollars that they were never able to trace. They
say there is a shameful story connected with that,
if it should ever come to light.”


158
"I don't believe he ever took it. Suspicion is
not always certainty. It would go hard with some
of our political friends if it were."
This keen shaft of retaliation sped swiftly to its
mark and rankled in Mrs. McKineban's breast, ef-
fectually silencing her tongue. A few years before
there had been a malfeasance in a public office, and
the question of Mr. McKinehan's complicity had
never been satisfactorily settled.
Could any one have exercised clairvoyant pow-
ers, it would have been a curious pastime to read
the minds of the different ladies, as they passed into
the broad hall and swept down the stairs. A few
frankly rejoiced to find themselves relieved from a
disagreeable duty; some missed a delicate flavor of
excitement which they had reckoned among the
evening's most alluring charms; half a dozen con-
scientious women revolved the arguments to which
they had listened, endeavoring to form an unbiased
judgment, while determined not to commit them-
selves in any way. Those who secretly condemned
her attitude dared not place themselves in direct
opposition to Mrs. Brayton. She was a woman so
rigid in principle and practice, so unsparing in her
condemnation of various peccadilloes and frivolities
commonly indulged in by society women, that they
realized the ridicule to which they would subject
themselves by taking a course more exacting than
her own, with their incapacity to maintain the
standard which consistency would demand. And
thus the consciousness of moral infirmity, more po-
tent than many a worthy principle, saved Philip
King from a concerted and organized rebuff.


CHAPTER XIV.
THE BATTLE.
THE evening was well advanced when Philip
King, struggling to the last against an almost un-
conquerable aversion to this attempt to resume his
place in the society that had disowned him, passed
up the walk leading to the Thaxter mansion. He
had his own reasons for preferring to arrive at that
late hour. Since the step was to be taken, he rea-
soned, better to walk up to the cannon's mouth in
the thickest of the fray, than to be among the first
on the field, and receive a prolonged driblet of small
shot and the merciless prods of keen-edged bay-
onets.
As he approached the door, his progress was ar-
rested by an empty carriage circling around the
house in the direction of the rear driveway, after
leaving its occupants at the carriage porch.
“Out of the way, you !” shouted the coach-
man, accosting the new-comer with the easy civility
the hireling of wealth instinctively adopts toward
a foot-passenger on such occasions.
Courtesy or discourtesy were alike indifferent to
the new arrival. He seized the bit of the off horse,
bringing the spirited animals to a sudden stand,
while he passed on and mounted the steps.


160
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
Mechanically be suffered himself to be conducted
to a dressing-room, where a servant relieved him of
bis hat and coat. He took no heed of the loitering
guests, who surveyed him with curious scrutiny or
indulged in whispered confidences as he approached,
but moved silently down the stairs and through an
arched doorway, to where the brilliant assemblage
flaunted its beauty and its splendor. As he pro-
gressed down the brightly lighted rooms the way
seemed interminable. He could recall but one
other journey that had been so weary and so long
- when the prison gates of San Quentin had first
closed between him and the joyous world outside,
and he had passed down the long open space in the
centre of the quadrangle, on his way to the cell to
which he had been assigned.
He was like a man under the spell of some pain-
ful dream. Every moment it seemed as if the soft
carpets must change to hard-trodden earth beneath
his feet; in place of the fragrance of flowers would
arise the stifling air from five hundred reeking cells,
while the low melody of cultured voices, blending
with distant music, would be replaced by the echo
of sullen tones, muttered curses, and coarse jeers.
Shame and despair settled upon him like a dark
cloud, and he was conscious of a singular physical
weakness, which retarded his footsteps and threat-
ened to overpower him.
He failed to observe the singular hush that fell
upon the gay groups as he approached, the startled
faces, the significant looks, the involuntary move-
ment that left his path unobstructed. Each instant


THE BATTLE.
161
he expected to feel the heavy hand of a guard laid
roughly on his shoulder, and to hear a harsh voice
summoning him back from the realms of imagina-
tion to the dreary realities of life.
To those who remembered him in his careless
boyhood and early manhood, he appeared like some
phantom of his former self, with features and figure
essentially the same. Clad in the very garments
in which they had been accustomed to see him, he
was still so painfully altered that a thrill of pity
ran through callous hearts, and the same exclama-
tion sprang to every lip:—
• What a change !”
Changed, indeed! Pale, gaunt, and hollow-eyed,
like one rescued from a living tomb; the look of
careless gayety gone forever from his face. Thin
and haggard, prematurely aged, walking wearily
and heavily, his head bowed and his eyes fixed
upon vacancy, he drew near the place where the
young hostess stood blithely chatting with her
guests.
She observed the chill that seemed to have crept
over the merry company, and stopped in the midst
of a laughing remark to see him slowly advancing
toward her, running the gauntlet of curious and
scornful eyes, abased, humiliated, hopeless, labor-
ing for breath like one who toils up a steep ascent,
borne down with painful memories and self-accusa-
tions. Up to that moment she had not realized to
what she was subjecting him. Without apology
or explanation, she left the gay group and moved
swiftly toward him.
11


162
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY,
In her dress of creamy white, destitute of adorn-
ment of any kind ; with stately carriage, and the
look of high courage in her face, she seemed for
the time like some classical impersonation of cour.
age, whose features had exchanged their marble
calm for the mobility and sweetness of mortal wo-
manhood.
• Mr. King!”
Her face, her voice, the touch of her hand, re-
called his manhood. An indescribable change stole
over him. He lifted his head and threw back his
shoulders, not with the air of a man who frees him-
self from a heavy burden, but rather as one who
gathers strength to stand erect beneath it. Then
he summoned certain empty social platitudes to his
aid, and marveled at their vacuous sound as they
dropped from his lips. Life had been terribly ear-
nest to him during the last twelve years.
6 Uncle, you remember Philip King ?”
The quiet elderly gentleman at her side, deep in
a question of finance with a friend, turned quickly
as she spoke, looking up in keen questioning, as if
doubting whether he had understood her aright.
Of all the company it was manifest that he was the
only one taken by surprise, and Margaret Thaxter
could not disguise the suspense in her eyes as she
awaited his action. The awkward interval was of
short duration. Matthew Thaxter studied the face
of the young man for a moment in silence; then,
without a word of greeting or of inquiry, he held
out his hand.
King passed mechanically through the ceremony


THE BATTLE.
163
of introduction to those in the immediate vicinity
of his hostess, and one of their number, a stranger
in the community, engaged him in a lively discus-
sion of a recent congressional measure. The new-
comer held his own in the discussion, not without
an undercurrent of sardonic humor as he reflected
on his own disenfranchised state. By the common
law of the civilized world, the discharged felon is
forever debarred the right of franchise. Astute
statesmanship, that thus holds the lash of degrada-
tion ever above the culprit's head !
Although apparently attentive only to his com-
panion's arguments, King did not for a moment lose
sight of various movements in his vicinity. Men
whom he had known intimately in bygone days
vurned cold, repellent glances upon him. Women
gazed at him with the same shy sense of fascination
evoked by one afflicted with a repulsive physical
deformity. One dignified elderly lady moved osten-
tatiously away, in company with her two young
daughters. No one showed any inclination to rec-
ognize his presence by a friendly word or look.
A gentleman who had been standing at one side,
gravely surveying the scene and lost in deep reflec-
tion, crossed the room with a firm, even step, and
held out his hand to the hostess. There was not
one present who did not know the dignified face,
ci'owned with waves of silvery hair. It was Robert
Curtis, president of the Bank of Yerba Buena.
“Good evening, Miss Thaxter.”
“ Must you go?” Her quick perception instantly
Bupplied her with his motive.


164
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
“ It is imperative. I cannot stay."
She looked up at him in eloquent appeal, but as
their eyes met each read a secret the other would
fain have concealed. Her hand trembled in his
grasp.
“ I am very sorry," she said.
“I have no choice.”
This summary action, on the part of a gentleman
so widely known and respected, bade fair to meet
with imitators. Whispered colloquies were held on
every side. The sweet flower of human charity,
waked into life the instant before, drooped and
withered, blighted in its infancy. Noxious senti-
ments, marshaled by the deadly nightshade of self-
righteousness, sprang into rapid growth.
The conversation between King and the eastern
gentleman lapsed into desultory observations, then
abruptly ceased, and the former was conscious that
his new acquaintance eyed him with curious ques.
tioning. He would have settled the whole question
at once and forever, by taking a summary depart-
ure, had it not been for the brave woman who
stood near, calm and apparently unmoved, ready to
stand her ground and do battle to the bitter end.
To thus desert the field in the first heat of the con-
flict would be to cover her with shame and humil-
iation; to concede her mistake, acknowledge her
defeat.
“ Philip King, I am as glad to see you back as I
was sorry to see you go.”
A small gloved hand was placed in his own, a
pair of sincere gray eyes looked him full in the face,


THE BATTLE.
165
from beneath smooth waves of whitening hair. Mrs.
Brayton believed in meeting an issue squarely. She
knew no compromise with truth, and her unfalter-
ing recognition of the circumstances of King's past
career gave society the cue. Her low, clear voice,
in the silence that prevailed, penetrated to distant
circles, and all eyes turned instinctively to the
young man's face to see if he resented the frank
allusion to his crime, but beheld instead an expres-
sion of undisguised relief. Various uncomfortable
theories and speculations fell to the ground, to the
manifest consolation of those who held them, and
many commenced to breathe more freely. So there
was to be no mincing matters, no glossing over
facts. This young fellow, who had forfeited his
by, to serve a felon's sentence, did not expect to
be fondled and petted, and treated with delicate
forbearance. His past, with its unhappy train of
wrong-doing and expiation, was to remain an open
book. Nothing was to be concealed or ignored.
“ Will you come into Miss Thaxter's little print-
room, Mr. King, and give us the benefit of your
opinion regarding the Rembrandt etchings ? I
know you have a discriminating taste in such mat-
ters."
King made a mental note of the tense of the
verb, and thanked the lady in his heart. “You
have,” not "you had.” Hitherto his meagre inter-
course with old acquaintances had been a matter of
past tenses and resurrected memories, until he had
come to feel like a disembodied spirit returning to


166
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
the haunts with which it had once been familiar,
but where it no longer had right or tenancy, save
in the revival of musty recollections. To be, to
have, to possess, was to receive recognition as a
legitimate element of the present. His self-respect
revived at the sound.
The room devoted to engravings and etchings
was a small one lying between the conservatory and
drawing - room. Large portfolios were scattered
about, and on easels and tables were displayed po-
etical landscapes by Seymour Haden, vigorous spe-
cimens of the Whistler school, and a number of rare
old prints, among others the Rembrandts whose au-
thenticity was in dispute. So many years had
passed during which the young man's artistic tastes
had been denied indulgence, that he bent hungrily
over the pictures, rejoicing in their beauty, extol-
ling their merits, and pointing out the distinctive
traits of the various artists. But a short time
elapsed before he found that his impulsive expres-
sions and warm encomiums had drawn about him
quite a little audience, and he ceased abruptly as he
met the frank looks of pleasure and surprise excited
by his remarks.
Along the side of the room next to the conserva-
tory was ranged a series of cases containing sea-
ferns and corals, constructed with double fronts of
plate-glass, so that the occupants of the two apart-
ments were plainly visible to each other. Chancing
to glance in this direction, King caught sight of a
familiar face looking fixedly at him through the
transparent barrier. He had already trespassed too


THE BATTLE.
167
long upon the kindness of his warm-hearted friend,
and he took advantage of the occasion to excuse
himself, and hastened in the direction of the con-
servatory.
He had never forgotten the loyal friend who had
remained faithful throughout the scorching ordeal
of his accusation and trial and consequent condem-
nation, however perversely he had rebelled against
his counsels. Dartmoor’s confidence in his integrity
and his fidelity to his cause, bis unselfish advice and
unwilling testimony on the witness stand, had pro-
duced a deep impression on the erring man. The
mysterious deposit that had been provided for his
needs at the time of his release, he had at once at-
tributed, with unerring instinct, to his fellow-worker
of old, and he had looked anxiously forward to the
time when opportunity would be afforded him to
express his gratitude.
“Dartmoor, old friend.”
The careless nod, the indifferent tone, discomfited
the man who had hastened to him to pour out the
fervent sentiments of his soul. Conscious of a pe-
culiar and disagreeable sensation, King checked the
speech that was on his lips. Dartmoor gave him
one keen look, then moved deliberately away. Per.
plexed and confused, King found himself groping
for the key to the singular mental impression he
had received, while a chill suspicion wound its folds
about his heart. Then he put the thought reso-
lutely away. Dartmoor was quite justified in pass-
ing him by. No credit could result to bim from as-


168
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
sociation with a returned convict, and he denounced
his own thoughtlessness in having endeavored to
force himself upon his friend on such a public occa-
sion. His reflections were disturbed by a sharp
voice at his elbow.
“ Ab, Mr. King! Glad to see you. Will you be
kind enough to tell me the name of that tall lady
in yellow satin festooned with humming-birds, with
the remarkable bunch of trumpet-flowers in her
hair ?”
King recognized in the questioner a newspaper
reporter who had, in a good-humored way, asked
bim some rather impertinent questions at San
Quentin several years before.
“ I heard her name a few minutes ago. A Miss
Barker, of Cincinnati, I believe.”
“ Thanks !” And then King perceived that the
reporter had a small book in his hand, and was rap-
idly jotting down notes.
“ Business," he said, in response to the other's
look of inquiry. “Bodkin, Jones, and I are under
orders to get up four columns of toilets before one
o'clock. Messenger boys carrying down copy every
fifteen minutes.”
“I should think the ladies would hardly like that
sort of thing,” suggested King, politely.
“ Like it! My dear fellow, they would be per-
fectly miserable if they were slighted.”
“ But surely it must be very distasteful to a wo-
man of dignity or refinement,” protested King.
« Take Mrs. McKinehan, for instance, or Mrs.
Dashbro ” — naming two women distinguished for


THE BATTLE.
169
their piety and pretensions to intellectual superior-
ity.
“Mrs. Dashbro will order fifty copies of to-mor-
row's paper to send to friends out of town," coolly
returned the reporter. “Mrs. McKinehan dropped
the city editor a line the day after the big Gardi-
ner reception last spring, desiring him to correct
the announcement made in that morning's issue,
stating that her dress was of ottoman silk instead
of satin-de-lyon, and that the flounces were com-
posed of old point lace, brought from France by her
grandmother, the daughter of a third cousin of the
Marquis de Lafayette, in the year 1792.”
“But Miss Thaxter ? ” suggested King, and was
vexed at himself the next moment for having men-
tioned her name.
“ Miss Thaxter,” said the reporter, slowly, “ is
our despair. Look at her now, as she stands in the
door of the drawing-room, chatting with Dartmoor.
Well-mated couple, are they not? She is the only
perfectly dressed woman in the house, and yet she
defies description. There is n't a thing about her
toilet that would bear notice in print. Fabric al-
ways of some peculiar texture that a man cannot
identify for the life of him ; quiet and unconspicu-
ous in style, no color to speak of, no gewgaws, no
jewelry. It's my opinion she does it purposely,
and I know she only tolerates us out of kindness.
I don't mind telling you one curious thing."
He dropped his voice and looked cautiously
about.
“I've never been able to find out her dress-
maker,” he confided, in sepulchral tones.


170 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
“ Her dressmaker!”
6 Her dressmaker. Don't you know, Mr. King,
that three fourths of the costumes described in the
newspapers as worn at this or that party by Mrs.
or Miss So-and-so are written up before they leave
the hands of the dressmakers, and usually with the
full consent and approval of the prospective wear-
ers ?”
“ Really ?” His hearer could not help being
quietly amused at these revelations.
“Fact! Some of the ladies even go so far as to
demand a sight of the proof, and correct and inter-
polate until the printers go wild. But there is
Mrs. Bostwick. She promised to bring me a writ-
ten description of her own dress, and her daugh-
ters'. See you again !” and he was off, note-book
in hand.
Left alone, King pondered the scene he had just
witnessed in the open doorway. Seen in the light
of the reporter's careless remark, Dartmoor's strange
behavior received a new interpretation. A well-
mated couple, indeed! Equally matched in noble
presence, in breeding, intelligence, and nobility of
character, what wonder if each should find an af-
finity in the other? And was it possible that Dart-
moor retained some lingering recollection of that
youthful attachment, and recognized in him a possi-
ble rival? He could have laughed at the thought.
Shamed and dishonored, his chance was forfeited.
He was no longer on the lists.
He had retired to a sheltered corner, preferring
the part of a spectator to becoming an active par-


THE BATTLE.
171
ticipant in the gay scene before him ; but he was
not destined to remain long in obscurity. A small
woman fluttered down the room, her rose-colored
draperies floating airily about her, and two slender
hands clutched his arm with passionate emphasis.
“My dear Mr. King!” and then she stopped with
a tragical gesture, as if overcome by the power of
her emotions.
King met the theatrical demonstration with per-
fect composure, recognizing in the lady a certain
Madame de Vignon, the widow of a wealthy for-
eigner, and whom he had known in very different
circumstances in earlier years. He had observed
her standing in his immediate proximity shortly
after his arrival, and noted that she had quietly
withdrawn, to avoid the necessity of a recognition.
Now that the embargo of social proscription was
lifted, she had resolved to make up in warmth for
the tardiness of her friendly advances.
“ You think you have suffered alone all these
years," she continued, and her shrill voice attracted
the attention of every one near. “What do you
suppose we, your friends, have felt ?”.
Her victim found himself obliged to make some
response, and replied that he regretted very much
if his friends had experienced any discomfort on his
account.
"I want you to take me to a seat, and we will
have a nice long talk. There is a vacant chair.”
She fluttered off across the room, and King had
no alternative but to follow her. The goal of her
journey proved to be an S chair situated in a con-
con-


172
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
spicuous place in the middle of the apartment. She
dropped languidly upon the softly cushioned seat,
and motioned to King to take his place on the other
side.
“Now tell me all about it!” she commanded, and
leaned back in blissful expectancy.
The young man's unfortunate error and its fatal
consequences were so much legitimate romance to
this ambitious lady.
“ But if I have nothing to tell ? "
“ That is modesty. You know I am dying to
hear.”
King moved uneasily in his seat. The ingenious
contrivance upon which they were seated, although
admirably adapted for its original purpose of flirta-
tion, placed a man who was not a lover, and had no
desire to pose as one, in a most embarrassing posi-
tion. Sitting upright, he found his face brought
within a few inches of his companion's, as if for
the purpose of making a confidential communica-
tion. Leaning back, he placed himself in the atti-
tude of a devoted admirer. He tried to strike a
non-commital, half-way posture, and gazing around
helplessly, saw their hostess approaching, her eyes
fixed upon Madame de Vignon with a look of well-
simulated anxiety.
“ My dear Madame, where have you been ?
Every one is dying to hear you sing. Will you not
be so amiable as to favor us with a song ?”
Simpering an apology to King, the small woman
arose with alacrity. Miss Thaxter looked back to
the deserted swain with mirthful eyes.


THE BATTLE.
173
“I am so sorry to deprive you of the Madame's
companionship, Mr. King, but for the benefit of
lovers of music, you must submit."
He had risen as the ladies swept from the room,
and wandering through the halls, soon heard a thin
soprano voice rise on the air from a neighboring
room, and the next moment had some difficulty in
maintaining his equilibrium, as a small man darted
into the ball, his hands tightly clapped to his ears,
and an expression of horror on his face.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he cried, and then he
recognized his victim.
A deep mystery had always attached to Matthew
Thaxter's actions on the occasion of public gather-
ings in his own domicile. He was invariably pres-
ent during the earlier portion of the evening, bland
and courteous, as became a hospitable host, but he
as invariably disappeared later in the evening, and
the most indefatigable search failed to discover his
whereabouts or the reason governing his movements.
King, unintentionally and unawares, had stumbled
across the clew.
“ My Lord !” groaned the desperate old man,
stopping for a moment in his headlong progress.
“ Listen to that, will you, King, and tell me why
you are not — every man and woman of you -
driven insane. And they call it music. Heaven
save the mark!” He clapped his hands to his ears
again, as the Madame gave a high operatic squeal.
“ You may laugh, young man, but when anybody
reaches my years, I'll be hanged if he has n't a right
to be honest with himself, and not pretend to like


THE BATTLE.
175
“ I have roomed at Number 23 Lathrop Street for
two years past,” returned King, cut at the tone of
the inquiry. If his interlocutor had any apology
to offer for his curiosity it was never heard, for
Madame de Vignon, after a proper amount of per-
suasion and compliment, consented to again exer-
cise her vocal powers for the benefit of the com-
pany, and as the first seraphic strains of the new
melody burst upon the air, Matthew Thaxter, with
one expressive look at his companion, turned and
filed up-stairs.
As the guests commenced to move in the direc-
tion of the supper-room, Mrs. Brayton kindly re-
lieved King of all embarrassment by claiming his
escort. A long table, laden with choice viands and
a profusion of superb fruit, occupied the centre of
the floor, and the guests were free to gather in
whatever order they chose about the small tables
which were distributed around the room, and helped
to maintain the appearance of informality. A cele-
brated Kearny Street caterer provided the supper,
and his aids, clad in white linen frocks and aprons,
moved noiselessly among the guests.
Mrs. Brayton seated herself at one of the little
tables, and her cavalier remained standing beside
her, attentive to her wants. Several were already
seated at the table, who gave the lady a smiling
glance of recognition. Casual introductions fol-
lowed, but names were lost in the universal clatter
and chatter.
“ Did you ever hear of anything so funny in your
life ?” appealed King's next neighbor, a girl of


176
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
.
eighteen, just graduated from a fashionable school
on Van Ness Avenue. “Miss Thaxter is so orig-
inal. The idea of presenting such a lion to her
guests ! ”
66 Yes ?”
A mild interrogation crept unconsciously into his
speech, which was all that was needed to draw out
the guileless débutante.
“ A condemned felon! Mamma says she does n't
know what to think of it, but I am sure it is simply
delicious. So much more interesting than an au-
thor or an artist or that sort of thing, you know,"
carefully dissecting an oyster as she spoke.
“And pray, what did he do ?” taking an ungen-
erous advantage of the situation, it is true, but
moved by a conviction that he might as well catch
the drift of public sentiment when opportunity
afforded.
“Oh, I can't remember, I'm sure. Killed some-
body, or set fire to a house, or something of that
kind. I had a glimpse of him as he came in the
door. He is a very terrible-looking individual, I
assure you. I should have known he was a felon
by his eyes. So large and hollow, you know, and
full of remorse."
" Thank you—in the name of the felon.”
They were rising from the table. The girl raised
a pair of startled eyes to his face, then drew back,
frightened and disconcerted. Mrs. Brayton, with
her quick wit, perceived that something had gone
wrong, and took up the conversation.
“When you were a little girl, Bessie Clayton,


THE BATTLE.
177
you were indebted to Philip King for many a happy
hour.”
“And why have I not seen him since ?” The
girl was distressed and mystified. “ Have you been
away, Mr. King, or — what have I been saying ?”
She turned, dismayed, from one to the other.
“Nothing but what I shall grow accustomed to
hear, Miss Clayton." He smiled reassuringly.
“ Only you must ask your mother to set you right
on one or two small points. I do not want to pose
before society in a rôle I cannot sustain,” he added,
with a quizzical glance. “But there comes your
mother now.”
He bowed, and would have withdrawn, but Mrs.
Brayton laid a detaining hand upon his arm.
Mrs. Clayton stopped only for a word with her
daughter. “My dear, the carriage has come, and
your father is waiting.”
Then she advanced directly to Philip King, and
held out her hand. She was a woman so slow of
thought and tardy of decision that she often ap-
peared irresolute, but with her mind once made up,
she was as stanch as steel.
She had taken his hand in a warm, true clasp,
and as she looked long and searchingly into his
face, her beautiful eyes filled with tears. Memory
brought back the time when she was a young ma-
tron, overburdened with family cares, and a pleas-
ant young fellow had romped with her children or
enticed them off on brief pleasure excursions, to
give the tired mother a chance for rest. She had
studied his face during the evening, and her secret
12


178
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
misgivings and half-framed suspicions had vanished
as she read its lines of care and pain.
“Some of us owe you a debt, Philip King, and it
is time we began discharging it,” she said, in her
by coming to my house, on the old familiar footing,
and begin by promising to share our Sunday dinner
with us?”
The man looked wistfully at her before replying.
She understood the look and averted her eyes.
That ghastly gap of years, with its host of miser-
able recollections! Ah, to blot it out forever, or
to fill it up in the good, commonplace way.
“I am afraid I am spoiled for a familiar visitor
to any happy household,” he replied, and she under-
stood all that he had left unsaid. “But I should
Margaret Thaxter exchanged farewells with the
last of her departing guests, the same winning smile
on her lips, the same calm light in her eyes, which
had marked her throughout the evening. She re-
plied graciously to their good-natured but stereo-
typed congratulations upon the social success of
the party, discussing with animation the histrionic
talent of a famous tragedienne who was about to
make her appearance at the Opera House during
the week, renewing her promise to attend Mrs.
Stafford's tea on Wednesday and Miss Vandemark's
tennis party on Saturday, rallying young Mr. Brown
upon his ardent championship of a defeated politi-
cal candidate, and paying a hearty tribute to Mr.
Tarantula, the artist, for a weird pastel sketch of


THE BATTLE.
179
the great crater of Mauna Loa, which he had placed
on exhibition at a popular art gallery. When she
was at length left alone a change swept over her
face, and she turned and went, swift and straight,
to the curtained recess beyond the library, where
she knew her last guest was awaiting her.
At the sound of her step Philip King arose from
the leathern sofa where he had been half reclining.
His brow was contracted and his eyes were heavy
with thought. He had been going through a care-
ful calculation in the last half-hour, weighing on
the one side the open slights, the covert sneers, the
honest condemnation, he had encountered from one
class, against the faint encouragement, the half un-
willing championship, the magnanimous condone-
ment, of others.
His experience had been better and worse than
he had expected. Worse, because no power of
imagination could ever have brought so forcibly to
his mind the contrast between his present position
and his old life, or the bitter sense of forfeiture of
old-time friendships that had been cherished in his
memory. Better, because of the unexpected sweets
of compensation in the discovery that a few were
ready to overlook the crime so dearly atoned for,
and preserved a vestige of their former faith. He
had reverted to his quiet, secluded life, monotonous
and desolate, it was true, but free from any social
wrangles or misapprehensions. If he clung to that
he would at least stand on an honest footing with
· his fellow-men, open to no misunderstandings, no
miserable suspicions. Retire or advance ? With


180
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
a leaden heaviness the scales settled down in favor
of retreat.
66 Well ?”
There was something martial in her appearance.
The smile had fled from her lips, and she stood
before him with eyes shining and cheeks aflame.
Her low voice was like a trumpet call. With a
bound the scales were reversed. He answered with
a look of grave resolve.
“ It is worth trying," he said.
He had risen to go, but she put out her hand to
detain him, a singular embarrassment flushing her
face and betraying itself in her evasive eyes.
“ There is one thing more,” she said, and then
stopped short.
“ Yes? Tell me frankly. Has anything occurred
that I ought to know ? Surely, you need not hesi-
tate to tell me."
“ You know I shall always be anxious and inter-
ested. I shall see you from time to time. But
you must not come here often. You understand ?
It would not be best."
He realized perfectly the necessity for this de-
cree, and bowed as if to a sentence of doom. What
beside shame and scandal could befall a young and
beautiful woman from intimate association with a
convict — a man who had spent ten years in close
contact with the most degraded of his kind, who
was under suspicion in the community, deprived of
the rights of the humblest citizen ?
He had already told himself that he must not
permit this true and fearless friend, who had come


CHAPTER XV.
A SILENT PARTNER.
In spite of the night's dissipation King rose
bright and early the following day, prepared for a
masterful struggle with the problems that beset
him. He had no definite plan of action, but re-
solved to make the best of circumstances, and, if
necessary, create his own opportunities. His first
act was to take his way straight up Fourth Street
to the Mining Bureau. The mineralogist sat at
his desk, busily engaged in writing, as his visitor
entered.
“ One moment,” he said, without looking up.
He finished his task, and brought the great seal
down upon the paper with a quick, decisive touch ;
then turned to greet the intruder. The next mo-
ment he was out of his chair, taking King's band
in a bear-like grip, searching his face with glad, re-
proachful eyes.
“Oh, you renegade! Such a time as I have had
trying to trace you! How dared you treat me so ?”
“ Accept my apologies, Rutherford. It was
rather hard to deprive you of the chance of ruining
yourself for my sake, considering all the favors I
had already received at your hands,” returned King,
undismayed by this savage reception.


A SILENT PARTNER.
183
“But where have you kept yourself, Pbilip?
How has the world been serving you ?” anxiously
asked his friend.
“ To tell the truth, things have been going hard
with me, and I did n't want to trouble anybody.”
King's voice was a little husky, but he cleared it by
an effort.
“ All the more reason why you should keep in
the way, as it were. If I had only known you
were in the city and out of employment, I might
have given you a chance to go up to Reno last Au-
gust, in the interest of a mining firm here. It
would not have kept you busy more than a month
or six weeks, but it might have led to something
permanent.”
King explained the project that he entertained,
and his friend listened with frank interest.
“ You want to set up an opposition to me, eh?”
“By no means, Rutherford ; but you know as
well as I that professional assayers get plenty of
patronage, and money, too. Of course people are
not always wise to go to them when they can
have an impartial official analysis from you free
of cost.”
“And it is my opinion that right there lies the
secret," interrupted the State Mineralogist, laugh-
ing. “Our returns are, as you say, perfectly im-
partial. We speak the truth, and the truth is not
always flattering. If you 'll accept a bit of advice
from me in advance, Philip, keep some free gold
and silver on hand, and salt your specimens before
you assay them. Only make handsome returns on


184
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
every piece of ore sent in, and you 'll have no end
of patronage.”
Fortbwith the two entered into a practical dis-
cussion of ways and means, making an estimate of
needed materials and canvassing the best methods
of obtaining them. Rutherford offered King the
temporary use of appliances from his private labo-
ratory, and expressed great satisfaction in the dis-
covery that the large writing desk in his library at
home was a cumbrous article of furniture, much
better out of the way, and could easily be dis-
pensed with, along with several cane-bottom chairs.
King met his generous offer with cordial accept
ance. The backbone of his pride was broken, and
he determined to let no false scruples stand in the
way of his prosperity. One question alone threat-
ened to retard the realization of their plans.
“ It is absolutely essential that you should have
a central location," asserted the elder man. “Rents
are fearfully high down town, and you will not be
safe without having a sufficient sum on hand to
meet the first quarter's expenses. Can't you devise
some way of raising it, King ?” he asked, in genu-
ine anxiety.
“Not unless I draw on my fifteen thousand re-
serve fund.”
It augured well that King could jest on this sore
subject, and his friend laughed, a mellow laugh that
came from the depths of a happy heart.
“ Never mind, Rutherford, I 'll have it yet,” de-
clared his visitor, reassuringly. “It may take time.
I dare say it will; and I shall have to put off enter


A SILENT PARTNER
185
ing upon my new profession until I have accumu.
lated it. But I can feel that I have a definite object
in view, and it is worth working for.”
Before parting the two men had a frank discus.
sion of certain personal matters they had hitherto
avoided.
“ There's no use denying, King, that you consti-
tute, in a sense, a moral problem. It is hard to de-
fine your exact status in society," said his friend,
thoughtfully.
“Suppose I work it out myself.”
“ The only way in which the question can ever
reach a satisfactory solution,” returned John Ruth-
erford. “ At present you are a questionable quan-
tity, a dangerous element. Do you know why I
have never asked you to my house - much as I've
wanted you to come ?” he added, seriously.
“ Your children ?" King was not disposed to
mince matters.
“ My boy. He is just at the blood-and-thunder
age when a man must go through a thrilling expe-
rience to acquire interest in his eyes. He has not
learned to appreciate the virtue and beauty of a
humdrum, honest life, and he would at once pounce
upon you as a model hero, and perhaps strive to
ape your example — who knows? Just now you
are in an embryotic stage, a period of transition.
There would be positively no limit to the dashing
career my son's imagination would map out for you.
It's a great pity you are not an out-and-out villain,
King, for then you could be held up to youth as a
warning and example. If either you or my son


186 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
were five years older I should be happy to have you
meet. Five years will put some sense and logic into
his rattle-brained head; five years will see you re-
stored to a commonplace, prosaic existence.”
“God grant !” said King, fervently.
The mineralogist accompanied his visitor to the
door, and as they halted on the threshold he added,
with deep feeling, -
“I am glad you feel as you do about one thing,
King. Thousands of men before you have com-
mitted crimes and served the legal penalty, and live
to-day respected members of communities where no
suspicion of their past has followed them. It seems
braver to face it out at home. And I like that no-
tion of yours about redeeming your name. So long
as the world exists, men will sin and suffer, and
find themselves cast adrift in life, without compass
or rudder. Your example will be a help.”
King walked back to his lodging-house in a
thoughtful mood, pondering various schemes for the
successful consummation of his object. He found
a visitor awaiting him in the little reception-room
on the first floor, a man who paced up and down
the floor, observing with curious interest the thread-
bare furniture, the faded carpets, the shabby cur-
tains, and other evidences of poverty and decay.
He turned around as he heard the outer door open
and close, and King recognized the shrewd face and
stooping figure of Matthew Thaxter.
“Good morning, Philip! A fine time I've had
of it, hunting up your place ! No doubt you think
it is a brilliant proceeding to locate yourself in this


A SILENT PARTNER.
187
out-of-the-way place. I suppose young fellows of
your own age enjoy climbing these interminable
steps, but it's death and destruction to old bones
like mine."
He delivered this complaint in a fretful tone, and
with a resentful air, but the look he bent on the
young man was one of cunning observance.
“I'm very sorry, Mr. Thaxter, but I am not ac-
customed to receiving visitors; and in selecting my
lodging-place I considered neither old bones nor
young ones.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the old man, testily. “Per-
haps you will be good enough to tell me what you
did consider — a picturesque view, for instance, or
the retirement of the place ? ”.
“Neither. I was governed by questions of econ-
omy alone.”
“ Humph !” The old man's ejaculation was
strictly non-committal, and King was in doubt as to
whether his reply met his visitor's approval or in-
curred his displeasure.
“ You 're wondering why I have made you such
an untimely call,” continued his eccentric guest.
“I'm wondering why you don't ask me into your
own quarters. Perhaps you call it hospitality to
receive a friend in a lodging-house parlor.”
" I beg your pardon,” said King, the blood rush-
ing into his pale face in his embarrassment. “The
fact is, I have only one room, and that is scarcely
presentable enough to exhibit to a guest.”
“ All the better. I like best to see people and
houses without their company manners — when
nd in a lodging a King, the but. “The
want "


188 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
they are off parade. Go ahead. Up another flight
of stairs, no doubt."
Inwardly rebellious, King led the way to his
room in the second story. Grumbling and scold-
ing, but glancing about him with quick, bright
eyes, that took in the most minute detail of drug-
get-covered floor, bare walls, and scarred wood-
work, Matthew Thaxter followed; nor did he fail
to observe that King had left his door unlocked —
a fact from which the little man drew his own con-
clusions.
King threw the door open, and invited his guest
to enter. So many years had passed since he had
been called upon to exercise his hospitality, it was
with a sense of awkwardness as foreign as it was
unpleasant that he endeavored to show his vis.
itor that he was welcome, and offered him the low
rocker by the window. But Matthew Thaxter
seemed to neither hear nor heed his courtesy. He
stood silently gazing about the small room, noting
the bare floor, the old-fashioned paper on the wall,
the furniture, of a style long out of date, whose dis-
figured surface and chipped edges were mute wit-
nesses of a boy's restless pranks. He saw all the
little makeshifts for comfort and convenience. He
saw more than the occupant himself perceived or
meant that another eye should read; for the room
had a story of its own to tell, and it told it elo-
quently to eyes that interpreted its language.
Whatever the result of the visitor's meditations,
they bore fruit only in another harsh suggestion.
“Where 's your manners, Philip King? Don't


A SILENT PARTNER.
189
you know it's lunch time? Can't you treat a man
to a cup of coffee or a glass of wine? I'll warrant
you have some savory morsel tucked away around
here.” And he eyed the young man with eager
expectancy.
For answer, King went to the closet and took
from an upper shelf a common Delft plate, on which
lay three or four soda-crackers and a bunch of Mus-
cat grapes. These, with a glass of water, he quietly
offered to his visitor.
Matthew Thaxter took a seat and addressed him-
self to the task of disposing of this sumptuous re-
past, with an air of unfeigned enjoyment. King
watched the disappearance of the simple provision
he had made for his noonday meal with a singular
sensation, doubtful whether to be most amused or
annoyed.
“How long have you been here, Philip?” The
old man had finished munching the last cracker,
and, notwithstanding his evident enjoyment of the
repast, there was a new and querulous tone in his
voice.
“ Two years this coming week.”
Matthew Thaxter stripped the last of the luscious
grapes from the stem, and then gave utterance to a
laconic comment.
" I like it !” He uttered the words with savage
intensity.
“What? Oh, the fruit. Yes, the Muscat is a
very fair grape.”
“Fiddlesticks! I like this — the whole thing."
He rapped with his cane on the bare floor as he


190
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
spoke, and waved it about the poorly furnished
apartment, as if to emphasize and point bis asser-
tion.
" I like it,” he soberly reaffirmed. “It means,
Philip King, that you have struggled on like an
honest man.”
King had followed his own course so long, with-
out approval or recognition, that he could find no
words to reply to this unexpected commendation.
The old man reseated himself in the low chair, and
reflected gravely before he spoke again.
“ Perhaps you think, King, that I am an infernal
meddler ; but the truth is, I came around to see
you about a matter of business. I should n't have
dragged my old bones up here at such an early
hour for social pleasure alone.” The quizzical smile
with which he uttered the last words betrayed the
hypocrisy of his grumblings a few minutes previ-
ous. “ Margaret tells me that you are intending
to open an assay office.”
King chafed a little at this announcement. He
had declared that he would perish rather than take
help from a woman, and she had attempted to cir-
cumvent him by sending her uncle as proxy. He
could only trust himself to nod a meek assent.
“ Very well, my boy; I want you to take me
into partnership with you."
King was electrified at this proposition.
“ But it is only a visionary scheme yet,” he pro-
tested. “I have n't the least idea in the world
how I shall put it into practice. My success is
altogether problematical. There may not be any
profit; there will certainly be expense.”


A SILENT PARTNER.
191
“ All the better, my friend. I like risks. Ever
since those rascals took my property away from me
fifteen years ago, and made me a pensioner on my
own bounty, I have been vegetating, morally and
mentally. It will be a positive godsend to me to
have some active business interest, and if I could
only make a handsome pile again, and have the
scamps in sackcloth and ashes over the advantage
they took of me and the shekels they might have
gained by waiting, I should be a happy man. I
don't propose to lay you under any obligations that
you cannot repay. I go into the business to make
money, and shall insist upon having papers drawn
in the most binding form. If you attempt to take
any advantage of me, my lad, you 'll find me a
regular Shylock. Come, man ; don't be all day
considering. Are you going to take me in, or must
I look elsewhere for a partner ?”
Beneath his light words lurked a serious purpose
and a tremulous eagerness that King found it im-
possible to resist.
“I don't think I can refuse,” he said, frankly,
“providing your conditions are stringent enough.”
“ You shall hear them now. My guardians still
allow me some liberties with my own property. In
my building on the corner of Pine and Sansome
streets there is a vacant suite of offices, and a small
sunny room across the hall, that will answer for a
workshop. I will put in the offices, furnish one of
the rooms, and undertake to meet the running ex-
penses. I don't mind binding myself to do a little
office work now and then. You may stock your


192
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
laboratory, put in all your work and time, fit up
your own office, and provide the brains of the con-
cern. I shall claim one third of the profits. Are
you satisfied ? "
" I am satisfied that you are making a very gen-
erous offer, and that I should be a churl to refuse
it. The only revenge left open to me is to build
up such a business that you will profit by the ven-
ture, after all.”
By Matthew Thaxter's invitation, King accom-
panied him down town to take a look at the prem-
ises and advise regarding needful improvements.
The young man had drawn back at the first sug.
gestion, but as he encountered the kindly, ques-
tioning glance of the elder man, his scruples van-
ished, and he assented without a word. It was a
new and pleasurable sensation to tread the streets
with head erect, arm in arm with a man respected
throughout the city for his upright and honorable
character, receiving now and then a friendly smile
or doubtful, hesitating mark of recognition.


CHAPTER XVI.
A LION WHO WOULD NOT ROAR.
As King opened the door of his office one morn-
ing he perceived a small envelope lying upon the
floor, where the carrier had dropped it on his early
round. The assayer, had so little correspondence,
and personal letters were such a rarity in his expe-
rience, that he examined the superscription with
some curiosity, noting the creamy delicacy of the
paper, and the tiny gilt crest in the upper left hand
corner. The note contained an invitation to din-
ner, written in very bad French and a woman's
slanting hand :-
A Monsieur. Monsieur Philippe King – Cher ami :
Votre image s'est presente continuellement a moi depuis
que jë vous ai rencontre l'autre soir. Vous etes si change
depuis le temps avant votre malheur.
Rapprochez vous de moi. Permettez a vos amis d'ex-
ercer encore un influent filiciteux sur votre vie. Venez
diner avec moi jeudi prochain a six heures du soir. Vous
ne rencontrerez que deux ou trois amis intimes, et cela
vous fera bon. Votre amie toute devouee.
AMELIE DE VIGNON.
He smiled at the name which appeared at the
foot of the page, remembering the lady's demon-
strative greeting on the night of the reception, and
13


194 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
as he dwelt upon the small woman with her air of
elegant patronage, he recalled the little schoolmis-
tress who, twenty years before, in shabby gown,
besought the favor of the moneyed parents of the
neighborhood. But Amelia Grigsby had been a
shrewd as well as an ambitious woman, and during
the Comstock excitement in the sixties she had by
some shadowy means contrived to gain the confi-
dence of one of the manipulators of the market.
Staking her little all on the result, she had been
lifted from poverty to affluence within the brief
space of six short months. Years of foreign travel
followed, in the course of which she had captured
a husband of distinguished family, who, after a
short married life of questionable felicity, had the
good grace to die, leaving her in undisturbed pos-
session of her wealth, and with the dower of his
name. Returning to San Francisco, with the pres-
tige acquired by foreign travel and an acquaintance
of some distinction abroad, she had established her-
self in a showy mansion on a fashionable street.
Realizing her impotence to cope with other women
on their own grounds for social prowess, she had
bravely sought to inaugurate an aristocracy of mind
and culture, an enterprise which would have been
most commendable were it not that it had for its
ruling motive the aggrandizement of Madame de
Vignon.
King smiled as he reflected upon these things,
but his face grew sober as he pondered the wisdom
of accepting the invitation. By doing so he would
be irrevocably committing himself to the food tide


A LION WHO WOULD NOT ROAR. 195
of criticism and comment which would ensue when
it became generally understood that his reappear-
ance in society was not the result of a careless
freak or hasty impulse, but part of a deliberate line
of action. He had not yet drifted so far into the
social maelstrom that he could not put about for
shore and beat a precipitate retreat. But Margaret
Thaxter's injunction recurred to him, —
“I do not need to tell you not to push your way
anywhere. You will never do that. But do not
slight the little attentions offered in honesty and
sincerity.”
With all her affectations and her narrow ambi-
tions, he believed little Madame de Vignon to be
true-hearted and sincere. He had never regarded
her as precisely a lady, for every man instinctively
measures the women he meets by his own mother's
standard, and King had been taught from boyhood
that modesty and delicacy were essential attributes
of a true lady. Still, he recognized the kindly feel-
ing that prompted the attention, and understood,
too, that it required some courage for any woman,
however self-sufficient or independent, to offer a
returned convict the countenance of her hospitality.
King had not forgotten his French, but he re-
sponded to the invitation in the simplest English,
thanking the writer for her courtesy and accepting
the invitation, and on the day named crossed the
city and stepped aboard a cable car which bore him
to his destination.
To one acquainted with the pronounced tastes of
the hostess, the house was easily recognizable by


196
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
its peculiar style of architecture - distinguishable
from its neighbors even in the semi-twilight which
had settled over the city. In his ambition to es-
chew hackneyed styles, the man who drew the
plans had achieved a modishness more puerile than
that characterized by the use of simple classic
forms.
A row of gayly tinted Chinese lanterns hung
above the door — a pretty local custom for marking
a house where unusual festivities were taking place.
The hostess was a woman thorough yet super-
ficial in her mental training, for all her polish and
intelligence had been acquired for the purpose of
outward display alone, originating in no hidden
cravings of her nature. This peculiarity of char-
acter was asserted throughout the house. The pic-
tures upon the walls, the sculptured figures appear-
ing in snowy relief against dark maroon hangings,
the books distributed about the tables or standing
on dress parade in low book-cases, the delicate por-
celains upon the plush-covered chimney-breast —
were all arranged to catch and please the eye of
the observer. Nothing had dropped into its place
because it happened so, or in obedience to any
principle of harmonious adaptation. From obscure
recesses or far-away corners the rooms presented a
blank perspective. All had been measured and set
with rod and rule. It was a house with no hidden
stores of comfort, no retired nooks, no concealed
resources ; so destitute of all that savored of gen-
uine cheer or spontaneous beauty that one might
well fancy it had been modeled after its mistress's
heart.


A LION WHO WOULD NOT ROAR. 197
As the servant held the portière aside for the
visitor to enter, and King gazed into the symmetri.
cal apartment where the hostess received her guests,
he was seized with a confused notion that he had
somehow stumbled into the wrong house. Was
this the vivacious lady whose gay plumage had daz-
zled his eyes a week or so before — this demure
creature, clad in Quaker gray, with a white mull
kerchief crossed upon her breast ? Had he pos-
sessed a more intimate acquaintance with the vaga-
ries of the Madame's later career, he would have
been aware that life with her had become a spec-
tacular play, rejoicing in swift movement and tran-
sition.
His doubts were speedily set at rest. The eyes
of the hostess brightened as sbe heard the an-
nouncement of the latest arrival. Along with a
very laudable purpose to become a factor in King's
social regeneration, she was possessed with a lively
desire to distinguish her little social gathering by
the presence of the man whose name was on every
tongue. Madame de Vignon was very fond of lion-
izing people, after her own peculiar fashion, and
skillfully ensnared many travelers of repute, who
went to her house with the anticipation of finding
congenial and agreeable acquaintances among the
intelligent company habitually gathered there, only
to be placed in such rigid leading strings by the vi-
vacious little schoolmistress, as to bear away with
them an uncomfortable conviction that they had
been put on parade for the benefit of their enter-
tainer. The lion market had been scarce and de-


198
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
mand brisk that winter. Had it not been for a
young Englishman of fine old family, and heir pre-
sumptive to a noble title, the glory of the lady's
soirées would have waned early in the season. This
young man was a very tractable and admirable type
of the British lion, who tossed his mane and did
duty with all the dignity of his aristocratic lineage
upon occasion, or subsided into inoffensive minority
when a superior planet was in the ascendency.
Madame de Vignon pressed King's hand with
impressive cordiality, detaining him for a brief con-
fidential chat before she presented him to her
friends. As she neared the corner where the Eng.
lishman lounged, absorbed in conversation with a
lady guest, she gathered herself for a master stroke.
In a superficial way the little woman was some-
thing of a philosopher, and she rejoiced to be the
one to bring together these two opposing types -
the one the noble product of a conservative civiliza-
tion, the other a forcible and eloquent example of
the fluctuations of life in a new land.
“ Miss Thaxter, we have the pleasure of welcom-
ing our mutual friend, Mr. King, to our little gath-
ering to-night;” and with this act of self-assertion
the hostess complacently felt that she had divided
honors, and made good her claim of proprietorship
in the hero of the hour.
“Mr. Endicott,” she proceeded, “I want to make
you acquainted with Mr. King. He is a man with
a most interesting history. Mr. King, my young
friend Mr. Endicott.”
Why this Englishman should be babitually called


• A LION WHO WOULD NOT ROAR. 199
young Endicott was not wholly clear to those who
found it impossible to refer to him by any other
title, for he was a man past thirty, with a stalwart
form and pleasant, brown-bearded face. Probably
it was because he possessed in a marked degree the
candor of speech, vigor of mind, and warmth of
heart peculiar to early British manhood.
The two men shook hands and stared at each
other uncomfortably. Contrary to every tradition
of social usage, the Englishman was the one to
break the ice.
“Ah! Happy to hear it, I'm sure, Mr. King.
Traveling, hunting, and that sort of thing? I'm
awfully fond of adventure.”
Margaret Thaxter shot one swift glance of stern
rebuke at the demure little woman by her side,
then came to the rescue.
“ Mr. King does not fight savages or wild beasts,
Mr. Endicott, or run a race with time by sea or rail.
The enemies with which he has to contend are hu-
man skepticism and prejudice. His journey is to
distance an error in the past.”
She spoke so bravely and cheerily and yet with
such decision, that the Englishman could do no
less than yield a bewildered assent, and follow her
cue when she led the conversation into another
channel.
Madame de Vignon was foiled for the time, but
she was by no means resigned to forego her pur-
pose. The company proceeded to the dining-room,
a very pretentious apartment finished with dark
woods, and hung with paintings of game and fruit


200 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
of questionable artistic merit, but indicating most
creditable forethought and mathematical skill in
the precision with which they had been fitted into
the panels of the wall. As one course succeeded
another in imposing procession, and they came at
last to a leisurely discussion of dessert, the lady
availed herself of a momentary lull in the conversa:
tion to lean a little forward and address King, who
occupied a seat several removes away and near the
centre of the table. Her voice and words contained
a timid suggestion and appeal.
“ Mr. King, have you ever thought of turning
your attention to literature ?”
“ Never, Madame.”
“Ah!” She gave a little sigh, and toyed with
a bunch of ruddy Tokay grapes; then sat erect
and smiled brightly, as if seized with a sudden
idea.
“ Then the thought is an inspiration, and you
must accept it as a call. I am sure you would dis-
tinguish yourself, Mr. King."
She uttered the last words so dreamily and inno
cently that King was betrayed into the indiscretion
of a reply.
“ The profession is so overcrowded nowadays
that one must needs have very serious provocation
to justify him in entering the lists, Madame de
Vignon.”
The Madame's eyes snapped in wicked triumph.
The young man's unguarded reply gave her the de.
sired opportunity to prolong the conversation.
“ That is what I always say, Mr. King. One


A LION WHO WOULD NOT ROAR.
201
must live intensely, must become a part of a phi.
losophy, as it were, before he can promulgate it
successfully. Take the case of Henry George, for
instance. Who among us would ever have believed
that insignificant-looking little man could become
one of the great reformers of the day! His success
has been solely due to the fact that the principles
of which he treats were warring elements in the
arena of his own individual life. He learned to
recognize the needs of the multitude from the pri-
vations be bore. He generalized from his own per-
sonal experience.”
She made an impressive pause, and King re-
marked, somewhat wearily, that the romance and
the beauty of vital social problems were sometimes
wholly eliminated by living in too close quarters
with them — an expression of opinion seconded by
another guest, who related a humorous episode of
a noted philosopher's domestic life at the time
that he was wrestling with a great literary work.
But the Madame clung tenaciously to the thread of
her argument.
“ Harry George has made a great success in a
field in which there are almost numberless competi-
tors. You, Mr. King, have a new and compara-
tively untrodden field” –
She was interrupted by a suppressed cry at the
opposite end of the table. Margaret Thaxter, in
peeling an orange, had allowed the fruit-knife to
slip, cutting her finger nearly to the bone.
“I beg your pardon, Madame de Vignon. It
was so very awkward — so inexcusable in me!”


202
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
She wound her lace handkerchief tightly around
her finger as she spoke, obstinately rejecting all
offers of assistance, as if determined to dismiss the
luckless accident from the minds of the company.
“ And just as you were talking so eloquently of
poor Harry George! Mr. Endicott, I insist upon
your telling us, here and now, what horrid preju-
dice you English have conceived against the inno-
cent citizens of this State, that you imprison them
upon the slightest pretext, when quietly traveling
through your domains. What had poor Mr. Mc-
Sweeny done, for instance, to justify you in shut-
ting him up in your horrid Irish prisons, driving his
unhappy wife and children distracted, for fear he
would be shot without trial?”.
Who shall say that Englishmen are not quick-
witted ? Endicott took the cue at once. For some
reason Miss Thaxter wished to change the conver-
sation. The accident with the knife had been a de-
liberate stratagem to accomplish her purpose. He
paid a secret tribute to her courage and her pluck as
he chivalrously responded to her challenge, uphold-
ing her standard in an unknown cause.
There are three ways in which the king of beasts
can be effectively displayed, when one has had the
good fortune to capture him, and to have him safely
caged within the walls of their own domicile, and
yearn to acquaint their friends with his prowess.
They can single out his points of vantage, measure
his proportions before admiring eyes, remark upon
his mighty sinews, his wondrous girth of limb, his
majestic stride, the tawny color of his mane, the


A LION WHO WOULD NOT ROAR.. 203
savagery of his eye, and altogether persuade specta-
tors that he is in color, stature, and native ferocity
the most rapacious representative of the feline race
that ever trod the softly carpeted floor of a lady's
drawing-room.
Better still, if the amateur showman possess suffi-
cient art and cunning, to tame the monster and ren-
der him subservient to the eye and touch, lead him
hither and thither before a circle of awed behold-
ers, and demonstrate that he has quite discarded
his savage and bloodthirsty attributes ; that under
skillful training he has forsworn his ferocious quali-
ties; that he is the best schooled lion, the most ami-
able and tractable of beasts, that ever forsook his
native wilds to dwell amid the haunts of civilized
men.
Failing in these endeavors, which are gentle
methods, and by their artlessness and humanity
commend themselves to feminine tuft-hunters, there
is but one recourse remaining; for it is safe to as-
sume that any one possessed of sufficient enterprise
to secure such a fascinating monster must be of too
ambitious and high-spirited a mettle to permit the
distinguished guest to depart without some asser-
tion of his leonine nature, lest the more astute of
the company should deride his pretensions, and
fancy they detect asinine ears peeping from be-
neath the tawny hide. There is, therefore, but one
recourse left. Let the brave keeper be provided
with a sharp weapon of finest tempered metal.
The keen-edged lance of satire is excellent, but it
cannot compare with the venomous rapier of obtru-


204
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
sive sympathy, the glitter of whose keen blade is
veiled beneath the misty breath of gentle speech
and tender condolence, until it sheathes its point in
the breast and stabs to the heart. Under such
treatment the average lion will toss his mane and
lash his tail, and roar so loudly as to dispel the last
lingering doubts as to his identity.
Madame de Vignon had vainly resorted to the
first-named artifices, and, like the intrepid little
woman that she was, sbe resolved to make the lion
roar.
She went about her enterprise so delicately, and
with such sweet unconsciousness, that her victim's
suspicions were disarmed, and he offered himself a
willing sacrifice.
They had returned to the drawing-room, and
strolled idly about, as people will wbose limbs are
stiff and cramped with long maintenance of a sit-
ting posture. The hostess availed herself of King's
arm, and, when they had made the tour of the
apartment, paused, by chance or design, where a
group of people were discussing two dainty tana-
gras — choice specimens of antique sculpture, rifled
from the tombs of the ancient Greeks.
, “But how did you ever manage to obtain them,
Madame ?” exclaimed a spectacled young gentle-
man, professor of the dead languages in a suburban
college, who was curiously examining one of the
small figures, and looked up at the lady's approach.
“ I was under the impression that the Grecian gov-
ernment had laid a strict embargo upon the export
of all such relics."


A LION WHO WOULD NOT ROAR.
205
“ It would be a very long story to tell, and per-
haps not exactly a safe one;" and the lady looked
around with a shrug of affected fear. “I do not
mind confessing that I had a sorry time of it get-
ting them out of the country. I did not dare pack
them in my trunk, for fear of being apprehended
by the customs authorities. But there was an Eng.
lish ship in port, and the captain was quite willing
to swell his coffers by a private speculation.” She
rounded her communication with a mysterious nod.
“I am sorry you were not apprehended, Madame
de Vignon. Think of the lustre it would have con-
ferred upon our nation — fabled to be so apathetic
in all matters relating to the fine arts, and at this
moment derided by all foreign nations for the pro-
hibitive tariff imposed by Congress upon the im-
portation of works of art — to have one of our
country women under arrest for attempting to smug-
gle contraband works of sculpture across the Gre-
cian frontier, with a gallant officer of Her Majesty's
navy in the background as an accomplice !” ex-
claimed another of the group.
" It is all very well to make light of it; but I
assure you there is nothing comical in the dreadful
conviction that you have laid yourself liable to the
law. I cannot tell you the pangs of conscience
that I have suffered. I have walked the floor by
hours; I have passed sleepless nights; I have lost
flesh; I have been afraid to look my neighbor in
the face. But I have learned to feel a tender com-
passion for others who have been tempted and
fallen. Tell me, Mr. King,” — her voice was plain-


206
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
tive and wistful, — " tell me, have I shared the
common experience of all law-breakers ?”.
“I regret that I cannot enlighten you, Madame.
I do not think that people who have been in the
thick of a moral conflict ever stop to gauge their
emotions by a quarter-inch scale.”
He drew out his watch and consulted it.
“I have a business engagement at half-past eight.
You will excuse me, Madame de Vignon.”
Bowing quietly, he retired from the room. In
the hall he encountered Margaret Thaxter, who had
stolen through a rear door, unperceived.
“ You do not mind? You will not give up ?”
“ Rest assured I will not."
“ Mr. King, what is the meaning of this letter
the prison authorities have received from Guate-
mala, exonerating you from the charge of attempt-
ing to procure an unlawful release? Who is this
man Burke, and what interest has be in the mat-
ter ?”
“ There is nothing interesting in the story," he
replied, evasively. “ It is merely an explanation
of an old mystery. But you cut your hand at the
table, did you not? Let me see it. Is it badly
hurt? How did it happen ?” he questioned, seeing
the web of lace still wound tightly about her finger.
She hastily concealed the hand in the folds of
her dress, and met his honest concern with a slow
smile that puzzled and perplexed him.
“ It is a mere scratch, and not of the least impor
tance in the world,” she said..


CHAPTER XVII.
AN OLD FRIEND.
KING was seated in his private office one day,
absorbed in the examination of a specimen of tin
ore brought in by an Arizona prospector, when he
heard an uncertain step in the hall outside, and a
timid knock on the door, followed by an awkward
turn of the heavy bronze knob, and the appearance
of a man's form on the shadowy threshold.
“Come in.”
The shy, irresolute attitude, the involuntary
shrinking at the sound of a human voice, told their
own story to the man whose sense of sympathy had
been quickened in the hard school of experience.
He, too, had known what it was to come back to
take his place among his fellow-men once more,
unwelcome and unsought.
“Have a seat, Ellis. It's out for good, is n't
it?"
“For good or ill, Mr. King; I can't say. When
a man has been shut up as long as I have, it's an
open question whether it would n't be a mercy never
to give him his liberty. To tell you the truth,
King, I don't know what to do with it. No friends,
no standing, no money! I almost wish I was back
in San Quentin.”


208
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
“ How long has it been, Ellis ? "
“ Sixteen years. Sent up for twenty, you know,
and if I had n't lost any credits my time would
have been out nearly two years ago. But several
years ago I came across one of the turnkeys abus-
ing a ten-year-old lad sent up from Los Angeles
County for burglary. He was just the age of my
boy, King, and there was a look about his eyes like
him. I knocked the brute over, and it wiped out
my credits. I don't know that I care. I'm sure
I'd do it again if I had to pay the same price."
“ Ellis, I beg your pardon, but do you know you
are one of the last men I should ever deem capable
of taking the life of a fellow-man.”
“Before God, King, I would have killed myself
first. He was my best friend, man. Whiskey did
it. I could never recollect a thing between the
time we left the saloon on Second Street and the
hour I found myself in a cell in the city prison,
under the charge of murder. I did it; no doubt
of that. They proved it clearly enough for even
my satisfaction.”
The two men sat on in silence for some min-
utes, one thinking bitterly of the mad act that had
wrecked his life, the other casting about in his
mind for some means of helping a friend in the
hour of bis extremity.
“Let me see, what was your trade, Ellis ? Some
thing connected with machinery ?”
“ Iron-moulder.”
“ Think you could take it up again without any
trouble?”


AN OLD FRIEND.
209
" It is n't the kind of a trade one is likely to
forget.”
.
“Keep up courage, man. It may be I can help
you. I've been dabbling in machinery a little my-
self, of late, an improvement on the hoisting works
in mining shafts, that I hope will save the lives
of some poor fellows. A man who has his down-
town office on this floor has taken bold of it — Mur-
phy, owner of the large foundry on Beale Street.”
“ A. J. Murphy ?”
- That's the man. Did you ever know him,
Ellis ?"
“ Know him! He was my brother-in-law. He
took the children when my wife died. It's no use,
King; he's a hard man. He'll never turn his fin-
ger over to help me. If you will believe me, he
has never let the boy or girl come to see me, or
send a word of remembrance.”
“Ellis, is your boy a tall, slim fellow, with bright
brown eyes and dark hair, an inch or so taller than
you ?" King began in suppressed excitement, re-
membering a lad he had frequently encountered in
Murphy's office.
“ Lord, King! how should I know? He was five
years old when I saw him last, a chubby-faced little
rogue, with yellow curls and a comical lisp. And
little Annie — I have never forgotten her baby
face as she cuddled it up to mine that last night.”
The unhappy father could not suppress a groan.
“Ellis, wait here a moment. Brace up, old fel-
low. A man needs all his strength and courage at
such a time.”
14


210
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
A few minutes passed by and King reëntered the
room with a stout, prosperous, middle-aged man. A
stormy scene ensued. The foundryman denounced
his miserable relative in the most bitter terms,
reproaching him for the disgrace he had brought
upon his family, and sternly refused to have any-
thing to do with him in the future. Ellis bore his
abuse with an air of hopeless resignation. As he
concluded, Murphy turned to King with an apolo-
getic air.
“I regret, Mr. King, that you have been a wit-
ness to this painful interview. But I tell you, sir,
that you and every other man in the community
make a mistake when you undertake to shelter
such fellows beneath your own good name and
standing. There is n't a spark of hope for a man
who has once fallen so low. Place no faith in the
professions of discharged convicts."
Ellis was in the act of leaving the room, to put
an end to the discussion, but King motioned to him
to remain. The assayer's face was colorless and
agitated by suppressed emotion, but his eyes were
brave and fearless.
“ Consider the matter well, Mr. Murphy. Sup-
pose you or I had committed a crime in a moment
of excitement or temptation."
The foundryman scoffed at the suggestion.
“You are too practical a man to repeat such
cant, Mr. King. The Biblical story of the prodigal
son is very pretty in its place, but it won't apply
to these times. The prodigals nowadays come back
and plunder their friends."


AN OLD FRIEND.
211
“ Then, sir, you must include me in your cate-
gory. I left San Quentin just two years and a half
ago, after serving a felon's sentence.”
The prosaic man of business stared at the one
who had been his neighbor and daily associate for
six months back, and tried in vain to reconcile his
knowledge of the man with the proclamation that
had issued from his lips. His effort was a signal
failure.
“ I can't believe it, King," he protested. “You
a convict! How is it I never knew?” There was
a touch of injured feeling in his last words.
“I have never attempted to conceal it, Mr. Mur-
phy," King replied, with dignity. “Honestly, I am
sorry to learn that you did not know, for I placed
added value on your friendship because I thought
you were deliberately aiding the struggles of a
fallen man. I assure you, sir, that if a man once
loses his standing through the commission of a
criminal deed, he has fearful odds to contend with
when he undertakes to regain it.”
The foundryman stood with his arms folded, and
a preoccupied look on his face.
“ James,” he said, gruffly, to the convict, “ do
you want a place at your old work, at the old
wages ?”
“ If you would only try me!”
Murphy eyed him sharply. The supplicating
tone and look disposed of a suspicion he had enter-
tained that his disreputable relative might have
returned to play the part of a parasite upon one
who was reaping the result of years of honest toil.


212 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
“Call around at the works to-morrow morning,
and I will see that the foreman gives you a place."
' Ellis received the announcement calmly, for a
deeper sentiment was struggling for expression.
“ Andrew," he said, haltingly, “the children -
where are they?”
A shadow of vexation crossed Murphy's face,
He had anticipated the inquiry.
" They are alive and well. Their home is at my
house, as it has always been since Mary's death."
“Am I never to see them again?”
“ Judge for yourself, James, and if you have any
latent manliness, let it be shown in their behalf,
They have grown up happy and respected, believ,
ing themselves fatherless as well as motherless,
No knowledge of the miserable disgrace your act
brought upon the family has ever troubled them,
The boy is a proud fellow. Do you want to break
in upon their happy lives with the wretched tale
we have tried so hard to spare them, and claim
their recognition — you!”
They waited silently for the convict's reply. In
his face they beheld evidences of the struggle tak,
ing place within him, but his better self conquered.
“ So help me God! I'll never trouble them.”
When King was at length left alone he leaned
forward, resting his elbows on his desk, and buried
his face in his hands. Every line of his figure, his
long-drawn breath, his pallid face, were expressive
of intense weariness; but it was the weariness of
victory, not of defeat. As he finally rose to his
feet and resumed the work in which he had been
interrupted, his face was calm and tranquil.


214 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
seized upon the first opportune moment to make
the lad acquainted with the circumstances of his
past life. Tom Ellis was better informed than
Murphy had been. He shifted uneasily in his
chair while King commenced the relation of his
story, then interrupted him with an awkward as-
surance.
“Excuse me for saying so, Mr. King, but I've'
known it all along. The fellows are always ready
to discuss such things, you know.”
It was not plain to the older man what effect the
knowledge had produced upon the young man's
mind, but he was not long to remain in doubt.
“I'm glad you spoke of it, for one thing ;” and
the boy glanced up with a shy look, as if to gather
courage to go on. “I'm not a prig, and I want to
tell you, Mr. King, what I think such an example
is worth. If I should ever go under myself, -
though, of course, I trust I'll not, — or if ever I
should find a man who has had his moral legs
knocked out from under him, I know what I'd do.
I'd pick you out as his hope of salvation."
The temptation was strong upon the listener to
march the boy down to the grimy factory on Beale
Street and point out to him a better hero - a man
who was working his way upward by the hard toil
of his hands, unmindful of the scoffs of his fellow.
workmen, renouncing the dearest ties on earth,
content to labor on and live apart from his kind,
if only his children could be spared the misery of
sharing his disgrace. There was better mettle in
the boy than his uncle had divined, better than a


PROGRESS.
215
man of Murphy's stamp could appreciate. How
he wished James Ellis could have seen the boy and
heard his words.
“ Is your sister like you, Ellis ?” he asked, curi-
ously speculating as to what manner of girl James
Ellis's daughter had grown to be, for he had never
seen her face, and only remembered a flutter of
bright draperies as she rustled by him one day,
coming from her uncle's office. The young man
viewed King in surprise at this singular display of
interest in a girl he had never seen.
« Annie is like the rest of them, fond of nothing
but dress and dancing and beaux,” he somewhat
impatiently declared. “ Turns up her nose at
profitable reading, and wades through any number
of trashy novels. Rather go for a drive to the Cliff
or to see a minstrel show any time, than to have
some good solid profit from an evening at the Geo-
graphical Society or the Academy. But for all that,
I think she is a girl who respects an honest man
when she knows him.”
It was probably a logical result of this conver-
sation that King in due course of time received an
invitation to call at the house, which, to his sur.
prise, was quietly seconded by Murphy in such a
manner that he could not well refuse. As time
went on he became a frequent visitor. He found
Annie Ellis to be a bright, amiable girl, in whose
society time passed pleasantly by, and he grew to
feel a curious interest in these two young people,
over whose heads was suspended a Damoclean
sword, whose slight thread was liable at any


216
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
moment to be snapped asunder by a chance sug-
gestion or indiscreet inquiry, on the part of their
associates. He even went so far as to transgress
bis usual habits and occasionally appear as her
escort at public places, conscious that she was
aware of his story, and feeling that a habit of
friendly intimacy and measured confidence in one
man who had broken the law and suffered the
righteous penalty might soften the shock of the
discovery of her relationship to another, should
time have such a revelation in store.
It was a matter of indifference to him that gossip
observed their intimacy and openly linked their
names. Before the stern tribunal of his own con-
science he had forfeited all right to marriage by the
deed he had committed in his youthful days, and
he felt no solicitude on the young girl's account.
Shallow in her thoughts, fickle in her tastes, imma-
ture in judgment, she was a child who would shrink
from assuming the serious responsibilities of life for
many years to come. Her pretty little condescen-
sions to him, her undisguised curiosity about all
relating to his prison experience, the delicate man-
ner in which she strove to gloss over the difference
in their respective social stations, moved him to
deep compassion.
It was well that the engrossing nature of his
daily occupation left him little time for observation
or reflection, else bis soul might have rebelled
against the rank injustice pervading the social
world, and he would have turned in loathing from
the hollow affectation of virtue displayed on every


PROGRESS.
217
hand. No man so circumspect in his appearance,
so lofty in his demeanor, so courteous in habit, as
he who practiced all manner of secret vices, and in
his heart held for naught the probity and honor of
his fellow-men. No one more liberal in his sub-
scriptions to charity, more unsparing in his con-
demnation of wrong-doers, than he who took every
lawful advantage in trade, and never hesitated to
transgress legal bounds when secured against de-
tection.
And where was the man to be found who held
inviolate the line that separated bis neighbor's
property from his own ; who betrayed not a mone-
tary trust when unconstrained by written word or
bond; who scorned to take advantage of another's
ignorance or error; who would not rob the widow
and cheat the fatherless, and despoil the unsuspect-
ing; who revered the holy sanctity of maidenhood
and the helpless innocence of childhood ; who lived
faithful to the highest principles of truth, the
noblest ideal of manhood ? He had become a tra-
dition of the past, or existed in a few isolated cases,
so separated from all mankind by reason of his ex-
ceptional goodness that he was a virtuous mon-
strosity, arousing the same sense of oppressive
grandeur that would be exerted by the great
Basilosaurus, should he stalk abroad over the
earth, shaking from his bones the accumulated dust
of centuries, his gigantic stature dwindling the
pigmy creations of the modern world into a sense
of humbling insignificance.
Pervading all classes of womanhood was the


218
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
same disgusting spirit of hypocrisy, the same re
volting pretense of purity and truth. No women
so severe in their articles of religious faith, so deco-
rous in their behavior, so rigid in their demands
upon others, so shocked at the least moral laxity
on the part of their associates, as that army of
fashionable matrons, who enveloped themselves
with an air of immaculate purity while habitually
outraging the holiest principle of womanhood.
Here and there men and women were to be seen
who held aloft higher standards of action, or escaped
the common slough of hypocrisy by candidly as-
serting their moral limitations and shortcomings.
But the faces of those who were striving to reach a
higher level were almost invariably stamped with
that sombre seal whereby are recognized the troub-
led hearts of those who assume the burdens be-
longing of right to other shculders, and do penance
for another's sins.
In the most unobtrusive manner King availed
himself of the privileges of his membership in the
Academy of Sciences, prosecuting his studies and
researches at an hour when the long, rambling
building was deserted. He rarely presented him-
self at the meetings unless some subject of special
bearing upon his own pursuit was under discussion,
and then he remained quietly in the background,
never coming to the front unless he was directly
called upon, when he would respond with a serious-
ness and modesty that disarmed all criticism. His
readiness to labor in the interests of the society
was quickly appreciated, and as it became apparent


PROGRESS.
219
that no unworthy or ambitious aims had prompted
his desire for membership, he frequently found
himself assigned a place on working committees,
where he did honorable and efficient service. A
tradition even exists that upon one occasion he
made the rounds of the building and carefully re-
moved the dust that had accumulated upon the
heterogeneous collection of specimens, although
any one who has ever visited the academy will be
quick to recognize the bold fallacy of this state-
ment.
Many who had in the outset predicted that the
confidence placed in the ex-convict would eventuate
in some new and outrageous breach of trust were
forced to abandon their theory as months and years
passed by, and King's reputation for integrity in
all his business dealings became more and more
firmly established. Those who watched him most
vigilantly, confident of detecting some hidden ras-
cality, were finally forced to concede that he was
scrupulous to a fault. Did he not make a most
discouraging return on the specimens of ore handed
him by Bite & Spite, the mining sharps, when it
was generally understood that a flattering exhibit
would have been rewarded with a handsome bonus
and any number of shares in the worthless stock
they proposed to float on the market ? And in the
great suit of John Doe etaal. vs. Sedley, brought to
abate a nuisance in the shape of poisonous gases
disseminated through the chimney of defendant's
smelting works, bad he not sided with a poor and
obscure party of citizens, against a wealthy corpo.


220
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
ration whose patronage alone would have assured
him a comfortable income ?
Notwithstanding his quixotic actions, the assayer
found his business steadily on the increase. Many
who went to him a first time, governed by motives
of curiosity and a desire to see a man so widely dis-
cussed, conceived a singular interest in the fortunes
of the sober-looking, quiet gentleman, and even
went so far as to recommend his services to their
friends. By degrees his unfailing palictuality and
uniform courtesy, his accurate and painstaking meth-
ods as well as the moderation of his charges, se-
cured him a regular and increasing patronage. It
was undoubtedly an advantage to have his efforts re-
ceive the indorsement of a man of such undoubted
probity as Matthew Thaxter, but all the influence
of his eccentric friend would have been powerless
to insure success, had not his own faithful care and
industry been conclusive vouchers of his reliability.
An ingenious safety clutch of his invention, de-
signed to prevent the shocking loss of life occurring
through negligent management in deep mining
shafts, after repeated experimental trials, was
finally perfected, and would have yielded the in-
ventor a substantial profit ; but he refused to pa-
tent the principle, declaring that no contrivance
designed to lessen the sum of human suffering
should have any barrier thrown in the way of its
free and universal adoption.
This action on the part of King, combined with
other pleasant traits, received the hearty approval
of the better element of the business community,


PROGRESS.
221
and might have won him a certain degree of pop-
ularity, had it not been for a peculiar and glaring
defect which now displayed itself in the assayer's
character.
As a young man he had always been a liberal,
genial fellow, flinging his money freely to right
and left, - a fault which is often corrected in some
degree by the sober reflection of advancing years.
But now he had gone to the opposite extreme.
When the aristocratic Pacific Club, in a spasm of
unwonted magnanimity, resolved to condone his
former sin against society in recognition of his gen-
erous action, and paid him the handsome compli-
ment of electing him to membership in their ex-
clusive organization, they were rudely shocked
when he politely but firmly declined the proffered
honor, on the ground that the expensive ways of
club life were unsuited to his habits of economy.
The truth was no longer to be disguised. King
had grown penurious.
John Rutherford was one of the last to credit
the rumor. With perfect confidence in King's gen-
erosity and a stout faith in his friendship, he en-
tered the assayer's office one day, bearing in his
hand a subscription list to a home for the adult
blind. He dilated upon the matter with consider.
able feeling.
“ I tell you, King, there's dire need for such a
place. I don't believe there's another State in the
Union where the matter has been so outrageously
neglected, despite the pressing demand for such an
establishment, and in the face of our vaunted libe


222
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
THE
erality. If you could go to the almshouse with me
and see those poor fellows — seven-and-twenty of
them, able-bodied men, with no more thought that
they would ever come to such a pass, and conse-
quently making no more preparation for it than
you or I are making this minute - chafing and
fretting their lives away because the State prefers
to maintain them as paupers to teaching them in-
dependent industries! It's a sight that would
move your heart.”
King had listened to this disquisition in silence,
though his face grew sober.
“ I am very sorry for the poor fellows, Ruther-
ford,” he declared, with singular constraint, “but
what do you want me to do?”.
“ Put your name down here for a hundred dol.
lars. I know it's out of all proportion to your
means, but you can spare it, and it may be a stim-
ulus to some of these close-fisted millionaires.”
" I would like to oblige you, Rutherford, but I
assure you it is impossible. If you can make any
use of this,” — he held out a silver dollar as he
spoke, — “I shall be glad to give it. But don't
put it down on the list.”
John Rutherford possessed a very amiable dispo-
sition, and he was a stanch friend of King's, but at
this moment the good man was so vexed by pre-
vious humiliations and disappointments in the pros-
ecution of his unselfish task, that this niggardly
act seemed more than he could bear. From King,
too, the man whom he had so zealously befriended,
in whose inherent nobility and unselfishness he had
placed such unquestioning faith!


224
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
Many looked daggers at King for his presump-
tion, but the Marquis hastened to accede to his
request. They moved to one side, and King drew
out his watch.
“ The boat for Victoria leaves at precisely eight
o'clock to-morrow morning,” he said. “It is now
nearly twelve. Don't you think you had better be
off at once, in order to insure an early start, my
dear Marquis ? Allow me to show you the way to
the hat-room.”
The two men found their way through the hall
and up the stairs, to the surprise and wonder of
observers. On the first landing the man of rank
turned and confronted his adviser with a look of
vengeful wrath.
“ Look here, I've got too good a thing to leave!
You blab on me and I 'll blab on you."
“ As for that,” returned King, with indifference,
“ tell ahead. You can say nothing of me that is
not already known.”
“What! they know" -
“ The whole story,” replied King, gravely.
“ By Jove! And yet ask you here? How did
you manage it, King ?”.
“ I did not manage it. I did not care for it. I
fought my way along without help or recognition
for two years. Some of my old friends found me
out, and were good enough to trust me. I am,
trying to prove myself worthy of their confidence.
That is all.”
To escape the storm of inquiry and regret which
would have inevitably ensued if he had publicly


PROGRESS.
225
notified bis hostess of his departure, the Marquis
took his leave by slipping down a rear stairway,
and King, returning to the gay scene below, was
greeted with looks of suspicion and disfavor.
“Where is the Marquis, Mr. King ?”
“ Yes, where is the Marquis ? I saw him go up
the staircase with you not five minutes ago.”
The second speaker was his hostess, and although
her words were playfully spoken, there was an
undertone of earnest which called him to account
for the strange disappearance of the distinguished
visitor.
“ The Marquis recollected a pressing engagement
which it was imperative he should fulfill without
delay.”
" And he has dared to go without apology or
leave-taking ? What sort of manners are these?”
The worthy woman eyed King as if determined to
hold him responsible for the mortification and dis-
may she felt.
“You cannot expect men of rank to act like
ordinary beings !” he expostulated. “ They are
accustomed to being laws unto themselves. Ordi-
nary mortals, and especially plain members of a
republic, cannot appreciate the sovereignty of supe-
rior natures."
“Superior natures ! ” commented the hostess,
with asperity. “I wish these superior natures
would recognize the laws of superior breeding.
Mr. King, there is something you will not tell me.
There is mischief in your eyes, sir.”
He escaped the battery of her bright eyes and
15


226 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
sharp queries, and a little later passed within the
shelter of a curtained alcove. He had fallen into
a habit of withdrawing early from all social gather-
ings, but upon this occasion outstayed his accus-
tomed limits, not wishing to be in any way asso-
ciated with the disappearance of the titled guest.
He was not destined to occupy his retreat alone.
There was a cessation of music in the large apart-
ment beyond, the dancers strolled into the adjoin-
ing apartments, the curtain parted, and Margaret
Thaxter invaded his solitude. A cold flood of
moonlight poured through the window, and re-
vealed the paleness of her face as she recognized
him, but she greeted him with well-feigned cor-
diality.
"Some good providence sent you here, Mr. King.
I am in distress, and if you have your pocket-knife
at hand I call upon you to succor me. This is the
penalty of dancing in a crowded room, and with a
boy of twenty.”
She was clad in a thin white dress of some crape-
like texture, whose sheer draperies extended down
the back, from neck to hem, in an unbroken line.
Upon one shoulder the gauzy stuff was torn quite
away, and drooped over her arm and adown her
skirt, like a broken pinion.
“First, a pin here !” she instructed him with
childlike simplicity, and he obeyed her directions
without a word, jealously hiding the bare shoulder
beneath the misty folds of white. Margaret Thax-
ter was a modest woman, with the sense of maid-
enly delicacy peculiar to New England women, and


PROGRESS.
PROGRESS.
227
never exposed her person to the rude gaze of a
crowd.
“Now, if you will be kind enough to cut away
this strip," — holding out the torn drapery, — “if
your blade is sharp, and you will run it along this
fold, Mr. King, no one will know that it has ever
been torn.” The keen blade flashed through the
thin fold, and the severed strip laid in his hands.
He folded it carefully and placed it in his breast
pocket.
“ You will throw it out of the window, if you
please.” She spoke with cool authority, but he
hesitated before obeying her. He had adhered
faithfully to her injunctions, and during the two
years and more that had elapsed since his reëntry
in society, upon the occasions when some general
gathering had brought them together in the same
house, he had met her with a distant recognition,
or passed her with a friendly greeting in more inti-
mate encounters. Could it be possible she still
feared that he might press his old claims, or inter-
pret a single impulsive act into an assertion of for-
feited rights? He drew the rag from his pocket
and Aung it through the window, where it drifted
slowly downward, catching in a bough of bon silene
roses, where they watched it wave and flutter in
the night breeze like a wandering breath of mist.
Her usual self-possession was restored by his
ready assent to her command, and she turned to
him with the air of friendly interest she had adopted
since his return.
“ You confine yourself too closely to your work,”


CHAPTER XIX.
A RIDE TO THE BEACH.
On a bright fall day a merry horseback party
assembled outside of the gates of the Thaxter place.
The ladies were clad in neatly fitting habits, with
jaunty little hats drawn closely over their foreheads
in defiance of the stiff ocean breeze, and with one
exception rode gentle, dispirited animals, which
they sat with uncertain grace. Many of the gen-
tlemen affected the jockeyish attire of the English
horseman. One among them, a man of slight
physique, who was attired in plain citizen's clothes,
with a dark slouch hat, and rode a noble iron-gray
horse, was a figure distinctive among the rest.
“ Bless the boy !” soliloquized old Betsey, fur-
tively peeping through the parted slats of a Japan-
ese shade. “Many's the time I've seen him along
before, the liveliest and biggest mischief-maker
among 'em. And now he's that quiet and sober
one would think he'd nothing in common with
the rest. Oh, well-a-day! the world goes up and
the world goes down, and sometimes it's one on
top, and sometimes t'other!”
Unconscious of old Betsey's sage reflections, the
gay cavalcade started out, observing no formal
order, but riding four and five abreast, on the


A RIDE TO THE BEACH.
231
• You do not understand ;” and Miss Annie
gave her small pony an impatient touch with the
whip, that caused the animal to shy to the side of
the road.
“I did not mean physical courage,” she contin-
ued, and then she bent over and stroked the horse's
mane in atonement for her harsh act. “I think she
has something more wonderful than that — true
moral heroism. It is not to be expected that a
man should find her out. Women never show their
best side in the company of men. But you should
see her in the society of women. She takes us to
task so frankly and fearlessly, and then follows her
sharp words with a bright little laugh that dulls
the sharp edge of her rebuke. But I am sure we
never forget what she says.”
Several bursts of speed on the road changed the
relative position of the riders as they progressed
westward. When they entered the Park Miss
Thaxter flung a laughing challenge over her shoul-
der to King.
“ Mr. King, I dare you to a race ! ”
They sped like the wind along the smoothly
macadamized ground, but as they reached a place
where a side road diverged from the main drive,
she guided her horse thither, and suddenly drew
the rein.
“I want a little talk with you, Philip King,” she
declared, frankly.
He bowed silently, and they rode slowly on in
the shadow of the tall fir-trees.
“ Are you making the most of your opportuni-


-
-
-
---
232
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
-
-
-
-
ties?” The playful look had passed from her face,
leaving it sober and thoughtful, and her speech was
like the voice of an accusing conscience.
“ You have a meaning in what you say. Tell
me what you are thinking,” and his eyes sought
her face as if trying to divine what was passing in
her mind.
“I am thinking of a newspaper report I read
fourteen years ago : A young man accused of a
felonious crime, instead of defending his own cause,
rose in the police court and made a gallant plea
for the little children he had seen neglected and
abused. To-day he is free, subject to no control
save that of his own will and conscience, but he is
so busily engaged in polishing his shield that he
has forgotten the weak and helpless. I am disap-
pointed in him.”
“ Not forgotten !” earnestly protested her com-
panion. “Say rather that he has become wiser,
less headstrong, better able to measure his own
power. What influence do I possess ? Who would
listen to me if I should renew the old plea ?”
“Who will be listened to so readily as the man
who speaks from his own personal experience ?
Even at that time you stirred the authorities to
some action, although their movement was the mer-
est apology for a reform. They placed first a
screen between the women's cage and the children's
bench, and afterwards put the little ones in an open
cage adjoining, where the education of the ear was
substituted for the education of the eye.”
“I wonder who has the regulation of affairs about


234
face was sad and troubled as if under the spell of
some oppressive memory.
- You have never been back to San Quentin since
you left ? ”
“ Back to that hell upon earth ? No!” He re-
pelled the suggestion with the same aversion that a
small-pox patient might have exhibited at a pro-
posal that he should revisit the pest-house which
had been the scene of his miserable and humiliat-
ing struggle with a loathsome disease.
“ Why don't you go ?”
“ To that accursed den of infamy! You would
not ask if you had ever been there. The very at-
mosphere is contamination.” ...
A richer color than the keen ocean breeze had
power to evoke tinged the girl's cheek at this re-
joinder, but she bravely persevered.
“ Yet there are men who must stay on — some
for a whole lifetime. Their existence is colorless
and monotonous, devoid of hope or consolation,
Some of them will come out again in time, and try
to take up their lives as you have done. They
need the encouragement and stimulus of a brave
example. They need you."
King reflected gravely on her words, without re-
plying. Was it possible that in his own struggle
he had been neglecting unseen responsibilities?
His crime, ever shifting its aspect, presented itself
ir new light, and with a new chain of dependent
duties. To aid, to cheer, to strengthen others who
had fallen like himself — this was another of its
lessons. Margaret Thaxter misconstrued his si
lence.


A RIDE TO THE BEACH. 235
“ Are you not to be persuaded ?" she said, de-
spairingly. “Have you then no sympathy for that
army of men huddled like so many sheep in that
narrow compass? Have you forgotten the foul
air of the cells, the choking gases that arise, the
harsh tones of the guards, the dearth of kindly
words” -
He interrupted her passionate appeal with an ex-
clamation of horror and dismay.
“Great God! You have been there, and within
the gates!”
“ I have,” the girl assented, and her eyes met his
with the same innocent courage that had com-
manded the respect of a thousand lawless men
within the walls of the penitentiary the previous
week. “But I assure you I had hard work to
get in,” she frankly confessed. - The warden ac-
tually attempted to refuse me admission.” She
looked at King as if expecting an expression of
sympathetic surprise ; but it was not forthcoming,
and she renewed the account of her grievances.
“He told me that he had refused admission to
the Governor's wife and a party of her friends not
two days before. I told him that I was not the
Governor's wife, but Margaret Thaxter, and he must
lowest of the female convicts to pass through the
gate; that it was as much as a woman's life was
worth to cross the yard. I saw it was useless to
attempt to convince him by argument, and I said :
• Warden Fisher, I have promised a dying child to
place in her father's room the birthday gifts pre-


A RIDE TO THE BEACH.
237
shrubs, and flower-beds flew by in rapid-moving
panorama. The keen excitement of the sport lent
a childish animation to Miss Thaxter's face. They
rounded a turn in the road, the lady leading by a
couple of rods, when her horse gave a wild swerve,
reared, plunged, and came to a stand-still, his bridle
firmly grasped in the stout hands of a policeman.
"And this is the time I caught you !” roared the
angry functionary. “It's ashamed you ought to
be, using the park roads as a race-track. The com-
missioners said we're to make a example — a ex-
ample, d'ye hear ? — of the first ones that came
along to-day.”
“Do you know that you came near causing this
lady to be thrown from her horse ? ” fiercely de-
manded King, who came up at that moment, feel-
ing an old demon of temper rising in his heart as
he witnessed the rough act, and possessed of a wild
temptation to leap from his saddle and afford the
blue-coated guardian of the peace an opportunity to
taste the virtues of his own club.
Sir, you libel the lady's horsemanship! I'm
free to confess there's not many in this town can
sit a horse like that.” The officer's eyes traveled
past the inflated nostrils and proudly arched neck
of the animal he held, to the stately young woman
on his back.
“ Bless my soul, it 's Miss Thaxter!” His hand
dropped from the bridle, and he grinned in a
sheepish manner.
“How finely you look in your new uniform,
Daniel,” said the lady, pleasantly ; " and how glad


238
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
I am to see you here. You don't know how I have
been longing for some of those great pansies in the
round bed over there. I should have taken the law
into my own hands and plucked some long ago,
but I feared some officious policeman might come
along and have the audacity to arrest me!” and
she laughed mirthfully.
The stout fellow lumbered with alacrity across
the lawn, glad to escape the fire of her light satire
and the bright mockery of her glance, returning
shortly after with his hands filled with velvety
treasures, which she received with exclamations of
delight.
“ And how are Mary and the babies ? ” she re-
sumed, with arch, mischievous eyes, that saw and
reveled in his humiliation. He stammered forth a
confused response, and she proceeded to heap coals
of fire upon his head.
“ Tell Mary I have had a bundle of flannels and
odds and ends of finery for the little people done up
for her these six weeks past. And oh, Daniel, it
was so good of you to stop my horse when you
thought he was running away.”
“ Miss Margaret, I would rather have lost my
place on the force than done it! ” blurted out the
poor fellow, in deep contrition.
“But now you will let me go on my own recog-
nizance.”
Her pleasant smile restored the man's peace of
mind, and, fastening the pansies at her throat and
in her belt, she flung him a graceful acknowledg.
ment as she rode away.


240
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
As they loitered on the beach the gentlemen of
the party engaged in a hot political discussion, ar-
raying themselves with the two great parties of the
day. Endicott, who had drawn up his horse beside
King, listened to the debate with the curious in-
terest of an intelligent foreigner.
"I see you take no part in the dispute, Mr.
King,” he said at length; “but of course you have
your convictions. May I ask which way you
vote?” The frequent mysterious allusions which
had been dropped in relation to King's career had
whetted the interest of the young fellow, and while
he bad been too well bred to attempt to learn their
meaning, he found a peculiar satisfaction in elicit-
ing the opinions of the silent man.
On this occasion King gave him a look that the
Englishman never forgot.
“I do not vote.”
“ Ah, like so many of your countrymen, dis-
gusted with politics. Don't blame you. They are
a nasty thing the world over.”'
Had King elected to drop the matter, no further
thought would have been given to his statement.
So ignorant is the average American of his coun-
try's laws, that not one of the men present grasped
the meaning of his assertion. But he had no ambi-
tion to pose as one of the countless thousands of
his countrymen who assume an attitude of lofty
contempt toward public matters, and scorn the
mire of politics, while in truth accountable for the
very evils they condemn, which are the direct re-
sult of their apathy and inaction. Moved by the


A RIDE TO THE BEACH.
241
honest impulse of a candid nature forever done
“ You do not understand. I am disfranchised.”
“What! My dear fellow, I beg pardon.”
Endicott was manifestly distressed at his blun-
der, and wondered in what extraordinary political
complications this grave, intelligent man could
have been involved, that he should have forfeited a
right so dear to the heart of every patriot, whether
or no he chose to exercise it. He made an awk-
ward attempt to express the thoughts that flitted
through his mind.
“Really, Mr. King, I am surprised. Do you
know, you are so calm, so deliberate, so thoughtful,
that you are the last person I should have sus-
pected of apostasy to a government so liberal in its
policy."
“ My apostasy was not to political, but to civil
law."
Margaret Thaxter, who had reined up her horse
a little to one side, a casual and indifferent witness
of the discussion, caught the last words, and rode
pain replacing the careless look on her face.
“ Mr. King, what do you mean ? "
“ What I said, Miss Thaxter. It is evident that
you are not familiar with the laws of our State.
Refer to section 1048 of the Political Code, and
you will learn that a convict who has served out
his sentence has forfeited his rights of citizenship.
If I live fifty years I can never cast a vote. The
freed felon is truly the man without a country.”


242 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
The dull boom of the breakers, the wash of the
waves upon the sand, the hoarse cry of sea birds
sweeping low over the water, sounded a melancholy
refrain to the confessed tragedy of a human exist-
ence. The intelligence came with such a shock to
all the members of the little group that no one
found words to reply. Endicott himself, stirred
with deep compassion, chancing to look toward the
spirited girl who had spoken, marveled to see her
features convulsed as if with a spasm of quick pain,
while sea and fog were guiltless of the moisture
that bedewed her cheek.
As Margaret Thaxter rode homeward by Endi-
cott's side, her companion noted that her bright
sprightliness of manner and audacity of speech had
abandoned her. Silent and distracted, with droop-
ing head and overcast face, an unprejudiced ob-
server would have imagined that the burden of dis-
grace had descended upon her rather than King,
who, a few rods ahead, firm and erect in his saddle,
had grown talkative beyond his wont, and main-
tained his part in the gay fire of jest and raillery
that flew about him.


CHAPTER XX. ,
A PLEA FOR THE CHILDREN.
THE honorable Board of Supervisors, who held
in their keeping the material interests of the city,
consisted of twelve representative gentlemen, elected
every two years, and carefully chosen from the tax-
payers of the city. The voters were wont to con-
gratulate themselves, upon the occasion of these
biennial elections, that their candidates were inva-
riably “ solid men ” — a qualification which re-
ferred not to the characteristics of heart or brain
which distinguished the man, as might be mis-
takenly supposed, but to the amount of cash to his
credit at the bank, or the length of his tax-roll.
In their blind worship of Mammon the worthy citi.
zens of San Francisco unhappily ignored the fact
that the greed of gain does not invariably subside
with the accumulation of property, and that the
same commercial instinct which lays the founda-
tion of financial prosperity may find difficulty in
resisting the alluring baits held out by wealthy
corporations, who find it to their interests to gain
the good-will of municipal officers.
A curious phase of this combination of moral
duplicity and skillful financiering had lately been
displayed in the battle for a franchise between the


244 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY,
Goat Island Air Line Railway Company and the
Lime Point Universal Communication Company,
two rival street-car lines. So cunningly did the
wary members of the board manage the double
transformation act of appearing to serve the city
while in reality conducting themselves as befitted
judicious conservators of their own interests, and
pursuing a deep-laid scheme for the furtherance of
individual profit; so craftily did they contrive to
impugn the motives of those among their number
who steadfastly resisted corrupt approaches, that
upon the outgoing of the board it somehow hap-
pened that the crafty thieves, if not honored by a
reëlection, retired to private life covered with glory
and distinguished by public testimonials, while the
honest members sank into obscurity, under a dark
cloud of suspicion and disgrace.
George Clayton bade fair to share the fate of his
luckless predecessors. Entering the board with a
high devotion to the city's welfare, laboring with
the purest motives to advance all good schemes,
and to defeat corrupt legislation, he had been
drawn into one compromising situation after an-
other, until a question of water rights had been
brought before the body, when he had been openly
charged with owning the controlling interest in the
stock of a wild-cat company, of whose existence he
was apprised for the first time. Under these cir-
cumstances it was not to be expected that he should
hail with undue pleasure the prospect of introdu-
cing to the board, at its regular meeting, one even-
ing, a man of questionable repute, who presented


246 TÄE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
pose and easy grace of a man whose mind was too
thoroughly imbued with the substance of what he
had to say, to leave any room for self-conscious-
ness.
“Gentlemen of the Board of Supervisors,” he be-
gan, “ I do not present myself before you to urge
any personal claim upon your consideration, nor do
I appear as the agent of any individual or corpora-
tion, suing for the city's patronage or favor. The
adult portion of the community is capable of press-
ing its own suits, and needs no intercession. I
come to plead the cause of childhood of the
young and innocent, who must bear their wrongs in
silence unless a strong voice espouses their rights,
and a stout arm is interposed in their behalf.
“ The city of San Francisco makes humane pro-
vision for the sick and unfortunate who fall help-
less upon her streets, and exhibits tender compas-
sion for the inebriate who reels from the wild delir-
ium of drink into the waiting arms of death. De-
cent quarters and high living await your moneyed
criminal. The most disreputable habitué of the
police court bridges the space of time intervening
between his arrest and commission to the House of
Correction by availing himself of a friendly offer
of bail. The vagrant who wanders through your
streets in the morning sleeps in a comfortable bed
in the almshouse at night. The poor wretch whose
brain is distraught by sorrow or dissipation receives
tender consideration and care. What provision do
you make for the little children whom an unhappy
fate sets adrift upon your streets ?


A PLEA FOR THE CHILDREN.
247
“In the foulest portion of Kearny Street rises a
dismal building you call the city prison. Its three
upper floors constitute a small portion of the work-
ing machinery of the law, while in the damp dun-
geons below are herded the miserable scourings of
humanity for whose detection and punishment all
this elaborate superstructure is conducted. In the
main hall of this prison, in full sight of the en-
trance, and commanding a view of every foul-
mouthed drunkard or lewd woman who is brought
in during the night, are gathered the babes and
nurselings who have the depravity to lose them-
selves upon the streets or commit the heinous crime
of transgressing the eight o'clock ordinance.
“I do not speak from hearsay evidence. More
than thirteen years ago I committed a crime which
entitled me to taste the sweets of this institution's
hospitality. Among all the nauseous sights and
sounds of my first night's initiation, which will live
in my memory forevermore, I count as the crown-
ing horror the spectacle of half a dozen little chil-
dren, rescued from the darkness and desolation, the
bard pavements and chill air of our city streets by
night, only to be consigned to the less tender mer.
cies of our city's law, and subjected to the contami-
nated atmosphere and vile associations of that
wretched place. I assert that to-day this condition
of matters remains essentially unchanged.
“Some one has said — I think it was England's
woman poet, with her warm and tender heart –
that · A child's cry in the darkness curseth deeper
than the strong man in his wrath. If all the bit-


248 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
ter cries that have been wrung from childish lips in
that damp cellar could resound in chorus, if all the
ruin it has wrought in innocent lives could be
voiced, there would swell a demand for vengeance,
so mighty and so appalling that the nation might
well bow its head in shame. There is not another
city in the Union which dooms the pure children
gathered from its streets to consort with hardened
criminals on the damp floor of a dungeon. I do not
believe there is another city in the civilized world
which would tolerate such an outrage.
“Gentlemen of the Board of Supervisors, the re-
sponsibility and the remedy lies with you."
There was a buzz of excitement in the lobby as
King resumed his seat. Varying shades of vexa-
tion, surprise, annoyance, and consternation had
been exhibited in the countenances of the honorable
board during the progress of his speech.
“It is hardly possible that such a state of affairs
as the gentleman describes could have existed all
this time, and we be ignorant of it,” sourly asserted
a lantern-jawed man who occupied a conspicuous
place on the Committee of Public Buildings.
“ Are you sure you are not putting it a little too
strong, Mr. King ?” demanded Mr. Clayton, pee-
vishly. For the life of him he could not see how he
had ever been so weak or so stupid as to commit
himself to identification with such a complaint,
which would no doubt result in the appointment of
a committee of investigation, and recriminations
through the columns of the daily press, distasteful
in the extreme to a man of his retiring tastes. No


A PLEA FOR THE CHILDREN.
249
doubt the charges would be construed as part of an
adroit scheme to foist a new building upon the city,
and they would accuse him of being interested in
the contract.
“To impart a more definite coloring to my story,
I will give you a special instance that occurred on
the occasion to which I have alluded,” resumed
King, composedly, and his eyes were fixed on the
face of his friend. “ Among the children who were
on the bench that night was one beautiful little
girl, who had strayed from home at nightfall, whose
pretty garments had been torn and soiled, and
whose face was so smeared with dirt and tears that
she looked like any other little neglected denizen of
the streets. As I awaited assignment to my cell,
the small creature, recognizing something familiar
in my face, flung herself upon me, hiding her eyes
in fright and horror, clinging to me with all the
force of her tiny hands, begging me to take her
away from the hideous place. I entreated permis-
sion to take her with me until her parents should
call to claim her, and tried to have a message sent
to them, but my requests were disregarded. That
child was the daughter of a gentleman who is here
to-night, and who occupies a seat upon your honor-
able board."
Clayton roused from his apathy at the speaker's
last words. His memory spanned a dozen years
with a leap, and he leaned forward with a look of
horror on his face.
“ My God, King! Do you mean my girl —
Bessie ?”


250 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY,
King bowed his head in silence.
A sensation stirred the members of the board.
The question appeared in a new light, thus brought
directly home to one of their own members, and
indignant comments were freely made. Clayton
seized paper and pen. Stimulated by the picture
of his innocent child exposed to such revolting in-
fluences, he brooked no formalities, and repelled the
suggestion of committees of investigation. The res-
olution he drew up was simple and forcible.
Resolved, That the Committee on City Prison be in-
structed to see at once that suitable provision is made for
the comfort and care of stray children who may be
brought in from the streets; that they be assigned quar-
ters remote from the prisoners, and be provided with
comfortable beds and healthy food.
The resolution was passed without a dissenting
voice, and went into force the following week.
It so chanced that on the same evening during
which King made his forcible plea for the children
before the board of supervisors, John Rutherford
arose to advocate his election as a member of the
Microscopical Society. This association was one
of the most important amateur organizations of
the city, and comprised many of the wealthiest
and most aristocratic of San Francisco's dilettante.
Its annual receptions were held in the lecture-
room of the Mercantile Library, and were num-
bered among the most stylish and exclusive of social
events. On such occasions the members of the so-
ciety each stood in charge of his own magnificent


252 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
ciety listened to his speech. It should be men
tioned that John Rutherford had not the slightest
gift for oratory, and while he was capable of carry-
ing on a personal dialogue with force and eloquence,
he had a very diffident and stilted way of address-
ing a larger audience.
“ Mr. King possesses all the qualifications which
commend him for membership in our society, gen-
tlemen,” he said. “He is really an enthusiast on
the subject of the microscope, and has been since
he was a mere boy. He is very expert in mount-
ing specimens, - a valuable desideratum in a place
so far removed from professional workers who make
that delicate operation a specialty. Gentlemen, I
am sure you will find Mr. King a congenial and
agreeable companion, and I trust you will extend
him your favor."
As the mineralogist resumed his seat, with an
uncomfortable consciousness that he had by no
means acquitted himself as creditably as he would
have liked, his discomfort was heightened by the
action of a tall, thin gentleman, elegant in dress
and manner, who struck an easy attitude in his
chair, twirling his gold watch-chain with the thumb
and forefinger of one hand, and bending upon Ruth-
erford a keen and cutting look, remarked, —
"I should like to inquire if the gentleman who
has presented this name is acquainted with the past
life of the individual ?”
“I am, sir. Every circumstance of it!" came
the sturdy reply.
« Ah! Then you are of course aware that the
man is a returned convict.”


A PLEA FOR THE CHILDREN. 253
" I am.”
The thin gentleman had not ceased to twirl bis
watch-chain, and said nothing more, but still re-
girded the mineralogist with the same well-bred
scrutiny. John Rutherford tried to think of some
manner in which to effectually champion the cause
of his friend, but he found himself voiceless and
helpless. The galling superiority of this undemon-
strative gaze brought back to him the most humil-
iating recollection of his youth, when one day a
boy of superior muscle, to wreak vengeance for
some fancied wrong, lifted him up by the back of
his collar and held him aloft, exposed to the scorn
and ridicule of all his playfellows, and then dropped
him, unpunished, to the ground.
Another member of the society, not so well versed
as his predecessor in the fine arts by which men
slay their fellow-men without flash of sabre or roar
of musketry, took up the combat.
“ If Mr. Rutherford were not an old and respected
member of our organization, I should be tempted
to demand of him a severe reprisal for the gross in-
sult offered to our society. As he is one of our
number, and I am assured has our interests deeply
at heart, I can only account for his proposal on the
score of his kind heart and amiable nature, which
prevent him from taking the full measure of a crim-
inal's iniquity, or of calculating the injury to our
association if we should let down our social bars
and receive every applicant who chooses to knock
for admission.”
6 I must correct the gentleman upon one point,"


254 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
involved, compously: ingent me forfeit
interrupted John Rutherford. “Philip King not
· only is not aware that I contemplated suggesting
his name to-night, but he has never signified his
desire to become a member of our society."
“That circumstance does not alter the principle
involved, Mr. Rutherford,” declared the stout gen,
tleman, pompously. “The moment we cease to
demand the most stringent moral and social quali.
fications in our members, we forfeit our dignity,
our influence, our exclusiveness. I am no believer
in the rabid schemes for the reformation of crim.
inals, promulgated by certain radical men of theory.
Experience and observation teach us that the prog.
ress of the criminal is always downward to new
depths of degradation and infamy. Once a thief,
always a thief,' is a proverb that in forty years of
active business life I have never seen controverted.
Let a man once commit a misdeed sufficient to re-
duce him to a felon's level, and no power, human
or divine, can blot out the accursed taint.”


CHAPTER XXI.
FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
“By the way, Benchley, send a man out to the
house with this line to Mrs. Murphy, and let bim
bring down my valise and overcoat. I 'll be back
here in an hour.”
Murphy was on the eve of a hurried departure
for Virginia City, and thus concluded his instruc-
tions to his superintendent.
Benchley was a tall fellow, with a vigorous,
youthful face, light hair, and a beard that curled a
little close to the chin. He looked after his em-
ployer with a slight feeling of vexation. It was
not a light matter to be burdened with the entire
charge of a great manufactory at the busiest season
of the year. Even the simple commission that
Murphy had given him at parting was by no
means easy to execute. It was midday, and the
offices were deserted. The men who lounged about
the works, eating their homely lunches or smoking
their noonday pipes, were scarcely fit in dress or
person to present themselves at a gentleman's house.
There was nothing for it but to wait until one of
the clerks made his appearance.
At that moment a man passed the office door,
traversing the dingy roadway which formed the
main entrance to the works, paved with black cin.


256
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
ders crushed to dust beneath the weight of heavy
trucks and the tread of weary feet. His bruised
hands and homely dress proclaimed him to be one
of the great force of manual laborers, but his coarse
garb was scrupulously neat, and his face and hands
had been washed on the cessation of the morning's
toil, partially divesting them of their coating of
dust and soot.
“Look here, Jim!”
The superintendent observed the laborer keenly
as he approached, in answer to the peremptory call.
Something about him affected Benchley curiously.
Although the man had presented himself with the
seal of Murphy's recommendation, his character
and bearing were inscrutable. Others among the
laborers had some odd trick of speech or manner
which revealed their nationality and breeding, and
they were a free-hearted, talkative set, who made
no secret of their past or present. But this man
Jim, who at his own request had been placed on
the pay-roll under the simple and inelegant title by
which Benchley addressed him, seemed like one
whose tie with existence had been severed. An
odd fancy seized the superintendent that if a man
had died and been buried for a score of years, and
had then been miraculously brought back to life, he
might act and look and speak very much like the
individual who stood quietly awaiting his orders.
“Jim, do you know Mr. Murphy's place on Har-
rison Street ?” As he put the question, it occurred
to Benchley that by his answer the man might
betray whether he had any acquaintance with the
city, and he was not disappointed.


FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
257
“ Know it? Yes.”
The man Jim clinched his hand as if to beat
back some painful memory. The superintendent
was not aware that the foundryman's handsome
dwelling was built on the site of the humble cot-
tage belonging to a relative who had disgraced his
family and passed into oblivion nearly a score of
years gone by.
" Very well. I wish you would take this note
to Mrs. Murphy, and bring back some traps she
will hand you.”
He reached out the note as he spoke, but the
nervous hands of the laborer hung motionless at his
side, and he made no responsive gesture.
“I - I can't do it. Will you be so good as to
send somebody else ?”
The man began in stubborn protest, and ended
with a piteous appeal. Are tormented souls in
purgatory ever commanded forth to measure the
depth of their own misery by tasting the sweets of
a forbidden paradise ? Benchley's mind was dis-
turbed by no such sentimental considerations. He
saw only a common workman, moved by a natural
sense of modesty or humility, loath to present him-
self in his homely apparel at the house of his
wealthy employer. The superintenuent met his
unspoken objections with a careless reassurance.
“Don't be afraid, man! They ’re very pleasant
sort of people, who never measure their courtesy by
the cut of a man's garment or the stuff it's made
of. Likely as not you'll get a cup of coffee and a
bite of something good to eat. What! Not willing,


258
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
Jim ? I'd rather send you than the rough fellows
in the works, but you 're under no obligations to
go if you don't like.”
He had turned away and was starting off in
quest of another messenger when the man stopped
him.
“I'll go. As you say, it's a foolish thing to care.
A working man 's as good as his boss any day."
The superintendent eyed him sharply as he put
the note in his hand. The air of braggadocio he
had assumed sat strangely on the fellow, and had a
false ring, as if he were trying to disguise his agita-
tion of the previous moment beneath an appearance
of vulgar self-assertion.
Benchley returned to his office with an uncom-
fortable sense that he had somehow exceeded his
instructions. The expression on the fellow's face
as he departed on his errand gave him a peculiar
and unwelcome sensation. What if his hesitation
and apparent unwillingness had been only a ruse,
and the rascal had some base motive for wishing to
gain a glimpse of the interior of Murphy's mansion ?
Then he laughed at his own misgivings. Thank
Heaven, the gangs of thieves and housebreakers
were not commonly recruited from the ranks of
honest workingmen. With this sage reflection be
dismissed the subject from his mind.
The man Jim toiled slowly up the steep grade of
Harrison Street, opening Murphy's gate and ad.,
vancing up the walk with a look of passive endur-
ance on his face and a numbed sense of pain tugging
at his heart. It was the first time he had visited


FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
259
the place by day, though many a night bad wit-
nessed his tireless vigils before the house, under
cover of the brooding darkness — friendly shield of
shame and woe.
The servant who answered the bell left him
standing in the ball while he conveyed the note
to his mistress. Left alone, the workman looked
eagerly around, half expecting to find himself amid
familiar associations, or to recognize some painful
memento of the past. He might have spared him-
self his hopes and apprehensions. Everything that
encountered his eyes was obtrusively modern in
stamp, from the rich tones of the Persian carpet to
the stiff lines of the furniture and the Japanese
decorations on the walls.
He had no time to make further observations, for
his attention was arrested by the sound of voices
speaking on the floor above — the first a woman's,
in tones of unbridled vexation.
“Off to Nevada! I declare it's too bad, when
he promised to take us down to Monterey this
week."
“Never mind, auntie. The week after will do
just as well.”
The unhappy man clasped his hands together,
digging his nails deep into the flesh, as the notes of
the blithe, girlish voice fell upon his ear. The
swift conviction came over him that he was ventur-
ing too much. He should never have come.
The voices again became audible.
“ All these things to be packed! Collars and
shirts, and handkerchiefs and brushes, and the note-


260 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
book in the left-hand-upper-inside-pocket of his
gray frock coat. I know I shall forget something."
“ Can't I help you, Aunt Marcia ?”.
“No. Nobody can do it but myself.”
An expression of resignation accompanied the
words, and the voice receded as if the matronly
owner bad retreated within an adjoining apartment.
Then it was raised again, this time with more
kindly expression.
“But I tell you what you may do, Annie. Go
down and see that cook gives the boy some lunch.
It makes me nervous to think of his standing there
waiting for me to be through.”
“Certainly.”
A cumbrous hat-rack, with heavy plate-glass mir-
ror, stood on the opposite side of the broad hall,
and the messenger, turning away from the staircase,
anxiously peered into its depths. He heard a light
step upon the stairs, then saw a flutter of dainty
garments, a small slippered foot gliding over the
soft carpeting, a plump hand sliding along the rail,
and a young and blooming face came into view.
He tottered strangely and caught at a large toa-
wood chair. Seating himself upon it, he leaned
his head against the high back, and held to the low
arms for support. Resting there, his patched and
faded clothing contrasted with the rich tints of the
polished wood, his clumsy brogans resting on the
soft pile of the carpet, his pinched old face framed
by the stately gothic carvings, his long, thin fingers
grasping the elaborate foliations of the low arms,
he presented a grotesque picture. But the young
girl saw only its pitiful aspect.


FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
261
u
" Are you ill or tired ?”
For the first time he raised his eyes slowly to her
face as he heard the gentle inquiry; and with such
a look! Some barbed shaft of recognition pene-
trated the girl's inner consciousness, and she paled
and trembled with the shock.
"I- I had a little girl once!” he faltered wist-
fully, and then was bowed down with self-accusa-
tion, for he felt that in his desperate cry, his stam-
mering utterance and husky voice, he had revealed
the whole mournful truth.
“And you lost her ? ” she asked, softly, mar-
veling at the swift sympathy between the orphaned
and the childless, however wide the difference in
their stations, which helped her young heart to an
intuitive comprehension of his pain.
“ Yes - long ago. She was only two years old
when she died. It was very sudden. The doctor
called it scarlet fever,” he added, firmly, feeling
that with every fabrication he helped to strengthen
the barrier which hedged in the child from the sor-
rows and trials of his own existence. Never was
falsehood more unselfishly conceived, more loyally
enacted.
“I am very sorry.”
What sweet sympathy in her voice! What
radiant pity in her eyes! Then she recalled her
errand, and said, with simple courtesy, —
“ Let me give you a cup of coffee while you are
waiting.”
He had told himself when he entered the house
that no morsel of food should pass his lips until he


262 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
had again crossed the threshold. He wanted none
of Murphy's hospitality, nor would he subject him-
self to the humiliation of feeling that he had ac-
cepted aught unearned from the man who had first
spurned and insulted him, and then awarded him a
tardy and distrustful recognition. But his power
of resistance was gone. He could not utter a dis-
senting word.
She led the way through the hall, designing to
conduct him to the servants' quarters, but as she
neared the dining-room something moved her to
alter her course, and she took him into the pleasant
family dining-room, paneled with laurel and black
walnut, and seated him in a windowed recess look-
ing out upon the garden. Ruled by the same un.
reasoning impulse, she went about the preparation
of a little lunch, placing a dainty china service on
a small side table, bringing a plate of light rolls, a
little pat of golden butter, some cold fowl, a mould
of transparent jelly, a dish of fruit, and crowning
all with a cup of fragrant Mocha prepared by her
own hands.
Nothing seemed too choice or good for this
weary-eyed workman, whose heart was sore over
his little daughter's loss. Was it a new or an old
grief? She revolved the question in her mind as
she motioned to him to be seated, and placed her-
self opposite, conscious of an impatient desire, a
growing anxiety, to hear more of the little child
who was dead and gone.
• How old would she have been if she had
lived ?”


FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
263
He had obeyed her gentle mandate without ques-
tion, and, although conscious of no sense of hunger,
held the steaming cup to his lips, and sipped its
contents with a slow, delicious relish, as if it held
divine nectar. It was the first time that he had
ever tasted food prepared by her hands, and in all
probability it would be the last. He gazed through
the window, with an absent expression on his face
as he replied to her question.
“ Eighteen years come next November.”
“ And my eighteenth birthday comes in Novem.
ber.”
Impressed by the coincidence, she rested her
elbows upon the table, and, placing her wrists to-
gether, propped her face in the palms of her hands,
gazing dreamily across the table.
“Do you think — would she have been at all like
me ?”
God! If the girl had not kept that baby look
on her face, that innocent appeal in her eyes, it
would have been easier. The fragile cup rang out
a tinkling protest as he brought it roughly in con-
tact with the saucer. The appetizing food on the
table remained untouched, and his hands were
tightly clinched together as he hungrily searched
her face. Then he tore away his gaze with a grim
wrench at his heart, and looked out over the green
lawn, where a floating breeze despoiled a tall
syringa of its blossoms, strewing the petals upon
the ground, like so many flakes of snow.
“ Not a bit like you! She was a heap more
sightly,” he declared, wondering if earth ever held


264 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
a fairer face than the one before him. Then he
rose from the table.
“ A workingman's time belongs to his master.
Next thing I 'll be called to account for dawdling
over my errand.”
The girl recoiled from his harsh words, followed
so quickly by a tone of rough jocularity, but as she
passed silently into the hall she gave one backward
look, and her heart relented, for she caught sight of
his face, and it was white and fixed like that of a
dying man.


* 266 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
down with the liquid untasted. Glancing up to the
dial of a large clock at the farther end of the room,
he saw that there was yet time to catch the San
Quentin boat. He paid his reckoning and hurried
from the place.
An hour later he walked rapidly up the dusty
road leading from the wharf to the prison grounds,
and presented himself at the warden's office.
That functionary was sitting in a bamboo arm-
chair, thoughtfully contemplating the smoke from
his meerschaum, as it curled upward in the air.
He removed the stem of the pipe from his mouth
as the visitor entered, but did not alter his posture.
“Warden Eames, I suppose ? ” said King, quietly,
addressing the official. There had been two changes
of administration since his departure, and the gen-
tleman before him was a stranger.
The warden answered with a scarcely perceptible
inclination of his head.
“Will you allow me to see a sick prisoner ?”.
“Not visiting day,” declared the warden, shortly.
“ Who is the man?”
“ Winchester Doyle.”
“Ah!” A slight sympathetic chord vibrated in
the gruff voice at the mention of the old prisoner.
“ A relative of his ?”.
“ His old neighbor.”
“Southern man ?” said the warden interroga-
tively, for it was generally understood that Doyle
was a newly arrived southern emigrant at the time
he committed the deed which had led to his incar-
ceration.


BACK TO THE PRISON.
267
“ No; a Californian,” said King, shortly.
“But you said you and Doyle were neighbors."
insisted the warden, a slight vein of suspicion
creeping into his mind, and making itself audible
in his voice.
“We were," repeated the visitor, quietly, “in
there!” and he inclined his head in the direction
of the prisoners' quarters.
“ Have you been a prisoner ?” The questionet
leaned forward in surprise.
“ Yes."
The warden surveyed his visitor from head to
foot, observing his quiet taste of dress, his dignity
of bearing, the sober eyes, the grim curves of the
lines about his mouth, implying a habit of habitual
self-constraint. But he gave no sign that there
was anything about the stranger's appearance that
impressed him above the ordinary visitor.
“What name ?”
“ Philip King.”
The ex-convict possesses one questionable advan-
tage over his fellow-men. The notoriety achieved
by his name is not likely to desert him, for it is
a peculiar principle of human nature that in the
secret strongholds of the brain men treasure the
recollection of iniquitous deeds, and the names of
criminals remain as memory's household words
when the names of honest men and heroes drift
away into oblivion. Some worthier agency fanned
the waning flames of the warden's recollection.
“What! The man Burke played such a dirty
trick ? "


268 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
“He made the best reparation in his power,”
corrected King, quietly, and the warden reflected
that to look at this man and listen to his talk, no
one would ever suspect that the wrong referred to
had cost him four years of misery and disgrace.
He would not intrude his thoughts upon the visitor,
or remind him further of what must be, beneath
all his assumed calm, a bitter and stinging recol.
lection.
“I am glad you have come, Mr. King,” he said,
frankly; " and I don't doubt Doyle will take great
comfort in seeing you."
Without further ceremony he led the way to the
iron gates, and a little later King stood in the sick
man's cell.
Wan with confinement, wasted with disease,
crushed beneath the burden of undeserved and hu-
miliating punishment, stretched on a mean cot in a
dimly lighted cell, the old convict yet presented a
majestic and impressive spectacle. Even the pros-
trate position could not rob the tall figure of its
stately bearing, and the calm old face, with its
crown of snow-white hair, was powerful and benig.
nant as the countenance of some sculptured saint.
“Why, King !”
The sick man's face lit up with a gentle smile,
and he gave the visitor's hand a faint pressure.
" Tell me about yourself, King. I have heard a
little from time to time, from the men who have
gone out and come back. They say you had a tough
struggle at first. Does life go smoother now ?”
queried the invalid, with unselfish interest. And


270 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
sorrowful gaze ; for King realized, as quickly as he
had spoken, the mistaken construction that might
be placed on his words.
“I must leave you now,” he said, rising and lin-
gering, as if loath to take his departure.
“ Doyle,” he began, wistfully, “ your time will
be up next fall.”
“In August,” the prisoner corrected him. “I
have never lost a single credit. But it is a long
reckoning to pay” –
“ For a debt you never incurred,” interrupted
King; and his eyes flashed with indignant fire.
For he recalled the circumstances of the man's life,
as he had heard them from impartial witnesses :
The hard-working settler, laboring to support his
wife and child on a section of government land in
which he had invested his little means. A reckless
trespasser who felled the timber on the settler's
land, indifferent to his expostulations and entreaties.
Doyle standing like a grim warder on his own soil,
viewing the despoliation with troubled eyes, warn-
ing the vandals to desist from their labors, and
finally, when they had completed their work of de-
struction, in measured words, which provoked their
scorn and held no hint of the awful menace that
lay beneath, forbidding them to return to carry off
their spoils, assuring them that he would defend
his property with his life. The long and lonely
vigil he kept through the dark hours of the night.
The reckless and daring band which made an ap-
pearance at dawn, jeering at the man's determined
resistance. The cruel threats regarding the set.


272
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
that always characterized any reference Doyle
made to his own condition.
“Was n't there some talk about a pardon at the
time of the big fire ?” asked King, after a short
hesitancy. “ There were seven men who did good
work then, and they said you were one of them.
It was rumored all were to be pardoned.”
“A pardon !” The old man had raised himself
up on his elbow at the word, and the suggestion
seemed to infuse new life into his feeble veins.
“ Now you speak of it, I remember the lieutenant-
governor came to me about that time, and asked
me some questions about the names of the judge
and jury that convicted me. There was some
trouble about getting at the records."
“ And the lieutenant-governor ?”
“ Was Jackson - a kind-hearted man and true
gentleman.”
He suddenly ceased speaking, for the other had
taken his hand, and held it clasped for a moment in
his own. No word was spoken, but the sick man
knew that with the act King made a silent pledge,
and the look that Doyle turned upon him in part-
ing had a new and hopeful light.
Outside the door King found a deputation of his
old acquaintances awaiting him, whose pleased
faces and cordial greetings rendered him indifferent
to the scowling aspect of others who held aloof.
One man who had been lounging against the wall
started up to join him in his walk across the yard.
It was his old friend and fellow-prisoner, Stubbs,
who having long ago mastered the intricacies of the


BACK TO THE PRISON.
273
locksmith's trade, and finding little opportunity for
its exercise when in durance vile, had just returned
from a hard day's toil in the brick-yard.
“ Golly ! but I'm glad to see you!”
King did not meet this effusive greeting with
corresponding cordiality.
"I can't say that I am glad to see you, Stubbs,
here."
The meaning emphasis he placed on the last word
did not abash the prisoner, who took up the ques-
tion with his old fluency of speech, through which
ran a vein of reckless skepticism that was new to
King.
“And where else would you be expictin' to see
me, in faith? Mr. King, I'm what your big speak-
ers would call a logical consiquince,' and the State
of California can take all the cridit.”
The visitor was unable to dispute this assertion,
and they walked on slowly in the direction of the
gates.
“There's one question I'd like to put to you,
Master Phil,” began the convict, in a softened
voice. “Will you be after belavin' in the new-
fangled notion of spiritoolism ? And d'ye s'pose
the Lord iver sinds his angels down to the world in
these days ?”
“ The question is beyond me, Stubbs. Why do
you ask?”
“Oh, nothin',” returned the prisoner, after the
fashion of people who have something of vital im-
portance to communicate. “Only wan of thim
come up here last month. She were the prettiest
18


BACK TO THE PRISON.
275
yard would ha' been glad to let her walk over him
to save her little feet from sile. An' you 'd think,
to be here, she'd turned the heads of the whole
rabble. Dan Whalen, that used to cuss a blue
streak all the day, ye remimber, had such a tug of
it holdin' his tongue the time she were here, that
I'm blest if he hain't clean forgot how to let it
loose. Ramirez, a Portugee – a new man, in for
life for kickin' a Chinaman to death; an’ sure nixt
they 'll be havin' up men for shootin' ducks and
deer and such small fry — has a bit of fringe from
a fleecy thing she had wound about her shoulders,
an' they say the beggar keeps it under his pillow
nights, an' says his prayers to it, an? I don't know
what all. Billy Coogan — the ould reprobate!”
with a magnificent scorn of his old rival, “ he's
been down on his knees blubberin' an' prayin' half
the time since she went away. Joe Wilson — they
do say she was in his cell, an' lift some small pic-
tures an' fancy fixin's hangin' there — he's been
like another man this month, quiet an' paceable,
an’tryin' his best, it'd seem, to plase the overseer.”
King had listened to this romantic account with
growing perplexity. At Stubbs's last words he gave
a sudden start.
“ Four weeks ago! And you say she came to
see Wilson ? "
“Had the boys been a-tellin' you, Mr. King? It
is n't that you 'll be after knowin' her yersilf ?”.
“ Thank Heaven! I do."
Something in King's reverent tone, his singular
expression, his tremulous voice, impressed Stubbs


BACK TO THE PRISON.
277
rades within the prison he had felt at ease, but he
was oppressed by a strange sense of incongruity in
associating on terms of apparent equality with the
governor of the prison — a man who occupied the
position of an absolute autocrat over the herd of
sinners under his charge, whose mere command
was sufficient to subject any of them to humiliating
penance. He had seen enough of the character of
such men to know that they regarded their posi-
tions as involving nothing more than a round of
mechanical duties ; that faith in the better instincts
of the prisoners was to them an unknown attribute;
that their wards represented to them little more
than so many brutes, to be housed and fed and
made amenable to law and order. As he encoun-
tered familiar faces on the road, and noted their ex-
pression of surprise at beholding him in such au-
gust company, he felt inclined to apologize to them
for having for the moment aspired to a companion-
ship above their level, and to assure them that the
honor had come to him unsought, and was the re-
sult of a passing whim on the part of the warden,
or an ephemeral sensation of pity awakened by the
recollection of the unjust extension of his sentence.
The warden noted his abstraction, and accounted
for it in his own way. He recalled King to the ac-
tual present with one direct question.
“ Mr. King, we have twelve hundred and forty
men up there to-day. How many of them are
worth saving ?”
“ Ninety per cent. of those serving their first
terms. Not one in a hundred among the rest,” re-


278
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
plied the visitor, promptly. It was a subject he
had often considered when he was one of the de-
graded community.
“Of course you know the statistics. Not more
than the merest fraction fail to land, sooner or later,
in this or some other penitentiary, or meet a violent
death. The question is, how to get at the remain-
der."
“ Individual influence !” pronounced King, with
decision. “No cut-and-dried remedies will be of
the least avail. No code of treatment will strengthen
a man's moral nature. The great mass go down for
the lack of help at the critical moment. You see
I speak from experience,” he added, while his face
flushed hotly as he realized the dubious point from
which he uttered his opinions.
" Then be one of the individuals !” cried the
warden, heartily, noting the younger man's embar-
rassment, and resolved to dissipate it at once and
establish the grounds of their relationship beyond
all possibility of further misunderstanding. “ And
let this be the beginning, not the end, of your vis-
its.”
A week later Winchester Doyle opened his eyes
after a long day-sleep to see a tall young stripling
standing by his bed, and to trace in the manly
face the features of the child who had stood by his
side on the day of the tragedy that had clouded his
life.
" It was good of you to come, Robbie,” he said,
weakly. - Tell mother I tried to hold out.”


BACK TO THE PRISON.
279
“Don't you think you could travel to-day, father?
We can take it by easy stages.”
« Travel !” The old man raised himself to a
sitting posture, searching the young man's face
with a wild hope in his eyes. “King has done it!
It has come !"
" And you are free to go as soon as you are
able.”
“ Able!” He was already off the bed, and
trying his weight upon his palsied limbs. “ There,
there, Robbie! What is the use of trying to make
an old man smart and fine? Wait till we get near
home, boy. What! She is here, waiting for me
outside ? Take the brush yourself, lad. My old
hand trembles, and my eyes are not clear. Brush
the hair straight back from the forehead, Robbie.
She liked to see it so. A new suit, and for me?
How fine and soft the cloth feels! Would you
mind packing up the books on the table and the
little traps around the room ? Don't forget the
pictures on the wall. That chubby youngster is
yourself, boy. Yes, the face is blurred a little. It
has been under my pillow many a night, and some-
times, boy, — you 'll not think me weak ? - I've
cried a little over that and the other, when all the
rest were asleep. Better leave that clumsy frame
behind. It is a bungling thing, whittled out of odd
bits of wood in spare hours. The rosettes in the
trefoils on the border were put in on your birth-
days, one a year. What! tears, boy, when it is all
over and I am going out free, back to the pure air
and grand distances of our mountain home!


280
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
“Lend me your arm, Robbie. A little slower,
lad. My son, gentlemen! I leave you to-day.
Kind remembrances to you all. Did she come up
to the buildings, Robbie ? Do you think the man
will be slow with the keys? I see a brown gown
through the grating. Faster, boy! I can walk
best alone. Now God be praised – My wife!”


CHAPTER XXIII.
“WE HAVE FOUND A MAN.”
WINTER passed rapidly by with its fitful storms,
succeeded by long intervals of calm and sunshine;
for a California winter is like April in the Missis-
sippi Valley, with swift alternations of cloudy and
fair weather, presenting now and then prolonged,
delusive spells of unbroken beauty, when the clear
sky and still air beguile the unwary into a sense
of fancied security. Spring arrived, — misnomer
for the glad, triumphant California summer! -
when all nature, after its season of vigorous up-
springing and hardy growth, becomes radiant with
bloom.
One Monday evening late in March a larger
number than usual was mustered out for the reg-
ular weekly meeting at the Academy of Sciences.
A rumor had been circulated, emanating from what
source not even those who repeated it actually
knew, that an important announcement would be
made in regard to the representation of the govern-
ment at a great foreign exposition. Many surmises
had been made as to the identity of the fortunate
individual upon whom the selection would fall, and
everybody was interested and expectant. King,
who gave himself little respite from the wearisome


282
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
duties of his profession, strolled into the building
as the meeting was called to order, and leaning
against a post near the doorway, surveyed the
unique spectacle.
The rows of long benches were crowded with
spectators, many of them ladies, whose gay apparel
and elegant air contrasted forcibly with the digni-
fied slouchiness of the old academy. The battered
arm-chairs scattered about the place had been
pressed into service, and occupied the space in
front of the platform, anchored by portly figures,
while many of the audience leaned against the tall
book-cases or inelegantly perched themselves upon
the terminal arms of the benches. The row of
gas-jets along the base and rear of the overhanging
gallery at the side and rear were lighted, and upon
the platform two slender standards supported a
couple of feeble burners. Even this modest at-
tempt at illumination failed to dispel the gloom
that pervaded the interior of the great building,
and in each dim recess and distant corner lurked
uncanny shadows, which frowned darkly upon the
inoffensive spectators, or beckoned with long, mys-
terious fingers, as if they held weird secrets in their
keeping.
The preliminaries of the meeting were no sooner
concluded than the president advanced to the front
of the platform, his fine face expressive of intense
satisfaction as he spoke.
“Our friends, Messrs. Blake and Lindsley, from
the Smithsonian Institution, have an interesting
communication to make to-night. I can only ex.


66 WE HAVE FOUND A MAN.”
283
press the hope that their action will be hailed by
every one present with the same cordial approval
that I am happy to bestow.”
The sightly pair of ourang-outangs that flanked
the platform, engaged in a desperate effort to climb
a pair of slender saplings, grinned a toothsome wel-
come as the spokesman of the two gentlemen, a
quiet-looking man of middle age, ascended the plat-
form with the easy air and gait of a man of the
world accustomed to public speaking, and for whom
the sight of a strange audience holds no terrors.
His oratory on this occasion was brief and unaf-
fected, but it produced a profound sensation.
“ You are all aware,” he said, “of the object
which brought my worthy colleague and myself to
the coast this spring. A few months ago we were
requested to select a worthy representative from
among the scientific men of this State, who should
act as the Commissioner of Metallurgy for the Pa-
cific coast at the forthcoming World's Exposition
at Singapore. After a careful consideration of the
merits and capabilities of the different candidates
suggested for the position, we have concluded that
San Francisco can send no more worthy representa-
tive than Mr. Philip King, to whom we take pleas-
ure in tendering the appointment.”
People gazed at each other with startled faces.
A few were mildly envious; a score were doubtful
of the wisdom of the appointment; but the ma-
jority expressed a pleased surprise. Whispered
comments, “ It is well deserved,” “ He has earned
it,” flew from lip to lip.


284
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
From the rear of the ball a man advanced, and
made his way up the crowded aisle. Upon his face
was none of the glow of contest, for his features
were deathly pale, and he walked heavily and un-
steadily. The gentleman on the platform saw him
coming, and passing half way down the steps,
stood with outstretched hand, waiting to greet him.
The people watching saw that the other did not
perceive, or disregarded, the proffered courtesy, but
leaned forward to whisper a few words in the
speaker's ear.
“ May I give my answer in writing ?”
“Certainly,” had been the wondering reply..
Philip King drew a note-book from his breast-
pocket and penciled a few lines on a leaf, which he
tore out and banded to the man on the platform.
Then he turned, and treading the aisle as if his
movements were clogged by an unseen ball and
chain, looking neither to the right nor to the left,
made his way back through the curious crowd and
passed through the outer door, which shut with a
dull clang behind him.
The man in whose hands he had placed the pen-
ciled lines studied them with a contracted brow.
A hurried consultation took place on the platform.
A complete hush reigned throughout the house as
the president stepped to the front and read aloud
from the slip of paper, his voice thrilling with deep
feeling.
No post of honor in his country's service must ever be
held by a man whose good name has been sullied. The
honor you tender I must sorrowfully decline.
PHILIP KING.


“WE HAVE FOUND A MAN.” 285
Those who listened were deeply stirred. Many
eyes were moist. Through the dry incrustation of
scientific lore, penetrating the callousness of worldly
indifference, thrusting aside pedantry, flippancy,
and the iron rules of custom, the manly self-arraign-
ment touched the hearts of the listeners.
The president remained standing before them in
a reflective attitude. The house was so still that
the rustle of the scrap of paper as he folded and
unfolded it was distinctly heard. Then he broke
the silence, speaking in his habitual tone, which,
low and monotonous, had still a silvery cadence
that exerted a magnetic influence upon his hearers.
“ There are many among us, my friends, who
have watched with painful interest the struggles of
the man whose signature is attached to this bit of
writing. We have seen him shunned by his
friends, ostracized by society, making a brave fight
for the right, against the worst obstacle that a man
can encounter — the shadow of his own crime.
Little by little we have witnessed his progress, un-
til to-day there is not one of our number who may
not be proud to take him by the hand. But we
never knew his full measure until to-night. We
have lost a worthy representative abroad, but we
have found a man.”
He pronounced the last words with a quiet inten-
sity that sent a thrill of enthusiasm throughout the
audience. A storm of applause followed. San
Franciscans must have an audible vent for their
emotions, and many a heart-throb in response to
some elevated sentiment finds expression in vigor.


286
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
ous striking of palm against palm, or the clatter of
heavy boot-soles upon a polished floor. Some one
cried :-
“ Insist upon his acceptance ! ”
The Washington gentleman vetoed the sugges-
tion.
“it would be useless to insist. He means what he
says."
Meanwhile the hero of the evening, sitting de-
jectedly in a corner of one of the wharves, was
sunk in gloomy self-communing. He had never in
his life felt himself less a hero. Although he real-
ized that he had done what by the public at large
would be deemed a noble immolation of self upon
the altar of his patriotism, conflicting doubts as-
sailed him. He could not blind himself to the fact
that he was making a very unwilling sacrifice.
The satisfied conscience, the radiant glow of self-
approval, popularly supposed to be the unfailing
reward of a virtuous deed, were in his case totally
lacking.
Worst of all, he felt that he had played the part
of a fool in his deliberate renunciation of such a
chance. .
He became suddenly aware of a stealthy move-
ment in his vicinity, as of some one cautiously ap-
proaching. An instant later and a man's figure
was plainly visible, silhouetted against the dark
gray of a lumber pile which left only a narrow
path along the border of the pier. King sprang to
his feet. There was no retreat from his position


66 WE HAVE FOUND A MAN.”
287
save along the slender foothold over which the
man was carefully making his way. Was he about
to become the victim of a cowardly attack in that
isolated spot, under cover of the darkness, or would
the opportunity be offered him to take a cool
plunge in the bay for the rescue of some unhappy
devil who had selected the lonely place as a desira-
ble point for taking leave of this world's cares ?
“In faith, you've silicted a ticklish place for a
dark night's stroll, Mr. King,” commented the new-
comer, anxiously peering into the obscurity before
him.
“What! you, Stubbs ? ” queried King, in amaze.
ment. “I thought you were ” —
“ Booked up yonder for life,” said the intruder,
coolly finishing the sentence as the other consider-
ately paused. “And had n't ye heard the foine
news, Master Phil ? Oh, to be sure, polaytics is a
grand thing, and more than one of the boys has rai-
son to rejoice at the hard work he put in at the
polls last fall. You see there's a state election
comin', an' the thavin' bummers know that I've a
little influence in the ward ; so what does the ras-
cals do but find a flaw in the indictment they had
me up on, an' the case is remanded for a new trial.
They put up the bail for me atween 'em. And
railly you ought to go into polaytics yoursilf, Mas-
ter Phil. You ’ve no notion of the fun it is to fee)
that you 're lendin' a hand in steerin' the old ship
of state.”
The light tone which Stubbs maintained was
evidently assumed, and his hearer awaited with idle


288 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
curiosity the development of the purpose which
had led the man to shadow his movements and fol-
low him to this remote spot.
“I'm thinkin', Mr. King,” said Stubbs, shuffling
uneasily about, so as to interpose his burly form
between his uncommunicative friend and the wa-
ter's edge, “it's only a notion, you know, — that
this here would be a very choice spot for a fellow
who had got sort of knocked up, an' downright dis-
couraged with life, an' felt as if he'd like to cut
the whole thing ?”
The anxious note of interrogation with which he
ended betrayed the tenor of his thoughts. King
hastened to set his fears at rest.
“Provided he was enough of a coward for that
kind of thing, Stubbs. A man would n't have
much backbone who would show the white feather
in that way.”
The housebreaker was manifestly relieved, and
he shifted his position from the somewhat perilous
vantage ground he had assumed to foil an unex-
pected and desperate plunge on the part of his
friend, to a less dangerous and more comfortable
attitude on a projecting timber, which offered a
secure if not luxurious seat. But his serenity was
shortlived. An old apprehension returned with
renewed force, oppressing his lively spirit and
weighing him down with chill foreboding. What-
ever his own frailties, he had always felt the need
of a steadfast anchor. Here was the one man in
whose honor and virtue he placed implicit faith.
According to his peculiar code, men who had never


290 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
Portland prison, that would niver blow on him for
fear he'd give him away, an' piles of plate packed
in a safe that any fellow that knew his A B C's
could go through in a jiffy. More than enough to
help a gang of men out of the country, and set 'em
up in a good square business."
He paused to draw breath, being quite carried
away for the time by the scheme he had unfolded,
and King seized upon the occasion to read his self-
appointed ward a severe lecture upon the folly and
sin of listening to the temptations held out by his
old companions.
“An' you railly would n't be after layin' a finger
to a penny that was n't honestly earned, no matter
how foine the chances for makin' off, with niver a
suspicion your hand was in the pie ? ” eagerly in-
quired his auditor.
“ To be sure not, Stubbs. What nonsense have
you got into your head now?” asked King, indig-
nantly.
But Stubbs's temper had risen in proportion with
his failure to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion
regarding the erratic movements of the man whom
fate had given to him as a friend, and he blazed
out upon him with righteous resentment.
“ Indade an’ it's all very well, Mr. King, for you
to git after a poor fellow in this way, but how will
you be explainin' the shines you 're cuttin' this
night yoursilf ? Truly a foine way of spendin' the
avenin', to be trampin' about a rotten old wharf as
full of holes as a worn-out sieve, an' causin' a man
to a’most worry his life out for fear you 'll jump
afore he can lay hold on you.”


6 WE HAVE FOUND A MAN.”
291
King laughed a little impatiently. His heart
was too full of bitterness to appreciate the full hu-
mor of the situation, as he might have done at a
different time. It was evident some explanation
must be accorded his troublesome friend. He en-
tered reluctantly upon the task.
“I doubt if I can make you understand, Stubbs.
To-night I received an appointment to go abroad.
There is to be a great fair in a city of China, and
a number of men will go from the United States,
to represent different branches of science. I have
been making a specialty of examining ores by what
we call microscopical analysis. A series of articles
I wrote for a scientific paper attracted attention,
and some people conceived the idea of sending me
as one of the commissioners.”
“By jolly !” Stubbs interjected, unable longer to
repress his excitement and gratification. “Sure our
farchune’s made now, Mr. King. An' you 'll take
me along as your private sicritary, won't you, now?
On my faith, I was jist agoin' to turn a new leaf.
I'll niver lay my hand to so much as a tayspoon till
we get back to Californy again.”
“ But you do not understand, Stubbs. I de-
clined.”
“What is that you say, Mr. King? Give such a
chance as that the go-by? Faith it 'd be the makin'
of us both! Surely you 're jokin', or may be you
think I 'll not reflict cridit on the business. But
I'll stake my head I'm in arnest this time. Indade
I am. An' if you doubt my word, I'll bring up
Bobby the Rattler himself to tell how near I came


292
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
to kickin' him out of his thavin' notions. Now
look a' here, Bobby,' says I, • don't you come round
me with your palaver,' I says, "for I've got a good
place an' good grub, an' I'll not have any more of
that maggotty beef up to San Quentin in mine this
three months !'” insisted Stubbs, with such an air
of virtuous indignation at the thought of going back
to prison diet within the length of time he stipu-
lated, that King indulged in a broad smile under
cover of the darkness.
“ Indeed, Stubbs, you are adrift in your calcula-
tions. It was purely on my own account that I
refused the appointment. I did n't regard myself
as a fit man for the place,” he continued, in despair
at ever making the good-natured rascal appreciate
the motives which had prompted him, but feeling
that he must bring the discussion to an end.
“ Tush! tush! it 's the wildest folly you 're
talkin'! Not a fit man for the place, indade! An'
barrin' a little mistake made years agone, what 's
to unfit you ? An' truly such delicacy puts the
whole Chinayse empire to shame, whin, as ivery-
body knows, the old haythen at the consilate has
five wives in his sweet, and a score more at home
that he's talkin' of bringin' over to assist in his
New Year's receptions an' tan games, an' the Lord
knows what 's goin' on at his house from mornin'
till night.” In his angry eloquence Stubbs did not
hesitate to draw somewhat upon his imagination,
although correct as to the main facts.
“ You may as well let up, old fellow. It's all
cut and dried.” They were picking their way back
over the rotten planking.


66 WE HAVE FOUND A MAN.”
293
6 Could n't get it agin if you tried ?" anxiously
queried the cracksman.
"I shall not try. They have probably put an-
other man in my place already.” King swallowed
a sigh as he gave expression to the conviction.
There was a long pause in the conversation. They
threaded their way through narrow driveways and
along streets so filled with obstructions, in defiance
of the law, that pedestrianism was fraught with
perils even by the broad light of day. As they
parted to go their separate ways Stubbs extended
his hand, as if moved by an unaccountable impulse,
and spoke in a grave tone that King remembered
hearing him use but once before.
“ Good-night, Mr. King. You may think I can't
understand ; but I niver sized you up rightly be-
fore.”
With a stout squeeze of the hand he held, he dis-
appeared in the darkness.


CHAPTER XXIV.
IN THE RECEIVING HOSPITAL.
EARLY one forenoon, as King entered his office,
the telephone bell tinkled sharply, as if the manip-
ulator had grown weary of ringing an oft-repeated
and unanswered summons. He stepped to the in-
strument, and an impatient voice hailed him.
“ That you, No. 1956 ? King, assayer ?”
6. Yes. What's wanted ?”
“Come down to City Receiving Hospital. Man
killed there — wants to see you. Been trying to
ring you up for an hour !”
Obeying this somewhat ambiguous summons from
the world of shadows, King caught up his hat and
walked briskly in the direction of the Old City
Hall.
It was yet early morning, and the great tide of
men of business and women of leisure, with whom
the streets are thronged a little later in the day,
had not yet found its way along Kearny Street,
which was comparatively deserted. Remnants of
the fog of the previous night hung about the west-
ern hills, and brooded over the bay, while the keen
trade wind came in short, fitful gusts, gathering
strength for a steady blow.
The assayer slackened his pace as he neared the


IN THE RECEIVING HOSPITAL. 295
huge, fungus-like excrescence of brick standing op-
posite the open plaza, whose tidily kept walks were
lined with stately trees, in whose boughs birds
caroled as merrily as if they had their homes in
honest country air rather than that plague-stricken
spot, surrounded on three sides by as many foul
phases of criminal life. To King, who had hitherto
instinctively avoided this quarter, the place was
like a nightmare of a buried past. It was there,
more than fourteen years gone by, that he had lain
night after night in a noisome underground cell,
and listened to the blasphemous shouts and vile
imprecations of the miserable wretches about him.
Even there, in that Augean stable, reeking with
vile odors, saturated with crime, his delicately bred
mother had found her way to strengthen and con-
sole him.
Almost unconsciously he lifted his hat from his
head as he entered the place consecrated to him by
her memory. The prison officials were startled out
of their accustomed stern demeanor by this unus-
ual token of respect, and forgot their authoritative
manner so far as to become exceptionally commu-
nicative.
“ No. 27 ? Here it is : Young woman found on
the streets in an unconscious condition. Face
bruised, and one eye most gouged out; when she
came to, said her husband kicked her out of the
house. Name Annie Gaffney. Hard case! Served
a term of six months in the House of Correction
once before for the same offense.' No, that's 37.
Here you are! •27 : Notorious outlaw and house-


296
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
breaker, Jack Williams, alias Red-headed Mike,
alias Michael Stubbs. Wanted for burglary of
warehouse on Front Street the 17th. Detected by
Officer Malony, at five o'clock this morning, prowl.
ing round First and Tehama streets. Resisted ar-
rest. Shot through the left lung. Says he was
trying to see his mother. Inward hemorrhage.
Gone up.' Friend of yours, eh?”
King gravely assented.
“ All right. Here's somebody just going in!”
It was the police editor of the “ Daily Gong," a
bright-eyed, alert young man, with the peculiar
grim record about eyes and mouth which tells of a
large experience concentrated into a few years of
life. A certain ingenuous, inquisitive expression
that his face had worn in the early days of his
professional career had disappeared, but King rec-
ognized in this pushing man of the world the im-
pertinent but good-natured young journalist who
had interviewed him at San Quentin. If there was
any corresponding recognition on the part of the
reporter, he did not reveal it by word or sign, but
pushed on with nervous haste to the hospital.
There was a row up town to be inquired into be-
fore noon, and a whole docket of petty cases to be
checked off that day.
As they entered the room where he lay, it was
evident that the good spirits of the dying man had
not deserted him, for a loud burst of laughter
greeted some sally he had just made. Lying
propped up on pillows, his pallid face and sunken
eyes told that the worthless life was ebbing fast,


300
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
tawdry trimmings, her large hands callous with
toil, but in her faded eyes beamed true mother
love, as sbe clasped in her own the hands that were
fast growing cold, pressing them to her lips, while
she called him her dear boy, her poor, suffering lad.
“ Why, mother!”
The voice was a whisper now, but his band sought
her face caressingly, and his lips parted in a half
articulate murmur. King, bending forward, caught
the words,
“ Turn — a new - leaf this — time.”
And then all was still.


CHAPTER XXV.
THE MAN JIM.
ANNIE ELLIS stood before the glass in her roomu
one morning, tying on her bonnet. Irrespective of
the charming picture it framed, it was a very pretty
glass — a large square of French plate, clear as
crystal, with a broad bevel at the edge, and set in
polished prima vera.
And it was a very pretty bonnet; the fanciful
creation of a Kearny Street milliner, which had
arrived in a big box the night before, and was now
making its first acquaintance with its mistress by
daylight. It was a quaint little affair of Normandy
straw, with a decisive individuality of its own;
and it had a soft satin facing around the front, a
jaunty blue bow on the crown, and sprays of absurd
blue morning-glories that were not so blue as the
young girl's eyes, and a saucy little peak in the
middle of the brim that suited the piquant face be-
neath, and long ties of broad azure ribbon, which
hung pendent from the sides.
Now everybody knows that bonnet-ties should be
possessed of an amiable spirit, that they may dwell
in harmony together, and permit their wearers to
enjoy a sense of peace and self-approval. But Miss
Annie's bonnet strings were refractory, and at the


THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
opening of our chapter she had been for a good
quarter of an hour engaged in a desperate effort to
reduce them to a state of proper submission, and
form them into a becoming bow under her dimpled
chin.
The ribbons were obstinate, limp where they
should be stiff, and stiff where they should be
pliable; twisting at the side of her cheek, and
turning their lack-lustre surface uppermost as she
gathered them into loops in her plump little hands ;
refusing to be drawn through the knot, and finally
slipping through, ends and all; gathering in lop-
sided bows that assumed uncomely curves and left
pendent ends of absurd disproportion, and alto-
gether conducting themselves in anything but a
decorous manner.
Although tears of vexation stood in her eyes, the
young girl was not to be discomfited. By dint of
patient coaxing and pulling and pinching and
smoothing, and a series of little jerks, she at length
vanquished the unruly strings and settled them
into their proper places.
She surveyed the figure in the glass with smiling
satisfaction, perking her small head first to one
side and then to the other, subjecting the bonnet
to a searching and critical inspection, giving the
huge bow on the crown a loving pat, bending the
wiry stem until the flowers assumed a more ravish-
ing aspect, twitching the fringe of fluffy curls that
hung like a wicked little curtain over the fair
purity of her forehead, and finally standing per
fectly still and gazing steadily before her.


THE MAN JIM.
303
It was a very pretty face that the glass reflected.
Any one who could have looked upon the fair
young girl and her smiling semblance in the mirror
would have been ready to declare that her whole
soul was in her bonnet. The thought came to the
girl herself, as she leaned forward with parted lips
and the bright color won by her hot contest of the
moment before still lingering in her cheeks ; but
she smiled back a mocking defiance at the sober
accusation of the face in the mirror, and, with one
last vain glance at her counterpart, snatched up her
parasol and gloves and ran quickly from the room.
A carriage was waiting at the door below, and
on the walk the coachman was standing, an as-
cetic-looking man of middle age, secretly much
elated over the bravery of his olive suit and the
gilt cockade in his hat. This dignified subaltern
had a convenient cast in his optical organs which
enabled him to successfully accomplish the difficult
feat of keeping one eye on the horses and the other
on the gay new bonnet. He held open the carriage
door while the young lady stepped in, and then
awaited orders.
“ To the works, Aleck," said the young lady,
with decision.
The man was inwardly dismayed, but he could
not dispute the young girl's directions. Queer
taste, to be forever racing down to that smutty
building ! he soliloquized, as he mounted the box,
wrapped a gay robe tightly around his legs, gath-
ered the lines into his hands, sitting stiff and erect,
to the admiration and awe of all the street gamins


THE MAN JIM.
305
courtesy at all,” she commented, and a touch of
bitterness crept into her tone. “I will only accept
it if you will make amends by leaving your tire-
some old books and sitting down to entertain me.”
“I am very sorry if I was remiss in attention,
Miss Annie. You know I am no drawing-room
gallant, but only a plain workingman. I cannot
neglect my duty,” and he coolly resumed his place
at the desk.
Moved by a fierce desire for revenge, she swept
through the room and laid her hand on the knob of
another door, looking back as if expecting him to
protest against her action. He did not appear to
have observed her movement, and was busily figur-
ing with a pencil on a scrap of paper. The girl
slyly opened the door and slipped through, closing
it noiselessly after her.
The door led into the works. The din and roar
of ponderous machinery filled the air. Back and
forth between heavy wheels and whirling shafts,
hauling great trucks or laden with heavy imple-
ments, scores of men were moving, their blackened
faces and horny hands proclaiming the coarse na-
ture of their toil. Many of them cast admiring
glances toward the lovely girl, who stood like some
uncertain whether to retreat or descend into their
midst. One, a submissive looking man of middle
age, who had just entered from a neighboring
apartment, bearing a heavy bar of iron on his
shoulder, stopped short, and stared at her with
deep yearning in his heart, until recalled to a sense
20


306
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
of his folly by the sharp reminder of a fellow-la-
borer who came up behind him in the narrow pas-
sage.
Miss Annie was unconscious of all these things.
Tears of vexation were in her eyes, and she smarted
at the recollection of her experience in the office.
He had not so much as noticed her bonnet. And
why should she care for his approbation? What
was he, anyhow, but a common workman, who
owed his advancement to her uncle's kindness. She
resolved not to go back to the office until the hour
came for her uncle's arrival, but to stroll about
among the machinery and look into the furnaces,
as she recollected doing in her childhood, clinging
to ber guardian's hand.
She sauntered along with an easy and collected
air, her hidden spirit of defiance lending unusual
dignity to her step and a dangerous sparkle to her
eye. Those of the men upon whom she bestowed a
careless nod or smile were at once exalted to the
seventh heaven.
She had gone but a few paces when her progress
was arrested. Advancing along the narrow path
came the man known as Jim, a heavy bar on his
shoulder and an eager light in his face. She recog-
nized him as soon as she met his glance, recalling
his singular action at the house, and her heart soft-
ened at the thought of the little girl he had lost,
while she smiled gently as she stepped back to
make room for him to pass.
A tall shaft at the side had been awaiting its op-
portunity. As the girl stepped backward the skirt


THE MAN JIM.
307
of her dress was sucked into the faint current of air
stirring about the base of the swiftly revolving col-
umn, waved back as if repelled, then slowly ap-
proached the tempter, and in a moment more was
swept into the greedy vortex.
The man Jim turned and saw the swirling fabric,
and the girl's frantic movement to escape, and
caught her in his arms, bracing his foot against a
projecting point. The mighty shaft, wroth at the
prospect of losing its prey, strove to gather them
both into its embrace. They were drawn close to
the shining steel, when the man gathered all his
strength into one mighty effort, there was a sound
of a thin fabric rent and torn, and the girl was
free.
The workman who had rescued her did not fare
so well. In his struggle to save her, the loose
blouse which he wore approached too near to the
spinning column. He gave a stout wrench to get
free, but the garment was of sterner stuff than the
girl's light costume, and Annie Ellis, leaning back
sick and faint at the knowledge of the terrible peril
she had escaped, was appalled to see that the
treacherous shaft had secured another victim.
Then it was that her wild cry for help rang out
upon the air. Jack Benchley, the superintendent,
leaning his elbow upon the desk after his visitor's
unceremonious leave, and gazing after her with a
preoccupied air, flung open the door and took in
the situation at a glance. It was the work of an
instant for him to spring upon the framework and
throw off the clutch of the gear that drove the


THE MAN JIM.
309
by the awful accident that had befallen their com-
rade, this incident impressed them even more deeply,
and they gazed, awestricken, after the pretty head-
gear, feeling themselves parties to an act of wanton
desecration, until one of them stealthily retired and
rescued it from its unhappy plight, laying it rever-
ently on a bench near by.
The girl made an ineffectual attempt to stanch
the bleeding artery with the grimy squares of linen
flung down at her command. She knew nothing of
the virtues of tourniquets or ligatures, but observ-
ing that the main flow of blood was from a point a
little above the wrist, she took her own thin hand-
kerchief, and folding it into the smallest compass,
pressed it firmly into the deep wound where the gap-
ing radial artery was discharging the life blood of
the wounded man, and held it there with her own
hand.
Once she looked up with quivering lips.
“Some one go for Uncle Andrew. Tell him how
it happened.”
News of the disaster bad quickly reached the of-
fice, and the men hastily left their desks and flocked
into the machine-room, but none attempted to dis-
turb the young girl, who held her place as if by
some divine right. Some thought dubiously of the
reputation this accident would establish for the
works, and one looked dark as he pondered the pos-
sibilities of a heavy suit for damages. The super-
intendent, who had known Annie Ellis from early
childhood, and had been wont to consider her a pet-
ulant, exacting child, stared at her as if he had re-
veived a new revelation.


310
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
The surgeon came and made a hasty examina
tion, taking some needful precautions to check the
hemorrhage from the wound before the patient
could be lifted to a broad bench, where a tedious
and complicated operation was to be performed.
The young girl, whose services were no longer
needful, passed on to the office and sat down with
her hands tightly clasped together, sharing in im.
agination each cut through the quivering flesh, the
torture of delicate nerves laid bare, the shock of
the toothed saw as it severed the splintered bones.
Blaming herself for the idle fancy that had led her
to the spot, for her stupid indifference to the power
of the ponderous machinery, wondering if her reck-
lessness had cost a human life, she looked up like
some remorseful and sorrow-laden wraith when the
surgeon entered the office, attended by her uncle,
her brother, the superintendent, and another man,
Philip King. They were discussing the merits of
different hospitals. King and the boy alone took
no part in the conversation.
“I should advise the German hospital, if it were
not for the distance,” said the doctor. “The man
is weak from loss of blood, and it will not do to
move him far.”
The young girl sprang to her feet with a quick
flash of indignation.
“A hospital! Uncle, how can you think of such
a thing !”
“You don't know what you are talking about,
Annie,” Murphy soberly responded. “They give
the best of care in the hospitals. I will see that he
has everything needful.”


THE MAN JIM.
311
“ Uncle Andrew, he saved my life.”
The owner of the works looked from the girl to
the young man, whose indignant face repeated her
protest, and as he viewed them his look of stubborn
resolution gave way.
“Doctor,” — the young girl laid her hand on the
surgeon's arm, — " is there any danger ? Do you
think it possible he will not live ?”
“I cannot say, my dear. The shock to the sys-
tem and the loss of blood induce a state of the
lowest vitality. The least little thing — a habit of
thought, a mere trick of temperament - often turns
the balance in such a case. Do you know the
fellow?” addressing the superintendent. “Is he a
man of cheerful disposition ?”
Murphy drew Philip King through the door into
the next room. His aggressive and self-sufficient
air had wholly disappeared, and he spoke in a
husky whisper.
“See that he is taken over there, King - to my
house. You go with them. And, King, you — you
tell them. I can't.”
An easy conveyance was procured, and the in-
jured man, still breathing stertorously under the
influence of chloroform, was taken to the comfort-
able home on Harrison Street, only a few blocks
distant. Under the physician's directions he was
placed on a soft bed in a sunny room, and every-
thing possible arranged for his comfort. The sur-
geon sat down by the bedside to await the patient's
return to consciousness.
King ascertained that nothing more could be


THE MAN JIM.
813
middle-aged man in convict's dress, who seemed to
me the saddest being in that whole cheerless, sullen
crowd. It does not take long to single out the few
prisoners a man of decent habits can approach with-
out contamination in a living hell like a state peni-
tentiary. You need not raise your eyebrows, Miss
Ellis. A man learns to speak in unvarnished terms
of such breeding-houses of evil, and it would be
better if Christian people would call them by their
proper names. But to return to this man. It will
be more convenient to speak of him by name, and
I may as well call him John Carew. Any name
will do for a jail-bird, you know. He was a man
of singularly inoffensive disposition, liked and re-
spected by the officers because of his strict submis-
sion to prison rules, bis uniform courtesy, and his
pure language — the rarest of characteristics among
convicts, I assure you. When I came to know him
better, my respect and sympathy for him increased.
He had been a hardworking mechanic in this city,
fond of his home, and of steady habits. One even-
ing he was persuaded by a friend to attend a grand
political celebration. The excitement ran high ;
you know what such an event means in San Fran-
cisco. The crowd cheered themselves hoarse, took
a drink, and cheered again. Carew was not accus-
tomed to drink, and the liquor flew to his head.
There was an angry altercation, in which his friend
joined. Carew, wild with liquor, seized a heavy
glass that stood on the bar, and hurled it across
the room. It struck his friend on the head and
fractured his skull. Carew was promptly tried and


314
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
convicted, and was sent to the penitentiary for
twenty years.
“He never questioned the justice of bis sentence.
I don't think I ever saw a man more truly penitent,
more unsparing in his self-condemnation. If the
sacrifice of his own life would have brought back
his dead friend, he would have gladly resigned it.
His last act after his arrest and before the verdict
came, which he foresaw would deprive him of his
civil rights, was to deed half of his little property
to the widow of the man he killed. The rest he
left to his wife and children.”
“Poor fellow! Then he had a family ?” ex-
claimed the girl.
“ His wife died soon after. He never tired of
talking of his two children, recalling their baby
tricks and sayings, and the love they had cherished
for him ; wondering if they had quite forgotten him
as the years rolled on and he received no message
from them ; hoping against hope that some lucky
accident would procure his release before the expi-
ration of his sentence, that he might have the privi-
lege of contributing to their support and education.
But the happy chances that came to less worthy
men never came to him. No new administration
took notice of his consistent behavior, no fortunate
opportunity offered to demonstrate his devotion to
the State. Once he wiped out four years' credits
by resenting a turnkey's brutal treatment of a child
whose face reminded him of his boy's.”
“ He had good stuff !” was Tom Ellis's laconio
comment.


316
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
sin ; know that he had settled down to a life of
humble toil and self-renunciation ; know that he
saved his daughter's life to day, at the risk of his
own ; know that he lies in the next room” –
He ceased abruptly because he no longer had an
audience. Swiftly and silently Annie Ellis fitted
from the room, and her brother followed.
James Ellis awoke from his stupor to find him-
self on a soft bed in a dainty room, its walls hung
with a pale-blue paper where morning glories ran
riot. Subtle perfumes were in the air, choice spec-
imens of bric-à-brac were ranged on brackets and
in tiny cabinets, and about him were the countless
accessories of a young girl's toilet. A little blue
bonnet, limp and draggled and stained, as if it had
been through some harrowing experience, arrested
his eye, and he gazed upon it in bewilderment, re-
calling the events of the morning in a misty and
unreal way. He thought he was in dreamland, and
closed his eyes for fear the sweet fancy might fade,
but opened them wide as he heard the rustle of a
woman's garments and the sound of a girl's tremu-
lous voice.
“Father ! my father!”.
on his injured arm; a soft cheek pressed against
his own, and tears bedewing his face like a heaven-
sent rain, refreshing his parched soul, while in his
inmost heart reverberated the sweet accents of a
young voice pronouncing that long-forgotten name.
“Father, dear, did you think that we had no room
for you in our hearts ? that we could be happy and


THE MAN JIM.
317
content if we had known you were toiling sad and
lonely, needing our love, and the dear home-life?
You must get well for our sakes, dear father.
There is something to live for still.”
Tom Ellis stood beside the bed, saying nothing,
but clasped the sufferer's unhurt hand with an elo-
quent pressure, and his fine eyes were fixed on his
father's face.
The surgeon — who had been defied, swept from
his post and ignored — beheld with consternation
the quick wave of excitement that passed over the
face of his patient. His apprehensions subsided
as he saw the look of perfect peace that succeeded.
“I think we can be spared now,” he said to
King. “My patient is in good hands. I shall
have no more anxiety on his account.”
As Philip King left the house he encountered
Murphy, who had been strolling up and down the
walks, diligently smoking. He flung the stump of
his cigar into a geranium hedge, whence it sent up
a delicate spiral of smoke.
- Well ? ” There was unfeigned anxiety in the
exclamation.
“ It is all right, Mr. Murphy.”
They walked slowly along the broad path, bor-
dered with abalone shells that reflected the sunlight
in prismatic tints.
“ Do you think they will blame me, King ?”
“No fear of that. You acted for their good.
They will understand.”
" I'll go down with you, King."
They signalled a passing car and journeyed city-
ward.


318
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
A strange weight seemed to oppress Murphy's
mind, manifesting itself in a nervous haste as they
mounted the granite steps leading to the block
where their offices were situated, only to see the
elevator disappearing from sight with a full load of
passengers. Under normal circumstances Murphy
would bave waited a quarter of an hour rather than
climb the three flights of stairs leading to the upper
floor, but he undertook the ascent without cere-
mony. Panting and puffing, be reached the sum-
mit and halted at the assayer's door.
“ King !”
“ Yes, Mr. Murphy."
“Since you told me what you did a few months
ago — when Ellis first turned up, you know -
I've taken some pains to inquire into matters.
You know I'm your friend, and I hope you won't
be offended at what I say. There is one thing
hurts you like thunder in the public esteem. If it
was n't for that you 'd have twenty friends where
you have one now. Take my advice, and make a
clean breast about that missing fifteen thousand.”


CHAPTER XXVI.
BEFORE DEATH'S TRIBUNAL.
It was nearly midnight of the day of the acci-
dent at the foundry before King sought his room,
and his brain was so overwrought by the events of
the day that he did not retire at once, but stood
long at his window, looking out over the bay. The
scene was like some dreamy painting of Moran's.
The full moon flung a silvery path over the placid
water, tall ships rocked lightly upon its bosom, and
on the farther shore the Contra Costa range could
be seen in mystical outline.
Standing there, he became conscious of a sudden
commotion in the cottage below, and perceived
lights moving to and fro. A few minutes later his
landlady rapped softly on his door.
“ Mr. King, the little boy in the cottage is very
ill. The mother is all alone. If you would be so
kind” –
He waited no further bidding, but hastened to
the troubled mother's aid. The child was in a suf-
focative spasm, where each breath threatened to be
his last. Such emergencies wait for no physician.
King aided the two women in applying the simple
cases, and was rewarded with a look of grateful rec-


320 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
ognition from the little sufferer, as he finally found
relief. Even then the thread of life seemed to be
held by so slight a tenure that, obeying the moth-
er's appealing eyes rather than her spoken words,
the young man started at once in quest of a physi-
cian.
Dr. Selby, whose yellowed diploma proclaimed
him a graduate of the allopathic school, was a man
whose scorn of drugs was so vigorous and outspoken,
and who adhered so closely to nature's own methods
of healing, that he might well have been called a
medical agnostic. He possessed the idiosyncrasy
of regarding his profession less as a means of pe-
cuniary profit than as a work of humanity, and the
consciousness of his worldly prosperity or the exemp-
tion of his advancing years did not prevent his ris-
ing promptly in compliance with King's peremptory
call, and making a hasty toilet at five o'clock in
the morning. King had known the doctor from
his boyhood, and as they proceeded to their desti-
nation the physician listened to the young man's
account of the child's illness with silent attention.
“Philip!” he said, abruptly, as the latter con-
cluded his statement, “why don't you marry her ?”
“ Marry whom ? ” returned King, confounded by
the sudden utterance and singular character of the
demand.
“This woman. The mother of your child.”
“ Dr. Selby, you were never more mistaken in
your life.”
“I don't wish to force my advice upon you,
Philip,” pursued the doctor, calmly, unmoved by


BEFORE DEATH'S TRIBUNAL.
321
this denial. “ It is very possible you do not know
how the report of such a thing travels, or the harm
it is doing you. The only way you can put your-
self square with the world and with your own con-
science is by marrying her.”
They had labored up the hill and reached the
foot of the steps that led to the old-fashioned
abode. King held the gate open for the doctor to
pass through, pondering meanwhile the annoying
suggestion that had come upon him so unexpect-
edly. As he considered the circumstances on
which the report was based, he recognized the utter
futility of contradicting it.
"I won't ask you to trust my word, doctor,” he
said, quietly, “but I will ask you to suspend your
judgment for the present.”
The physician viewed him searchingly. The
words bad the ring of sincerity. King had always
seemed to him a curious compound, and the com-
plex influences of his career had served to increase
the mystery of his character. What other man of
his acquaintance would have answered such a
charge so dispassionately, whether it were true or
false? And what other man would be capable of
deliberately placing himself in such compromising
circumstances ?
A moment later all personal questions were
merged into grave professional considerations. He
bent over the sick child, felt its pulse, and made a
brief but thorough examination. When he lifted
his face his eyes told the story his lips would fain
have withheld. A mild childish affection which
21


322 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
had been hanging over the boy for the past week
had taken a sudden and fatal turn. He could not
live till sundown.
The stricken mother bent over the little sufferer
with a look of woe pitiful to see. The younger
child, awakened from her sleep by the unusual
light and movement, and unconscious of the trag-
edy that was transpiring, prattled joyously among
her toys on the floor. A caged bird sang a merry
roundelay to the rising sun in the next room. The
perfume of the honeysuckle drifted in through the
open window. Sunshine and bloom and fragrance
and bappy laughter filled the air, and within the
room the pall of darkness was falling, and a young
life slowly and surely going out with the coming
of the day.
The child died at noon, in the arms of the one
who loved him best, passing away so gently and
peacefully that only the mother's wail of anguish
as the chord that bound his life to her own was
rent in twain told that the light had faded from
the beautiful eyes, and the bright young spirit
vanished from earth for evermore
King, who had remained a silent but faithful
watcher, extended his arms to receive the little form,
and laid it gently upon the white coverlet of the
bed, moved by a sorrow second only to the mother's.
By his gentle childish arts the little one had won
his heart and become a dear and essential part of
his own existence, shining into his lonely life like a
sunbeam, nor relinquishing his sovereignty when
the little sister had come, with her winsome baby


BEFORE DEATH'S TRIBUNAL.
323
ways, to dispute dominion with him. In the course
of his life King had faced death in many forms.
He had seen strong men stricken down in the pride
of manhood, waging a losing fight with the de-
stroyer, to be at length torn from the helpless fam-
ilies dependent upon them, resisting to the last; he
had seen sin-blasted lives go out, rebellious and un-
reconciled, crying out for the one more chance
which might prove their moral salvation; he had
seen the old, the feeble, and the faint-hearted,
gladly loosing their hold upon existence and float-
ing off, unrepining, into the great unknown; he
had seen his own mother, weary with life's strug-
gles, lying cold and still in her coffin, unresponsive
to his heart's bitter cry. But he had never wit-
nessed so tragical a sight as that which lay before
him. Could this be the beautiful boy, but the day
before crowned with the royalty of a noble child-
hood, the seal of a pure and lofty nature stamped
upon his open brow, shining in his radiant eyes, and
revealed in each loving act — now pale and still,
like some wondrous piece of sculpture, from which
the master's hand had claimed again the immortal
spark of life? Over it hung the heart-broken
mother, still and woeful in her sorrow, kissing the
little dimpled hands that would nevermore encircle
her neck in gentle caress, the pale lips unsullied by
a harsh or impure word ; passing her hands over the
sunny rings of hair with a caressing touch — weak
demonstrations of such pitiful depths of love and
woe as only a bereaved mother heart can fathom.
The doctor came in from his round of morning


BEFORE DEATH'S TRIBUNAL.
325
The address which King had seen confirmed his
previous suspicions. Camp Taylor was a pictur-
esque summer resort, situated in the edge of the red-
wood forests on the line of the North Pacific Coast
Railroad, and patronized by prominent society peo-
ple who desired to enjoy the freedom of country
life, unhampered by conventional restraints. Only
the week before a party of men, comprising many
of his own acquaintance, Dartmoor among the num-
ber, had gone thither for a four weeks' season of
recreation. He tried to recall the members of the
party, and to fix upon one who might be the father
of the dead child ; but, strive as he might, he could
not persuade himself that one among them could
be so base at heart as to lend himself to the infamy
of duping the trustful young creature before him.
Thinking of his old-time friend, a spark of com-
fort appeared. It occurred to him that Dartmoor
was undoubtedly acquainted with the man, and
that he was the very one to persuade the scoundrel
to do justice to his victim. King knew Dartmoor
too well to doubt his chivalric espousal of the weak
and wronged. The estrangement that had come
between himself and his old comrade was but a
shadowy, unreal thing, a figment of his own disor-
dered imagination, as he had often reasoned. The
old friendship, true and tangible, still ran its course
beneath. Dartmoor always had such a happy faculty
of saying and doing the right thing. He would be
a powerful ally. If there was anything good about
the rascal, he would be the one to bring it to the
Burface.


326
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
As the day drew to a close and the time ap-
proached for the arrival of the late afternoon boat
from San Rafael, King left the house and paced up
and down the narrow street. He could not rid him-
self of the thought that the coming hour held in
reserve for him some startling revelation. The
shadows of night came down upon the city, hushing
the sounds of traffic and thinning the crowd that
moved below, but with the exception of several
business men whom he recognized as residents of
the neighborhood, no one left the broad thorough-
fare to enter the quiet street.
Once a cab dashed along the pavement of the
street below, and as the driver came to a halt, look-
ing doubtfully up the steep incline, a man flung open
the door, and tossing a coin upon the box, hastened
up the hill, brushing roughly past King as he went.
He was muffled to the ears in a large coat, and his
hat was drawn low over his eyes, but something in
his gait and figure thrilled King with a sudden
shock. He remained irresolute for a moment and
then turned and followed, his mind agitated by
strangely conflicting thoughts, apparently devoid of
meaning or connection. Now speculating upon the
identity of the absent father, now puzzling over the
familiar look of the man who had passed him in
the dim twilight, he took his way up the street
and approached the desolate home.
A faint light was burning in the front room. He
gently pushed the door open, and saw the grief.
stricken mother seated in a low rocker, with the
baby asleep in her arms, and her face bowed over


BEFORE DEATH'S TRIBUNAL.
327
the little one's head. But the room had another
tenant. Beside the bed a man was kneeling, his
arms outstretched as if to embrace the silent sleeper,
while his face was buried in the covering. The
sound of the opening door and of strange footsteps
aroused him, and he rose and stood erect, his face
vying in pallor with that of the dead child. King
stood as one transfixed. At last the mystery was
solved. In the still features of the dead were re-
peated, line by line, those of the haggard face
above. For a moment it seemed to Philip King
as if his own brain had given way, for before him
stood one whose name was synonymous with honor
and truth, the man whom he had cherished in mem-
ory for years as his own devoted and unselfish
friend.
He was face to face with Dartmoor.


CHAPTER XXVII.
HOW THE BABY WON THE CASE.
With the knowledge of the gross deception prac-
ticed upon his confiding young neighbor, a great
compassion replaced the kindly interest King had
hitherto entertained toward the innocent little wo-
man, who pursued her daily round of household
duties in unquestioning devotion to her recreant
lord. No words had been exchanged between the
two men as they confronted each other over the
dead child's bed, but as Dartmoor met the steady
gaze of the man who had befriended the woman he
had wronged, his eyes fell, to be lifted a moment
later with an expression of hard defiance.
King left the house in silence, and during the
weeks that followed carefully avoided all inter-
course with the inmates of the cottage, lest by his
unguarded speech or embarrassed reserve he should
add the dull weight of suspicion to the heavy bur-
den of care already resting upon Mrs. Pauline's
slender shoulders, or precipitate upon her an im-
pending sorrow.
As he passed down the steps of his lodging-house
one morning several months later, he heard some
one pronounce his name, and turned to see her


HOW THE BABY WON THE CASE. 329
going through the narrow passage-way, bearing her
little girl in her arms.
- You are going out early, Mrs. Pauline."
In his doubt and uncertainty as to how he should
address her he had recourse to the old familiar title.
She corrected him with quiet dignity.
“ Mrs. Dartmoor, if you please. Mr. King, will
you be so good as to read this, and tell me what it
means?”
Her voice was cold and measured, and looking
into her face, it seemed to him that some subtle
change had passed over it, obliterating the laughing
lines and investing it with new dignity and strength.
She held a folded scrap of newspaper in her hand,
and as he took it, he observed to his surprise, that
it was a fragment of the social department of the
daily - Gasbag.” The item to which she called his
attention was a brief personal, announcing that
Henry Dartmoor, the popular teller of the Yerba
Buena Bank, would celebrate his nuptials with a
well-known society lady the coming month. The
veins on King's forehead swelled out like whip-cords
as he comprehended the purport of the lines.
“ Mean? It means that he has cheated and de-
ceived you from the first ; that he means to fling
you aside like a toy he has grown tired of; that he
will disown your child.”
“ He shall never do it. I have been silent too
long. I will assert my rights — and the chil-
dren's.”
He knew by the sudden tremor in her voice that
the wrong to her living child was insignificant com-


330
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
pared to the indignity done the dead. But he mar-
veled at the unexpected strength developed in that
shy nature, where he had reckoned upon weak com-
plaint and tearful appeal, dimly comprehending
that in the depths of her heart bitter sorrow and
tormented affection were held subjective to domi-
nant mother-love, which nerved her to courage for
her children's sake.
“I have a paper here,” and she touched her
breast significantly, “a contract, he called it. He
told me it was a lawful marriage, and very common
here. I did not like it, for in my country it is the
custom to go before the good old pastor in the
church, with all the people to see, and the dear
parents' blessing; but he wished it, and I trusted
him.”
She caught her breath for an instant, and her
self-command seemed about to give way, but she
went bravely on, acknowledging by a grateful
glance King's indignant exclamation.
“ I am going to a lawyer now. Mr. King, will
you help me, for the baby's sake?”
He answered her in simple but heartfelt words,
promising to aid her in every way in his power,
to be her faithful protector in all ways that a
brother might. As their paths separated the child
waved her tiny hand in playful farewell.
- Goo’-by. Me go see papa.”
“ Hush! Never say his name again. He is a bad,
bad man!” The mother's voice was stern in its
admonition and command.
" He is my papa!”.


332
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
into the august dominions of the law had been
severely questioned. But it had been impossible
to convince the simple young mother that a baby's
purity and innocence were incongruous elements to
invade the high chambers where justice is dispensed.
The baby, too, had protested with all the eloquence
of her tearful blue eyes and quivering lip, and the
result had been that when the mother started out
upon her sorrowful mission, the little girl, arrayed
in her daintiest and best, accompanied her in gentle
triumph.
The loungers about the doorway idly discussed
the approaching contest.
“ Regular case of blackmail, and no mistake.”
The opinion of the rising young legal luminary
who gave utterance to this sentiment was received
with unquestioning respect.
“She's after his money. Not a shadow of doubt
us to that!” laughed a solid business man who had
come up from Battery Street to enjoy the spectacle.
" Who's her lawyer, by the way?”.
“ Rogers; respectable old duffer, but slow as a
Greaser's conscience. A fine time he'll have of it
against Payson, Davis, and the rest. By the way,
I hear Judson consented to take hold of the case at
the last moment.”
“ Who's seen the woman? What is she like?”
“I hain't seen her myself,” eagerly announced a
tall fellow whose general air of seediness and dis-
repute proclaimed a litigant of some years' stand-
ing. “I bain't seen her myself, but my wife heerd
tell as she's a regular little spitfire; snapping eyes,


HOW THE BABY WON THE CASE. 333
sharp nose, and a tongue like an asp. It's all a
piece of spitework from beginning to end. Heerd
he was courting that smart girl of Oliver's, you
know.”
6. Stand aside and let this lady pass ! ”
King's face betrayed the struggle in his heart,
where honest indignation and fealty to the weak
strove to escape the iron fetters of prudence. The
woman raised her veil for an instant, and they had
a momentary glimpse of a gentle face, pallid and
pitiful in its lines of pain, lighted by a pair of ap-
pealing blue eyes. As the men fell back with mut-
tered apologies, the child raised her head from her
mother's shoulder, and gazed fearlessly about with
a winning smile.
"Dood man! Dood man!” She nodded con-
fidingly to different individuals whom she seemed
to single out for her approval. Then, with a satis-
fied toss of her little head, she added, reassuringly
and impressively, “ Me come!”
An oppressive silence reigned for a moment.
Then one spoke low to his neighbor.
“ Pretty little creature, is n't it? And say,
did n't you observe – Dartmoor's very eyes” –
“ Hush! There he comes.”
The defendant in the celebrated case of Dartmoor
vs. Dartmoor sprang out of a light buggy and
secured the horse to a hitching post, caressing the
handsome animal's head as he turned away, while
his companion, the famous San Francisco lawyer,
grown a trifle stout and apoplectic with advancing
years, descended from the vehicle with more de-


334
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
liberation. The time had come when Colonel Jud.
son could afford to be deliberate in action. Long
ago, in hot-headed youth, he had frittered away his
days in the toils of a mistaken chivalry ; but learn-
ing in good season that the true touchstone of suc-
cess in the legal profession lies in an eloquent
espousal of a wealthy client's case, right or wrong,
he bad wisely eschewed the championship of the
weak and oppressed, and exerted himself with noble
fervor in his chosen field. In his brilliant argu-
ment in the great case of Shaw vs. Shaw, similar
in principle to the one he was now called upon to
conduct, he had won a monstrous fee and touched
the zenith of his fame; and his star was slow in
crossing the meridian.
Henry Dartmoor, the defendant, was one of the
most popular men in the city. During the years
King bad spent in wearisome and humiliating con-
finement, life had prospered with his friend. A
series of shrewd real estate speculations bad re-
sulted in the accumulation of a handsome property,
and if there were sometimes rumors afloat that the
sum total of his expenditures was hardly justified
by the extent of his visible income, he was still
ranked with the “solid” men of the town, and gen-
erally admired for his genial manner and generous
disposition.
Tall and debonair, his gay laugh and careless air
betrayed little evidence of discomposure at the
effort a shameless woman was making to assert her
right to share his name and property. He entered
the court-room with a smile of conscious superi


336 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
girl when she first met the defendant, in a hotel at
a suburban watering resort, where she was em-
ployed in a menial capacity. The defendant had
gone thither for a brief vacation, and, attracted by
the girl's sweet face and gentle ways, loitered on
from week to week. Armed with his superior
worldly knowledge, his accomplished manners, and
cool villainy of purpose, he had found it an easy
matter to win the young girl's confidence and love;
but here his designs encountered an unexpected
check. The simple faith and steadfast virtue of
the girl proved an effectual protection against his
unworthy aims. To accomplish his purpose he had
recourse to fraud and treachery, and had run his
head unwittingly into the matrimonial noose. A
contract which he had drawn up at that time, and
to which the signatures of the plaintiff and defend-
ant were both attached, would be produced in due
time, and shown to be a valid contract of marriage
under the laws of the State. This paper was origi-
nally in the possession of the defendant, and it was
possible that he never intended that it should pass
from his bands, but some three years prior to the
institution of the suit the defendant had been pros-
trated by a sudden and alarming illness. Brought
to a realizing sense of the injury he was doing the
woman who loved him so faithfully, as well as the
child already born to them, he had placed the docu-
ment in the hands of a mutual friend, and promised
to make a public acknowledgment of their union as
soon as he regained his health. Recovering from
his sickness, and no doubt impatient of his momen.


HOW THE BABY WON THE CASE. 339
“ Did anything occur at that time in any way
relevant to the questions involved in this case ?”
“I object,” calmly interpolated the defendant's
counsel.
“ The objection is sustained !” approved the
court. “Make your questions a little more defi-
nite and less suggestive, Mr. Rogers.”
“Do you know anything of a certain paper —
did you receive any evidence at that time, which
would tend to substantiate the theory of a marriage
between the parties in this case ? ” blundered the
old attorney, confused at the sharp check he had
received.
“ The defendant delivered to me a certain paper,
purporting to be a contract of marriage.”
“ Will you be good enough to produce that docu-
ment?”
The witness opened a hand-bag that she carried,
and handed out a folded sheet of note-paper, which
passed from hand to hand until it reached the de-
fendant's counsel. Colonel Judson frowned as he
observed the clear and unequivocal language, and
saw Dartmoor's dashing signature. Then he gave
a glance of anticipatory triumph around the court-
room, and, availing himself of the statutory right
to examine the witness, elicited some startling
facts, most damaging in their bearing on the plain-
tiff's case.
“What conversation, if any, passed between you
and the defendant, preliminary to the alleged pro-
duction of this paper ?”
“I told him that he was a scoundrel to compro


340
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
mise the reputation of an innocent little creature
who worshiped the ground he trod, and that he
should be made to do justice to her in the eleventh
hour.”
“ Upon the occasion to which you refer, did you
or did you not have a weapon in your possession ? "
“ I did.”
There was a sensation in the court. Miss Pey-
ton's face flushed, and she cast an uneasy look in
the direction of the rejected wife, who sat pale and
silent, her cheek pressed against the fair curls of
the child. The little one caught the look and
wafted back a kiss, blown from the tips of her pink
fingers. A tender smile flitted across the face of
the witness, but she awaited in undisturbed compos-
ure the next sharp query.
6. What was the character of this weapon ?”
“ It was a 44-calibre Colt's revolver.”
“ Did you expose this weapon in a threatening
manner ?”
“I did.”
“ Was the plaintiff aware of this measure ?"
The lawyer looked around the court with a self-
satisfied smirk. It took a man of genius to reach
the bottom facts in such a case, but he would soon
have the whole shameless conspiracy laid bare.
" She was not.”
“ Was n't, eh?”
“ No, sir. She never knew of it until this mo-
ment.”
All eyes traveled instinctively to the place where
the unhappy mother sat, lifting to her self-consti


HOW THE BABY WON THE CASE. 341
tuted champion a face of sad reproach. This, then,
was the miserable truth. What she had regarded
as the voluntary act of atoning love had really been
a compulsory deed. She bent her face low over
the child's sunny head.
“State to the court exactly what took place on
this occasion.”
Miss Peyton's eyes flashed fire.
“With pleasure, sir. The doctor had just left
the house, and told me at the door that it was
doubtful if Mr. Dartmoor survived the night. I
went directly to the sick-room, and as I went
framed a pretext for getting rid of this little
woman, the plaintiff, who had been in constant
attendance upon the sick-bed. When she went
out I closed the door and locked it. Then I
brought out my revolver and leveled it at Dart-
moor's head.
“I said, “I 'll give you sixty seconds to make up
your mind to marry Pauline.' He looked at me
in an odd way till I got up to ten. Then he said,
• Bully for you, Peyton !'”
“ What ? ” The counsel on both sides were
amazed at this strange page of unwritten history
anfolded for their perusal. Those who knew Dart-
moor's odd ways could not restrain broad grins of
delight.
66. Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen !' I
wounted. He broke in again. "You 're a brick,
Peyton! but are n't you afraid the confounded
thing will kick when it goes off ?' I did n't care a
slap for what he was saying, but went on counting


342 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
until I reached forty. Then he spoke up, sharp
and clear. •Put up the pistol, Peyton. She's as
good as my wife already. You ’ll find a paper in
the left-hand breast pocket of my vest; but, by
Jove! I 'll marry her out and out when I get on
my feet again.' He made essentially the same
statement to the attending physician when he
called, half an hour later.”
The defendant's counsel were evidently not
wholly satisfied with the effect of the mine they
had sprurg upon the plaintiff's witness, but they
looked serenely forward to a successful issue. The
aristocratic physician who had attended Dartmoor
on the occasion of his illness ascended the stand
with a reluctant air. This gentleman was a pillar
of an Orthodox church, a man of some austerity of
mien, and he took pains to impress upon his hear-
ers in the commencement, with a frown which in-
cluded both ranks of combatants, that physicians
of his standing were much averse to being dragged
into scandals of such a nature, and that if he could
have foreseen the results that would ensue, he
should have peremptorily declined to attend either
of the parties to the suit. Questioned by the at
torney for the prosecution, he substantiated the
statements of the preceding witness regarding the
assertions of the defendant in his presence. Cross-
examined by the defense, he admitted that he was
unable to decide whether the defendant had made
the assertion to him seriously or in a jocular man-
ner.
The doctor was about to leave the stand, secretly


344
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
“Mr. King, have you ever had an inside acquaint-
ance with San Quentin ?”
Despite King's unvarying candor on the sub-
ject of his past, outside of his circle of personal
acquaintances and business associates, among the
community at large there was no general recogni-
tion of his crime. Many of the spectators saw the
young man for the first time, and were favorably
impressed by his manners or moved to sympathetic
indignation by the covert insult of the cross-exam-
ination. The innocent and ignorant countenances
in the jury-box were alike unknown to him.
He might easily have found refuge in an evasive
answer, or taken advantage of a legal quibble, de-
clining to answer on the ground that the question
was immaterial and irrelevant to the case. But he
lifted his head with the quick backward fling that
had become one of his characteristic habits, and a
vagrant lock of hair was tossed back by the action,
baring his white forehead, with its lines of care and
pain.
" I served a ten years' sentence for robbery,” he
said.
Colonel Judson gave a satirical smile at this
compromising admission, and a thrill of contemptu-
ous astonishment ran through the court. A singu-
lar incident destroyed the effect of this dramatic
episode. Through the air a white rose came fly-
ing, and landed at King's feet. Every head was
stretched eagerly forward to ascertain the meaning
of this spotless messenger. Moved by some strange


346
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
smile. Grieved at her failure, she looked anxiously
around to determine the cause of the sorrow on
that dear face, and as her eyes fell on the colonel's
impassive features and her ears caught his incisive
utterances, she rose to her feet in her mother's lap
and leaned forward, fired with a sudden resolution.
A sweet voice rang clearly through the court-room.
“Oo tell a bad story!”
The spectators caught a glimpse of a dainty face,
with earnest eyes and a halo of golden hair. The
colonel was openly disconcerted. In all the course
of his legal experience he had never met with such
an interruption. He stated that he would express
himself more fully in regard to this atrocious cal-
umny. The mother's gentle efforts to hush the
baby were vain.
“ Tell true ! ”
The baby heard the large words with disfavor,
and the childish treble sounded again in stern and
uncompromising accents.
The colonel strove to recover the lost thread of
his argument, floundered and failed. Who was
this small creature who dared to interrupt the pro-
ceedings of a dignified court of law, who browbeat
witnesses, and shrieked forth her senseless cries to
the confusion of able and experienced counsel ?
Tell true, indeed! Truth was an abstract quality
with which thirty years at the bar had in no wise
tended to increase his familiarity. Preposterous
demand to make in a modern court of justice, where
polished rhetoric and loud-mouthed oratory laugh
honesty to shame, and the blindfold goddess peeps


HOW THE BABY WON THE CASE. 347
stealthily beneath her bandage to espy the worldly
standing of the parties whose interests are fung
into the scales ! He scowled fiercely in the direc-
tion of the little figure, but as he encountered the
child's pure eyes his own fell. The hardened hero
of a thousand bitter contests beat a precipitate re-
treat, Ainging one telling shot into the enemy's
camp.
"I call upon the first witness for the defense,
Henry Dartmoor.”
The colonel was a cunning and strategic foe, who
loved to deal in surprises. The line of the defense
had been carefully mapped out, and presented a
dozen avenues of escape. They were prepared to
prove that the suit was a blackmailing scheme from
beginning to end ; that the plaintiff had herself in-
veigled the defendant into her toils. In considera-
tion of a round sum of cash in hand paid, a number
of reliable witnesses were prepared to impeach the
plaintiff's previous reputation for chastity. The
coercion exercised in the production of the mar-
riage contract was a strong card when effectively
handled ; and, lastly, there were numerous legal
technicalities by which the case could be carried on
from court to court until the plaintiff's resources
were exhausted, and the case was finally dismissed
for want of prosecution.
“ Henry Dartmoor!”
What ailed the fellow that he did not answer?.
The colonel turned sharply to the rear seat where
the defendant had been sitting, his face shielded by
his hand What if the man should weaken and


848 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
show the white feather at the last ? Thank good.
ness! the defendant was rising with an air of quiet
unconcern, and leisurely picking his way past the
outstretched feet of a row of easy-going spectators,
too lazy to change their attitude for the sake of ex-
pediting his movements. Henry Dartmoor mounted
the witness-stand, and looked over the sea of famil-
iar faces with an expression of dignified indiffer-
ence. A hint of sardonic amusement played about
the corners of his firmly set lips, but his eyes were
clear and cold. At this instant another unexpected
interruption occurred. A glad cry rang throughout
the court-room.
“Papa !”
The mother tried in vain to hụsh the sweet voice.
The small face was radiant with happiness and sur-
prise.
“Dear mamma, see papa!”
She escaped from the mother's detaining hands,
and sped across the floor, infant vision of innocence
and purity. In a moment she had scrambled up
the steps to where her father stood, and clasped her
arms about his knees, looking up into his face with
joyous confidence and love.
“Papa ! ”
Henry Dartmoor's teeth were tightly set, his
features rigid as iron. Gazing straight before him,
he reached down and roughly loosed the clinging
arms, thrusting the child away.
“ Papa !”
Such wonder, such questioning and broken pro.
test, such hurt affection, in the plaintive voice,


HOW THE BABY WON THE CASE.
349
Dartmoor cast one quick glance about, then dropped
his eyes to the sweet, wistful face. Another mo-
ment and she was lifted in his arms. Court and
counsel and curious spectators beheld the unheard-
of spectacle of a father submitting to the kisses and
caresses of the child he was about to brand with
the curse of illegitimacy, to deny her most sacred
rights, and to cast out, nameless and forsaken, upon
the world. Colonel Judson was frantic with rage
and vexation. He started to his feet, calling his
client's name in an angry whisper.
“ Papa, dear papa!”
It seemed as if the baby's hands would never tire
of their soft pats and gentle caresses ; on cheeks
and lips, on hair and brow, the dewy lips never
ceased their loving fusillade. The rigid muscles of
the man's face slowly relaxed, his lips parted for a
long, deep breath, his eyes softened strangely.
“ If it please the court,” — no one recognized
Henry Dartmoor's voice, for a singular tenderness
replaced its usual harsh intonations, — “if it please
the court, I give up the case.”
His excited counsel was by the defendant's side,
angrily recalling him to himself, asking him if he
wished to become the jeer of the crowd, a laughing-
stock throughout the city ? Dartmoor put him
quietly aside, addressing the court in brave, decisive
words.
“I acknowledge the plaintiff as my pure and
faithful wife. To this child I concede the doubtful
honor of my name.”
A scene of wild excitement transpired. No longer


350
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
able to restrain themselves, the audience burst into
loud cheers as Dartmoor strained the baby to his
breast.
There was a whispered colloquy between the old
attorney and the judge. Pronouncing some words
that were lost in the general confusion, the judge
declared the court adjourned ; and, st spping for-
ward, he took the child in his arms and kissed her.


354
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
retreating the next, as though salaaming to the
rising sun, which was lazily creeping over the crest
of Mount Diablo. The fog-horns on Alcatraz and
Goat Island sounded a melancholy refrain above
the surge of the waves which lapped the shore.
The doors of the office of the principal bathing
resort on North Beach were thrown open, and a
chilly wind swept through the place, fanning the
wrath of a pale, hunchback youth who sat on a
high stool behind the counter, gloomily apostro-
phizing the crazy fools whose mania for early bath-
ing made it necessary to open the establishment at
that ungodly hour.
Looking impatiently up the roadway that led
from town, the boy's keen eyes descried a man ap-
proaching — a person whose face and features were
indistinguishable in the distance, whose dress dis-
played the quiet elegance of a man of fashion, but
who walked with a peculiar shambling gait, as if
he had only partially recovered from the effects of
an all-night orgie.
“ There comes one of the idgits a'ready!” ex-
claimed the lad, contemptuously, uttering the words
aloud, as if there was a subtle gratification in the
sound.
It was hardly to be expected that the crooked-
backed youth should look with any great compla-
cency upon the physical recreation of people en-
dowed with sound muscles and healthy bodies. By
some unhappy dispensation the crooks that get into
people's bodies are very apt to deform their inner
beings, and their souls are pitiable, weak-legged


AN ENGAGEMENT THAT WAS MET.
357
head confused by the fault-finding of capricious pa-
trons, the hunchbacked lad forgot his early visitor,
and the watch lay, untouched and out of sight, in
the safe beside him. As the forenoon advanced the
senior proprietor made his appearance, fat and im-
portant, and glowing with well-earned prosperity.
A little later the place was enlivened by the ap-
pearance of a small squad of policemen. They but-
by the news they had to communicate, repelled
their inquiries with a show of indignation.
Think his place was a resort for thieves and law-
breakers ? Not much! The fellow would know
too much to come there. Had n't seen a sign of
him for a week.
“ Can't help it !” sturdily insisted the spokesman,
a sharp-eyed detective, Fleece by name. “We've
been after him since eleven o'clock last night, and
just got on his scent this morning. He came up
here at day break, and has n't been seen to leave.
I dare say he's safely stowed away somewhere
round here."
“ You 're welcome to all the thieves you find on
my premises !” retorted the proprietor, ironically.
“Look here, Jake,” addressing the hunchback youth,
who had stared from one to another in bewilder-
ment during the course of the colloquy, “ 54 's not
been here this morning, eh?”.
“ 54!” The boy's weak legs shook under him,
and a gray shadow fell across his face.
“ Look sharp, boy! The officers can't wait all
day for you. The man 's a criminal - stolen the


AN ENGAGEMENT THAT WAS MET. 359
spread, and all was excitement at the baths. Ner-
vous mothers, recognizing in every criminal a per.
sonal foe, hurried their children into the dressing.
rooms, and dried and equipped them for their
homeward journeys; stout middle-aged gentlemen
climbed upon the platform and sat in their dripping
garments, looking not unlike a row of well-behaved
sea lions, following the course of the Whitehall boat
which shot across the water in the direction of a
stately ship that had cast anchor in midstream;
venturesome young people explored the dark re-
cesses beneath the buildings, shrieking as they en-
countered unforeseen obstacles, or laughing glee-
fully as they met others bound on the same ex-
ploit.
A large majority discussed the crime and the
criminal with the sense of virtuous superiority well
deserved failure usually awards unmerited prosper-
ity. Only a few personal acquaintances of the man
who was the topic of discussion maintained a sober
silence or exchanged whispered confidences. Down
the broad, dusty avenue which led from the heart
of the city poured a continuous tide of people, actu-
ated by varying motives of curiosity and genuine
concern.
The officer called Fred walked along the narrow
platform skirting the long rows of bathing-houses,
preceded by the young fellow Jake, and followed
by a reporter, formerly of the “Hornet,” but lat-
terly of the “Daily Gong,” who scented an inter-
esting item of news, and had hastened to the spot.
The hunchback halted at a point midway in the


360 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
row, pointing mutely to the key sticking in the
lock.
“ Try it," suggested the reporter. “Perhaps it's
a mere cock-and-bull story after all, and he's gone
off down town again, forgetting to return the key
to the office.”
The officer laid his hand on the knob, and find-
ing the door unlocked, threw it open. The three
men peered curiously into the small apartment.
Upon the single chair it contained were piled vari-
ous articles of a man's wardrobe; a pair of walking
shoes and a light rattan cane were in one corner,
while upon a hook hung a light summer overcoat
and hat.
“ Guess I'll sit down here and have a comfort-
able smoke !” said the officer, sweeping the clothes
from the chair.
“ Take care!” said the reporter. His admonition
came too late. There was a sullen thud as some
heavy metallic substance struck the floor, followed
by a loud explosion, and a bullet tore its way
through the side wall.
“ Left at full cock!” commented the policeman,
disengaging the revolver from the folds of the gar-
ments and examining it critically. “Mighty care-
less thing. The man who left it in that shape
did n't care a continental for his own or his neigh-
bor's life.”
· The deformed boy, stooping down, picked up a
small vial which he handed to the men, who turned
it around to read the label.
“ Laudanum! and empty,” was the policeman's
laconic comment.


AN ENGAGEMENT THAT WAS MET.
361
The growing horror of apprehension, heretofore
repressed, took possession of the boy.
“I knew it, I knew it !” he cried, clasping and
unclasping his thin hands, while his eyes sought the
faces of the two men as if imploring their dissent.
But the policeman only looked a cheerful acquies-
cence, while the reporter was eagerly examining the
inscription on an unsealed letter, which he had
taken from one of the pockets of the coat.
“ Here's something !” he said, nodding to the
officer significantly, and holding up the envelope for
his inspection.
“* An open letter to Philip King,' by thunder!”
ejaculated the latter, his features lighting up with
curiosity and amazement.
“ Know him ?” queried the reporter, sharply.
“Know him! Has n't every man on the force
been on his track rising five years ? He's a marked
man, sir; got a pile of stolen money hid away, sir.
We ’re bound to run him to cover yet.”
“ Perhaps this will be of aid to you. I've been
looking for something to turn up about that missing
money. This may be the clew we need."
There was an odd smile about the reporter's lips,
as if some discovery for which he had long been
watching was about to transpire.
“By your leave!” He coolly drew the inclos-
are from the envelope and spread it out on his knee
for perusal, the officer looking eagerly over his
shoulder.
The letter was written on Congress paper, bear-
ing the heading of the Bank of Yerba Buena. The


362
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
writer, always an elegant penman, appeared to have
indited this communication with unusual care, each
word and character being formed with the utmost
precision, as if to leave no doubt as to their mean-
ing. It began without ceremony or formality,
plunging impetuously into the text of the message
it was designed to convey.
By the time this letter is placed in your hands, Philip
King, you will know me as a thief, a hypocrite, and a
coward, who fled the world to escape the storm he dared
not face. I myself will add another count to the indict-
ment, and stand confessed a traitor to the friend who gave
me his implicit trust. There is no use beating about the .
bush. I stole the unaccounted balance of the missing
funds charged upon you fifteen years ago. I, too, had an
idea of replacing the money before they discovered the
loss, but when I found you were in the same box, and
bound to make a clean breast of the matter, I made up
my mind it would make little difference to you if you
shouldered the whole, and I let you do it. I proved my-
self a better financier than you, investing the money se-
curely, where it has made a substantial return of interest
and damnation every year. Interest and damnation! Per
cents have gone up and down, but the second considera-
tion has always been at a liberal premium. The last year
things have gone badly. Some speculations failed, and I
made up the deficit in the old way. It is easier the sec-
ond time. This time they tracked me down.
If the devil himself had n't had possession of me I'd
have owned up to the whole thing that morning I saw
you in the city prison. It would have made it easier for.
you, and have been the salvation of me. A moralist
might have drawn a very pretty lesson from our lives


AN ENGAGEMENT THAT WAS MET. 365
no movement to execute his warrant. It was the
boatmen who laid hands on the ghastly object and
drew it over the side, and laid it in the bottom of the
boat, a grim and piteous sight, with clinched hands
outstretched, and fixed eyes staring at the sky.
And it was the detective who drew back dismayed
in the presence of the culprit, and made no move-
ment to apprehend him; who nervously clasped and
unclasped about his own wrist the stout manacles
he had designed for the prisoner; who shrank,
awed and silent, in the majesty of a presence which
dwarfed the might of worldly government.
Safely delivered from the clutches of the law,
ladies and gentlemen! Out of the jurisdiction of
the court. Held to answer before that awful tri-
bunal where Truth and Justice hold eternal do-
minion; where Divine Love advocates the cause of
erring humanity, and Infinite Mercy tempers the
verdict.
Slowly and silently the boatmen reversed their
course and pulled back in the direction of the
wharf, to where the waiting crowd had observed
their action and divined its purport, and a crippled
boy awaited their coming in dumb agony. Men
and women crowded eagerly about the landing,
struggling for a glimpse of the fugitive, joint de-
faulter from the corporate institution whose trust
be had betrayed, and from life with its responsibili.
ties; and the greater crime was that which they
reckoned not, or only mentioned with hushed voices,
and with compassion rather than blame.
Meanwhile, the weeks that had just passed had


366
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
held a singular experience for Philip King. In the
confusion that followed upon the abrupt and un-
expected conclusion of the trial, he had passed un-
noticed from the court-room. His sudden relief
from the post which he had assumed toward the
young mother and her child, coupled with the need-
less humiliation which had been forced upon him,
worked a singular revulsion of feeling. A dull time
pervaded business circles, and his patronage was
declining. Seeing his income steadily diminishing,
be grew impatient of the monotony of his life, and
the measured success which had attended his busi-
ness undertakings seemed petty and insignificant.
He conceived a sudden disgust for his profession
and all that pertained to it, scorning its small fees
and slow methods. The next day and the next
found him sitting inactive in his room or making
short visits to his office, postponing engagements
and delaying the performance of pressing duties.
His quondam partner was absent on a summer's
tour through the Yellowstone Park. For the second
time in his career he made the mistake of avoiding
his friends, for he felt that a knowledge of his
frame of mind would undermine their confidence
in his stability of purpose, and, aided by loneliness
and separation, the peculiar mood which had taken
possession of him controlled him more and more,
until duty and ambition fled before it. One day he
put a sign on his door, “ Out of town," and went
down to a seaside town to recruit.
The morning after his arrival at the watering-
place he awoke with a chill of horror. The sense


370
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
King's face with his concluding words, and they
rested there with a long, significant look. King
felt a numbed sensation, as if a serpent were coil-
ing tightly about him ; but he contrived to make
an assent, and the men rosé to go.
“I have heard of you from my friend Mr. Endi-
cott, Mr. King. He told me that I could trust you,”
said the Scotch gentleman, in parting. A flush of
shame covered the assayer's face, but he bowed
quietly, and accompanied them to the door. He
heard the two men pass along the hall, and a mo-
ment later his ear caught the sharp tinkle of the
elevator bell. The next instant hurried steps ap-
proached his door, and Bryant's evil face looked in.
" You understand, King. Divy on the square.
A handsome thing for you, if you do the right
thing." And he was gone.
King rose and locked the door after him, then
took the specimens and passed into his laboratory.
He threw off his coat and took down certain acids,
grinding up fragments of the ore and subjecting
them to various tests. When he had finished his
lips were compressed, and a frown had gathered on
his forehead. Then he took up a rusty knife which
lay on a shelf, and ran some borax over it at a high
heat. The borax dissolved the oxide of iron, leav.
ing the metal clear and white as silver. He com-
pared the blade with the bar of iron he had taken
from Bryant. The effect produced on the two arti.
cles was identical.
His first sensation was one of hot anger and re
sentment. If the would-be swindler had presented


AN ENGAGEMENT THAT WAS MET. 371
himself, he felt that he could have brained him on
the spot. This feeling was succeeded by a sense of
inexpressible humiliation that he should have been
thought open to such an offer. But what if he
should avail himself of the chance ? He would be
at once placed in possession of all he was working
for — would be relieved from the drudgery of daily
work, free to move whithersoever he chose. And
when the fraud was revealed, who could say he had
a part in it? The worst that could happen would
be the loss of his professional reputation, when he
had no longer need of reputation, and a new sus-
picion in the community, which had all along re-
garded him with suspicion and distrust.
He walked out upon the street; but temptation
went with him, whispering ugly suggestions in his
ears, pointing out to him the way to make himself
superior to the purse-proud class who looked down
upon him, promising him plenty and indulgence in
exchange for his weary labor. A week passed by,
and his business was still neglected ; the package
of ore, and the iron bar with its gleaming patches,
lay undisturbed in his laboratory. The time was
drawing near when he must come to a decision.
He walked along the streets one morning, a man
oppressed with the heaviest of all burdens — the
crushing weight of self-distrust; shunning the eyes
of those he met, lest they should read his vacillation
and uncertainty. Suddenly a genial, cordial voice
accosted him.
“ King! Good morning!”
The man who had caught his hand and was


AN ENGAGEMENT THAT WAS MET.
373
He joined the curious and morbid rabble that
thronged the morgue, and the crowd fell back at
his approach, granting him unimpeded passage to
the marble slab where the suicide's body lay ex-
posed to the gaze of curious and morbid spectators.
It was quickly whispered about that the man who
had been so grievously wronged by the dead stood
beside the corpse, and people bent forward eagerly,
expecting to detect some expression of bitterness
or triumph in the new-comer's face; but he only
gazed long and sorrowfully upon the still sleeper,
and once lifted the dead man's hand in his own,
replacing it gently upon the slab. He had no word
of sympathy or consolation to offer the black-robed
woman, with stony face, who kept silent guard by
the dead man's side, unnoting the throngs of people
who came and went.
· Then he turned away and walked slowly down
the street, in the direction of his office, his heart
oppressed with painful suggestions and memories.
Insensibly to himself, the vague doubts and fore-
bodings regarding his own honesty of purpose -
light figments born of morbid self-accusation - gave
way to a deep compassion for the man who had
once been his friend. If Dartmoor had only re-
solved to brave it out and face the consequences !
He was such a genial, popular fellow, with so many
essentially noble traits, no one could have resisted
his honest penitence and desire to make atonement.
He had not once considered the personal significance
of the suicide's confession in its bearing upon his
own position in the community.


CHAPTER XXIX.
RECALLED.
ROBERT CURTIS rose from his chair as a shadow
darkened the doorway of his little glass office.
“ Have a seat, have a seat, Mr. King. You are
punctual to the minute.”
Philip King disregarded the invitation and re-
mained standing where he was, a strange agitation
visible in his face, and one hand thrust into his
breast-pocket.
"I do not know why you have sent for me, Mr.
Curtis, but as you called me here, I am going to ask
you first to listen to me.”
The president of the bank made no reply in
words, but silently awaited his visitor's communi.
cation.
“When I committed the crime by which I for.
feited your trust fifteen years ago, my first impulse
was cowardly, and I yielded to it and fled from
those I had wronged. Before I had been two days
out to sea I would have given worlds to have re-
mained and met the consequences like a man. The
officers thought their agent made a swift and skill.
ful capture that day in Hongkong, but I had gone
down to the wharf expressly to ascertain the date
of the departure of the next home-bound vessel,
and voluntarily placed myself in the detective's


RECALLED.
379
of a man who evidently regarded him as his bitter
and unrelenting foe; a man who was laboring un-
der strange excitement, and fingered that myste-
rious something in his breast with ever-increasing
agitation. Yet the placid look on the president's
face deepened into an expression that was almost
benign, which gradually made itself felt through
the singular agitation of the speaker, and calmed
him slightly, though it was powerless to avert the
stormy outburst that had been breeding for years.
“I plodded on honestly, though beset by all
manner of temptation. A man does not spend ten
of the best years of his life in a California peniten-
tiary without learning of many ways in which
money can be made without labor, and with small
risk of compromise. But I never deviated from
the line I had marked out, and worked steadily on
for the end I had in view. There was a time when
courage failed me, but I was saved — by a woman's
hand ; saved, and brought to realize new obliga-
tions to myself and to society; to recognize that
even a man who has committed a crime may hope,
by earnest endeavor, to regain a place of respect
among his fellow-men. One thing all the time
threatened to frustrate the object for which I la-
bored. What better than derision could a man ex-
pect, if he offered in restitution for a robbery two
thirds of the sum he was believed to still retain ?
The missing amount is now accounted for, and to-
day I can lay before you one half the sum, with
interest on the whole, that you lost by my dishon-
esty fifteen years ago. In time I hope to be able
to make good the rest."


380 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
The hand that had been fumbling in his breast
was withdrawn, holding in its grasp an envelope
filled with notes, which he deposited quietly on the
president's desk. The gray-haired man clutched
the bills eagerly, turning them over with a caress-
ing touch, as one lingers over priceless treasure,
then lifted to the dark-browed man before him a
face aglow with the tenderness and confidence of a
father.
“Ah, Philip, my boy,” he cried, in a cordial
voice that came back to the younger man like the
echoes of an almost forgotten youth, “this justifies
my faith in you, and makes easy and natural what
I have to say. But first recollect, my boy, that a
man in my position has a duty to fulfill to society,
and while my heart was yearning toward you I
have never been free to follow its instincts. Per-
haps — who knows? — you needed the tonic of dis-
belief. You always were an obstinate fellow. But
now to business. I am authorized to offer you
your old place, at your former salary, one half to
be applied every year toward replacing the amount
of your deficit - which, thank the Lord ! will soon
be compassed, with the help of this sum before me.
Philip King!” the old man's voice quavered, “I
have been looking forward to this moment fifteen
years."
With quick, nervous steps King crossed the floor,
and stood looking through blurred eyes into the
dimly-lighted outer apartment, with its maze of
empty counters, while the president remained sit-
ting in his chair, his head bent forward and resting


RECALLED.
381
breast
elope
esure
aim a
of a
stifies
hata
on his hand. It was a peculiar exposition of char-
acter in these two men, that at this moment of su-
preme contact, when soul reached out to soul as it
might never again in a lifetime, neither dared to
look the other in the face.
The air of proud humility which had character.
ized King's attitude during the early portion of the
interview bad wholly disappeared when he turned
back. None of the trials through which he had
passed had unnerved him like this unexpected offer,
and the tremor of strong emotion was in his voice
as he replied: -
"I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Curtis,
but I will say that it restores my self-respect to
find that you are ready to trust me again. I shall
have courage now.” He threw his head back with
an unconscious gesture as he spoke, and his whole
frame seemed to expand and gain in height and
dignity. “ Courage to keep on in the path I had
marked out, to live down suspicion and prejudice.
You must know how tempting this offer is to me.”
The winning, ingenuous smile which had character.
ized Philip King in his early manhood played for a
moment about his lips. “ But you know, too, that
it is my plain duty to decline it. It is impossible
to measure the effect of the example upon the other
employees, if they should see among them a man
who appropriated funds intrusted to him, and
whose offense had been palliated.”
The older man listened with a face calm and im-
pressive as if hewn from granite. He disregarded
King's objections as coolly as if they had been so
much thistle-down.
Jount
5000
e me
fteen
floor,


382 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
" That is a matter," he coolly returned, “ regard.
ing which you must allow us to be the judges. Mr.
King, this question has been fully discussed by the
entire board of directors in session ; and it is our
unanimous sentiment that we want no better exam-
ple for young and old than that of a man who has
honestly acknowledged and bravely borne the pen-
alty of his crime, and afterward, by years of hard
labor and patient endeavor, acquired a reputation
for integrity second to none in the community.
“And now, Philip, dropping business matters,"
he continued, “ I advise you to let no false scruples
stand in the way of your happiness. Your penalty
has been long and severe as the most merciless
judge could desire. Even if you are still willing to
immolate yourself, you should not let that brave
girl suffer longer.”
The younger man heard him through in growing
wonder. Doubt, amazement, a torturing hope,
succeeded by dull incredulity, swept over him.
He leaned forward heavily upon his hands, which
rested on the edge of the desk, grasping the edge
as if for support, as he looked his adviser in the
eye, with a conviction that he was being made the
victim of some cruel joke.
“ You are wrong," he said, slowly, and with sad
decision. “She warned me off — herself — at the
outset. She told me ” — he paused and went
through a mental exercise, as if rehearsing a pain-
ful lesson, oft and carefully conned — " she said I
must not come there too often. That my own
judgment would teach me how compromising it
would be.”


RECALLED.
383
“She did, eh?" exclaimed the old man, smiling
in evident approval. “I knew Miss Thaxter was
a very bright little woman, but upon my word, I
never gave her credit for such self-command and
common sense. You have a reasonably logical
mind, Philip King. What benefit do you think
you would have derived from any woman's in-
fluence at that time, if people could have ascribed
her championship of the sinner to her infatuation
for the man?”
Without comment or response, moving slowly
and mechanically, like one in a dream, Philip King
left the office.
" I thought you would not let the day go en-
tirely by without coming."
How he had covered the ground that lay between
the bank and the quiet home in the Western Addi-
tion, he could scarcely have told, but he found him-
self in the little study, with its crimson hangings,
its well-worn, leather-covered furniture and its
glowing fire. He had made his way thither, posa
sessed by a mad desire to cast himself at her feet,
to kiss the hem of her robe, to implore her mercy
and forgiveness; and if she should look down upon
him with tender, pitying eyes, if the words to which
he had just listened were indeed no fiction of the
imagination, and the rich treasure of her love were
really his, to pledge himself eternally her devoted
slave, the remainder of whose life should be one
long atonement for the past. And behold ! she had
arisen from her chair, chaste and cold and beautiful


384
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
as Diana, and addressed him in the frank language
and even tone of an indifferent friend.
" It has been an exciting day for me.”
He passed his hand over his forehead, as if with
the gesture he would sweep away the confused
throng of hopes and fears by which he was encom-
passed, and regain his accustomed composure, where
no glimpses of an unattainable Paradise disturbed
the drear monotony.
“But a day of triumph also !”
Her voice had a jubilant ring. He looked at her
in silent questioning.
"Oh, yes; poor Dartmoor. I can't say I rejoice
over that.”
“ I do.” The clear, bright look of a dearly won
victory was in her eyes. “He had lived a lie for
years. It was infamous to let the cloud of his own
misdoings rest on you. I rejoice that he has been
brought to justice, though it has been by his own
hand, and before the tribunal of another world.”
King remained with his gaze fixed upon the fire
while she was speaking, and with a dull pain stir.
ring in his heart. The dim suspicion he bad once
cherished that some attachment existed between
her and the man whose death was that day the
topic of the city bad long ago been dispelled. But
it came to him with the force of a conviction that
no woman could denounce in this grave, cool man-
ner the wrongs of the man she loved. She was a
stanch, true-hearted friend; he must always bear
that in mind. It was due to her that he should
make her his confidant in the good fortune that had


388 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
sion surging in his heart, the habit of self-restraint
was so strong upon him that he simply held her
hands gently imprisoned in his own and earnestly
scanned her face, for the first time sorrowfully not-
ing how it bad thinned and grown baggard in the
last twelve months.
“ Care!” Her look was an eloquent assurance.
How she had loved and worked and waited for this.
She drew a deep sigh of content, and laid her head
on his shoulder like a tired child.
He did not know how he had longed and de-
spaired and hungered for this hour, until he held
her heart to heart, listening to her broken protests
of affection, moved by a joy so deep and strong
that it could find no expression in words.
“ And you have really loved me through it all?”
His voice was solemn with awe and thanksgiving.
“ So loyal that you never faltered, even when you
knew I had become unworthy - that to hold fast
to me imperiled your own good name and stand-
ing?”
She drew impetuously away, hiding her face for
an instant in her hands. When she lifted it again
he was shocked at the change that had passed over
it.
“ Philip! Philip!” Her voice was sharp with
pain. “Do you suppose I do not remember —
have not remembered — all these years ? Oh, those
shameful, senseless words! What would I not give
to recall them.”
“ Hush! You shall stop.” He made an una-
vailing effort to check her. “What stamp of man


390 THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
handicapped on every side by prejudice and con.
tempt; who had endured without betrayal the
pangs of bodily starvation, and the deeper pain of
a heart denied the invigorating influence of a sin-
gle human tie - in the hour of his final success,
when a flood of sunshine banished the shadows for-
ever from his life, buried his face in his hands and
wept.


TWO GIFTS.
393
She saw the Portland post-mark, and guessed its
purport.
“ Philip! your father ?”
“ Yes. The stock-raising venture has proved a
failure. He says he is getting old, he cannot be
here long, and he wants Fred under my influence.
The boy himself sends a line - a manly word of
regret.”
" And you will answer, Philip ? I know what
you will say. We shall have them both with us.”
“I have answered. Poor old father! It is good
to have the chance to make up to him for the
past."
Several personal friends of Philip King - men
who had known him in his youth, and followed his
fortunes in later years — determined to disregard
the injunction “no presents,” which appeared on
the wedding invitations, and to unite in offering
them regarded the occasion as an opportunity to
atone for injustice they had done him in the past.
They met together for consultation one day, in
a private room of one of the down-town clubs. The
general sentiment was that the gift must be modest
and inexpensive, and yet distinctive in character;
something, in short, that they would give to no
other man but King, and that would hold some real
significance.
They spent an hour or two discussing the absurd
suggestions which emanated from various masculine
minds. They canvassed every available commodity,


394
THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
from a photograph album to a model of the Com-
stock mines. A young Englishman — one Endi-
cott, who had joined their number — finally inter-
rupted their meditations.
“ If you 'll pardon me for taking the liberty,
gentlemen," he said, “I don't think Mr. King
would be pleased with anything you could purchase
for money."
On hearing this the little caucus looked dis-
mayed, and not a few of the men felt a sense of
personal injury, persuaded that Endicott had de-
stroyed their last hope of reaching a satisfactory
solution of the problem they had in hand. But the
Englishman was not through. He went on, speak-
ing slowly and seriously, weighing his words with
the utmost deliberation.
“ There are some things more to be valued than
any gift money can buy. Men of influence are
present, who no doubt have a personal acquaintance
with the chief executive of the State. One scratch
of the governor's pen” –
There was no need of further explanation. There
was a loud burst of applause, each man instantly
ratifying the suggestion by the only means at his
command. John Rutherford was unanimously con-
stituted their delegate, and promptly departed to
execute his mission.
Two days later that distinguished executive, the
Governor of California, was enjoying a morning
plunge in the sea at Santa Monica. Although pos-
sessed of a somewhat corpulent frame, the governor
was an accomplished swimmer, and gamboled in the


TWO GIFTS.
395
Che Com
ne Endi-
Hly inter
liberts,
r. King
Durchase
sed dis
sense of
bad de
sfactory
But the
- speak
ds with
ed than
surf with the grace and agility of a porpoise. He
was just in the act of diving from a long plank
which projected over the water, when a voice called
out his name.
“Spellman! Look here.”
The summons came too late to arrest the swim.
mer's plunge. The governor disappeared beneath
the waves, and an instant later came up a few rods
away, puffing and blowing, to see John Rutherford's
tall form standing on the spot he had just left.
“ Out of that in a hurry, Spellman! Don't lose
a minute!”
"What is the matter? Has the State Museum
taken fire, or have some enterprising cracksmen
made off with another set of platinum medals ? Or
are matters going to the demnition bow-wows' for
lack of another appropriation ?”.
“ I have a paper for you to sign.".
“ I call this persecution, Rutherford – interrupt-
ing a man in the midst of his bath, to trouble him
with affairs of state. Of course you 'll allow me to
put on my canonicals.”
“No quarter, governor ! I'll only make you
suspend your ablutions for a moment. They were
not half as merciful to Cincinnatus, when they took
him from his agricultural pursuits.”
The bather had mounted the steps with dripping
garments, and sat on the edge of the pier, looking
like a very jolly modern edition of Neptune. The
mineralogist handed him a document and a stylo-
graphic pen. After a brief persual the governor
looked up with a puzzled expression.
ce are
Intance
Scratch
There
Stantly
at his
COM
Eed to
ce, the
=rning
pos-
ernor
in the


THE MAN WHO WAS GUILTY.
“ Philip King! Where have I heard that name?
I bave it now. But what in thunder does it mean?
The man was up to Sacramento to see me on the
same business last spring; but not for himself; for
another man — an old fellow from one of the north-
ern counties, who, it seems, had been rather shab-
bily treated by the State.”
“I can believe it,” said John Rutherford, his face
lighting up. “It is just like him. All the more
reason why you should sign this paper without
delay. My train leaves in ten minutes.”
The governor obediently signed his name and
scrawled a rude representation of the state seal
below.
“It is n't a very proper sort of paper, but I think
it will hold,” he ruefully declared. “You know
I'm fond of forms and ceremonies, Rutherford, and
I believe you 're laughing in your sleeve because
you have caught me in this plight. Off with you
now, or you 'll be late.”
On the evening following John Rutherford's in-
terview with the governor there was a quiet wed-
ding at St. Luke's Chapel, the modest house of wor-
ship which its parishioners delighted to call “ The
Little Church Around the Corner.” A number
of invited guests were present, but there was no at-
tempt at display; and in place of the usual flutter
of expectancy and curious speculation, a solemn
hush pervaded the church, as a man and woman -
the latter dressed with the utmost simplicity, but
wearing upon her face the glowing beauty of per-
fect happiness — stood before the clergyman, and


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