From whose bourne etc
Robert Barr, Christine M. Demain Hammond,
Gertrude Demain Hammond, Hal Hurst



)








-



Buelplaced his portmanteau on the dec!;.
[A 234-


M WHOSE BOUt





FROM WHOSE BOURNE
ETC.
By ROBERT BARR (LUKE SHARP)
AUTHOR OF "IN A STEAMER CHAIR," ETC.

IVITH FORTY-SEVEN ILLUSTRATIONS
BY C. M. D. HAMMOND G. D. HAMMOND, AND HAL HURST
% o n D o n
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY
i893





TO
AN HONEST MAN
AND
A GOOD WOMAN.





CONTENTS.
FROM WHOSE BOURNE
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP...
THE HERALDS OP FAME ...
279097


PRINCIPAL ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAOE
Buel placed his portmanteau
on the deck Frontispiece
William Brenton ... Title
"Do you think I shall be
missed?" 1
He again sat in the rocking-
chair 3
He saw standing beside him
a stranger 6
A Venetian Cafe ... 9
Venice .... 13
In Venice 19
The Brenton Murder ... 23
Mrs. Brenton 25
Gold 30
Publicity 31
The Broken Toy 35
"She's pretty as a picture" 45
Raising the Veil 48
Jane GO
The Detective 73
Jane Morton 78
"Oh, why did I do it?" ... 81
"How much time do you
give me?" 90
In the prisoner's dock .. 91
"I feel very grateful to you" 97
"Here's the detailed report" 99
"Guilty! Guilty of what?" 113
And then read it over to
himself 125
They drove along the silent
streets 129
She stamped her pretty foot
on it 138
Pasted them carefully to-
gether 139
PAGE
She gave the letter to her
husband 147
Miss Sommerton accom-
panied by old Mrs.
Perrault 157
Miss Sommerton walked
rapidly along the wood-
land path 163
She gazed dreamily at the
great Falls ... ... 164
He was lying at full length,
with his camera-box under
his head for a pillow ... 170
"You are not rich, then, I
imagine?" 185
"Beacon Street is Boston" 188
Smoking in a meditative
manner 197
"Mr. Buel, I think?" ... 223
Mr. Hodden quickly found
that the appeal to Cresar
was not well timed ... 241
"If I haven't robbed that
poor innocent young man
of a book" 242
"Didn't you buy this book
for yourself?" 245
Entering the state-room, he
found Hodden still there 248
He found her reading his
book 252
At first Mr. Hodden held
aloof from his fellow-
passengers 260
The conversation was here
interrupted by Mr. Hod-
den 203


2
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
having a very good time, and I suppose the dancing
will begin shortly; so I don't think they will miss
me. If I feel better I will be down in an hour or two;
if not, I shall go to bed. Now, dear, don't worry; but
have a good time- with the rest of them."
William Brenton went quietly upstairs to his room,
and sat down in the darkness in a rocking chair.
Eemaining there a few minutes, and not feeling any
better, he slowly undressed and went to bed. Faint
echoes reached him of laughter and song; finally,
music began, and he felt, rather than heard, the
pulsation of dancing feet. Once, when the music had
ceased for a time, Alice tiptoed into the room, and
said in a quiet voice—
"How are you feeling, Will? any better?"
"A little," he answered drowsily. "Don't worry
about me; I shall drop off to sleep presently, and
shall be all right in the morning. Good night."
He still heard in a dreamy sort of way the music,
the dancing, the laughter; and gradually there came
oblivion, which finally merged into a dream, the most
strange and vivid vision he had ever experienced. It
seemed to him that he sat again in the rocking chair
near the bed. Although he knew the room was dark,
he had no difficulty in seeing everything perfectly.
He heard, now quite plainly, the music and dancing
downstairs, but what gave a ghastly significance to
his dream was the sight of his own person on the
bed. The eyes were half open, and the face was
drawn and rigid. The colour of the face was the
white, greyish tint of death.
"This is a nightmare," said Brenton to himself;
"I must try and wake myself." But he seemed


FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 3
powerless to do this, and he sat there looking at his
own body while the night wore on. Once he rose and
went to the side of the bed. He seemed to have
reached it merely by wishing himself there, and he

He again sat in the rocking-chair.
passed his hand over the face, but no feeling of touch
was communicated to him. He hoped his wife would
come and rouse him from this fearful semblance of a
dream, and, wishing this, he found himself standing
at her side, amidst the throng downstairs, who were
now merrily saying good-bye. Brenton tried to speak
to his wife, but although he was conscious of speak-
ing, she did not seem to hear him, or know he was
there.
The party had been one given on Christmas Eve,
and as it was now two o'clock in the morning, the
departing guests were wishing Mrs. Brenton a merry
Christmas. Finally, the door closed on the last of
the revellers, and Mrs. Brenton stood for a moment


4
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
giving instructions to the sleepy servants; then, with
a tired sigh, she turned and went upstairs, Brenton
walking by her side until they came to the darkened
room, which she entered on tiptoe.
"Now," said Brenton to himself, "she will arouse
me from this appalling dream." It was not that
there was anything dreadful in the dream itself, but
the clearness with which he saw everything, and the
fact that his mind was perfectly wide awake, gave
him an uneasiness which he found impossible to
shake off.
In the dim light from the hall his wife prepared to
retire. The horrible thought struck Brenton that she
imagined he was sleeping soundly, and was anxious
not to awaken him—for of course she could have no
realization of the nightmare he was in—so once again
he tried to communicate with her. He spoke her
name over and over again, but she proceeded quietly
with her preparations for the night. At last she
crept in at the other side of the bed, and in a few
moments was asleep. Once more Brenton struggled
to awake, but with no effect. He heard the clock strike
three, and then four, and then five, but there was no
apparent change in his dream. He feared that he
might be in a trance, from which, perhaps, he would
not awake until it was too late. Grey daylight began
to brighten the window, and he noticed that snow
was quietly falling outside, the flakes noiselessly
beating against the window pane. Every one slept
late that morning, but at last he heard the prepara-
tions for breakfast going on downstairs—the light
clatter of china on the table, the rattle of the grate;
and, as he thought of these things, he found himself


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
5
in the dining-room, and saw the trim little maid, who
still yawned every now and then, laying the plates
in their places. He went upstairs again, and stood
watching the sleeping face of his wife. Once she
raised her hand above her head, and he thought she
was going to awake; ultimately her eyes opened, and
she gazed for a time at the ceiling, seemingly trying
to recollect the events of the day before.
"Will," she said dreamily, "are you still
asleep?"
There was no answer from the rigid figure at the
front of the bed. After a few moments she placed
her hand quietly over the sleeper's face. As she did
so, her startled eyes showed that she had received a
shock. Instantly she sat upright in bed, and looked
for one brief second on the face of the sleeper beside
her; then, with a shriek that pierced the stillness of
the room, she sprang to the floor.
"Will! Will!" she cried, "speak to me! What
is the matter with you? Oh, my God! my God!"
she cried, staggering back from the bed. Then, with
shriek after shriek, she ran blindly through the hall
to the stairway, and there fell fainting on the floor.
CHAPTER II.
William Brenton knelt beside the fallen lady, and
tried to soothe and comfort her, but it was evident
that she was insensible.
"It is useless," said a voice by his side.
Brenton looked up suddenly, and saw standing
beside him a stranger. Wondering for a moment


6
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
how he got there, and thinking that after all it was a
dream, he said—
"What is useless? She is not dead."
"No," answered the stranger, "but you are."

lie saw standing heside him a stranger.
"I am what ?" cried Brenton.
"You are what the material world calls dead,
although in reality you have just begun to live."
"And who are you?" asked Brenton. "And how
did you get in here?"


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
7
The other smiled.
"How did you get in here?" he said, repeating
Brenton's words.
"I? Why, this is my own house."
"Was, you mean."
"I mean that it is. I am in my own house. This
lady is my wife."
"Was," said the other.
"I do not understand you," cried Brenton, very
much annoyed. "But, in any case, your presence
and your remarks are out of place here."
"My dear sir," said the other, "I merely wish to
aid you and to explain to you anything that you may
desire to know about your new condition. You are
now free from the incumbrance of your body. You
have already had some experience of the additional
powers which that riddance has given you. You have
also, I am afraid, had an inkling of the fact that the
spiritual condition has its limitations. If you desire
to communicate with those whom you have left, I
would strongly advise you to postpone the attempt,
and to leave this place, where you will experience
only pain and anxiety. Come with me, and learn
something of your changed circumstances."
"I am in a dream,", said Brenton, "and you are
part of it. I went to sleep last night, and am still
dreaming. This is a nightmare, and it will soon be
over."
"You are saying that," said the other, "merely
to convince yourself. It is now becoming apparent
to you that this is not a dream. If dreams exist,
it was a dream which you left, but you have now
become awake. If you really think it is a dream,


8
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
then do as I tell you—come with me and leave it,
because you must admit that this part of the dream
is at least very unpleasant."
"It is not very pleasant," assented Brenton. As
he spoke the bewildered servants came rushing up
the stairs, picked up their fallen mistress, and laid
her on a sofa. They rubbed her hands and dashed
water in her face. She opened her eyes, and then
closed them again with a shudder.
"Sarah," she cried, "have I been dreaming, or is
your master dead?"
The two girls turned pale at this, and the
elder of them went boldly into the room which
her mistress had just left. She was evidently a
young woman who had herself under good control,
but she came out sobbing, with her apron to her
eyes.
"Come, come," said the man who stood beside
Brenton, "haven't you had enough of this? Come
with me ; you can return to this house if you wish ;"
and together they passed out of the room into the
crisp air of Christmas morning. But, although
Brenton knew it must be cold, he had no feeling of
either cold or warmth.
"There are a number of us," said the stranger to
Brenton, "who take turns at watching the sick-bed
when a man is about to die, and when his spirit
leaves his body, we are there to explain, or comfort,
or console. Your death was so sudden that we had
no warning of it. You did not feel ill before last
night, did you?"
"No," replied Brenton. "I felt perfectly well
until after dinner last night.".


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
9
"Did you leave your affairs in reasonably good
order?"
"Yes," said Brenton, trying to recollect. "I
think they will find everything perfectly straight."
"Tell me a little of your history, if you do not
mind," inquired the other; "it will help me in
trying to initiate you into our new order of things
here."
"Well," replied Brenton, and he wondered at
himself for falling so easily into the other's assump-
tion that he was a dead man, "I was what they
call on the earth in reasonably good circumstances.
R estate should be worth $100,000. I had $75,000
insurance on my life, and if all that is paid,
it should net my widow not far from a couple of
hundred thousand."
"How long have you been married?" said the
other.
"Only about six months. I was married last
July, and we went
for a trip abroad.
We were married
quietly, and left al-
most immediately
afterwards, so we
thought, on our re-
turn, it would not
be a bad plan to
give a Christmas
Eve dinner, and in- A Venetian
vite some of our friends. That," he said, hesitating
a moment, "was last night. Shortly after dinner,
I began to feel rather ill, and went upstairs to rest


10
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
for a while; and if what you say is true, the first
thing I knew I found myself dead."
"Alive," corrected the other.
"Well, alive, though at present I feel I belong
more to the world I have left than I do to the
world I appear to be in. I must confess, although
you are a very plausible gentleman to talk to, that I
expect at any moment to wake and find this to have
been one of the most horrible nightmares that I ever
had the ill luck to encounter."
The other smiled.
"There is very little danger of your waking up,
as you call it. Now, I will tell you the great
trouble we have with people when they first come to
the spirit-land, and that is to induce them to
forget entirely the world they have relinquished.
Men whose families are in poor circumstances, or
men whose affairs are in a disordered state, find it
very difficult to keep from trying to set things right
again. They have the feeling that they can console
or comfort those whom they have left behind them,
and it is often a long time before they are convinced
that their efforts are entirely futile, as well as very
distressing for themselves."
"Is there, then," asked Brenton, "no communica-
tion between this world and the one that I have
given up?"
The other paused for a moment before he replied.
"I should hardly like to say," he answered, "that
there is no communication between one world and
the other; but the communication that exists is so
slight and unsatisfactory, that if you are sensible you
will see things with the eyes of those who have very


FROM WHOSE BOURNE. II
much more experience in this world than you have.
Of course, you can go back there as much as you
like; there will be no interference and no hindrance.
But when you see things going wrong, when you see
a mistake about to be made, it is an appalling
thing to stand there helpless, unable to influence
those you love, or to point out a palpable error, and
convince them that your clearer sight sees it as such.
Of course, I understand that it must be very difficult
for a man who is newly married, to entirely abandon
the one who has loved him, and whom he loves. But
I assure you that if you follow the life of one who is
as young and handsome as your wife, you will find
some one else supplying the consolations you are
unable to bestow. Such a mission may lead you to
a church where she is married to her second husband.
I regret to say that even the most imperturbable
spirits are ruffled when such an incident occurs. The
wise men are those who appreciate and understand
that they are in an entirely new world, with new
powers and new limitations, and who govern them-
selves accordingly from the first, as they will certainly
do later on."
"My dear sir," said Brenton, somewhat offended,
"if what you say is true, and I am really a dead
man"
"Alive," corrected the other.
"Well, alive, then. I may tell you that my wife's
heart is broken. She will never marry again."
"Of course, that is a subject of which you know a
great deal more than I do. I all the more strongly
advise you never to see her again. It is impossible
for you to offer any consolation, and the sight of her


I 2
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
grief and misery will only result in unhappiness for
yourself. Therefore, take my advice. I have given
it very often, and I assure you those who did not take
it expressed their regret afterwards. Hold entirely
aloof from anything relating to your former life."
Brenton was silent for some moments; finally he
said—
"I presume your advice is well meant; but if
things are as you state, then I may as well say, first
as last, that I do not intend to accept it."
"Very well," said the other; "it is an experience
that many prefer to go through for themselves."
"Do you have names in this spirit-land?" asked
Brenton, seemingly desirous of changing the sub-
ject.
"Yes," was the answer; "we are known by the
names that we have used in the preparatory school
below. My name is Ferris."
"And if I wish to find you here, how do I set
about it?"
"The wish is sufficient," answered Ferris. "Merely
wish to be with me, and you are with me."
"Good gracious!" cried Brenton, "is locomotion
so easy as that?"
"Locomotion is very easy. I do not think any-
thing could be easier than it is, and I do not think
there could be any improvement in that matter."
"Are there matters here, then, that you think could
be improved?"
"As to that I shall not say. Perhaps you will be
able to give your own opinion before you have lived
here much longer."
"Taking it all in all," said Brenton, "do you think


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
13
the spirit-land is to be preferred to the one we have
left?"
"I like it better," said Ferris, "although I pre-
sume there are some who do not. There are many
advantages; and then, again, there are many—well,
I would not say disadvantages, but still some people
consider them such. We are free from the pangs of
hunger or cold, and have therefore no need of money,
and there is no necessity for the rush and the worry
of the world below."
"And how about heaven and hell?" said Brenton.
"Are those localities all a myth? Is there nothing
of punishment and nothing of reward in this spirit-
land?"
There was no answer to this, and when Brenton
looked around he found that his companion had
departed.

Venice.
CHAPTER III.
William Brenton pondered long on the situation.
He would have known better how to act if he could
have been perfectly certain that he was not still the


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
victim of a dream. However, of one thing there was
no doubt—namely, that it was particularly harrowing
to see what he had seen in his own house. If it were
true that he was dead, he said to himself, was not the
plan outlined for him by Ferris very much the wiser
course to adopt? He stood now in one of the streets
of the city so familiar to him. People passed and
repassed him—men and women whom he had known
in life—but nobody appeared to see him. He resolved,
if possible, to solve the problem uppermost in his
mind, and learn whether or not he could communicate
with an inhabitant of the world he had left. He
paused for a moment to consider the best method of
doing this. Then he remembered one of his most
confidential friends and advisers, and at once wished
himself at his office. He found the office closed, but
went in to wait for his friend. Occupying the time
in thinking over his strange situation, he waited long,
and only when the bells began to ring did he remember
it was Christmas forenoon, and that his friend would
not be at the office that day. The next moment he
wished himself at his friend's house, but he was as
unsuccessful as at the office; the friend was not at
home. The household, however, was in great com-
motion, and, listening to what was said, he found
that the subject of conversation was his own death,
and he learned that his friend had gone to the
Brenton residence as soon as he heard the startling
news of Christmas morning.
Once more Brenton paused, and did not know what
to do. He went again into the street. Everything
seemed to lead him toward his own home. Although
he had told Ferris that he did not intend to take his


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
15
advice, yet as a sensible man he saw that the
admonition was well worth considering, and if he
could once become convinced that there was no
communication possible between himself and those
he had left; if he could give them no comfort and no
cheer; if he could see the things which they did not
see, and yet be unable to give them warning, he
realized that he would merely be adding to his own
misery, without alleviating the troubles of others.
He wished he knew where to find Ferris, so that
he might have another talk with him. The man
impressed him as being exceedingly sensible. No
sooner, however, had he wished for the company of
Mr. Ferris than he found himself beside that
gentleman.
"By George !" he said in astonishment, "you are
just the man I wanted to see."
"Exactly," said Ferris; "that is the reason you
do see me."
"I have been thinking over what you said," con-
tinued the other, "and it strikes me that after all
your advice is sensible."
"Thank you," replied Ferris, with something like
a smile on his face.
"But there is one thing I want to be perfectly
certain about. I want to know whether it is not
possible for me to communicate with my friends.
Nothing will settle that doubt in my mind except
actual experience."
"And have you not had experience enough?"
asked Ferris.
"Well," replied the other, hesitating, "I have had
some experience, but it seems to me that, if I encounter


i6
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
an old friend, I could somehow make myself felt
by him."
"In that case," answered Ferris, "if nothing will
convince you but an actual experiment, why don't
you go to some of your old friends and try what you
can do with them?"
"I have just been to the office and to the residence
of one of my old friends. I found at his residence
that he had gone to my "—Brenton paused for a
moment—" former home. Everything seems to lead
me there, and yet, if I take your advice, I must avoid
that place of all others."
"I would at present, if I were you," said Ferris.
"Still, why not try it with any of the passers-by?"
Brenton looked around him. People were passing
and repassing where the two stood talking with each
other. "Merry Christmas" was the word on all
lips. Finally Brenton said, with a look of uncertainty
on his face—
"My dear fellow, I can't talk to any of these people.
I don't know them."
Ferris laughed at this, and replied—
"I don't think you will shock them very much;
just try it."
"Ah, here's a friend of mine. You wait a moment,
and I will accost him." Approaching him, Brenton
held out his hand and spoke, but the traveller paid
no attention. He passed by as one who had seen or
heard nothing.
"I assure you," said Ferris, as he noticed the look
of disappointment on the other's face, "you will
meet with a similar experience, however much you
try. You know the old saying about one not being


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
17
able to have his cake and eat it too. You can't have
the privileges of this world and those of the world you
left as well. I think, taking it all in all, you should
rest content, although it always hurts those who have
left the other world not to be able to communicate
with their friends, and at least assure them of their
present welfare."
"It does seem to me," replied Brenton, "that
would be a great consolation, both for those who are
here and those who are left."
"Well, I don't know about that," answered the
other. "After all, what does life in the other world
amount to? It is merely a preparation for this. It
is of so short a space, as compared with the life we
live here, that it is hardly worth while to interfere
with it one way or another. By the time you are
as long here as I have been, you will realize the
truth of this."
"Perhaps I shall," said Brenton, with a sigh;
"but, meanwhile, what am I to do with myself? I
feel like the man who has been all his life in active
business, and who suddenly resolves to enjoy himself
doing nothing. That sort of thing seems to kill a
great number of men, especially if they put off taking
a rest until too late, as most of us do."
"Well," said Ferris, "there is no necessity of your
being idle here, I assure you. But before you lay out
any work for yourself, let me ask you if there is not
some interesting part of the world that you would
like to visit?"
"Certainly; I have seen very little of the world.
That is one of my regrets at leaving it."
"Bless me," said the other, "you haven't left it."


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"Why, I thought you said I was a dead man?"
"On the contrary," replied his companion, "I
have several times insisted that you have just begun
to live. Now where shall we spend the day?"
"How would London do?"
"I don't think it would do; London is apt to be a
little gloomy at this time of the year. But what do
you say to Naples, or Japan, or, if you don't
wish to go out of the United States, Yellowstone
Park?"
"Can we reach any of those places before the day
is over ?" asked Brenton, dubiously.
"Well, I will soon show you how we manage all
that. Just wish to accompany me, and I will take
you the rest of the way."
"How would Venice do?" said Brenton. "I
didn't see half as much of that city as I wanted to."
"Very well," replied his companion, "Venice it is;"
and the American city in which they stood faded
away from them, and before Brenton could make up
his mind exactly what was happening, he found
himself walking with his comrade in St. Mark's
Square.
"Well, for rapid transit," said Brenton, "this
beats anything I've ever had any idea of; but it
increases the feeling that I am in a dream."
"You'll soon get used to it," answered Ferris;
"and, when you do, the cumbersome methods of
travel in the world itself will show themselves in their
right light. "Hello !" he cried, "here's a man whom
I should like you to meet. By the way, I either don't
know your name or I have forgotten it."
"William Brenton," answered the other.


20
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
strangers how they like the country. He has inquired
so often while interviewing foreigners for his paper
that now he cannot abandon his old phrase. Mr.
Brenton has been with us but a short time," continued
Ferris, "and so you know, Speed, you can hardly
expect him to answer your inevitable question."
"What part of the country are you from?" asked
Speed.
"Cincinnati," answered Brenton, feeling almost as
if he were an American tourist doing the continent
of Europe.
"Cincinnati, eh? Well, I congratulate you. I do
not know any place in America that I would sooner
die in, as they call it, than Cincinnati. You see, I
am a Chicago man myself."
Brenton did not like the jocular familiarity of the
newspaper man, and found himself rather astonished
to learn that in the spirit-world there were likes and
dislikes, just as on earth.
"Chicago is a very enterprising city," he said, in
a non-committal way.
"Chicago, my dear sir," said Speed, earnestly, "is
the city. You will see that Chicago is going to be
the great city of the world before you are a hundred
years older. By the way, Ferris," said the Chicago
man, suddenly recollecting something, "I have got
Sommers over here with me."
"Ah !" said Ferris; "doing him any good?"
"Well, precious little, as far as I can see."
"Perhaps it would interest Mr. Brenton to meet
him," said Ferris. "I think, Brenton, you asked me
a while ago if there was any hell here, or any punish-
ment. Mr. Speed can show you a man in hell."


FROM WEOSE BOURNE.
21
"Eeally?" asked Brenton.
"Yes," said Speed; "I think if ever a man was
in misery, he is. The trouble with Sommers was
this. He—well, he died of delirium tremens, and
so, of course, you know what the matter was.
Sommers had drunk Chicago whisky for thirty-five
years straight along, and never added to it the
additional horror of Chicago water. You see what
his condition became, both physical and mental.
Many people tried to reform Sommers, because he
was really a brilliant man; but it was no use. Thirst
for liquor had become a disease with him, and from
the mental part of that disease, although his physical
yearning is now gone of course, he suffers. Sommers
would give his whole future for one glass of good old
Kentucky whisky. He sees it on the counters, he
sees men drink it, and he stands beside them in
agony. That's why I brought him over here. I
thought that he wouldn't see the colour of whisky as
it sparkles in the glass; but now he is in the Cafe
Quadra watching men drink. You may see him
sitting there with all the agony of unsatisfied desire
gleaming from his face."
"And what do you do with a man like that?"
asked Brenton.
"Do? Well, to tell the truth, there is nothing to
do. I took him away from Chicago, hoping to ease
his trouble a little; but it has had no effect."
"It will come out all right by-and-by," said
Ferris, who noticed the pained look on Brenton's
face. "It is the period of probation that he has
to pass through. It will wear off. He merely
goes through the agonies he would have suffered on


22
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
earth if he had suddenly been deprived of his
favourite intoxicant."
"Well," said Speed, "you won't come with me,
then? All right, good-bye. I hope to see you again,
Mr. Brenton," and with that they separated.
Brenton spent two or three days in Venice, but all
the time the old home hunger was upon him. He
yearned for news of Cincinnati. He wanted to be
back, and several times the wish brought him there,
but he instantly returned. At last he said to
Ferris—
"I am tired. I must go home. I have got to see
how things are going."
"I wouldn't if I were you," replied Ferris.
"No, I know you wouldn't. Your temperament
is indifferent. I would rather be miserable with
knowledge than happy in ignorance. Good-bye."
It was evening when he found himself in Cincinnati.
The weather was bright and clear, and apparently
cold. Men's feet crisped on the frozen pavement,
and the streets had that welcome, familiar look which
they always have to the returned traveller when he
reaches the city he calls his home. The newsboys
were rushing through the streets yelling their papers
at the top of their voices. He heard them, but paid
little attention.
"All about the murder! Latest edition! All
about the poison case!"
He felt that he must have a glimpse at a paper,
and, entering the office of an hotel where a man was
reading one, he glanced over his shoulder at the page
before him, and was horror-stricken to see the words
in startling headlines—


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
23
THE BRENTON MURDER.
The Autopsy shows that Morphine was the Poison used.
Enough found to have killed a Dozen Men.
Mrs. Brenton arrested for Committing the Horrible
Deed.


24
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
CHAPTER IV.
For a moment Brenton was so bewildered and amazed
at the awful headlines which he read, that he could
hardly realize what had taken place. The fact that
he had been poisoned, although it gave him a strange
sensation, did not claim his attention as much as
might have been thought. Curiously enough he was
more shocked at finding himself, as it were, the talk
of the town, the central figure of a great newspaper
sensation. But the thing that horrified him was the
fact that his wife had been arrested for his murder.
His first impulse was to go to her at once, but he
next thought it better to read what the paper said
about the matter, so as to become possessed of all
the facts. The headlines, he said to himself, often
exaggerated things, and there was a possibility that
the body of the article would not bear out the flaming
announcement above it. But as he read on and on,
the situation seemed to become more and more
appalling. He saw that his friends had been
suspicious of his sudden death, and had insisted on
a post-mortem examination. That examination had
been conducted by three of the most eminent
physicians of Cincinnati, and the three doctors had
practically agreed that the deceased, in the language
of the verdict, had come to his death through mor-
phia poisoning, and the coroner's jury had brought
in a verdict that "the said William Brenton had
been poisoned by some person unknown." Then the
article went on to state how suspicion had gradually


26
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
Brenton at once went to the jail, and wandered
through that gloomy building, searching for his wife.
At last he found her, but it was in a very comfortable
room in the sheriffs residence. The terror and the
trials of the last few days had aged her perceptibly,
and it cut Brenton to the heart to think that he
stood there before her, and could not by any means
say a soothing word that she would understand.
That she had wept many bitter tears since the terrible
Christmas morning was evident; there were dark
circles under her beautiful eyes that told of sleepless
nights. She sat in a comfortable armchair, facing
the window, and looked steadily out at the dreary
winter scene with eyes that apparently saw nothing.
Her hands lay idly on her lap, and now and then she
caught her breath in a way that was half a sob and
half a gasp.
Presently the sheriff himself entered the room.
"Mrs. Brenton," he said, "there is a gentleman
here who wishes to see you. Mr. Boland, he tells
me his name is, an old friend of yours. Do you care
to see any one?"
The lady turned her head slowly round, and
looked at the sheriff for a moment, seemingly not
understanding what he said. Finally she answered,
dreamily—
"Boland? Oh, Stephen! Yes, I shall be very
glad to see him. Ask him to come in, pleaBe."
The next moment Stephen Boland entered, and
somehow the fact that he had come to console Mrs.
Brenton did not at all please the invisible man who
stood between them.
"My dear Mrs. Brenton," began Boland, "I hope


FBOM WHOSE BOURNE.
27
you are feeling better to-day? Keep up your
courage, and be brave. It is only for a very short
time. I have retained the noted criminal lawyers,
Benham and Brown, for the defence. You could not
possibly have better men."
At the word "criminal" Mrs. Brenton shuddered.
"Alice," continued Eoland, sitting down near her,
and drawing his chair closer to her, "tell me that
you will not lose your courage. I want you to be
brave, for the sake of your friends."
He took her listless hand in his own, and she did
not withdraw it.
Brenton felt passing over him the pangs of im-
potent rage, as he saw this act on the part of Eoland.
Boland had been an unsuccessful suitor for the
hand which he now held in his own, and Brenton
thought it the worst possible taste, to say the least,
that he should take advantage now of her terrible
situation to ingratiate himself into her favour.
The nearest approach to a quarrel that Brenton
and his wife had had during their short six months
of wedded life was on the subject of the man who
now held her hand in his own. It made Brenton
impatient to think that a woman with all her boasted
insight into character, her instincts as to what was
right and what was wrong, had such little real
intuition that she did not see into the character of
the man whom they were discussing; but a woman
never thinks it a crime for a man to have been in love
with her, whatever opinion of that man her husband
may hold.
"It is awful! awful! awful!" murmured the poor
lady, as the tears again rose to her eyes.


28
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"Of course it is," said Roland; "it is particularly
awful that they should accuse you, of all persons in
the world, of this so-called crime. For my part I do
not believe that he was poisoned at all, but we will
soon straighten things out. Benham and Brown will
give up everything and devote their whole attention
to this case until it is finished. Everything will be
done that money or friends can do, and all that we
ask is that you keep up your courage, and do not
be downcast with the seeming awfulness of the
situation."
Mrs. Brenton wept silently, but made no reply.
It was evident, however, that she was consoled by
the words and the presence of her visitor. Strange
as it may appear, this fact enraged Brenton, although
he had gone there for the very purpose of cheer-
ing and comforting his wife. All the bitterness
he had felt before against his former rival was re-
vived, and his rage was the more agonizing because
it was inarticulate. Then there flashed over him
Ferris's sinister advice to leave things alone in the
world that he had left. He felt that he could stand
this no longer, and the next instant he found himself
again in the wintry streets of Cincinnati.
The name of the lawyers, Benham and Brown,
kept repeating itself in his mind, and he resolved to
go to their office and hear, if he could, what prepara-
tions were being made for the defence of a woman
whom he knew to be innocent. He found, when he
got to the office of these noted lawyers, that the two
principals were locked in their private room; and
going there, he found them discussing the case with
the coolness and impersonal feeling that noted


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
29
lawyers have, even when speaking of issues that
involve life or death.
"Yes," Benham was saying, " I think that, unless
anything new turns up, that is the best line of defence
we can adopt."
"What do you think might turn up?" asked
Brown.
"Well, you can never tell in these cases. They
may find something else—they may find the poison,
for instance, or the package that contained it. Per-
haps- a druggist will remember having sold it to this
woman, and then, of course, we shall have to change
our plans. I need not say that it is strictly necessary
in this case to give out no opinions whatever to news-
paper men. The papers will be full of rumours, and
it is just as well if we can keep our line of defence
hidden until the time for action comes."
"Still," said Brown, who was the younger partner,
"it is as well to keep in with the newspaper fellows;
they'll be here as soon as they find we have taken
charge of the defence."
"Well, I have no doubt you can deal with them in
such a way as to give them something to write up,
and yet not disclose anything we do not wish known."
"I think you can trust me to do that," said Brown,
with a self-satisfied air.
"I shall leave that fart of the matter entirely in
your hands," replied Benham. "It is better not to
duplicate or mix matters, and if any newspaper man
comes to see me I will refer him to you. I will say I
know nothing of the case whatever."
"Very well," answered Brown. "Now, between
ourselves, what do you think of the case?"


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"Oh, it will make a great sensation. I think it
will probably be one of the most
talked-of cases that we have ever
been connected with."
"Yes, but what do you think
of her guilt or innocence?"
"As to that," said Benham,
calmly, "I haven't the slightest
doubt. She murdered him."
As he said this, Brenton, for-
getting himself for a moment,
sprang forward as if to strangle
the lawyer. The statement Ben-
ham had made seemed the most
appalling piece of treachery. That
men should take a woman's
money for defending her, and
actually engage in a case when
they believed their client guilty,
appeared to Brenton simply in-
famous.
"I agree with you," said
Brown. "Of course she was the
only one to benefit by his death.
The simple fool willed everything
to her, and she knew it; and his
doing so is the more astounding
when you remember he was quite
well aware that she had a former
lover whom she would gladly
have married if he had been as
rich as Brenton. The supreme
idiocy of some men as far as their wives are concerned
is something awful."


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
31
"Yes," answered Benham, " it is. But I tell you,
Brown, she is no ordinary woman. The very con-
ception of that murder had a stroke of originality
about it that I very much admire. I do not re-
member anything like it in the annals of crime. It
is the true way in which a murder should be com-
mitted. The very publicity of the occasion was a
safeguard. Think of poisoning a man at a dinner
that he has given himself, in the midst of a score of

Publicity.
friends. I tell you that there was a dash of bravery
about it that commands my admiration."
"Do you imagine Boland had anything to do
with it?"
"Well, I had my doubts about that at first, but I
think he is innocent, although from what I know of
the man he will not hesitate to share the proceeds of
the crime. You mark my words, they will be married
within a year from now if she is acquitted. I believe
Boland knows her to be guilty."


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
33
advice that I have already given you, I shall
endeavour, as well as I am able, to help you out
of it."
"You know very well," cried Brenton, hotly, "that
my whole trouble has occurred through neglecting
your advice, or, at least, though deliberately not
following it. I could not follow it."
"Very well, then," said Ferris, " I am not surprised
that you are in a difficulty. You must remember that
such a crisis is an old story with us here."
"But, my dear sir," said Brenton, "look at the
appalling condition of things, the knowledge of which
has just come to me. It seems I was poisoned, but
of course that doesn't matter. I feel no resentment
against the wretch who did it. But the terrible thing
is that my wife has been arrested for the crime, and
I have just learned that her own lawyers actually
believe her guilty."
"That fact," said Ferris, calmly, " will not interfere
with their eloquent pleading when the case comes to
trial."
Brenton glared at the man who was taking things
so coolly, and who proved himself so unsympathetic;
but an instant after he realized the futility of quarrel-
ling with the only person who could give him advice,
so he continued, with what patience he could com-
mand—
"The situation is this: My wife has been arrested
for the crime of murdering me. She is now in the
custody of the sheriff. Her trouble and anxiety of
mind are fearful to contemplate."
"My dear sir," said Ferris, "there is no reason
why you or anybody else should contemplate it."
D


34
FROM WHOSE BOURNE
"How can you talk in that cold-blooded way?"
cried Brenton, indignantly. "Could you see your
wife, or any one you held dear, incarcerated for a
dreadful crime, and yet remain calm and collected,
as you now appear to be when you hear of another's
misfortune?"
"My dear fellow," said Ferris, "of course it is not
to be expected that one who has had so little experi-
ence with this existence should have any sense of
proportion. You appear to be speaking quite seriously.
You do not seem at all to comprehend the utter
triviality of all this."
"Good gracious !" cried Brenton, "do you call it
a trivial thing that a woman is in danger of her life
for a crime which she never committed?"
"If she is innocent," said the other, in no way
moved by the indignation of his comrade, "surely
that state of things will be brought out in the courts,
and no great harm will be done, even looking at
things from the standpoint of the world you have left.
But I want you to get into the habit of looking at
things from the standpoint of this world, and not of
the other. Suppose that what you would call the
worst should happen—suppose she is hanged—what
then?"
Brenton stood simply speechless with indignation
at this brutal remark.
"If you will just look at things correctly," con-
tinued Ferris, imperturbably, "you will see that there
is probably a moment of anguish, perhaps not even
that moment, and then your wife is here with you in
the land of spirits. I am sure that is a consumma-
tion devoutly to be wished. Even a man in your


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
35
state of mind must see the reasonableness of this.
Now, looking at the question in what you would call
its most serious aspect, see how little it amounts to.
It isn't worth a moment's thought, whichever way it
goes."
"You think nothing, then, of the disgrace of such
a death—of the bitter injustice of it?"

The broken toy.
"When you were in the world did you ever see a
child cry over a broken toy? Did the sight pain you
to any extent? Did you not know that a new toy
could be purchased that would quite obliterate all


36
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
thoughts of the other? Did the simple griefs of
childhood carry any deep and lasting consternation
to the mind of a grown-up man? Of course it did
not. You are sensible enough to know that. Well,
we here in this world look on the pain and struggles
and trials of people in the world you have left, just
as an aged man looks on the tribulations of children
over a broken doll. That is all it really amounts to.
That is what I mean when I say that you have not
yet got your sense of proportion. Any grief and
misery there is in the world you have left is of such
an ephemeral, transient nature, that when we think
for a moment of the free, untrammelled, and painless
life there is beyond, those petty troubles sink into
insignificance. My dear fellow, be sensible, take my
advice. I have really a strong interest in you, and I
advise you, entirely for your own welfare, to forget
all about it. Very soon you will have something
much more important to do than lingering around
the world you have left. If your wife comes amongst
us I am sure you will be glad to welcome her, and to
teach her the things that you will have already found
out of your new life. If she does not appear, then
you will know that, even from the old-world stand-
point, things have gone what you would call 'all
right.' Let these trivial matters go, and attend to
the vastly more important concerns that will soon
engage your attention here."
Ferris talked earnestly, and it was evident, even to
Brenton, that he meant what he said. It was hard
to find a pretext for a quarrel with a man at once so
calm and so perfectly sure of himself.
"We will not talk any more about it," said Brenton.


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
37
"I presume people here agree to differ, just as they
did in the world we have both left."
"Certainly, certainly," answered Ferris. "Of
course, you have just heard my opinion; but you will
find myriads of others who do not share it with me.
You will meet a great many who are interested in the
subject of communication with the world they have
left. You will, of course, excuse me when I say
that" I consider such endeavours not worth talking
about."
"Do you know any one who is interested in that
sort of thing? and can you give me an introduction
to him?"
"Oh! for that matter," said Ferris, "you have
had an introduction to one of the most enthusiastic
investigators of the subject. I refer to Mr. John
Speed, late of Chicago."
"Ah !" said Brenton, rather dubiously. "I must
confess that I was not very favourably impressed with
Mr. Speed. Probably I did him an injustice."
"You certainly did," said Ferris. "You will find
Speed a man well worth knowing, even if he does
waste himself on such futile projects as a scheme for
communicating with a community so evanescent as
that of Chicago. You will like Speed better the more
you know him. He really is very philanthropic, and
has Sommers on his hands just now. From what he
said after you left Venice, I imagine he does not
entertain the same feeling toward you as you do
toward him. I would see Speed if I were you."
"I will think about it," said Brenton, as they
separated.
To know that a man thinks well of a person is no
.


38
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
detriment to further acquaintance with that man,
even if the first impressions have not been favourable;
and after Ferris told Brenton that Speed had thought
well of him, Brenton found less difficulty in seeking
the Chicago enthusiast.
"I have been in a good deal of trouble," Brenton
said to Speed, "and have been talking to Ferris
about it. I regret to say that he gave me very little
encouragement, and did not seem at all to appreciate
my feelings in the matter."
"Oh, you mustn't mind Ferris," said Speed. "He
is a first-rate fellow, but he is as cold and unsym-
pathetic as—well, suppose we say as an oyster. His
great hobby is non-intercourse with the world we have
left. Now, in that I don't agree with him, and there
are thousands who don't agree with him. I admit
that there are cases where a man is more unhappy if
he frequents the old world than he would be if he left
it alone. But then there are other cases where just
the reverse is true. Take my own experience, for
example; I take a peculiar pleasure in rambling
around Chicago. I admit that it is a grievance to
me, as an old newspaper man, to see the number of
scoops I could have on my esteemed contemporaries,
but"
"Scoop? What is that?" asked Brenton,
mystified.
"Why, a scoop is a beat, you know."
"Yes, but I don't know. What is a beat?"
"A beat or a scoop, my dear fellow, is the getting
of a piece of news that your contemporary does not
obtain. You never were in the newspaper business?
Well, sir, you missed it. Greatest business in the


40
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"Sure of that?"
"Sure of it?" cried the other indignantly. "Of
course I am sure of it."
"Then who is the guilty person?"
"Ah, that," said Brenton, " I do not yet know."
"Then how can you be sure she is not guilty?"
"If you talk like that," exclaimed Brenton, "I
have nothing more to say."
"Now, don't get offended, I beg of you. I am
merely looking at this from a newspaper standpoint,
you know. You must remember it is not you who
will decide the matter, but a jury of your very stupid
fellow-countrymen. Now, you can never tell what
a jury ivill do, except that it will do something
idiotic. Therefore, it seems to me that the very first
step to be taken is to find out who the guilty party is.
Don't you see the force of that?"
"Yes, I do."
"Very well, then. Now, what were the circum-
stances of this crime? who was to profit by your
death?"
Brenton winced at this.
"I see how it is," said the other, "and I under-
stand why you don't answer. Now—you'll excuse me
if I am frank—your wife was the one who benefited
most by your death, was she not?"
"No," cried the other indignantly, " she was not
the one. That is what the lawyers said. Why in the
world should she want to poison me, when she had all
my wealth at her command as it was?"
"Yes, that's a strong point," said Speed. "You
were a reasonably good husband, I suppose? Bather
generous with the cash?"


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
41
"Generous?" cried the other. "My wife always
had everything she wanted."
"Ah, well, there was no—you'll excuse me, I am
sure—no former lover in the case, was there?"
Again Brenton winced, and he thought of Eoland
sitting beside his wife with her hand in his.
"I see," said Speed; "you needn't answer. Now
what were the circumstances, again?"
"They were these: At a dinner which I gave,
where some twenty or twenty-five of my friends were
assembled, poison, it appears, was put into my cup
of coffee. That is all I know of it."
"Who poured out that cup of coffee?"
"My wife did."
"Ah! Now, I don't for a moment say she is guilty,
remember; but you must admit that, to a stupid jury,
the case might look rather bad against her."
"Well, granted that it does, there is all the
more need that I should come to her assistance if
possible."
"Certainly, certainly !" said Speed. Now, I'll tell
you what we have to do. We must get, if possible,
one of the very brightest Chicago reporters on the
track of this thing, and we have to get him on the
track of it early. Come with me to Chicago. We
will try an experiment, and I am sure you will lend
your mind entirely to the effort. We must act in
conjunction in this affair, and you are just the man
I've been wanting, some one who is earnest and who
has something at stake in the matter. We may fail
entirely, but I think it's worth the trying. Will you
come?"
"Certainly," said Brenton; "and I cannot tell


42
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
you how much I appreciate your interest and
sympathy."
Arriving at a brown stone building on the corner of
two of the principal streets in Chicago, Brenton and
Speed ascended quickly to one of the top floors. It
was nearly midnight, and two upper stories of the
huge dark building were brilliantly lighted, as was
shown on the outside by the long rows of glittering
windows. They entered a room where a man was
seated at a table, with coat and vest thrown off, and
his hat set well back on his head. Cold as it was
outside, it was warm in this man's room, and the
room was blue with smoke. A black corn-cob pipe
was in his teeth, and the man was writing away as if
for dear life, on sheets of coarse white copy paper,
stopping now and then to fill up his pipe or to relight
it after it had gone out.
"There," said Speed, waving his hand towards the
writer with a certain air of proprietory pride, "there
sits one of the very cleverest men on the Chicago
press. That fellow, sir, is gifted with a nose for
news which has no equal in America. He will ferret
out a case that he once starts on with an unerring-
ness that would charm you. Yes, sir, I got him his
present situation on this paper, and I can tell you it
is a good one."
"He must have been a warm friend of yours?"
said Brenton, indifferently, as if he did not take
much interest in the eulogy.
"Quite the contrary," said Speed. "He was a
warm enemy, made it mighty warm for me sometimes.
He was on an opposition paper, but I tell you,
although I was no chicken in newspaper business,


FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 43
that man would scoop the daylight out of me any
time he tried. So, to get rid of opposition, I got the
managing editor to appoint him to a place on our
paper; and I tell you, he has never regretted it. Yes,
sir, there sits George Stratton, a man who knows his
business. Now," he said, "let us concentrate our
attention on him. First let us see whether, by putting
our whole minds to it, we can make any impression
on his mind whatever. You see how busily he is
engaged. He is thoroughly absorbed in his work.
That is George all over. Whatever his assign-
ment is, George throws himself right into it, and
thinks of nothing else until it is finished. Now
then."
In that dingy, well-lighted room George Stratton
sat busily pencilling out the lines that were to appear
in next morning's paper. He was evidently very
much engrossed in his task, as Speed had said. If
he had looked about him, which he did not, he would
have said that he was entirely alone. All at once his
attention seemed to waver, and he passed his hand
over his brow, while perplexity came into his face.
Then he noticed that bis pipe was out, and, knocking
the ashes from it by rapping the bowl on the side
of the table, he filled it with an absent-mindedness
unusual with him. Again he turned to his writing,
and again he passed his hand over his brow. Sud-
denly, without any apparent cause, he looked first to
the right and then to the left of him. Once more he
tried to write, but, noticing his pipe was out, he struck
another match and nervously puffed away, until
clouds of blue smoke rose around him. There was
a look of annoyance and perplexity in his face as he


44
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
bent resolutely to his writing. The door opened, and
a man appeared on the threshold.
"Anything more about the convention, George?"
he said.
"Yes; I am just finishing this. Sort of pen
pictures, you know."
"Perhaps you can let me have what you have
done. I'll fix it up."
"All right," said Stratton, bunching up the manu-
script in front of him, and handing it to the city
editor.
That functionary looked at the number of pages,
and then at the writer.
"Much more of this, George?" he said. "We'll
be a little short of room in the morning, you
know."
"Well," said the other, sitting back in his
chair, "it is pretty good stuff that. Folks always
like the pen pictures of men engaged in the skirmish
better than the reports of what most of them say."
"Yes," said the city editor, "that's so."
"Still," said Stratton, "we could cut it off at the
last page. Just let me see the last two pages, will
you?"
These were handed to him, and, running his eye
through them, he drew his knife across one of the
pages, and put at the bottom the cabalistic mark
which indicated the end of the copy.
"There! I think I will let it go at that. Old
Eickenbeck don't amount to much, anyhow. We'll
let him go."
"All right," said the city editor. "I think we
won't want anything more to-night."


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
45
Stratton put his hands behind his head, with his
fingers interlaced, and leaned back in his chair,

placing his heels upon the table before him. A
thought-reader, looking at his face, could almost
have followed the theme that occupied his mind.
Suddenly bringing his feet down with a crash to


46
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
the floor, he rose and went into the city editor's
room.
"See here," he said. "Have you looked into that
Cincinnati case at all?"
"What Cincinnati case?" asked the local editor,
looking up.
"Why, that woman who is up for poisoning her
husband."
"Oh yes ; we had something of it in the despatches
this morning. It's rather out of the local line, you
know."
"Yes, I know it is. But it isn't out of the paper's
line. I tell you that case is going to make a sensa-
tion. She's pretty as a picture. Been married only
six months, and it seems to be a dead sure thing
that she poisoned her husband. That trial's going
to make racy reading, especially if they bring in a
verdict of guilty."
The city editor looked interested.
"Want to go down there, George?"
"Well, do you know, I think it'll pay."
"Let me see, this is the last day of the conven-
tion, isn't it? And Clark comes back from his
vacation to-morrow. Well, if you think it's worth
it, take a trip down there, and look the ground over,
and give us a special article that we can use on the
first day of the trial."
"I'll do it," said George.
******
Speed looked at Brenton.
"What would old Ferris say now, eh?"


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
47
CHAPTEE VI.
Next morning George Stratton was on the railway
train speeding towards Cincinnati. As he handed to
the conductor his mileage book, he did not say to
him, lightly transposing the old couplet—
"Here, railroad man, take thrice thy fee,
For spirits twain do ride with me."
George Stratton was a practical man, and knew
nothing of spirits, except those which were in a small
flask in his natty little valise.
When he reached Cincinnati, he made straight for
the residence of the sheriff. He felt that his first
duty was to become friends with such an important
official. Besides this, he wished to have an interview
with the prisoner. He had arranged in his mind, on
the way there, just how he would write a preliminary
article that would whet the appetite of the readers
of the Chicago Argus for any further developments
that might occur during and after the trial. He
would write the whole thing in the form of a story.
First, there would be a sketch of the life of Mrs.
Brenton and her husband. This would be number
one, and above it would be the Soman numeral I.
Under the heading II. would be a history of the
crime. Under III. what had occurred afterwards—
the incidents that had led suspicion towards the un-
fortunate woman, and that sort of thing. Under the
numeral IV. would be his interview with the prisoner,
if he were fortunate enough to get one. Under V.


48
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
he would give the general opinion of Cincinnati on
the crime, and on the guilt or innocence of Mrs.
Brenton. This article he already saw in his mind's
eye occupying nearly half a page of the Argus. All
would be in leaded type, and written in a style and
manner that would attract attention, for he felt that

he was first on the ground, and would not have the
usual rush in preparing his copy which had been the
bane of his life. It would give the Argus practically
the lead in this case, which he was convinced would
become one of national importance.


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
49
The sheriff received him courteously, and, looking
at the card he presented, saw the name Chicago
Argus in the corner. Then he stood visibly on his
guard—an attitude assumed by all wise officials
when they find themselves brought face to face
with a newspaper man; for they know, however
carefully an article may be prepared, it will likely
contain some unfortunate overlooked phrase which
may have a damaging effect in a future political
campaign.
"I wanted to see you," began Stratton, coming
straight to the point, "in reference to the Brenton
murder."
"I may say at once," replied the sheriff, "that if
you wish an interview with the prisoner, it is utterly
impossible, because her lawyers, Benham and Brown,
have positively forbidden her to see a newspaper
man."
"That shows," said Stratton, "they are wise
men who understand their business. Nevertheless,
I wish to have an interview with Mrs. Brenton. But
what I wanted to say to you is this: I believe the
case will be very much talked about, and that before
many weeks are over. Of course you know the stand-
ing the Argus has in newspaper circles. What it
says will have an influence even over the Cincinnati
press. I think you will admit that. Now a great
many newspaper men consider an official their
natural enemy. I do not; at least, I do not until I
am forced to. Any reference that I may make to you
I am more than willing to submit to you before it
goes to Chicago. I will give you my word, if you
want it, that nothing will be said referring to your
E


5°
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
official position, or to yourself personally, that you do
not see before it appears in print. Of course you
will be up for re-election. I never met a sheriff who
wasn't."
The sheriff smiled at this, and did not deny it.
"Very well. Now, I may tell you my belief is that
this case is going to have a powerful influence on your
re-election. Here is a young and pretty woman who
is to be tried for a terrible crime. Whether she is
guilty or innocent, public sympathy is going to be
with her. If I were in your place, I would prefer
to be known as her friend rather than as her
enemy."
"My dear sir," said the sheriff, " my official posi-
tion puts me in the attitude of neither friend nor
enemy of the unfortunate woman. I have simply
a certain duty to do, and that duty I intend to
perform."
"Oh, that's all right!" exclaimed the newspaper
man, jauntily. "I, for one, am not going to ask you
to take a step outside your duties; but an official
may do his duty, and yet, at the same time, do a
friendly act for a newspaper man, or even for a
prisoner. In the language of the old chestnut, 'If
you don't help me, don't help the bear.' That's all
I ask."
"You may be sure, Mr. Stratton, that anything I
can do to help you I shall be glad to do; and now
let me give you a hint. If you want to see Mrs.
Brenton, the best thing is to get permission from
her lawyers. If I were you I would not see Benham
—he's rather a hard nut, Benham is, although you
needn't tell him I said so. You get on the right side


FROM WHOSE BOVBNE.
51
of Brown. Brown has some political aspirations
himself, and he does not want to offend a man on so
powerful a paper as the Argus, even if it is not a
Cincinnati paper. Now, if you make him the same
offer you have made to me, I think it will be all right.
If he sees your copy before it goes into print, and if
you keep your word with him that nothing will appear
that he does not see, I think you will succeed in
getting an interview with Mrs. Brenton. If you
bring me a note from Brown, I shall be very glad to
allow you to see her."
Stratton thanked the sheriff for his hint. He took
down in his note-book the address of the lawyers,
and the name especially of Mr. Brown. The two
men shook hands, and Stratton felt that they under-
stood each other.
When Mr. Stratton was ushered into the private
office of Brown, and handed that gentleman his card,
he noticed the lawyer perceptibly freeze over.
"Ahem," said the legal gentleman; "you will
excuse me if I say that my time is rather precious.
Did you wish to see me professionally?"
"Yes," replied Stratton, "that is, from a news-
paper standpoint of the profession."
"Ah," said the other, "in reference to what?"
"To the Brenton case."
"Well, my dear sir, I have had, very reluctantly,
to refuse information that I would have been happy
to give, if I could, to our own newspaper men; and
so I may say to you at once that I scarcely think it
will be possible for me to be of any service to an
outside paper like the Argus."
"Local newspaper men," said Stratton, "repre-


52
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
sent local fame. That you already possess. I
represent national fame, which, if you will excuse my
saying so, you do not yet possess. The fact that I
am in Cincinnati to-day, instead of in Chicago, shows
what we Chicago people think of the Cincinnati case.
I believe, and the Argus believes, that this case is
going to be one of national importance. Now, let
me ask you one question. Will you state frankly
what your objection is to having a newspaper man,
for instance, interview Mrs. Brenton, or get any
information relating to this case from her or others
whom you have the power of controlling?"
"I shall answer that question," said Brown, "as
frankly as you put it. You are a man of the world,
and know, of course, that we are all selfish, and in
business matters look entirely after our own interests.
My interest in this case is to defend my client. Your
interest in this case is to make a sensational article.
You want to get facts if possible, but, in any event,
you want to write up a readable column or two for
your paper. Now, if I allowed you to see Mrs.
Brenton, she might say something to you, and you
might publish it, that would not only endanger her
chances, but would seriously embarrass us, as her
lawyers, in our defence of the case."
"You have stated the objection very plainly and
forcibly," said Stratton, with a look of admiration, as
if the powerful arguments of the lawyer had had a
great effect on him. "Now, if I understand your
argument, it simply amounts to this, that you would
have no objection to my interviewing Mrs. Brenton if
you have the privilege of editing the copy. In other
words, if nothing were printed but what you approve


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
53
of, you would not have the slightest hesitancy about
allowing me that interview."
"No, I don't know that I would," admitted the
lawyer.
"Very well, then. Here is my proposition to you:
I am here to look after the interests of our paper in
this particular case. The Argus is probably going to
be the first paper outside of Cincinnati that will
devote a large amount of space to the Brenton trial,
in addition to what is received from the Associated
Press dispatches. Now you can give me a great
many facilities in this matter if you care to do so,
and in return I am perfectly willing to submit to you
every line of copy that concerns you or your client
before it is sent, and I give you my word of honour
that nothing shall appear but what you have seen
and approved of. If you want to cut out something
that I think is vitally important, then I shall tell you
frankly that I intend to print it, but will modify it as
much as I possibly can to suit your views."
"I see," said the lawyer. "In other words, as
you have just remarked, I am to give you special
facilities in this matter, and then, when you find out
some fact which I wish kept secret, and which you
have obtained because of the facilities I have given to
you, you will quite frankly tell me that it must go in,
and then, of course, I shall be helpless except to
debar you from any further facilities, as you call
them. No, sir, I do not care to make any such
bargain."
"Well, suppose I strike out that clause of agree-
ment, and say to you that I will send nothing
but what you approve of, would you then write


54
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
me a note to the sheriff and allow me to see the
prisoner?"
"lam sorry to say"—the lawyer hesitated for a
moment, and glanced at the card, then added—" Mr.
Stratton, that I do not see my way clear to granting
your request."
"I think," said Stratton, rising, "that you are
doing yourself an injustice. You are refusing—I
may as well tell you first as last—what is a great
privilege. Now, you have had some experience in
your business, and I have had some experience in
mine, and I beg to inform you that men who are
much more prominent in the history of their country
than any one I can at present think of in Cincinnati,
have tried to balk me in the pursuit of my business,
and have failed."
"In that matter, of course," said Brown, "I must
take my chances. I don't see the use of prolonging
this interview. As you have been so frank as to—
I won't say threaten, perhaps warn is the better word
—as you have been so good as to warn me, I may,
before we part, just give you a word of caution. Of
course we, in Cincinnati, are perfectly willing to admit
that Chicago people are the smartest on earth, but
I may say that if you print a word in your paper
which is untrue and which is damaging to our
side of the case, or if you use any methods that
are unlawful in obtaining the information you so
much desire, you will certainly get your paper into
trouble, and you will run some little personal risk
yourself."
"Well, as you remarked a moment ago, Mr.
Brown, I shall have to take the chances of that. I


56
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
of sight, for the moment deserted him. He drew his
breath sharply, and cast a piercing glance at the
young man before him, who was critically watching
the lawyer's countenance, although he appeared to
be entirely absorbed in buttoning his overcoat. Then
Mr. Brown gave a short, dry laugh.
"I have met a bluff before," he said carelessly;
"but I should like to know what makes you think
that such is our defence?"
"Think!" cried the young man. "I don't think
at all; I know it."
"How do you know it?"
"Well, for one thing, I know it by your own actions
a moment ago. What first gave me an inkling of
your defence was that book which is on your table.
It is Forbes Winslow on the mind and the brain; a
very interesting book, Mr. Brown, very interesting
indeed. It treats of suicide, and the causes and con-
ditions of the brain that will lead up to it. It is a
very good book, indeed, to study in such a case. Good
evening, Mr. Brown. I am sorry that we cannot co-
operate in this matter."
Stratton turned and walked toward the door, while
the lawyer gazed after him with a look of helpless
astonishment on his face. As Stratton placed his
hand on the door knob, the lawyer seemed to wake
up as from a dream.
"Stop!" he cried; "I will give you a letter that
will admit you to Mrs. Brenton."


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
57
CHAPTER VII.
"Theee!" said Speed to Brenton, triumphantly,
"what do you think of that? Didn't I say George
Stratton was the brightest newspaper man in Chicago?
I tell you, his getting that letter from old Brown was
one of the cleverest bits of diplomacy I ever saw.
There you had quickness of perception, and nerve.
All the time he was talking to old Brown he was just
taking that man's measure. See how coolly he acted
while he was drawing on his gloves and buttoning his
coat as if ready to leave. Flung that at Brown all of
a sudden as quiet as if he was saying nothing at all
unusual, and all the time watching Brown out of the
tail of his eye. Well, sir, I must admit, that although
I have known George Stratton for years, I thought
he was dished by that Cincinnati lawyer. I thought
that George was just gracefully covering up his defeat,
and there he upset old Brown's apple-cart in the
twinkling of an eye. Now, you see the effect of all
this. Brown has practically admitted to him what
the line of defence is. Stratton won't publish it, of
course; he has promised not to, but you see he can
hold that over Brown's head, and get everything he
wants unless they change their defence."
"Yes," remarked Brenton, slowly, "he seems to
be a very sharp newspaper man indeed; but I
don't like the idea of his going to interview my
wife."
"Why, what is there wrong about that?"
"Well, there is this wrong about it—that she in


58
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
her depression may say something that will tell
against her."
"Even if she does, what of it? Isn't the lawyer
going to see the letter before it is sent to the
paper?"
"I am not so sure about that. Do you think
Stratton will show the article to Brown if he gets
what you call a scoop or a beat?"
"Why, of course he will," answered Speed, indig-
nantly; "hasn't he given him his word that he
will?"
"Yes, I know he has," said Brenton, dubiously;
"but he is a newspaper man."
"Certainly he is," answered Speed, with strong
emphasis; "that is the reason he will keep his
word."
"I hope so, I hope so; but I must admit that the
more I know you newspaper men, the more I see
the great temptation you are under to preserve if
possible the sensational features of an article."
"I'll bet you a drink—no, we can't do that,"
corrected Speed; "but you shall see that, if Brown
acts square with Stratton, he will keep his word to
the very letter with Brown. There is no use in
our talking about the matter here. Let us follow
Stratton, and see what comes of the interview."
"I think I prefer to go alone," said Brenton,
coldly.
"Oh, as you like, as you like," answered the
other, shortly. "I thought you wanted my help
in this affair; but if you don't, I am sure I shan't
intrude."
"That's all right," said Brenton; "come along.


6o
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"I am sorry to hear you say that. I thought
Brown was very popular with the newspaper men.
You got the letter, though, did you?"
"Yes, I got it. Here it is. Read it."
The sheriff scanned the brief note over, and put it
in his pocket.
"Just take a chair for a moment, will you, and I
will see if Mrs. Brenton is ready to receive you."
Stratton seated himself, and, pulling a paper from

Jane.
his pocket, was busily reading when the sheriff again
entered.
"I am sorry to say," he began, "after you have
had all this trouble, that Mrs. Brenton positively
refuses to see you. You know I cannot compel a
prisoner to meet any one. You understand that, of
course."
"Perfectly," said Stratton, thinking for a moment.
"See here, sheriff, I have simply got to have a talk
with that woman. Now, can't you tell her I knew


FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 61
her husband, or something of that sort? I'll make
it all right when I see her."
"The scoundrel!" said Brenton to Speed, as
Stratton made this remark.
"My .dear sir," said Speed, "don't you see he is
just the man we want? This is not the time to be
particular."
"Yes, but think of the treachery and meanness of
telling a poor unfortunate woman that he was ac-
quainted with her husband, who is only a few days
dead."
"Now, see here," said Speed, "if you are going to
look on matters in this way you will be a hindrance
and not a help in the affair. Don't you appreciate
the situation? Why, Mrs. Brenton's own lawyers, as
you have said, think her guilty. What, then, can
they learn by talking with her, or what good can they
do her with their minds already prejudiced against
her? Don't you see that?"
Brenton made no answer to this, but it was evident
he was very ill at ease.
"Did you know her husband ?" asked the sheriff.
"No, to tell you the truth, I never heard of him
before. But I must see this lady, both for my good
and hers, and I am not going to let a little thing like
that stand between us. Won't you tell her that I
have come with a letter from her own lawyers? Just
show her the letter, and say that I will take up but
very little of her time. I am sorry to ask this much
of you, but you see how I am placed."
"Oh, that's all right," said the sheriff, good-


62
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
naturedly; "I shall be very glad to do what you
wish," and with that he once more disappeared.
The sheriff stayed away longer this time, and
Stratton paced the room impatiently. Finally, the
official returned, and said—
.' " Mrs. Brenton has consented to see you. Come
this way, please. You will excuse me, I know," con-
tinued the sheriff, as they walked along together,
"but it is part of my duty to remain in the room
while you are talking with Mrs. Brenton."
"Certainly, certainly," said Stratton; "I under-
stand that."
"Very well; then, if I may make a suggestion, I
would say this: you should be prepared to ask
just what you want to know, and do it all as
speedily as possible, for really Mrs. Brenton is in
a condition of nervous exhaustion that renders it
almost cruel to put her through any rigid cross-
examination."
"I understand that also," said Stratton; "but you
must remember that she has a very much harder trial
to undergo in the future. I am exceedingly anxious
to get at the truth of this thing, and so, if it seems to
you that I am asking a lot of very unnecessary ques-
tions, I hope you will not interfere with me as long
as Mrs. Brenton consents to answer."
"I shall not interfere at all," said the sheriff; "I
only wanted to caution you, for the lady may break
down at any moment. If you can marshal your
questions so that the most important ones come first,
I think it will be wise. I presume you have them
pretty well arranged in your own mind?"
"Well, I can't say that I have; you see, I am


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
63
entirely in the dark. I got no help whatever from the
lawyers, and from what I know of their defence I am
thoroughly convinced that they are on the wrong
track."
"What! did Brown say anything about the defence?
That is not like his usual caution."
"He didn't intend to," answered Stratton; "but I
found out all I wanted to know, nevertheless. You
see, I shall have to ask what appears to be a lot of
rambling, inconsequential questions, because you can
never tell in a case like this when you may get the key
to the whole mystery."
"Well, here we are," said the sheriff, as he knocked
at a door, and then pushed it open.
From the moment George Stratton saw Mrs.
Brenton his interest in the case ceased to be purely
journalistic.
Mrs. Brenton was standing near the window, and
she appeared to be very calm and collected, but her
fingers twitched nervously, clasping and unclasping
each other. Her modest dress of black was certainly
a very becoming one.
George thought he had never seen a woman so
beautiful.
As she was standing up, she evidently intended the
interview to be a short one.
"Madam," said Stratton, "I am very sorry indeed
to trouble you; but I have taken a great interest in
the solution of this mystery, and I have your lawyers'
permission to visit you. I assure you, anything you
say will be submitted to them, so that there will be
no danger of your case being prejudiced by any state-
ments made."


64
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"I am'not afraid," said Mrs. Brenton, "that the
truth will injure or prejudice my case."
"I am sure of that," answered the newspaper man;
and then, knowing that she would not sit down if he
asked her to, he continued diplomatically, "Madam,
will you permit me to sit down? I wish to write out
my notes as carefully as possible. Accuracy is my
strong point."
"Certainly," said Mrs. Brenton; and, seeing that
it was not probable the interview would be a short
one, she seated herself by the window, while the
sheriff took a chair in the corner, and drew a news-
paper from his pocket.
"Now, madam," said the special, "a great number
of the questions I ask you may seem trivial, but
as I said to the sheriff a moment ago, some word of
yours that appears to you entirely unconnected with
the case may give me a clue which will be exceedingly
valuable. You will, therefore, I am sure, pardon
me if some of the questions I ask you appear
irrelevant."
Mrs. Brenton bowed her head, but said nothing.
"Were your husband's business affairs in good con-
dition at the time of his death?"
"As far as I know they were."
"Did you ever see anything in your husband's
actions that would lead you to think him a man who
might have contemplated suicide?"
Mrs. Brenton looked up with wide-open eyes.
"Certainly not," she said.
"Had he ever spoken to you on the subject of
suicide?"
"I do not remember that he ever did."


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
65
"Was he ever queer in his actions? In short, did
you ever notice anything about him that would lead
you to doubt his sanity? I am sorry if questions I
ask you seem painful, but I have reasons for wishing
to be certain on this point." . .
"No," said Mrs. Brenton; "he was perfectly sane.
No man could have been more so. I am certain that
he never thought of committing suicide."
"Why are you so certain on that point?"
"I do not know why. I only know I am positive
of it."
"Do you know if he had any enemy who might
wish his death?"
"I doubt if he had an enemy in the world. I do
not know of any."
"Have you ever heard him speak of anybody in a
spirit of enmity?"
"Never. He was not a man who bore enmity
against people. Persons whom he did not like he
avoided."
"The poison, it is said, was put into his cup of
coffee. Do you happen to know," said Stratton,
turning to the sheriff, "how they came to that con-
clusion?"
"No, I do not," answered the sheriff. "In fact, I
don't see any reason why they should think so."
"Was morphia found in the coffee cup after-
wards?"
"No; at the time of the inquest all the things had
been cleared away. I think it was merely presumed
that the morphine was put into his coffee."
"Who poured out the coffee he drank that night?"
"I did," answered his wife.
F


66
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"You were at one end of the table and he at the
other, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"How did the coffee cup reach him?"
"I gave it to the servant, and she placed it before
him."
"It passed through no other hands, then?"
"No."
"Who was the servant?"
Mrs. Brenton pondered for a moment.
"I really know very little about her. She had been
in our house for a couple of weeks only."
"What was her name?"
"Jane Morton, I think."
"Where is she now, do you know?"
"I do not know."
"She appeared at the inquest, of course?" said
Stratton, turning to the sheriff.
"I think she did, ' was the answer. "I am not sure."
He marked her name down in the note-book.
"How many people were there at the dinner?"
"Including my husband and myself, there were
twenty-six."
"Could you give me the name of each of them?"
"Yes, I think so."
She repeated the names, which he took down, with
certain notes and comments on each.
"Who sat next your husband at the head of the
table?"
"Miss Walker was at his right hand, Mr. Roland
at his left."
. "Now, forgive me if I ask you if you have ever had
any trouble with your husband?"


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
67
"Never."
"Never had any quarrel?"
Mrs. Brenton hesitated for a moment.
"No, I don't think we ever had what could be
called a quarrel."
"You had no disagreement shortly before the
dinner?"
Again Mrs. Brenton hesitated.
"I can hardly call it a disagreement," she said.
"We had a little discussion about some of the guests
who were to be invited."
"Did he object to any that were there?"
"There was a gentleman there whom he did not
particularly like, I think, but he made no objection to
his coming; in fact, he seemed to feel that I might
imagine he had an objection from a little discussion
we had about inviting him; and afterwards, as if to
make up for that, he placed this guest at his left
hand."
Stratton quickly glanced up the page of his note-
book, and marked a little cross before the name of
Stephen Boland.
"You had another disagreement with him before,
if I might term it so, had you not?"
Mrs. Brenton looked at him surprised.
"What makes you think so?" she said.
"Because you hesitated when I spoke of it."
"Well, we had what you might call a disagreement
once at Lucerne, Switzerland."
"Will you tell me what it was about?"
"I would rather not."
"Will you tell me this—was it about a gentle-
man?"


68
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"Yes," said Mrs. Brenton.
"Was your husband of a jealous disposition?"
"Ordinarily I do not think he was. It seemed to
me at the time that he was a little unjust—that's
all."
"Was the gentleman in Lucerne?"
"Oh no!"
"In Cincinnati?"
"Yes."
"Was his name Stephen Eoland?"
Mrs. Brenton again glanced quickly at the news-
paper man, and seemed about to say something, but,
checking herself, she simply answered—
"Yes."
Then she leaned back in the armchair and sighed.
"I am very tired," she said. "If it is not abso-
lutely necessary, I prefer not to continue this
conversation."
Stratton immediately rose.
"Madam," he said, "I am very much obliged to
you for the trouble you have taken to answer my
questions, which I am afraid must have seemed
impertinent to you, but I assure you that I did not
intend them to be so. Now, madam, I would like
very much to get a promise from you. I wish that
you would promise to see me if I call again, and I,
on my part, assure you that unless I have something
particularly important to tell you, or to ask, I shall
not intrude upon you."
"I shall be pleased to see you at any time, sir."
When the sheriff and the newspaper man reached
the other room, the former said—
"Well, what do you think?"


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
69
"I think it is an interesting case," was the answer.
"Or, to put it in other words, you think Mrs.
Brenton a very interesting lady."
"Officially, sir, you have exactly stated my
opinion."
"And I suppose, poor woman, she will furnish an
interesting article for the paper?"
"Hang the paper !" said Stratton, with more than
his usual vim.
The sheriff laughed. Then he said—
"I confess that to me it seems a very perplexing
affair all through. Have you got any light on the
subject?"
"My dear sir, I will tell you three important
things. First, Mrs. Brenton is innocent. Second,
her lawyers are taking the wrong line of defence.
Third," tapping his breast-pocket, "I have the name
of the murderer in my note-book."
CHAPTER VIII.
"Now," said John Speed to William Brenton, "we
have got Stratton fairly started on the track, and I
believe that he will ferret out the truth in this
matter. But, meanwhile, we must not be idle. You
must remember that, with all our facilities for dis-
covery, we really know nothing of the murderer
ourselves. I propose we set about this thing just
as systematically as Stratton will. The chances
are that we shall penetrate the mystery of the whole
affair very much quicker than he. As I told you
before, I am something of a newspaper man myself;


70 FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
and if, with the facilities of getting into any room in
any house, in any city and in any country, and being
with a suspected criminal night and day when he
never imagines any one is near him—if with all those
advantages I cannot discover the real author of that
crime before George Stratton does, then I'll never
admit that I came from Chicago, or belonged to a
newspaper."
"Whom do you think Stratton suspects of the
crime? He told the sheriff," said Brenton, "that he
had the name in his pocket-book."
"I don't know," said Speed, "but I have my
suspicions. You see, he has the names of all the
guests at your banquet in that pocket-book of his;
but the name of Stephen Eoland he has marked with
two crosses. The name of the servant he has marked
with one cross. Now, I suspect that he believes
Stephen Eoland committed the crime. You know
Eoland; what do you think of him?"
"I think he is quite capable of it," answered
Brenton, with a frown.
"Still, you are prejudiced against the man," put
in Speed, "so your evidence is hardly impartial."
"I am not prejudiced against any one," answered
Brenton; "I merely know that man. He is a
thoroughly despicable, cowardly character. The only
thing that makes me think he would not commit a
murder, is that he is too craven to stand the conse-
quences if he were caught. He is a cool villain, but
he is a coward. I do not believe he has the courage
to commit a crime, even if he thought he would
benefit by it."
"Well, there is one thing, Brenton, you can't be


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
71
accused of flattering a man, and if it is any consola-
tion for you to know, you may be pretty certain that
George Stratton is on his track."
"I am sure I wish him success," answered Brenton,
gloomily; "if he brings Eoland to the gallows I shall
not mourn over it."
"That's all right," said Speed; "but now we must
be up and doing ourselves. Have you anything to
propose?"
"No, I have not, except that we might play the
detective on Eoland."
"Well, the trouble with that is we would merely be
duplicating what Stratton is doing himself. Now,
I'll tell you my proposal. Supposing that we consult
with Lecocq."
"Who is that? The novelist?"
"Novelist? I don't think he has ever written any
novels—not that I remember of."
"Ah, I didn't know. It seemed to me that I
remembered his name in connection with some
novel."
"Oh, very likely you did. He is the hero of more
detective stories than any other man I know of. He
was the great French detective."
"What, is he dead, then?"
"Dead? Not a bit of it; he's here with us. Oh, I
understand what you mean. Yes, from your point of
view, he is dead."
"Where can we find him?"
"Well, I presume, in Paris. He's a first-rate
fellow to know, anyhow, and he spends most of his
time around his old haunts. In fact, if you want to
be certain to find Lecocq, you will generally get him


72
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
during office hours in the room he used to frequent
while in Paris."
"Let us go and see him, then."
,**,,*
"Monsieur Lecocq," said Speed, a moment after-
wards, "I wish to introduce to you a new-comer,
Mr. Brenton, recently of Cincinnati."
"Ah, my dear Speed," said the Frenchman, "I
am very pleased indeed to meet any friend of yours.
How is the great Chicago, the second Paris, and
how is your circulation ?—the greatest in the world,
I suppose."
"Well, it is in pretty good order," said Speed; "we
circulated from Chicago to Paris here in a very much
shorter time than the journey usually occupies down
below. Now, can you give us a little of your time?
Are you busy just now?"
"My dear Speed, I am always busy. I am like
the people of the second Paris. I lose no time, but I
have always time to speak with my friends."
"All right," said Speed. "I am like the people of
the second Chicago, generally more intent on pleasure
than business; but, nevertheless, I have a piece of
business for you."
"The second Chicago?" asked Lecocq. "And
where is that, pray?"
"Why, Paris, of course," said Speed.
Lecocq laughed.
"You are incorrigible, you Chicagoans. And what
is the piece of business?"
"It is the old thing, monsieur. A mystery to be
unravelled. Mr. Brenton here wishes to retain you
in his case."





74
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
Speed briefly recited the facts, Brenton correcting
him now and then on little points where he was
wrong. Speed seemed to think these points im-
material, but Lecocq said that attention to trivialities
was the whole secret of the detective business.
"Ah, said Lecocq, sorrowfully, "there is no real
trouble in elucidating that mystery. I hoped it would
be something difficult; but, you see, with my experi-
ence of the old world, and with the privileges one
enjoys in this world, things which might be difficult
to one below are very easy for us. Now, I shall show
you how simple it is."
"Good gracious!" cried Speed, "you don't mean
to say you are going to read it right off the reel, like
that, when we have been bothering ourselves with it
so long, and without success?"
"At the moment," replied the French detective, "I
am not prepared to say who committed the deed.
That is a matter of detail. Now, let us see what
we know, and arrive, from that, at what we do not
know. The one fact, of which we are assured on
the statement of two physicians from Cincinnati, is
that Mr. Brenton was poisoned."
"Well," said Speed, "there are several other facts,
too. Another fact is that Mrs. Brenton is accused
of the crime."
"Ah! my dear sir," said Lecocq, "that is not
pertinent."
"No," said Speed, "I agree with you. I call it
very impertinent."
Brenton frowned at this, and his old dislike to
the flippant Chicago man rose to the surface
again.


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
75
The Frenchman continued marking the points on
his long forefinger.
"Now, there are two ways by which that result
may have been attained. First, Mr. Brenton may
have administered to himself the poison; secondly, the
poison may have been administered by some one else."
"Yes," said Speed; "and, thirdly, the poison may
have been administered accidentally—you do not seem
to take that into account."
"I do not take that into account," calmly replied
the Frenchman, "because of its improbability. If
there were an accident; if, for instance, the poison
was in the sugar, or in some of the viands served,
then others than Mr. Brenton would have been
poisoned. The fact that one man out of twenty-six
was poisoned, and the fact that several people are
to benefit by his death, point, it seems to me, to
murder; but to be sure of that, I will ask Mr. Bren-
ton one question. My dear sir, did you administer
this poison to yourself?"
"Certainly not," answered Brenton.
"Then we have two facts. First, Mr. Brenton
was poisoned; secondly, he was poisoned by some
person who had an interest in his death. Now we
will proceed. When Mr. Brenton sat down to that
dinner he was perfectly well. When he arose from
that dinner he was feeling ill. He goes to bed. He
sees no one but his wife after he has left the
dinner-table, and he takes nothing between the time
he leaves the dinner-table and the moment he be-
comes unconscious. Now, that poison must have
been administered to Mr. Brenton at the dinner-
table. Am I not right?"


76
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"Well, you seem to be," answered Speed.
"Seem? Why, it is as plain as day. There
cannot be any mistake."
"All right," said Speed; "go ahead. What next?"
"What next? There were twenty-six people
around that table, with two servants to wait on them,
making twenty-eight in all. There were twenty-six,
I think you said, including Mr. Brenton."
"That is correct."
"Very well. One of those twenty-seven persons
has poisoned Mr. Brenton. Do you follow me?"
"We do," answered Speed; "we follow you as
closely as you have ever followed a criminal. Go on."
"Very well, so much is clear. These are all facts,
not theories. Now, what is the thing that I should
do if I were in Cincinnati? I would find out whether
one or more of those guests had anything to gain
by the death of their host. That done, I would
follow the suspected persons. I would have my men
find out what each of them had done for a month
before the time of the crime. Whoever committed
it made some preparation. He did something, too,
as you say, in America, to cover up his tracks.
Very well. By the keen detective these actions are
easily traced. I shall at once place twenty-seven of
the best men I know on the track of those twenty-
seven persons."
"I call that shadowing with a vengeance," re-
marked the Chicago man.
"It will be very easy. The one who has com-
mitted the crime is certain, when he is alone in his
own room, to say something, or to do something,
that will show my detective that he is the criminal.


78 FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"Good-bye, then, until I see you again," answered
Speed; and with this he and Brenton took their
departure.
"He seems to be very sure of himself," said
Brenton.

Jane Morton.
"He will do what he says, you may depend on
that."
The week was not yet up when Monsieur Lecocq
met John Speed in Chicago.


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
79
"By the look of satisfaction on your face," said Mr.
Speed, "I imagine you have succeeded in unravelling
the mystery."
"Ah," replied the Frenchman; "if I have the
appearance of satisfaction, it is indeed misplaced."
"Then you have not made any discovery?"
"On the contrary, it is all as plain as your big
buildings here. It is not for that reason, but because
it is so simple that I should be foolish to feel satis-
faction regarding it."
"Then who is the person?"
"The assassin," replied the Frenchman, "is one
whom no one has seemed to think of, and yet one on
whom suspicion should have been the first to fall.
The person who did Monsieur Brenton the honour to
poison him is none other than the servant girl, Jane
Morton."
CHAPTER IX.
"Jane Morton !" cried Speed; "who is she?"
"She is, as you may remember, the girl who carried
the coffee from Mrs. Brenton to monsieur."
"And are you sure she is the criminal?"
The great detective did not answer; he merely gave
an expressive little French gesture, as though the
question was not worth commenting upon.
"Why, what was her motive ?" asked Speed.
For the first time in their acquaintance a shade of
perplexity seemed to come over the enthusiastic face
of the volatile Frenchman.
"You are what you call smart, you Chicago people,"


8o
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
he said, "and you have in a moment struck the only
point on which we are at a loss."
"My dear sir," returned Speed, "that is the point
in the case. Motive is the first thing to look for, it
seems to me. You said as much yourself. If you
haven't succeeded in finding what motive Jane Morton
had for poisoning her employer, it appears to me that
very little has been accomplished." .
"Ah, you say that before you know the particulars.
I am certain we shall find the motive. What I
know now is that Jane Morton is the one who put the
poison in his cup of coffee."
"It would take a good deal of nerve to do that with
twenty-six people around the table*. You forget, my
dear sir, that she had to pass the whole length of the
table, after taking the cup, before giving it to Mr.
Brenton."
"Half of the people had their backs to her, and
the other half, I can assure you, were not looking at
her. If the poison was ready, it was a very easy
thing to slip it into a cup of coffee. There was ample
time to do it, and that is how it was done."
"May I ask how you arrived at that conclusion?"
"Certainly, certainly, my dear sir. My detectives
report that each one of the twenty-seven people they
had to follow were shadowed night and day. But
only two of them acted suspiciously. These two were
Jane Morton and Stephen Boland. Stephen Eoland's
anxiety is accounted for by the fact that he is evi-
dently in love with Mrs. Brenton. But the change
in Jane Morton has been something terrible. She is
suffering from the severest pangs of ineffectual
remorse. She has not gone out again to service, but


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
8l
occupies a room in one of the poorer quarters of the
city—a room that she never leaves except at night.
Her whole actions show that she is afraid of the police
—afraid of being tracked for her crime. She buys
a newspaper every night, locks and bars the door
on entering her room, and, with tears streaming
from her eyes, reads every word of the criminal news.
One night, when she went out to buy her paper, and
what food she needed for the next day, she came un-
expectedly upon a policeman at the corner. The man
was not looking at her at all, nor for her, but she
fled, running like a deer, doubling and turning
through alleys and back streets until by a very round-
about road she reached her own room. There she
locked herself in, and remained without food all next
day rather than go out again. She flung herself
terror-stricken on the bed, after her room door was
bolted, and cried, 'Oh, why did I do it? why did

Oh, why did I do it 1
Q


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
83
"I suppose I shall have to do that," said the French-
man, "if you will not undertake it."
"No, I will not."
"You have no objection, have you, to going with
me?"
"It is better for you to see Brenton alone. I do
not think he would care to be cross-examined before
witnesses, you know."
"Ah, then, good-bye; I shall find out from Mr.
Brenton who John is."
"I am sure I wish you luck," replied Speed, as
Lecocq took his departure.
Lecocq found Brenton and Ferris together. The
cynical spirit "seemed to have been rather sceptical
about the accounts given him of the influence that
Speed and Brenton, combined, had had upon the
Chicago newspaper man. Yet he was interested in
the case, and although he still maintained that no
practical good would result, even if a channel of
communication could be opened between the two
states of existence, he had listened with his customary
respect to what Brenton had to say.
"Ah," said Brenton, when he saw the Frenchman,
"have you any news for me?"
"Yes, I have. I have news that I will exchange,
but meanwhile I want some news from you."
"I have none to give you," answered Brenton.
"If you have not, will you undertake to answer
any questions I shall ask you, and not take offence if
the questions seem to be personal ones?"
"Certainly," said .Brenton; "I shall be glad to
answer anything as long as it has a bearing on the
case."


84
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"Very well, then, it has a very distinct bearing
on the case. Do you remember the girl Jane
Morton?"
"I remember her, of course, as one of the servants
in our employ. I know very little about her,
though."
"That is just what I wish to find out. Do you
know anything about her?"
"No; she had been in our employ but a fortnight,
I think, or perhaps it was a month. My wife
attended to these details, of course. I knew the girl
was there, that is all."
The Frenchman looked very dubious as Brenton
said this, while the latter rather bridled up.
"You evidently do not believe me ?" he cried.
Once more the detective gave his customary gesture,
and said—
"Ah, pardon me, you are entirely mistaken. I
have this to acquaint you with. Jane Morton is the
one who murdered you. She did it, she says, partly
for the sake of John, whoever he is, and partly out
of revenge. Now, of course, you are the only man
who can give me information as to the motive. That
girl certainly had a motive, and I should like to find
out what the motive was."
Brenton meditated for a few moments, and then
suddenly brightened up.
"I remember, now, an incident which happened a
week or two before Christmas, which may have a
bearing on the case. One night I heard—or thought
I heard—a movement downstairs, when I supposed
everybody had retired. I took a revolver in my
hand, and went cautiously down the stairs. Of


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
85
course I had no light, because, if there was a burglar,
I did not wish to make myself too conspicuous a
mark. As I went along the hall leading to the
kitchen, I saw there was a light inside; but as
soon as they heard me coming, the light was put
out. When I reached the kitchen, I noticed a man
trying to escape through the door that led to the
coalshed. I fired at him twice, and he sank to the
floor with a groan. I thought I had bagged a
burglar sure, but it turned out to be nothing of the
kind. He was merely a young man who had been
rather late visiting one of the girls. I suspect now
the girl he came to see was Jane Morton. As it was,
the noise brought the two girls there, and I never
investigated the matter or tried to find out which one
it was that he had been visiting. They were both
terror-stricken, and the young man himself was in a
state of great fear. He thought for a moment that
he had been killed. However, he was only shot in
the leg, and I sent him to the house of a physician
who keeps such patients as do not wish to go to the
hospital. I did not care to have him go to the
hospital, because I was afraid the newspapers would
get hold of the incident, and make a sensation of it.
The whole thing was accidental; the young fellow
realized that, and so, I thought, did the girls; at
least, I never noticed anything in their behaviour to
show the contrary."
"What sort of a looking girl is Jane Morton?"
asked Ferris.
"She is a tall brunette, with snapping black
eyes."
"Ah, then, I remember her going into the room


86
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
where you lay," said Ferris, " on Christmas morning.
It struck me when she came out that she was very
cool and self-possessed, and not at all surprised."
"All I can say," said Brenton, "is that I never
noticed anything in her conduct like resentment at
what had happened. I intended to give the young
fellow a handsome compensation for his injury, but
of course what occurred on Christmas Eve prevented
that. I had really forgotten all about the circum-
stance, or I should have told you of it before."
"Then," said Lecocq, "the thing now is perfectly
clear. That black-eyed vixen murdered you out of
revenge."

CHAPTER X.
It was evident to George Stratton that he would
have no time before the trial came off in which to
prove Stephen Roland the guilty person. Besides
this, he was in a strange state of mind which he
himself could not understand. The moment he sat
down to think out a plan by which he could run
down the man he was confident had committed the
crime, a strange wavering of mind came over him.
Something seemed to say to him that he was on
the wrong track. This became so persistent that
George was bewildered, and seriously questioned
his own sanity. Whenever he sat alone in his own


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
87
room, the doubts arose, and a feeling that he was
on the wrong scent took possession of him. This
feeling became so strong at times that he looked up
other clues, and at one time tried to find out the
whereabouts of the servant girls who had been
employed by the Brentons. Curiously enough, the
moment he began this search, his mind seemed to
become clearer and easier; and when that happened,
the old belief in the guilt of Stephen Eoland resumed
its sway again. But the instant he tried to follow up
what clues he had in that direction, he found himself
baffled and assailed again by doubts, and so every
effort he put forth appeared to be nullified. This
state of mind was so unusual with him that he had
serious thoughts of abandoning the whole case and
going back to Chicago. He said to himself, "I am
in love with this woman, and I shall go crazy if I
stay here any longer." Then he remembered the
trust she appeared to have in his powers of ferreting
out the mystery of the case, and this in turn
encouraged him and urged him on.
All trace of the girls appeared to be lost. He
hesitated to employ a Cincinnati detective, fearing
that what he discovered would be given away to the
Cincinnati press. Then he accused himself of dis-
loyalty to Mrs. Brenton, in putting his newspaper
duty before his duty to her. He was so torn by his
conflicting ideas and emotions that at last he
resolved to abandon the case altogether and return
to Chicago. He packed up his valise and resolved to
leave that night for big city, trial or no trial. He had
described his symptoms to a prominent physician, and
that physician told him that the case was driving


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
89
"Well, then, let him go," said Brenton, de-
spondently.
"With all my heart, say I," answered Speed; "but
in any case let us leave him alone."
Before the train started that night Stratton said to
himself that he was a new man. Bichard was him-
self again. He was thoroughly convinced of the
guilt of Stephen Boland, and wondered why he had
allowed his mind to wander off the topic and waste
time with other suspicions, for which he now saw
there was no real excuse. He had not the time, he
felt, to investigate the subject personally, but he
nattered himself he knew exactly the man to put on
Boland's track, and, instead of going himself to
Chicago, he sent off the following despatch :—.
"Meet me to-morrow morning, without fail, at the
Gibson House. Answer."
Before midnight he had his answer, and next
morning he met a man in whom he had the most
implicit confidence, and who had, as he said, the rare
and valuable gift of keeping his mouth shut.
"You see this portrait?" Stratton said, handing to
the other a photograph of Stephen Boland. "Now,
I do not know how many hundred chemist shops
there are in Cincinnati, but I want you to get a list of
them, and you must not omit the most obscure shop
in town. I want you to visit every drug store there
is in the city, show this photograph to the proprietor
and the clerks, and find out if that man bought
any chemicals during the week or two preceding
Christmas. Find out what drugs he bought, and
where he bought them, then bring the information
to me."


go
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"How much time do you give me on this, Mr.
Stratton ?" was the question.
"Whatever time you want. I wish the thing
done thoroughly and completely, and, as you know,
silence is golden in a case like this."

"How much time do you give me?"
"Enough said," replied the other, and, buttoning
the photograph in his inside pocket, he left the room.
******
There is no necessity of giving an elaborate report
of the trial. Any one who has curiosity in the matter
can find the full particulars from the files of any
paper in the country. Mrs. Brenton was very pale
as she sat in the prisoner's dock, but George Stratton


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
91
thought he never saw any one look so beautiful. It
seemed to him that any man in that crowded court-
room could tell in a moment that she was not guilty
of the crime with which she was charged, and he
looked at the jury of twelve supposedly good men,
and wondered what they thought of it.
The defence claimed that it was not their place to
show who committed the murder. That rested with
the prosecution. The prosecution, Mr. Benham main-
tained, had signally failed to do this. However, in
order to aid the prosecution, he was quite willing to
show how Mr. Brenton came to his death. Then
witnesses were called, who, to the astonishment of
Mrs. Brenton, testified that her husband had all along
had a tendency to insanity. It was proved conclusively
that some of his ancestors had died in a lunatic

In the prisoner's doclt.


92
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
asylum, and one was stated to have committed
suicide. The defence produced certain books from
Mr. Brenton's library, among them Forbes Winslow's
volume on " The Mind and the Brain," to show that
Brenton had studied the subject of suicide.
The judge's charge was very colourless. It
amounted simply to this: If the jury thought
the prosecution had shown Mrs. Brenton to have
committed the crime, they were to bring in a verdict
of guilty, and if they thought otherwise they were to
acquit her; and so the jury retired.
As they left the court-room a certain gloom fell
upon all those who were friendly to the fair prisoner.
Despite the great reputation of Benham and
Brown, it was the thought of every one present
that they had made a very poor defence. The prose-
cution, on the other hand, had been most ably con-
ducted. It had been shown that Mrs. Brenton was
chiefly to profit by her husband's death. The
insurance fund alone would add seventy-five thousand
dollars to the money she would control. A number
of little points that Stratton had given no heed to
had been magnified, and appeared then to have
a great bearing on the case. For the first time,
Stratton admitted to himself that the prosecution had
made out a very strong case of circumstantial evidence.
The defence, too, had been so deplorably weak that it
added really to the strength of the prosecution. A
great speech had been expected of Benham, but he
did not rise to the occasion, and, as one who knew
him said, Benham evidently believed his client guilty.
As the jury retired, every one in the court-room felt
that there was little hope for the prisoner; and this


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
93
feeling was intensified when, a few moments after, the
announcement was made in court, just as the judge
was preparing to leave the bench, that the jury had
agreed on the verdict.
Stratton, in the stillness of the court-room, heard
one lawyer whisper to another, " She's doomed."
There was intense silence as the jury slowly filed
into their places, and the foreman stood up.
"Gentlemen of the jury," was the question, "have
you agreed upon a verdict?"
"We have," answered the foreman.
"Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?"
"Not guilty," was the clear answer.
At this there was first a moment of silence, and then
a ripple of applause, promptly checked.
Mrs. Brenton was free.
CHAPTER XI.
George Stratton sat in the court-room for a moment
dazed, before he thought of the principal figure in
the trial; then he rose to go to her side, but he found
that Eoland was there before him. He heard her say,
"Get me a carriage quickly, and take me away from
here."
So Stratton went back to his hotel to meet his
Chicago detective. The latter had nothing to report.
He told him the number of drug stores he had visited,
but all without avail. No one had recognized the
portrait.
"All right," said Stratton; "then you will just
have to go ahead until you find somebody who


94
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
does. It is, I believe, only a question of time and
perseverance."
Next morning he arose late. He looked over the
report of the trial in the morning paper, and then,
turning to the leader page, read with rising indigna-
tion the following editorial:—
"THE BRENTON CASE.
"The decision of yesterday shows the glorious un-
certainty that attends the finding of the average
American jury. If such verdicts are to be rendered,
we may as well blot out from the statute-book all
punishment for all crimes in which the evidence is
largely circumstantial. If ever a strong case was
made out against a human being it was the case of
the prosecution in the recent trial. If ever there was
a case in which the defence was deplorably weak,
although ably conducted, it was the case that was
concluded yesterday. Should we, then, be prepared to
say that circumstantial evidence will not be taken by
an American jury as ground for the conviction of a
murderer? The chances are that, if we draw this
conclusion, we shall be entirely wrong. If a man
stood in the dock, in the place of the handsome young
woman who occupied it yesterday, he would to-day
have been undoubtedly convicted of murder. The
conclusion, then, to be arrived at seems to be that,
unless there is the direct proof of murder against a
pretty woman, it is absolutely impossible to get the
average jury of men to convict her. It would seem
that the sooner we get women on juries, especially
where a woman is on trial, the better it will be for
the cause of justice."


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
95
Then in other parts of the paper there were little
items similar to this—
"If Mrs. Brenton did not poison her husband, then
who did?"
That afternoon George Stratton paid a visit to Mrs.
Brenton. He had hoped she had not seen the paper
in question, but he hoped in vain. He found Mrs.
Brenton far from elated with her acquittal.
"I would give everything I possess," she said, "to
bring the culprit to justice."
After a talk on that momentous question, and when
George Stratton held her hand and said good-bye, she
asked him—
"When do you go to Chicago?"
"Madam," he said, "I leave for Chicago the
moment I find out who poisoned William Brenton."
She answered sadly—
"You may remain a long time in Cincinnati."
"In some respects," said Stratton, "I like Cincin-
nati better than Chicago."
"You are the first Chicago man I ever heard say
that," she replied.
"Ah, that was because they did not know Cincin-
nati as I do."
"I suppose you must have seen a great deal of the
town, but I must confess that from now on I should
be very glad if I never saw Cincinnati again. I would
like to consult with you," she continued, "about the
best way of solving this mystery. I have been think-
ing of engaging some of the best detectives I can get.
I suppose New York would be the place."
"No; Chicago," answered the young man.
"Well, then, that is what I wanted to see you about.


96
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
I would like to get the very best detectives that can
be had. Don't you think that, if they were promised
ample reward, and paid well during the time they were
working on the case, we might discover the key to
this mystery?"
"I do not think much of our detective system,"
answered Stratton, "although I suppose there is
something in it, and sometimes they manage in spite
of themselves to stumble on the solution of a crime.
Still, I shall be very glad indeed to give you what
advice I can on the subject. I may say I have con-
stituted myself a special detective in this case, and
that I hope to have the honour of solving the
problem."
"You are very good, indeed," she answered, " and
I must ask you to let me bear the expense."
"Oh, the paper will do that. I won't be out of
pocket at all," said Stratton.
"Well, I hardly know how to put it; but, whether
you are successful or not, I feel very grateful to
you, and I hope you will not be offended at what
I am going to say. Now, promise me that you
won't?"
"I shall not be offended," he answered. "It is a
little difficult to offend a Chicago newspaper man,
you know."
"Now, you mustn't say anything against the news-
paper men, for, in spite of the hard things that some
of them have said about me, I like them."
"Individually or collectively?"
"I am afraid I must say individually. You said
you wouldn't be offended, so after your search is over
you must let me . The labourer is worthy of his



"lftel.very grateful to you."


98
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
hire, or I should say, his reward—you know what I
mean. I presume that a young man who earns
his living on the daily press is not necessarily
wealthy."
"Why, Mrs. Brenton, what strange ideas you have
of the world! We newspaper men work at the busi-
ness merely because we like it. It isn't at all for the
money that's in it."
"Then you are not offended at what I have said?"
"Oh, not in the least. I may say, however, that I
look for a higher reward than money if I am success-
ful in this search."
"Yes, I am sure you do," answered the lady,
innocently. "If you succeed in this, you will be very
famous."
"Exactly; it's fame I'm after," said Stratton,
shaking her hand once more, and taking his leave.
When he reached his hotel, he found the Chicago
detective waiting for him.
"Well, old man," he said, "anything new?"
"Yes, sir. Something very new."
"What have you found out?"
"Everything."
"Very well, let me have it."
"I found out that this man bought, on December
10th, thirty grains of morphia. He had this mor-
phia put up in five-grain capsules. He bought this
at the drug store on the corner of Blank Street and
Nemo Avenue."
"Good gracious!" answered Stratton. "Then to
get morphia he must have had a physician's certifi-
cate. Did you find who the physician was that signed
the certificate?"


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
99
"My dear sir," said the Chicago man, "this person
is himself a physician, unless I am very much mis-
taken. "I was told that this was the portrait of
Stephen Eoland. Am I right?"
"That is the name."
"Well, then, he is a doctor himself. Not doing a
very large practice, it is true, but he is a physician.
Did you not know that?"
"No," said Stratton; "how stupid I am! I never
thought of asking the man's occupation."
"Very well, if that is what you wanted to know,
here's the detailed report of my investigation."
When the man left, Stratton rubbed his hands.
"Now, Mr. Stephen Eoland, I have you," he

"Here's the detailed report."
said.


IOO
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
CHAPTEE XII.
After receiving this information, Stratton sat alone
in his room and thought deeply over his plans. He
did not wish to make a false step, yet there was
hardly enough in the evidence he had secured to
warrant his giving Stephen Eoland up to the police.
Besides this, it would put the suspected man at once
on his guard, and there was no question but that
gentleman had taken every precaution to prevent
discovery. After deliberating for a long while, he
thought that perhaps the best thing he could do was
to endeavour to take Eoland by surprise. Meanwhile,
before the meditating man stood Brenton and Speed,
and between them there was a serious disagreement
of opinion.
,,,,*,
"I tell you what it is," said Speed, "there is no
use in our interfering with Stratton. He is on the
wrong track, but, nevertheless, all the influence we
can use on him in his present frame of mind will
merely do what it did before—it will muddle the
man up. Now, I propose that we leave him severely
alone. Let him find out his mistake. He will find
it out in some way or other, and then he will be in
a condition of mind to turn to the case of Jane
Morton."
"But don't you see," argued Brenton, "that all
the time spent on his present investigation is so
much time lost? I will agree to leave him alone, as
you say, but let us get somebody else on the Morton
case."


FROM WHOSE BOURNE. IOI
"I don't want to do that," said Speed; "because
George Stratton has taken a great deal of interest
in this search. He has done a great deal now, and
I think we should be grateful to him for it."
"Grateful!" growled Brenton; "he has done it
from the most purely selfish motives that a man can
act upon. He has done it entirely for his paper—for
newspaper fame. He has done it for money."
"Now," said Speed, hotly, "you must not talk like
that of Stratton to me. I won't say what I think
of that kind of language coming from you, but you
can see how seriously we interfered with his work
before, and how it nearly resulted in his departure for
Chicago. I propose now that we leave him alone."
"Leave him alone, then, for any sake," replied
Brenton; "I am sure I build nothing on what he
can do anyway."
"All right, then," returned Speed, recovering his
good nature. "Now, although I am not willing to
put any one else on the track of Miss Jane Morton,
yet I will tell you what I am willing to do. If you
like, we will go to her residence, and influence her
to confess her crime. I believe that can be done."
"Very well; I want you to understand that I am
perfectly reasonable about the matter. All I want is
not to lose any more time."
"Time ?" cried Speed; "why, we have got all the
time there is. Mrs. Brenton is acquitted. There is
no more danger."
"That is perfectly true, I admit; but still you can
see the grief under which she labours, because her
name is not yet cleared from the odium of the crime.
You will excuse me, Speed, if I say that you seem to


102
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
be working more in the interests of Stratton's jour-
nalistic success than in the interests of Mrs. Bren-
ton's good name."
"Well, we won't talk about that," said Speed;
"Stratton is amply able to take care of himself, as
you will doubtless see. Now, what do you say to
our trying whether or not we can influence Jane
Morton to do what she ought to do, and confess her
crime?"
"It is not a very promising task," replied Brenton;
"it is hard to get a person to say words that may
lead to the gallows."
"I'm not so sure about that," said Speed; "you
know the trouble of mind she is in. I think it more
than probable that, after the terror of the last few
weeks, it will be a relief for her to give herself up."
"Very well; let us go."
The two men shortly afterwards found themselves in
the scantily furnished room occupied by Jane Morton.
That poor woman was rocking herself to and fro
and moaning over her trouble. Then she suddenly
stopped rocking, and looked around the room with
vague apprehension in her eyes. She rose and
examined the bolts of the door, and, seeing everything
was secure, sat down again.
"I shall never have any peace in this world again,"
she cried to herself.
She rocked back and forth silently for a few
moments.
"I wish," she said, "the police would find out all
about it, and then this agony of mind would end."
Again she rocked back and forth, with her hands
helplessly in her lap.


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"Oh, I cannot do it, I cannot do it!" she sobbed,
still rocking to and fro. Finally she started to her
feet.
"I ivill do it," she cried; "I will confess to Mrs.
Brenton herself. I will tell her everything. She
has gone through trouble herself, and may have
mercy on me."
"There, you see," said Speed to Brenton, "we
have overcome the difficulty, after all."
"It certainly looks like it," replied Brenton.
"Don't you think, however, that we had better stay
with her until she does confess? May she not change
her mind?"
"Don't let us overdo the thing," suggested Speed;
"if she doesn't come to time, we can easily have
another interview with her. The woman's mind is
made up. She is in torment, and will be until she
confesses her crime. Let us go and leave her
alone."
,*,*,,
George Stratton was not slow to act when he had
once made up his mind. He pinned to the breast of
his vest a little shield, on which was the word "de-
tective." This he had often found useful, in a way
that is not at all sanctioned by the law, in ferreting
out crime in Chicago. As soon as it was evening he
paced up and down in front of Eoland's house, and
on the opposite side of the road. There was a light
in the doctor's study, and he thought that perhaps
the best way to proceed was to go boldly into the house
and put his scheme into operation. However, as he
meditated on this, the light was turned low, and in a
few moments the door opened. The doctor came


io4 from whose bourne.
down the steps, and out on the pavement, walking
briskly along the street. The reporter followed him on
the other side of the thoroughfare. Whether to do it
in the dark or in the light, was the question that
troubled Stratton. If he did it in the dark, he would
miss the expression on the face of the surprised man.
If he did it in the light, the doctor might recognize
him as the Chicago reporter, and would know at once
that he was no detective. Still, he felt that if there
was anything in his scheme at all, it was surprise;
and he remembered the quick gasp of the lawyer
Brown when he told him he knew what his defence
was. He must be able to note the expression of the
man who was guilty of the terrible crime.
Having made up his mind to this, he stepped
smartly after the doctor, and, when the latter came
under a lamp-post, placed his hand suddenly on
his shoulder, and exclaimed—
"Doctor Stephen Boland, I arrest you for the
murder of William Brenton!"
CHAPTEB XIII.
Stephen Boland turned quickly around and shook
the hand from his shoulder. It was evident that he
recognized Stratton instantly.
"Is this a Chicago joke ?" asked the doctor.
"If it is, Mr. Boland, I think you will find it a very
serious one."
"Aren't you afraid that you may find it a serious
one?"


106 FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
The doctor walked into the study, and again locked
the door of that. Pulling down the blinds, he turned
up the gas to its full force and sat down by a table,
motioning the newspaper man to a seat on the other
side.
"Now," he said calmly to Stratton, "the reason I
did not resent your unwarrantable insult is this: You
are conscientiously trying to get at the root of this
mystery. So am I. Your reason is that you wish to
score a victory for your paper. My motive is entirely
different, but our object is exactly the same. Now,
by some strange combination of circumstances you
have come to the conclusion that I committed the
crime. Am I right?"
"You are perfectly correct, doctor," replied Stratton.
"Very well, then. Now, I assure you that I am
entirely innocent. Of course, I appreciate the fact
that this assurance will not in the slightest degree
affect your opinion, but I am interested in knowing
why you came to your conclusion, and perhaps by
putting our heads together, even if I dislike you and
you hate me, we may see some light on this matter
that has hitherto been hidden. I presume you have
no objection at all to co-operate with me?"
"None in the least," was the reply.
"Very well, then. Now, don't mind my feelings at
all, but tell me exactly why you have suspected me
of being a murderer."
"Well," answered Stratton, "in the first place we
must look for a motive. It seems to me that you
have a motive for the crime."
"And might I ask what that motive is, or
was?"


FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 107
"You will admit that you disliked Brenton?"
"I will admit that, yes."
"Very well. You will admit also that you were—
well, how shall I put it ?—let us say, interested in his
wife before her marriage?"
"I will admit that; yes."
"You, perhaps, will admit that you are interested
in her now?"
"I do not see any necessity for admitting that; but
still, for the purpose of getting along with the case, I
will admit it. Go on."
"Very good. Here is a motive for the crime,
and a very strong one. First, we will presume that
you are in love with the wife of the man who is
murdered. Secondly, supposing that you are mer-
cenary, quite a considerable amount of money will
come to you in case you marry Brenton's widow.
Next, some one at that table poisoned him. It was
not Mrs. Brenton, who poured out the cup of coffee.
The cup of coffee was placed before Brenton, and my
opinion is that, until it was placed there, there was
no poison in that cup. The doomed man was en-
tirely unsuspicious, and therefore it was very easy for
a person to slip enough poison in that cup unseen by
anybody at that table, so that when he drank his
coffee nothing could have saved him. He rose from
the table feeling badly, and he went to his room and
died. Now, who could have placed that poison in his
cup of coffee? It must have been one of the two that
sat at his right and left hand. A young lady sat at
his right hand. She certainly did not commit the
crime. You, Stephen Eoland, sat at his left hand.
Do you deny any of the facts I have recited?"


108 FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"That is a very ingenious chain of circumstantial
evidence. Of course, you do not think it strong
enough to convict a man of such a serious crime as
murder?"
"No; I quite realize the weakness of the case up to
this point. But there is more to follow. Fourteen
days before that dinner you purchased at the drug
store on the corner of Blank Street and Nemo Avenue
thirty grains of morphia. You had the poison put up
in capsules of five grains each. What do you say to
that bit of evidence added to the circumstantial chain
which you say is ingenious?"
The doctor knit his brows and leaned back in
his chair.
"By the gods! " he said, "you are right. I did
buy that morphia. I remember it now. I don't
mind telling you that I had a number of experiments
on hand, as every doctor has, and I had those capsules
put up at the drug store, but this tragedy coming on
made me forget all about the matter."
"Did you take the morphia with you, doctor?"
"No, I did not. And the box of capsules, I do
not think, has been opened. But that is easily
ascertained."
The doctor rose, went to his cabinet, and unlocked
it. From a number of packages he selected a small
one, and brought it to the desk, placing it before the
reporter.
"There is the package. That contains, as you
say, thirty grains of morphia in half a dozen five-
grain capsules. You see that it is sealed just as it
left the drug store. Now, open it and look for your-
self. Here are scales; if you want to see whether


FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 109
a single grain is missing or not, find out for
yourself."
"Perhaps," said the newspaper man, "we had
better leave this investigation for the proper
authorities."
"Then you still believe that I am the murderer of
William Brenton?"
"Yes, I still believe that."
"Very well; you may do as you please. I think,
however, in justice to myself, you should stay right
here, and see that this box is not tampered with
until the proper authorities, as you say, come."
Then, placing his hand on the bell, he continued—
"Whom shall I send for? An ordinary police-
man, or some one from the central office? But, now
that I think of it, here is a telephone. We can have
any one brought here that you wish. I prefer that
neither you nor I leave this room until that
functionary has appeared. Name the authority you
want brought here," said the doctor, going to the
telephone, "and I will have him here if he is in
town."
The newspaper man was nonplussed. The doctor's
actions did not seem like those of a guilty man. If
he were guilty he certainly had more nerve than any
person Stratton had ever met. So he hesitated.
Then he said—
"Sit down a moment, doctor, and let us talk this
thing over."
"Just as you say," remarked Boland, drawing up
his chair again.
Stratton took the package, and looked it over care-
fully. It was certainly just in the condition in which


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
111
CHAPTER XIV.
In the morning Jane Morton prepared to meet Mrs.
Brenton, and make her confession. She called at
the Brenton residence, but found it closed, as it had
been ever since the tragedy of Christmas morning.
It took her some time to discover the whereabouts
of Mrs. Brenton, who, since the murder, had resided
with a friend except while under arrest.
For a moment Mrs. Brenton did not recognize the
thin and pale woman who stood before her in a state
of such extreme nervous agitation, that it seemed as
if at any moment she might break down and cry.
"I don't suppose you'll remember me, ma'am,"
began the girl, "but I worked for you two weeks
before—before"
"Oh yes," said Mrs. Brenton, "I remember you
now. Have you been ill? You look quite worn and
pale, and very different from what you did the last
time I saw you."
"Yes," said the girl, "I believe I have been
ill."
"You believe; aren't you sure?"
"I have been very ill in mind, and troubled, and
that is the reason I look so badly. Oh, Mrs.
Brenton, I wanted to tell you of something that has
been weighing on my mind ever since that awful day!
I know you can never forgive me, but I must tell it
to you, or I shall go crazy."
"Sit down, sit down," said the lady, kindly; "you
know what trouble I have been in myself. I am sure


I 12
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
that I am more able to sympathize now with one
who is in trouble than ever I was before."
"Yes, ma'am; but you were innocent, and I am
guilty. That makes all the difference in the world."
"Guilty!" cried Mrs. Brenton, a strange fear
coming over her as she stared at the girl; "guilty of
what?"
. "Oh, madam, let me tell you all about it. There
is, of course, no excuse; but I'll begin at the begin-
ning. You remember a while before Christmas that
John came to see me one night, and we sat up very
late in the kitchen, and your husband came down
quietly, and when we heard him coming we put out
the light, and just as John was trying to get away,
your husband shot twice at him, and hit him the
second time?"
"Oh yes," said Mrs. Brenton, " I remember that
very well. I had forgotten about it in my own
trouble; but I know that my husband intended to do
something for the young man. I hope he was not
seriously hurt?"
"No, ma'am; he is able to be about again now as
well as ever, and is not even lame, which we expected
he would be. But at the time I thought he was
going to be lame all the rest of his life, and perhaps
that is the reason I did what I did. When every-
thing was in confusion in the house, and it was
certain that we would all have to leave, I did a very
wicked thing. I went to your room, and I stole some
of your rings, and some money that was there, as
well as a lot of other things that were in the room.
It seemed to me then, although, of course, I know
now how wicked it was, that you owed John some-



"Guilty! Guilty of what?


H4
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
thing for what he had gone through, and I thought
that he was to be lame, and that you would never
miss the things; but, oh! madam, I have not slept
a night since I took them. I have been afraid of the
police and afraid of being found out. I have pawned
nothing, and they are all just as I took them, and I
have brought them back here to you, with every
penny of the money. I know you can never forgive
me, but I am willing now to be given up to the
police, and I feel better in my mind than I have done
ever since I took the things."
"My poor child!" said Mrs. Brenton, sympa-
thetically, "was that all?"
"All?" cried the girl. "Yes, I have brought
everything back."
"Oh, I don't mean that, but I am sorry you have
been worried over anything so trivial. I can see
how at such a time, and feeling that you had been
wronged, a temptation to take the things came to
you. But I hope you will not trouble any more
about the matter. I will see that John is compen-
sated for all the injury he received, as far as it is
possible for money to compensate him. I hope
you will keep the money. The other things, of
course, I shall take back, and I am glad you came
to tell me of it before telling any one else. I
think, perhaps, it is better never to say anything
to anybody about this. People might not under-
stand just what temptation you were put to, and
they would not know the circumstances of the case,
because nobody knows, I think, that John was
hurt. Now, my dear girl, do not cry. It is all right.
Of course you never will touch anything again that


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"5
does not belong to you, and the suffering you have
gone through has more than made up for all the
wrong you have done. I am sure that I forgive you
quite freely for it, and I think it was very noble of
you to come and tell me about it."
Mrs. Brenton took the package from the hands of
the weeping girl, and opened it. She found every-
thing there, as the girl had said. She took the money
and offered it to Jane Morton. The girl shook her
head.
"No," she cried, "I cannot touch it. I cannot,
indeed. It has been enough misery to me already."
"Very well," said Mrs. Brenton. "I would like
very much to see John. Will you bring him to
me?"
The girl looked at her with startled eyes.
"You will not tell him ?" she said.
"No indeed, I shall tell him nothing. But I want
to do what I can for him, as I said. I suppose you
are engaged to be married?"
"Yes," answered the girl; "but if he knew of this
he never, never would marry me."
"If he did not," said Mrs. Brenton, "he would not
be worthy of you. But he shall know nothing about
it. You will promise to come here and see me with
him, will you not?"
"Yes, madam," said the girl.
"Then good-bye, until I see you again."
Mrs. Brenton sat for a long time thinking over this
confession. It took her some time to recover her
usual self-possession, because for a moment she had
thought the girl was going to confess that she com-
mitted murder. In comparison with that awful


I 16 FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
crime, the theft seemed so trivial that Mrs. Brenton
almost smiled when she thought of the girl's distress.
, * » * * »
"Well," said John Speed to Mr. Brenton, "if that
doesn't beat the Old Harry. Now I, for one, am
very glad of it, if we come to the real truth of the
matter."
"I am glad also," said Brenton, " that the girl is
not guilty, although I must say things looked decidedly
against her."
"I will tell you why I am glad," said Speed. "I
am glad because it will take some of the superfluous
conceit out of that French detective Lecocq. He was
so awfully sure of himself. He couldn't possibly be
mistaken. Now, think of the mistakes that man
must have made while he was on earth, and had the
power which was given into his hands in Paris. After
all, Stratton is on the right track, and he will yet
land your friend Eoland in prison. Let us go and
find Lecocq. This is tod good to keep."
"My dear sir," said Brenton, "you seem to be
more elated because of your friend Stratton than for
any other reason. Don't you want the matter
ferreted out at all?"
"Why, certainly I do; but I don't want it ferreted
out by bringing an innocent person into trouble."
"And may not Stephen Eoland be an innocent
person?"
"Oh, I suppose so; but I do not think he is."
"Why do you not think so?"
"Well, if you want the real reason, simply because
George Stratton thinks he isn't. I pin my faith to
Stratton."


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
117
"I think you overrate your friend Stratton."
"Overrate him, sir? That is impossible. I love
him so well that I hope he will solve this mystery
himself, unaided and alone, and that in going back to
Chicago he will be smashed to pieces in a railway
accident, so that we can have him here to congratu-
late him."
CHAPTER XV.
"I suppose," said Roland, " you thought for a moment
I was trying to commit suicide. I think, Mr. Stratton,
you will have a better opinion of me by-and-by. I
shouldn't be at all surprised if you imagined I induced
you to come in here to get you into a trap."
"You are perfectly correct," said Stratton; "and
I may say, although that was my belief, I was not
in the least afraid of you, for I had you covered all
the time."
"Well," remarked Roland, carelessly, "I don't
want to interfere with your business at all, but I wish
you wouldn't cover me quite so much; that revolver
of yours might go off."
"Do you mean to say," said Stratton, "that there
is nothing but quinine in those capsules?"
"I'll tell you in a moment," as he opened them
one by one. "No, there is nothing but quinine here.
Thirty grains put up in five-grain capsules."
George Stratton's eyes began to open. Then he
slowly rose, and looked with horrified face at the
doctor.


I I 8 FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
"My God!" he cried; "who got the thirty grains
of morphia?"
"What do you mean ?" asked the doctor.
"Mean? Why, don't you see it? It is a chemist's
mistake. Thirty grains of quinine have been sent
you. Thirty grains of morphia have been sent to
somebody else. Was it to William Brenton?"
"By Jove!" said the doctor, "there's something
in that. Say, let us go to the drug store."
The two went out together, and walked to the drug
store on the corner of Blank Street and Nemo Avenue.
"Do you know this writing?" said Doctor Boland
to the druggist, pointing to the label on the box.
"Yes," answered the druggist; "that was written
by one of my assistants."
"Can we see him for a few moments?"
"I don't know where he is to be found. He is
a worthless fellow, and has gone to the devil this last
few weeks with a rapidity that is something startling."
"When did he leave?"
"Well, he got drunk and stayed drunk during the
holidays, and I had to discharge him. He was a very
valuable man when he was sober; but he began to
be so erratic in his habits that I was afraid he would
make a ghastly mistake some time, so I discharged
him before it was too late."
"Are you sure you discharged him before it was
too late."
The druggist looked at the doctor, whom he knew
well, and said, "I never heard of any mistake, if he
did make it."
"You keep a book, of course, of all the prescriptions
sent out?"


FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
119
"Certainly."
"May we look at that book?"
"I shall be very glad to show it to you. What
month or week?"
"I want to see what time you sent this box of
morphia to me."
"You don't know about what time it was, do you?"
"Yes; it must have been about two weeks before
Christmas."
The chemist looked over the pages of the book,
and finally said, "Here it is."
"Will you let me look at that page?"
"Certainly."
The doctor ran his finger down the column, and
came to an entry written in the same hand.
"Look here," he said to Stratton, "thirty grains
of quinine sent to William Brenton, and next to it
thirty grains of morphia sent to Stephen Eoland. I
see how it was. Those prescriptions were mixed up.
My package went to poor Brenton."
The druggist turned pale.
"I hope," he said, "nothing public will come of
this."
"My dear sir," said Roland, "something public
will have to come of it. You will oblige me by ring-
ing up the central police station, as this book must
be given in charge of the authorities."
"Look here," put in Stratton, his newspaper in-
stinct coming uppermost, "I want to get this thing
exclusively for the Argus."
"Oh, I guess there will be no trouble about that.
Nothing will be made public until to-morrow, and
you can telegraph to-night if we find the box of


120
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
capsules in Brenton's residence. We must take an
officer with us for that purpose, but you can caution
or bribe him to keep quiet until to-morrow."
When the three went to William Brenton's resi-
dence they began a search of the room in which
Brenton had died, but nothing was found. In the
closet of the room hung the clothes of Brenton, and
going through them Stratton found in the vest pocket
of one of the suits a small box containing what was
described as five-grain capsules of sulphate of quinine.
The doctor tore one of these capsules apart, so as
to see what was in it. Without a moment's hesita-
tion he said—
"There you are! That is the morphia. There
were six capsules in this box, and one of them is
missing. William Brenton poisoned himself! Feel-
ing ill, he doubtless took what he thought was a dose
of quinine. Many men indulge in what we call the
quinine habit. It is getting to be a mild form of
tippling. Brenton committed unconscious suicide!"


FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 121
CHAPTEE XVI.
A group of men, who were really alive, but invisible to
the searchers, stood in the room where the discovery
was made. Two of the number were evidently angry,
one in one way and one in another. The rest of the
group appeared to be very merry. One angry man
was Brenton himself, who was sullenly enraged.
The other was the Frenchman, Lecocq, who was as
deeply angered as Brenton, but, instead of being
sullen, was exceedingly voluble.
"I tell you," he cried, "it is not a mistake of
mine. I went on correct principles from the first.
I was misled by one who should have known better.
You will remember, gentlemen," he continued, turn-
ing first to one and then the other, "that what I
said was this—we had certain facts to go on. One of
those facts I got from Mr. Brenton. I said to him in
your presence, 'Did you poison yourself?' He
answered me, as I can prove by all of you, 'No, I did
not.' I took that for a fact. I thought I was speak-
ing to a reasonable man who knew what he was
talking about."
"Haven't I told you time and again," answered
Brenton, indignantly, "that it was a mistake? You
asked me if I poisoned myself. I answered you that
I did not. Your question related to suicide. I did
not commit suicide. I was the victim of a druggist's
mistake. If you had asked me if I had taken
medicine before I went to bed, I should have told you
frankly, 'Yes. I took one capsule of quinine.' It


122
FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
has been my habit for years, when I feel badly. I
thought nothing of that."
"My dear sir," said Lecocq, "I warned you, and
I warned these gentlemen, that the very things that
seem trivial to a thoughtless person are the things
that sometimes count. You should have told me
everything. If you took anything at all, you should
have said so. If you had said to me, 'Monsieur
Lecocq, before I retired I took five grains of quinine,'
I should have at once said, 'Find where that quinine
is, and see if it is quinine, and see if there has not
been a mistake.' I was entirely misled; I was
stupidly misled."
"Well, if there was stupidity," returned Brenton,
"it was your own."
"Come, come, gentlemen," laughed Speed, "all's
well that ends well. Everybody has been mistaken,
that's all about it. The best detective minds of
Europe and America, of the world, and of the spirit-
land, have been misled. You are all wrong. Admit
it, and let it end."
"My dear sir," said Lecocq, "I shall not admit
anything. I was not wrong; I was misled. It was
this way"
"Oh, now, for goodness' sake don't go over it all
again. We understand the circumstances well
enough."
"I tell you," cried Brenton, in an angry tone,
"that
"Come, come," said Speed, " we have had enough
of this discussion. I tell you that you are all wrong,
every one of you. Come with me, Brenton, and we
will leave this amusing crowd."


FROM WHOSE BOURNE. 123
"I shall do nothing of the kind," answered Bren-
ton, shortly.
"Oh, very well then, do as you please. I am glad
the thing is ended, and I am glad it is ended by my
Chicago friend."
"Your Chicago friend !" sneered Brenton, slight-
ingly; "It was discovered by Doctor Stephen Bo-
land."
"My dear fellow," said Speed, "Stephen Boland
had all his time to discover the thing, and didn't
do it, and never would have done it, if George Strat-
ton hadn't encountered him. Well, good-bye, gentle-
men; I am sorry to say that I have had quite
enough of this discussion. But one thing looms up
above it all, and that is that Chicago is ahead of the
world in everything—in detection as well as in fires."
"My dear sir," cried Lococq, "it is not true. I
will show you in a moment"
"You won't show me," said Speed, and he straight-
way disappeared.
"Come, Ferris," said Brenton, "after all, you are
the only friend I seem to have; come with me."
"Where are you going?" asked Ferris, as they left.
"I want to see how my wife takes the news."
"Don't," said Mr. Ferris—"don't do anything
of the kind. Leave matters just where they are.
Everything has turned out what you would call all
right. You see that your interference, as far as it
went, was perfectly futile and useless. I want now
to draw your attention to other things."
"Very well, I will listen to you," said Brenton, "if
you come with me and see how my wife takes the
news. I want to enjoy for even a moment or two her


124 FROM WHOSE BOURNE.
relief and pleasure at finding that her good name
is clear."
"Very well," assented Ferris, "I will go with yon."
When they arrived they found the Chicago reporter
ahead of them. He had evidently told Mrs. Krenton
all the news, and her face flushed with eager pleasure
as she listened to the recital.
"Now," said the Chicago man, "I am going to
leave Cincinnati. Are you sorry I am going?"
"No," said Mrs. Brenton, looking him in the face,
"I am not sorry."
Stratton flushed at this, and then said, taking his
hat in his hand, "Very well, madam, I shall bid you
good day."
"I am not sorry," said Mrs. Brenton, holding out
her hand, "because I am going to leave Cincinnati
myself, and I hope never to see the city again. So if
you stayed here, you see, I should never meet you
again, Mr. Stratton."
"Alice," cried Stratton, impulsively grasping her
hand in both of his, "don't you think you would
like Chicago as a place of residence?"
"George," she answered, "I do not know. I am
going to Europe, and shall be there for a year or
two."
Then he said eagerly—
"When you return, or if I go over there to see you
after a year or two, may I ask you that question
again?" .
"Yes," was the whispered answer.
******
"Come," said Brenton to Ferris, "let us go.'


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
CHAPTER I.
John Trenton, artist, put the finishing touches to the
letter he was writing, and then read it over to himself.
It ran as follows :—

And then read it ocer to hitnielf.


126
ONE DATS COURTSHIP.
"My dear Ed.,
"I sail for England on the 27th. But before
I leave I want to have another look at the Shawenegan
Falls. Their roar has been in my ears ever since
I left there. That tremendous hillside of foam is
before my eyes night and day. The sketches I took
are not at all satisfactory, so this time I will bring my
camera with me, and try to get some snapshots at
the falls.
"Now, what I ask is this. I want you to hold that
canoe for me against all comers for Tuesday. Also,
those two expert half-breeds. Tell them I am coming,
and that there is money in it if they take me up and
back as safely as they did before. I don't suppose
there will be much demand for the canoe on that
day; in fact, it astonishes me that Americans, who
appreciate the good things of our country better than
we do ourselves, practically know nothing of this
superb cataract right at their own doors. I suppose
your new canoe is not finished yet, and as the others
are up in the woods I write so that you will keep this
particular craft for me. I do not wish to take any
risks, as I leave so soon. Please drop me a note to
this hotel at Quebec, and I will meet you in Le Gres
on Tuesday morning at daybreak.
"Your friend,
"John Trenton."
Mason was a millionaire and a lumber king, but
every one called him Ed. He owned baronial estates
in the pine woods, and saw-mills without number.
Trenton had brought a letter of introduction to him
from a mutual friend in Quebec, who had urged the


128
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
a question of time. In fact, John admitted this to
himself, but to no one else.
He entered the ramshackle 'bus, and was driven
a long distance through very sandy streets to the
hotel on the St. Lawrence, and, securing a room,
made arrangements to be called before daybreak.
He engaged the same driver who had taken him out
to "The Grays," as it was locally called, on the
occasion of his former visit.
The morning was cold and dark. Trenton found
the buckboard at the door, and he put his camera
under the one seat—a kind of a box for the holding of
bits of harness and other odds and ends. As he
buttoned up his overcoat he noticed that a great
white steamer had come in the night, and was tied up
in front of the hotel.
"The Montreal boat," explained the driver.
As they drove along the silent streets of Three
Rivers, Trenton called to mind how, on the former
occasion, he thought the Lower Canada buckboard by
all odds the most uncomfortable vehicle he had ever
ridden in, and he felt that his present experience was
going to corroborate this first impression. The seat
was set in the centre, between the front and back
wheels, on springy boards, and every time the con-
veyance jolted over a log—a not unfrequent occurrence
—the seat went down and the back bent forward,
as if to throw him over on the heels of the patient
horse.
The road at first was long and straight and sandy,
but during the latter part of the ride there were plenty
of hills, up many of which a plank roadway ran;
so that loads which it would be impossible to take


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
129
through the deep sand, might be hauled up the steep
incline.
At first the houses they passed had a dark and
deserted look; then a light twinkled here and there.
The early habitant was making his fire. As daylight
began gradually to bring out the landscape, the sharp
sound of the distant axe was heard. The early
habitant was laying in his day's supply of firewood.

They drove along the silent streets.
"Do you notice how the dawn slowly materializes
the landscape ?" said the artist to the boy beside him.
The boy saw nothing wonderful about that. Day-
light always did it.
"Then it is not unusual in these parts? You see,
I am very seldom up at this hour."
The boy wished that was his case.


130 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
"Does it not remind you of a photographer in
a dark room carefully developing a landscape plate?
Not one of those rapid plates, you know, but a slow,
deliberate plate."
No, it didn't remind him of anything of the kind.
He had never seen either a slow or a rapid plate
developed.
"Then you have no prejudices as to which is the
best developer, pyrogallic acid or ferrous oxalate, not
to mention such recent decoctions as eikonogen,
quinol, and others?"
No, the boy had none.
"Well, that's what I like. I like a young man
whose mind is open to conviction."
The boy was not a conversational success. He
evidently did not enter into the spirit of the artist's
remarks. He said most people got off at that point
and walked to warm up, and asked Trenton if he
would not like to follow their example.
"No, my boy," said the Englishman, "I don't
think I shall. You see, I have paid for this ride, and
I want to get all I can out of it. I shall shiver here
and try to get the worth of my money. But with you
it is different. If you want to get down, do so. I
will drive."
The boy willingly handed over the reins, and sprang
out on the road. Trenton, who was a boy himself
that morning, at once whipped up the horse and
dashed down the hill to get away from the driver.
When a good half-mile had been worried out of the
astonished animal, Trenton looked back to see the
driver come panting after. The young man was
calmly sitting on the back part of the buckboard, and


ONE DATS COURTSHIP.
when the horse began to walk again, the boy slid off, and,
without a smile on his face, trotted along at the side.
"That fellow has evidently a quiet sense of humour,
although he is so careful not to show it," said Trenton
to himself.
On reaching the hilltop, they caught a glimpse of
the rim of the sun rising gloriously over the treetops
on the other side of the St. Maurice Kiver. Trenton
stopped the horse, and the boy looked up to see what
was wrong. He could not imagine any one stopping
merely to look at the sun.
"Isn't that splendid?" cried Trenton, with a deep
breath, as he watched the great globe slowly ascend
into the sky. The distant branches of the trees were
delicately etched against its glowing surface, and
seemed to cling to it like tendrils, slipping further and
further down as the sun leisurely disentangled itself,
and at last stood in its incomparable grandeur full
above the forest.
The woods all around had on their marvellous
autumn tints, and now the sun added a living lustre
to them that made the landscape more brilliant than
anything the artist had ever seen before.
"Ye gods!" he cried enthusiastically, "that
scene is worth coming from England to have one
glimpse of."
"See here," said the driver, "if you want to catch
Ed. Mason before he's gone to the woods you'll have
to hurry up. It's getting late."
"True, 0 driver. You have brought me from the
sun to the earth. Have you ever heard of the person
who fell from the sun to the earth?"
No, he hadn't.


132
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
"Well, that was before your time. You will never
take such a tumble. I suppose they don't worship
the sun in these parts?"
No, they didn't.
"When you come to think of it, that is very
strange. Have you ever reflected that it is always in
warm countries they worship the sun? Now, I should
think it ought to be just the other way about. Do
you know that when I got on with you this morning I
was eighty years old, every day of it. What do you
think my age is now?"
"Eighty years, sir."
"Not a bit of it. I'm eighteen. The sun did it.
And yet they claim there is no fountain of youth.
What fools people are, my boy!"
The young man looked at his fare slyly, and cor-
dially agreed with him.
"You certainly have a concealed sense of humour,"
said the artist.
They wound down a deep cut in the hill, and got a
view of the lumber village—their destination. The
roar of the waters tumbling over the granite rocks—
the rocks from which the village takes its name—
came up the ravine. The broad river swept in a
great semicircle to their right, and its dark waters
were flecked with the foam of the small falls near the
village, and the great cataract miles up the river. It
promised to be a perfect autumn day. The sky,
which had seemed to Trenton overcast when they
started, was now one deep dome of blue without even
the suggestion of a cloud.
The buckboard drew up at the gate of the house in
which Mr. Mason lived when he was in the lumber


134
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
The imperious young woman made no reply. She
turned to the window again, and Trenton backed out
of the room as best he could.
"Well!" he said to himself, as he breathed with
relief the outside air again, "that was the rudest
thing I ever knew a lady to do. She is a lady, there
is no doubt of that. There is nothing of the back-
woods about her. But she might at least have
answered me. What have I done, I wonder? It must
be something terrible and utterly unforgivable, what-
ever it is. Great heavens !" he murmured, aghast at
the thought, "I hope that girl isn't going up to the
Shawenegan Falls."
Trenton was no ladies' man. The presence of
women always disconcerted him, and made him feel
awkward and boorish. He had been too much of a
student in higher art to acquire the smaller art of
the drawing-room. He felt ill at ease in society, and
seemed to have a fatal predilection for saying the
wrong thing, and suffered the torture afterwards of
remembering what the right thing would have
been.
Trenton stood at the gate for a moment, hoping
Mason would come. Suddenly he remembered with
confusion that he was directly in range of those dis-
dainful eyes in the parlour, and he beat a hasty
retreat toward the old mill that stood by the falls
The roar of the turbulent water over the granite
rocks had a soothing effect on the soul of the man
who knew he was a criminal, yet could not for the
life of him tell what his crime had been. Then
he wandered up the river-bank toward where he
saw the two half-breeds placing the canoe in the


136
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
t
CHAPTER II.
Eva Sommerton, of Boston, knew that she lived in
the right portion of that justly celebrated city, and
this knowledge was evident in the poise of her queenly
head, and in every movement of her graceful form.
Blundering foreigners—foreigners as far as Boston is
concerned, although they may be citizens of the
United States—considered Boston to be a large city,
with commerce and railroads and busy streets and
enterprising newspapers, but the true Bostonian
knows that this view is very incorrect. The real
Boston is penetrated by no railroads. Even the jingle
of the street-car bell does not disturb the silence of
the streets of this select city. It is to the ordinary
Boston what the empty, out-of-season London is to
the rest of the busy metropolis. The stranger, jostled
by the throng, may not notice that London is
empty, but his lordship, if he happens during the
deserted period to pass through, knows there is not a
soul in town.
Miss Sommerton had many delusions, but fortu-
nately for her peace of mind she had never yet met a
candid friend with courage enough to tell her so. It
would have required more bravery than the ordinary
society person possesses to tell Miss Sommerton
about any of her faults. The young gentlemen of her
acquaintance claimed that she had no faults, and if
her lady friends thought otherwise, they reserved the
expression of such opinions for social gatherings not
graced by the presence of Miss Sommerton.


ONE DAT8 COURTSHIP.
137
Eva Sommerton thought she was not proud, or if
there was any tinge of pride in her character, it was
pride of the necessary and proper sort.
She also possessed the vain belief that true merit
-was the one essential, but if true merit had had the
misfortune to be presented to Miss Sommerton with-
out an introduction of a strictly unimpeachable nature,
there is every reason to fear true merit would not have
had the exquisite privilege of basking in the smiles
of that young Bostonian. But perhaps her chief
delusion was the belief that she was an artist. She
had learned all that Boston could teach of drawing,
and this thin veneer had received a beautiful foreign
polish abroad. Her friends pronounced her sketches
really wonderful. Perhaps if Miss Sommerton's
entire capital had been something less than her half-
yearly income, she might have made a name for
herself; but the rich man gets a foretaste of the
scriptural difficulty awaiting him at the gates of
heaven, when he endeavours to achieve an earthly
success, the price of which is hard labour, and not
hard cash.
We are told that pride must have a fall, and there
came an episode in Miss Sommerton's career as an
artist which was a rude shock to her self-com-
placency. Having purchased a landscape by a cele-
brated artist whose work she had long admired, she
at last ventured to write to him and enclose some of
her own sketches, with a request for a candid
judgment of them—that is, she said she wanted a
candid judgment of them.
The reply seemed to her so ungentlemanly, and so
harsh, that, in her vexation and anger, she tore the


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
letter to shreds and stamped her pretty foot with
a vehemence which would have shocked those who
knew her only as the dignified and self-possessed Miss
Eva Sommerton.
Then she looked at her libelled sketches, and some-

She stamped her pretty foot on it.
how they did not appear to be quite so faultless as
she had supposed them to be.
This inspection was followed by a thoughtful and
tearful period of meditation; and finally, with con-
triteness, the young woman picked up from her studio
floor the shreds of the letter and pasted them care-
fully together on a white sheet of paper, in which


140 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
wild river scenery—and received from him a warmer
letter of commendation than she had hoped for. He
remembered her former sketches, and now saw a
great improvement. If the waterfall sketches were
not exaggerations, he would like to see the originals.
Where were they? The lady was proud of her dis-
coveries in the almost unknown land of Northern
Quebec, and she wrote a long letter telling all about
them, and a polite note of thanks for the information
ended the correspondence.
Miss Sommerton's favourite discovery was that
tremendous downward plunge of the St. Maurice, the
Falls of the Shawenegan. She had sketched it from
a dozen different standpoints, and raved about it to
her friends, if such a dignified young person as Miss
Sommerton could be said to rave over anything. Some
Boston people, on her recommendation, had visited
the falls, but their account of the journey made so
much of the difficulties and discomforts, and so little
of the magnificence of the cataract, that our amateur
artist resolved to keep the falls, as it were, to herself.
She made yearly pilgrimages to the St. Maurice, and
came to have a kind of idea of possession which
always amused Mr. Mason. She seemed to resent
the fact that others went to look at the falls, and,
worse than all, took picnic baskets there, actually
lunching on its sacred shores, leaving empty cham-
pagne bottles and boxes of sardines that had evidently
broken some one's favourite knife in the opening.
This particular summer she had driven out to " The
Greys," but finding that a party was going up in
canoes every day that week, she promptly ordered
her driver to take her back to Three Eivers, saying to


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
141
Mr. Mason she would return when she could have the
falls to herself.
"You remind me of Miss Porter," said the lumber
king.
"Miss Porter! Who is she?"
"When Miss Porter visited England and saw Mr.
Gladstone, he asked her if she had ever seen the
Niagara Falls. 'Seen them ?' she answered. 'Why,
I own them !'"
"What did she mean by that? I confess I don't
see the point, or perhaps it isn't a joke."
"Oh yes, it is. You mustn't slight my good stories
in that way. She meant just what she said. I
believe the Porter family own, or did own, Goat
Island, and, I suppose, the other bank, and, there-
fore, the American Fall. The joke—I do dislike to
have to explain jokes, especially to you cool, unsym-
pathizing Bostonians—is the ridiculousness of any
mere human person claiming to own such a thing as
the Niagara Falls. I believe, though, that you are
quite equal to it—I do indeed."
"Thank you, Mr. Mason."
"I knew you would be grateful when I made myself
clearly understood. Now, what I was going to pro-
pose is this: You should apply to the Canadian
Government for possession of the Shawenegan. I
think they would let it go at a reasonable figure.
They look on it merely as an annoying impediment
to the navigation of the river, and an obstruction
which has caused them to spend some thousands of
dollars in building a slide by the side of it, so that
the logs may come down safely."
"If I owned it, the slide is the first thing I would
destroy."


142
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
"What? And ruin the lumber industry of the
Upper St. Maurice'? Oh, you wouldn't do such
a thing! If that is your idea, I give you fair
warning that I will oppose your claims with all
the arts of the lobbyist. If you want to become
the private owner of the falls, you should tell the
Government that you have some thoughts of en-
couraging the industries of the province by building
a mill"
"A mill?"
"Yes; why not? Indeed, I have half a notion to
put a saw-mill there myself. It always grieves me
to see so much magnificent power going to waste."
"Ob, seriously, Mr. Mason, you would never think
of committing such an act of sacrilege?"
"Sacrilege, indeed! I like that. Why, the man
who makes one saw-mill hum where no mill ever
hummed before is a benefactor to his species. Don't
they teach political economy at Boston? I thought
you liked saw-mills. You drew a very pretty picture
of the one down the stream."
"I admire a rained saw-mill, as that one was; but
not one in a state of activity, or of eruption, as a
person might say."
"Well, won't you go up to the falls to-day, Miss
Sommerton? I assure you we have a most unexcep-
tionable party. Why, one of them is a Government
official. Think of that!"
"I refuse to think of it; or, if I do think of it, I
refuse to be dazzled by his magnificence. I want
to see the Shawenegan, not a picnic party drinking
beer."
"You wrong them, really you do, Miss Sommerton,


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
143
believe me. You have got your dates mixed. It is
the champagne party that goes to-day. The beer
crowd is not due until to-morrow."
"The principle is the same."
"The price of the refreshment is not. I speak as
a man of bitter experience. Let's see. If recollection
holds her throne, I think there was a young lady
from New England—I forget the name of the town
at the moment—who took a lunch with her the last
time she went to the Shawenegan. I merely give
this as my impression, you know. I am open to
contradiction."
"Certainly, I took a lunch. I always do. I would
to-day if I were going up there, and Mrs. Mason
would give me some sandwiches. You would give me
a lunch, wouldn't you, dear?"
"I'll tell them to get it ready now, if you will only
stay," replied that lady, on being appealed to.
"No, it isn't the lunch I object to. I object to
people going there merely for the lunch. I go for
the scenery; the lunch is incidental."
"When you get the deed of the falls, I'll tell you
what we'll do," put in Mason. "We will have a band
of trained Indians stationed at the landing, and they
will allow no one to disembark who does not express
himself in sufficiently ecstatic terms about the great
cataract. You will draw up a set of adjectives, which
I will give to the Indians, instructing them to allow
no one to land who does not use at least three out
of five of them in referring to the falls. People whose
eloquent appreciation does not reach the required
altitude will have to stay there till it does, that's
all. We will treat them as we do our juries—starve


144
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
them into a verdict, and the right verdict at
that."
"Don't mind him, Eva. He is just trying to ex-
asperate you. Think of what I have to put up with.
He goes on like that all the time," said Mrs. Mason.
"Eeally, my dear, your flattery confuses me. You
can't persuade any one that I keep up this brilliancy
in the privacy of my own house. It is only turned
on for company."
"Why, Mr. Mason, I didn't think you looked on
me as company. I thought I enjoyed the friendship
of the Mason family."
"Oh, you do, you do indeed! The company I
referred to was the official party which has just gone
to the falls. This is some of the brilliancy left over.
But, really, you had better stay after coming all this
distance."
"Yes, do, Eva. Let me go back with you to the
Three Eivers, and then you stay with me till next
week, when you can visit the falls all alone. It is
very pleasant at Three Eivers just now. And besides,
we can go for a day's shopping at Montreal."
"I wish I could."
"Why, of course you can," said Mason. "Imagine
the delight of smuggling your purchases back to
Boston. Confess that this is a pleasure you hadn't
thought of."
"I admit the fascination of it all, but you see I am
with a party that has gone on to Quebec, and I just
got away for a day. I am to meet them there to-night
or to-morrow morning. But I will return in the
autumn, Mrs. Mason, when it is too late for the
picnics. Then, Mr. Mason, take warning. I mean


146
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
side of a crime I am willing to commit; but to
perjure myself, no, not for Venice. Can you think
of any other method that will combine duplicity with
a clear conscience? I'll tell you what I'll do. I will
have the canoe drawn up, and gently, but firmly,
slit it with my knife. One of the men can mend it
in ten minutes. Then I can look even the official
from Quebec in the face, and tell him truly that the
canoe will not hold water. I suppose as long as my
story will hold water you and Miss Sommerton will
not mind?"
"If the canoe is ready for her when she comes, I
shall be satisfied. Please to remember I am going to
spend a week or two in Boston next winter."
"Oh ho, that's it, is it? Then it was not pure
philanthropy"
"Pure nonsense, Ed. I want the canoe to be
ready, that's all."
When Mrs. Mason received the letter from Miss
Sommerton, stating the time the young woman in-
tended to pay her visit to the Shawenegan, she gave
the letter to her husband, and reminded him of the
necessity of keeping the canoe for that particular
date. As the particular date was some weeks off,
and as Ed. Mason was a man who never crossed a
stream until he came to it, he said, "All right," put
the letter in his inside pocket, and the next time he
thought of it was on the fine autumn afternoon—
Monday afternoon—when he saw Mrs. Mason drive
up to the door of his lumber-woods residence with
Miss Eva Sommerton in the buggy beside her. The
young lady wondered,' as Mr. Mason helped her out,
if that genial gentleman, whom she regarded as the


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 147
most fortunate of men, had in reality some secret,
gnawing sorrow the world knew not of.
"Why, Ed., you look ill," exclaimed Mrs. Mason;
"is there anything the matter?"
"Oh, it is nothing—at least, not of much con-
sequence. A little business worry, that's all."
"Has there been any trouble?"

She gave the letter to her husband.
"Oh no—at the least, not yet."
"Trouble about the men, is it?"
"No, not about the men," said the unfortunate
gentleman, with a somewhat unnecessary emphasis on
the last word.
"Oh, Mr. Mason, I am afraid I have come at a
wrong time. If so, don't hesitate to tell me. If I
can do anything to help you, I hope I may be]allowed."


148
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
"You have come just at the right time," said the
lumberman, "and you are very welcome, I assure
you. If I find I need help, as perhaps I may, you
will be reminded of your promise."
To put off as long as possible the evil time of
meeting his wife, Mason went with the man to see
the horse put away, and he lingered an unnecessarily
long time in ascertaining that everything was right
in the stable. The man was astonished to find his
master so particular that afternoon. A crisis may be
postponed, but it can rarely be avoided altogether,
and knowing he had to face the inevitable sooner or
later, the unhappy man, with a sigh, betook himself
to the house, where he found his wife impatiently
waiting for him. She closed the door and con-
fronted him.
"Now, Ed., what's the matter?"
"Where's Miss Sommerton?" was the somewhat
irrelevant reply.
"She has gone to her room. Ed., don't keep me
in suspense. What is wrong?"
"You remember John Trenton, who was here in
the summer?"
"I remember hearing you speak of him. I didn't
meet him, you know."
"Oh, that's so. Neither you did. You see, he's
an awful good fellow, Trenton is—that is, for an
Englishman."
"Well, what has Trenton to do with the trouble?"
"Everything, my dear—everything."
"I see how it is. Trenton visited the Sbawenegan?"
"He did."
"And he wants to go there again?"


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
149
"He does."
"And you have gone and promised him the canoe
for to-morrow?"
"The intuition of woman, my dear, is the most
wonderful thing on earth."
"It is not half so wonderful as the negligence of
man—I won't say the stupidity."
"Thank you, Jennie, for not saying it, but I really
think I would feel better if you did."
"Now, what are you going to do about it?"
"Well, my dear, strange as it may appear, that
very question has been racking my brain for the
last ten minutes. Now, what would you do in my
position?"
"Oh, I couldn't be in your position."
"No, that's so, Jennie. Excuse me for suggesting
the possibility. I really think this trouble has
affected my mind a little. But if you had a husband
—if a sensible woman like you could have a husband
who got himself into such a position—what would you
advise him to do?"
"Now, Ed., don't joke. It's too serious."
"My dear, no one on earth can have such a reali-
zation of its seriousness as I have at this moment. I
feel as Mark Twain did with that novel he never
finished. I have brought things to a point where
I can't go any further. The game seems blocked. I
wonder if Miss Sommerton would accept ten thousand
feet of lumber f.o.b. and call it square."
"Eeally, Ed., if you can't talk sensibly, I have
nothing further to say."
"Well, as I said, the strain is getting too much for
me. Now, don't go away, Jennie. Here is what I


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
am thinking of doing. I'll speak to Trenton. He
won't mind Miss Sommerton's going in the canoe with
him. In fact, I should think he would rather like it."
"Dear me, Ed., is that all the progress you've
made? I am not troubling myself about Mr. Trenton.
The difficulty will be with Eva. Do you think for a
moment she will go if she imagined herself under
obligations to a stranger for the canoe? Can't you
get Mr. Trenton to put off his visit until the day after
to-morrow? It isn't long to wait."
"No, that is impossible. You see, he has just time
to catch his steamer as it is. No, he has the promise
in writing, while Miss Sommerton has no legal evi-
dence if this thing ever gets into the courts. Trenton
has my written promise. You see, I did not re-
member the two dates were the same. When I wrote
to Trenton"
"Ed., don't try to excuse yourself. You had her
letter in your pocket, you know you had. This is a
matter for which there is no excuse, and it cannot be
explained away."
"That's so, Jennie. I am down in the depths once
more. I shall not try to crawl out again—at least,
not while my wife is looking."
"No, your plan will not work. I don't know that
any will. There is only one thing to try, and it is
this—Miss Sommerton must think that the canoe is
hers. You must appeal to her generosity to let Mr.
Trenton go with her."
"Won't you make the appeal, Jen?"
"No, I will not. In the first place she'll be sorry
for you, because you will make such a bungle of it.
That is your only hope."


ONE DATS COURTSHIP.
"Oh, if success lies in bungling, I will succeed."
"Don't be too sure. I suppose that man will be
here by daybreak to-morrow?"
"Not so bad as that, Jennie. You always try to
put the worst face on things. He won't be here till
sunrise at the earliest."
"I will ask Eva to come down."
"You needn't hurry just because of me. Be-
sides, I would like a few moments to prepare myself
for my fate. Even a murderer is given a little
time."
"Not a moment, Ed. We had better get this thing
settled as soon as possible."
"Perhaps you are right," he murmured, with a
deep sigh. "Well, if we Britishers, as Miss S.
calls us, ever faced the Americans with as faint a
heart as I do now, I don't wonder we got licked."
"Don't say 'licked,' Ed."
"I believe it's historical. Oh, I see. You object
to the word, not to the allegation. Well, I won't
cavil about that. All my sympathy just now is con-
centrated on one unfortunate Britisher. My dear, let
the sacrifice begin."
Mrs. Mason went to the stairway and called—
"Eva, dear, can you come down for a moment?
We want you to help us out of a difficulty."
Miss Sommerton appeared smilingly, smoothing
down the front of the dress that had taken the place
of the one she travelled in. She advanced towards
Mason with sweet compassion in her eyes, and that
ill-fated man thought he had never seen any one look
so altogether charming—excepting, of course, his
own wife in her youthful days. She seemed to have


ONE DATS COURTSHIP.
smoothed away all the Boston stiffness as she smoothed
her dress.
"Oh, Mr. Mason," she said, sympathetically, as
she approached, "I am so sorry anything has
happened to trouble you, and I do hope I am not
intruding."
"Indeed, you are not, Miss Eva. In fact, your
sympathy has taken away half the trouble already,
and I want to beg of you to help me off with the other
half."
A glance at his wife's face showed him that he had
not made a bad beginning.
"Miss Sommerton, you said you would like to help
me. Now I am going to appeal to you. I throw
myself on your mercy."
There was a slight frown on Mrs. Mason's face,
and her husband felt that he was perhaps appealing
too much.
"In fact, the truth is, my wife gave me"
Here a cough interrupted him, and he paused and
ran his hand through his hair.
"Pray don't mind me, Mr. Mason," said Miss
Sommerton, "if you would rather not tell"
"Oh, but I must; that is, I want you to know."
He glanced at his wife, but there was no help
there, so he plunged in headlong.
"To tell the truth, there is a friend of mine who
wants to go to the falls to-morrow. He sails for
Europe immediately, and has no other day."
The Boston rigidity perceptibly returned.
"Oh, if that is all, you needn't have had a moment's
trouble. I can just as well put off my visit."
"Oh, can you?" cried Mason, joyously.


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
153
His wife sat down in the rocking-chair with a sigh
of despair. Her infatuated husband thought he was
getting along famously.
"Then 'your friends are not waiting for you at
Quebec this time, and you can stay a day or two
with us."
"Eva's friends are at Montreal, Edward, and she
cannot stay."
"Oh, then—why, then, to-morrow's your only
day,too?"
"It doesn't matter in the least, Mr. Mason. I shall
be most glad to put off my visit to oblige your friend
—no, I didn't mean that," she cried, seeing the look
of anguish on Mason's face, "it is to oblige you.
Now, am I not good?"
"No, you are cruel," replied Mason. "You are
going up to the falls. I insist on that. Let's take
that as settled. The canoe is yours." He caught an
encouraging look from his wife. "If you want to
torture me you will say you will not go. If you want
to do me the greatest of favours, you will let my
friend go in the canoe with you to the landing."
"What! go alone with a stranger?" cried Miss
Sommerton, freezingly.
"No, the Indians will be there, you know."
"Oh, I didn't expect to paddle the canoe myself."
"I don't know about that. You strike me as a
girl who would paddle her own canoe pretty well."
"Now, Edward," said his wife.
"He wants to take some photographs of the falls,
and"
"Photographs? Why, Ed., I thought you said he
was an artist."


154
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
"Isn't a photographer an artist?"
"You know he isn't."
"Well, my dear, you know they put on their signs,
'artist — photographer, pictures taken in cloudy
weather.' But he's an amateur photographer; an
amateur is not so bad as a professional, is he, Miss
Sommerton?"
"I think he's worse, if there is any choice. A
professional at least takes good pictures, such as
they are."
"He is an elderly gentleman, and I am sure"
"Oh, is he?" cried Miss Sommerton; "then the
matter is settled. He shall go. I thought it was
some young fop of an amateur photographer."
"Oh, quite elderly. His hair is grey, or badly
tinged at least."
The frown on Miss Sommerton's brow cleared
away, and she smiled in a manner that was cheering
to the heart of her suppliant. He thought it reminded
him of the sun breaking through the clouds over the
hills beyond the St. Maurice.
"Why, Mr. Mason, how selfishly I've been acting,
haven't I? You really must forgive me. It is so
funny, too, making you beg for a seat in your
own canoe."
"Oh no, it's your canoe—that is, after twelve
o'clock to-night. That's when your contract begins."
"The arrangement does not seem to me quite
regular; but, then, this is the Canadian woods, and
not Boston. But, I want to make my little proviso.
I do not wish to be introduced to this man; he must
have no excuse for beginning a conversation with me.
I don't want to talk to-morrow."


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
155
"Heroic resolution," murmured Mason.
"So, I do not wish to see the gentleman until I go
into the canoe. You can be conveniently absent.
Mrs. Perrault will take me down there; she speaks no
English, and it is not likely he can speak French."
"We can arrange that."
"Then it is settled, and all I hope for is a good
day to-morrow."
Mrs. Mason sprang up and kissed the fair Bostonian,
and Mason felt a sensation of joyous freedom that
recalled his youthful days when a half-holiday was
announced.
"Oh, it is too good of you," said the elder lady.
"Not a bit of it," whispered Miss Sommerton; "I
hate the man before I have seen him."
CHAPTEE III.
When John Trenton came in to breakfast, he found
his friend Mason waiting for him. That genial
gentleman was evidently ill at ease, but he said in an
off-hand way—
"The ladies have already breakfasted. They are
busily engaged in the preparations for the trip, and
so you and I can have a snack together, and then we
will go and see to the canoe."
After breakfast they went together to the river, and
found the canoe and the two half-breeds waiting for
them. A couple of rugs were spread on the bottom
of the canoe rising over the two slanting boards
which served as backs to the lowly seats.
"Now," said Mason with a blush, for he always


156 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
told a necessary lie with some compunction, "I shall
have to go and see to one of my men who was
injured in the mill this morning. You had better
take your place in the canoe, and wait for your
passenger, who, as is usual with ladies, will probably
be a little late. I think you should sit in the back
seat, as you are the heavier of the two. I presume
you remember what I told you about sitting in a
canoe? Get in with caution while these two men hold
the side of it; sit down carefully, and keep steady,
no matter what happens. Perhaps you may as well
put your camera here at the back, or in the prow."
"No," said Trenton, "I shall keep it slung over
my shoulder. It isn't heavy, and I am always
afraid of forgetting it if I leave it anywhere."
Trenton got cautiously into the canoe, while Mason
bustled off with a very guilty feeling at his heart.
He never thought of blaming Miss Sommerton for the
course she had taken, and the dilemma into which
she placed him, for he felt that the fault was entirely
his own.
John Trenton pulled out his pipe, and, absent-
mindedly, stuffed it full of tobacco. Just as he was
about to light it, he remembered there was to be a
lady in the party, and so with a grimace of dis-
appointment he put the loaded pipe into his pocket
again.
It was the most lovely time of the year. The sun
was still warm, but the dreaded black fly and other
insect pests of the region had disappeared before the
sharp frosts that occurred every night. The hilly
banks of the St. Maurice were covered with unbroken
forest, and "the woods of autumn all around the





ONE DATS COURTSHIP.
vale had put their glory on." Presently Trenton saw
Miss Sommerton, accompanied by old Mrs. Perrault,
coming over the brow of the hill. He attempted to
rise, in order to assist the lady to a seat in the canoe,
when the half-breed said in French—
"Better sit still. It is safer. We will help the lady."
Miss Sommerton was talking rapidly in French—
with rather overdone eagerness—to Mrs. Perrault.
She took no notice of her fellow-voyager as she
lightly stepped exactly in the centre of the canoe,
and sank down on the rug in front of him, with the
ease of one thoroughly accustomed to that somewhat
treacherous craft.
The two stalwart boatmen—one at the prow,
the other at the stern of the canoe—with swift and
dexterous strokes, shot it out into the stream.
Trenton could not but admire the knowledge of
these two men and their dexterous use of it. Here
they were on a swiftly flowing river, with a small fall
behind them and a tremendous cataract several miles
in front, yet these two men, by their knowledge of
the currents, managed to work their way up stream
with the least possible amount of physical exertion.
The St. Maurice at this point is about half a mile
wide, with an island here and there, and now and
then a touch of rapids. Sometimes the men would
dash right across the river to the opposite bank, and
there fall in with a miniature Gulf Stream that
would carry them onward without exertion. Some-
times they were near the densely wooded shore,
sometimes in the centre of the river. The half-breed
who stood behind Trenton, leant over to him, and
whispered—


160 ONE DATS COURTSHIP.
its scenery. I hoped to see it alone. I have been
disappointed in that, but I must insist on seeing it in
silence. I do not wish to carry on a conversation,
nor do I wish to enter into a discussion on any subject
whatever. I am sorry to have to say this, but it
seems to be necessary."
Her remarks so astonished Trenton that he found
it impossible to get angrier than he had been when
she first spoke. In fact, he found his anger receding
rather than augmenting. It was something so entirely
new to meet a lady who had such an utter disregard
for the rules of politeness that obtain in any civilized
society that Mr. Trenton felt he was having a
unique and valuable experience.
"Will you pardon me," he said, with apparent
submissiveness—" will you pardon me if I disregard
your request sufficiently to humbly beg forgiveness
for having spoken to you in the first place?"
To this Miss Sommerton made no reply, and the
canoe glided along.
After going up the river for a few miles the boat-
men came to a difficult part of the voyage. Here
the river was divided by an island. The dark waters
moved with great swiftness, and with the smoothness
of oil, over the concealed rocks breaking into foam
at the foot of the rapids. Now for the first time the
Indians had hard work. For quite half an hour they
paddled as if in despair, and the canoe moved upward
inch by inch. It was not only hard work, but it was
work that did not allow of a moment's rest until it
was finished. Should the paddles pause but an
instant, the canoe would be swept to the bottom of
the rapids. "When at last the craft floated into the


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
"Keally," said the artist; "and who is Miss
Sommerton, pray?"
The half-breed nodded up the path.
"Oh, indeed, that is her name. I did not
know."
"Yes," said the man, " she is very generous, and
she always brings us tobacco in her pocket—good
tobacco."
"Tobacco!" cried the artist. "The arrant
hypocrite. She gives you tobacco, does she? Did
you understand what we were talking about coming
up here?"
The younger half-breed was about to say." Yes,"
and a gleam of intelligence came into his face; but
a frown on the other's brow checked him, and the
elder gravely shook his head.
"We do not understand English," he said.
As Trenton walked slowly up the steep hillside, he
said to himself, "That young woman does not seem
to have the slightest spark of gratitude in her com-
position. Here I have been good-natured enough to
share my canoe with her, yet she treats me as if
I were some low ruffian instead of a gentleman."
As Miss Sommerton was approaching the Shawe-
negan Palls, she said to herself, "What an insuffer-
able cad that man is? Mr. Mason doubtless told
him that he was indebted to me for being allowed to
come in the canoe, and yet, although he must see
I do not wish to talk with him, he tried to force
conversation on me."
Miss Sommerton walked rapidly along the very
imperfect woodland path, which was completely
shaded by the overhanging trees. After a walk of


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 163
nearly a mile, the path suddenly ended at the top of a
tremendous precipice of granite, and opposite this point

Miss Sommerton walked rapidly along the woodland path.
the great hillside of tumbling white foam plunged for
ever downward. At the foot of the falls the waters


164
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
flung themselves against the massive granite barrier,
and then, turning at a right angle, plunged down-
ward in a series of wild rapids that completely
eclipsed in picturesqueness and grandeur and force
even the famous rapids at Niagara. Contemplating
this incomparable scene, Miss Sommerton forgot all

She gazed dreamily at the great falls, j
about her objectionable travelling companion. She
sat down on a fallen log, placing her sketch-book on
her lap, but it lay there idly as, unconscious of the
passing time, she gazed dreamily at the great falls
and listened to their vibrating, deafening roar.
Suddenly the consciousness of some one near startled



ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
not allowed to take a lady's photograph without her
permission, and in defiance of her wishes."
"Will you allow me to explain why it is unnecessary
to destroy the plate? If you understand anything
about photography, you must be aware of the
fact"
"I am happy to say I know nothing of photography,
and I desire to know nothing of it. I will not hear
any explanation from you, sir. You have refused to
destroy the plate. That is enough for me. Your
couduct to-day has been entirely contemptible. In
the first place you have forced yourself, through Mr.
Mason, into my company. The canoe was mine for
to-day, and you knew it. I granted you permission
to come, but I made it a proviso that there should be
no conversation. Now, I shall return in the canoe
alone, and I shall pay the boatman to come back for
you this evening." With this she swept indignantly
past Mr. Trenton, leaving the unfortunate man for the
second or third time that day too much dumbfounded
to reply. She marched down the path toward the
landing. Arriving at the canoe, she told the boatmen
they would have to return for Mr. Trenton; that she
was going back alone, and she would pay them hand-
somely for their extra trip. Even the additional pay
offered did not seem to quite satisfy the two half-breeds.
"It will be nearly dark before we can get back,"
grumbled the elder boatman.
"That does not matter," replied Miss Sommerton,
shortly.
"But it is dangerous going down the river at
night."
"That does not matter," was again the reply.


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
169
The stolid boatman gave the command; the man
at the bow paddled one way, while the man at the
stern paddled another, and the canoe swung round
up-stream again.
CHAPTER IV.
The sun had gone down when Miss Sommerton put
her foot once more on the landing.
"We will go and search for him," said the boat-
man.
"Stay where you are," she commanded, and dis-
appeared swiftly up the path. Expecting to find him
still at the falls, she faced the prospect of a good mile
of rough walking in the gathering darkness without
flinching. But at the brow of the hill, within hearing
distance of the landing, she found the man of whom
she was in search. In her agony of mind Miss
Sommerton had expected to come upon him pacing
moodily up and down before the falls, meditating
on the ingratitude of womankind. She discovered
him in a much less romantic attitude. He was lying
at full length below a white birch tree, with his
camera-box under his head for a pillow. It was evi-
dent he had seen enough of the Shawenegan Falls for
one day, and doubtless, because of the morning's
early rising, and the day's long journey, had fallen
soundly asleep. His soft felt hat lay on the ground
beside him. Miss Sommerton looked at him for a
moment, and thought bitterly of Mason's additional
perjury in swearing that he was an elderly man.
True, his hair was tinged with grey at the temples,


170
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
but there was nothing elderly about his appearance.
Miss Sommerton saw that he was a handsome man,
and wondered this had escaped her notice before, for-
getting that she had scarcely deigned to look at him.
She thought he had spoken to her with inexcusable
bluntness at the falls, in refusing to destroy his plate;

He was lying at full length, with his camera-box under his head
for a pillow.
but she now remembered with compunction that he
had made no allusion to his ownership of the boat
for that day, while she had boasted that it was hers.
She determined to return and send one of the boat-
men up to awaken him, but at that moment Trenton
suddenly opened his eyes, as a person often does


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
171
when some one looks at him in his sleep. He sprang
quickly to his feet, and put up his hand in bewilder-
ment to remove his hat, but found it wasn't there.
Then he laughed uncomfortably, stooping to pick it
up again.
"I—I—I wasn't expecting visitors," he stammered.
"Why did you not tell me," she said, "that
Mr. Mason had promised you the boat for the day?"
"Good gracious !" cried Trenton, " has Ed. Mason
told you that?"
"I have not seen Mr. Mason," she replied; "I
found it out by catching an accidental remark made
by one of the boatmen. I desire very humbly to
apologize to you for my conduct."
"Oh, that doesn't matter at all, I assure you."
"What! My conduct doesn't?"
"No, I didn't mean quite that; but I Of
course, you did treat me rather abruptly; but then,
you know, I saw how it was. You looked on me as
an interloper, as it were, and I think you were quite
justified, you know, in speaking as you did. I am a
very poor hand at conversing with ladies, even at my
best, and I am not at my best to-day. I had to get
up too early, so there is no doubt what I said was said
very awkwardly indeed. But it really doesn't matter,
you know—that is, it doesn't matter about anything
you said."
"I think it matters very much—at least, it matters
very much to me. I shall always regret having treated
you as I did, and I hope you will forgive me for
having done so."
"Oh, that's all right," said Mr. Trenton, swinging
his camera over his shoulder. "It is getting dark,


172 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
Miss Sommerton; I think we should hurry down to
the canoe."
As they walked down the hill together, he con-
tinued—
"I wish you would let me give you a little lesson
in photography, if you don't mind."
"I have very little interest in photography,
especially in amateur photography," replied Miss
Sommerton, with a partial return of her old reserve.
"Oh, I don't wish to make an amateur photographer
of you. You sketch very nicely, and"
"How do you know that ?" asked Miss Sommerton,
turning quickly towards him: "you have never seen
any of my sketches."
"Ah, well," stammered Trenton, "no—that is—
you know—are not those water-colours in Mason's
house yours?"
"Mr. Mason has some of my sketches. I didn't
know you had seen them."
"Well, as I was saying," continued Trenton, "I
have no desire to convert you to the beauties of
amateur photography. I admit the results in many
cases are very bad. I am afraid if you saw the
pictures I take myself you would not be much in love
with the art. But what I wish to say is in mitigation
of my refusal to destroy the plate when you asked
me to."
"Oh, I beg you will not mention that, or refer to
anything at all I have said to you. I assure you it
pains me very much, and you know I have apologized
once or twice already."
"Oh, it isn't that. The apology should come from
me; but I thought I would like to explain why it is


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
173
that I did not take your picture, as you thought I
did."
"Not take my picture? Why I saw you take it.
You admitted yourself you took it."
"Well, you see, that is what I want to explain. I
took your picture, and then again I didn't take it.
This is how it is with amateur photography. Your
picture on the plate will be a mere shadow, a dim
outline, nothing more. No one can tell who it is.
You see, it is utterly impossible to take a dark object
and one in pure white at the instantaneous snap. If
the picture of the falls is at all correct, as I expect it
will be, then your picture will be nothing but a shadow
unrecognizable by any one."
"But they do take pictures with the cataract as
a background, do they not? I am sure I have seen
photos of groups taken at Niagara Falls; in fact,
I have seen groups being posed in public for that
purpose, and very silly they looked, I must say. I
presume that is one of the things that has prejudiced
me so much against the camera."
"Those pictures, Miss Sommerton, are not genuine;
they are not at all what they pretend to be. The
prints that you have seen are the results of the
manipulation of two separate plates, one of the plates
containing the group or the person photographed,
and the other an instantaneous picture of the falls.
If you look closely at one of those pictures you will
see a little halo of light or dark around the person
photographed. That, to an experienced photographer,
shows the double printing. In fact, it is double
dealing all round. The deluded victim of the camera
imagines that the pictures he gets of the falls, with


174
ONE DATS COURTSHIP.
himself in the foreground, is really a picture of the
falls taken at the time he is being photographed.
Whereas, in the picture actually taken of him, the
falls themselves are hopelessly over-exposed, and do
not appear at all on the plate. So with the instan-
taneous picture I took; there will really be nothing
of you on that plate that you would recognize as
yourself. That was why I refused to destroy it."
"I am afraid," said Miss Sommerton, sadly, "you
are trying to make my punishment harder and harder.
I believe in reality you are very cruel. You know
how badly I feel about the whole matter, and now
even the one little point that apparently gave me any
excuse is taken away by your scientific explana-
tion."
"Candidly, Miss Sommerton, I am more of a culprit
than you imagine, and I suppose it is the tortures
of a guilty conscience that caused me to make this
explanation. I shall now confess without reserve.
As you sat there with your head in your hand looking
at the falls, I deliberately and with malice aforethought
took a timed picture, which, if developed, will reveal
you exactly as you sat, and which will not show the
falls at all."
Miss Sommerton walked in silence beside him, and
he could not tell just how angry she might be.
Finally he said, "I shall destroy that plate, if you
order me to."
Miss Sommerton made no reply, until they were
nearly at the canoe. Then she looked up at him
with a smile, and said, "I think it a pity to destroy
any pictures you have had such trouble to obtain."
"Thank you, Miss Sommerton," said the artist.


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
175
He helped her into the canoe in the gathering dusk,
and then sat down himself. But neither of them
saw the look of anxiety on the face of the elder boat-
man. He knew the Eiver St. Maurice.
CHAPTEE V.
From the words the elder boatman rapidly addressed
to the younger, it was evident to Mr. Trenton that
the half-breed was anxious to pass the rapids before
it became very much darker.
The landing is at the edge of comparatively still
water. At the bottom of the falls the river turns
an acute angle and flows to the west. At the
landing it turns with equal abruptness, and flows
south.
The short westward section of the river from the
falls to the point where they landed is a wild,
turbulent rapid, in which no boat can live for a
moment. From the Point downwards, although the
water is covered with foam, only one dangerous
place has to be passed. Toward that spot the
stalwart half-breeds bent all their energy in forcing
the canoe down with the current. The canoe shot
over the darkening rapid with the speed of an arrow.
If but one or two persons had been in it, the chances
are the passage would have been made in safety. As
it was one wrong turn of the paddle by the younger
half-breed did the mischief. The bottom barely
touched a sharp-pointed hidden rock, and in an
instant the canoe was slit open as with a knife.
As he sat there Trenton felt the cold water rise


176 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
around him with a quickness that prevented his
doing anything, even if he had known what to do.
"Sit still!" cried the elder boatman; and then to
the younger he shouted sharply, "The shore!"
They were almost under the hanging trees when
the four found themselves in the water. Trenton
grasped an overhanging branch with one hand, and
with the other caught Miss Sommerton by the arm.
For a moment it was doubtful whether the branch
would hold. The current was very swift, and it threw
each of them against the rock bank, and bent the
branch down into the water.
"Catch hold of me!" cried Trenton. "Catch hold
of my coat; I need both hands."
Miss Sommerton, who had acted with commend-
able bravery throughout, did as she was directed.
Trenton, with his released hand, worked himself
slowly up the branch, hand over hand, and finally
catching a sapling that grew close to the water's
edge, with a firm hold, reached down and helped Miss
Sommerton on the bank. Then he slowly drew
himself up to a safe position and looked around for
any signs of the boatmen. He shouted loudly, but
there was no answer.
"Are they drowned, do you think?" asked Miss
Sommerton, anxiously.
"No, I don't suppose they are; I don't think you
could drown a half-breed. They have done their best
to drown us, and as we have escaped I see no reason
why they should drown."
"Oh, it's all my fault! all my fault!" wailed Miss
Sommerton.
"It is, indeed," answered Trenton, briefly.


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. I 77
She tried to straighten herself up, but, too wet and
chilled and limp to be heroic, she sank on a rock and
began to cry.
"Please don't do that," said the artist softly.
"Of course I shouldn't have agreed with you. I beg
pardon for having done so, but now that we are here,
you are not to shirk your share of the duties. I want
you to search around and get materials for a fire."
"Search around?" cried Miss Sommerton dole-
fully.
"Yes, search around. Hunt, as you Americans
say. You have got us into this scrape, so I don't
propose you shall sit calmly by and not take any of
the consequences."
"Do you mean to insult me, Mr. Trenton, now
that I am helpless?"
"If it is an insult to ask you to get up and gather
some wood and bring it here, then I do mean to
insult you most emphatically. I shall gather some,
too, for we shall need a quantity of it."
Miss Sommerton rose indignantly, and was on the
point of threatening to leave the place, when a
moment's reflection showed her that she didn't know
where to go, and remembering she was not as brave
in the darkness and in the woods as in Boston, she
meekly set about the search for dry twigs and sticks.
Flinging down the bundle near the heap Trenton had
already collected, the young woman burst into a
laugh.
"Do you see anything particularly funny in the
situation?" asked Trenton, with chattering teeth.
"I confess I do not."
"The funniness of the situation is that we should
N


178 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
gather wood, when, if there is a match in your
pocket, it must be so wet as to be useless."
"Oh, not at all. You must remember I come
from a very damp climate, and we take care of our
matches there. I have been in the water before now
on a tramp, and my matches are in a silver case
warranted to keep out the wet." As he said this
Trenton struck a light, and applied it to the small
twigs and dry autumn leaves. The flames flashed up
through the larger sticks, and in a very few moments
a cheering fire was blazing, over which Trenton threw
armful after armful of the wood he had collected.
"Now," said the artist, "if you will take off what
outer wraps you have on, we can spread them here,
and dry them. Then if you sit, first facing the fire
and next with your back to it, and maintain a sort of
rotatory motion, it will not be long before you are
reasonably dry and warm."
Miss Sommerton laughed, but there was not much
merriment in her laughter.
"Was there ever anything so supremely ridicu-
lous?" she said. "A gentleman from England
gathering sticks, and a lady from Boston gyrating
before the fire. I am glad you are not a newspaper
man, for you might be tempted to write about the
situation for some sensational paper."
"How do you know I am not a journalist?"
"Well, I hope you are not. I thought you were a
photographer."
"Oh, not a professional photographer, you know."
"I am sorry; I prefer the professional to the
amateur."
"I like to hear you say that."


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
I 79
"Why? It is not very complimentary, I am sure."
"The very reason I like to hear you say it. If
you were complimentary I would be afraid you were
going to take a chill and be ill after this disaster;
but now that you are yourself again, I have no such
fear."
"Myself again!" blazed the young woman.
"What do you know about me? How do you know
whether I am myself or somebody else? I am sure
our acquaintance has been very short."
"Counted by time, yes. But an incident like this,
in the wilderness, does more to form a friendship, or
the reverse, than years of ordinary acquaintance in
Boston or London. You ask how I know that you
are yourself. Shall I tell you?"
"If you please."
"Well, I imagine you are a young lady who has
been spoilt. I think probably you are rich, and have
had a good deal of your own way in this world. In
fact, I take it for granted that you have never met
any one who frankly told you your faults. Even if
such good fortune had been yours, I doubt if you would
have profited by it. A snub would have been the
reward of the courageous person who told Miss Som-
merton her failings."
"I presume you have courage enough to tell me
my faults without the fear of a snub before your
eyes."
"I have the courage, yes. You see I have already
received the snub three or four times, and it has lost
its terrors for me."
"In that case, will you be kind enough to tell me
what you consider my faults?"


180 ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
"If you wish me to."
"I do wish it."
"Well, then, one of them is inordinate pride."
"Do you think pride a fault?"
"It is not usually reckoned one of the virtues."
"In this country, Mr. Trenton, we consider that
every person should have a certain amount of
pride."
"A certain amount may be all right. It depends
entirely on how much the certain amount is."
"Well, now for fault No. 2."
"Fault No. 2 is a disregard on your part for the
feelings of others. This arises, I imagine, partly
from fault No. 1. You are in the habit of classing
the great mass of the public very much beneath you
in intellect and other qualities, and you forget that
persons whom you may perhaps dislike, have feelings
which you have no right to ignore."
"I presume you refer to this morning," said Miss
Sommerton, seriously. "I apologized for that two
or three times, I think. I have always understood
that a gentleman regards an apology from another
gentleman as blotting out the original offence. Why
should he not regard it in the same light when it
comes from a woman?"
"Oh, now you are making a personal matter of it
I am talking in an entirely impersonal sense. I am
merely giving you, with brutal rudeness, opinions
formed on a very short acquaintance. Eemember, I
have done so at your own request."
"I am very much obliged to you, I am sure. I
think you are more than half right. I hope the list
is not much longer."


ONE DATS COURTSHIP. l8l
"No, the list ends there. I suppose you imagine
that I am one of the rudest men you ever met?"
"No, we generally expect rudeness from English-
men."
"Oh, do you really? Then I am only keeping up
the reputation my countrymen have already acquired
in America. Have you had the pleasure of meeting
a rude Englishman before?"
"No, I can't say that I have. Most Englishmen
I have met have been what we call very gentlemanly
indeed. But the rudest letter I ever received was
from an Englishman; not only rude, but ungrateful,
for I had bought at a very high price one of his
landscapes. He was John Trenton, the artist, of
London. Do you know him?"
"Yes," hesitated Trenton, "I know him. I may
say I know him very well. In fact, he is a namesake
of mine."
"Why, how curious it is I had never thought of
that. Is your first name J ., the same as
his?"
"Yes."
"Not a relative, is he?"
"Well, no. I don't think I can call him a relative.
I don't know that I can even go so far as to call him
my friend, but he is an acquaintance."
"Oh, tell me about him," cried Miss Sommerton,
enthusiastically. "He is one of the Englishmen I
have longed very much to meet."
"Then you forgave him his rude letter?"
"Oh, I forgave that long ago. I don't know that
it was rude, after all. It was truthful. I presume
the truth offended me."


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
"Well," said Trenton, "truth has to be handled
very delicately, or it is apt to give offence. You bought
a landscape of his, did you? Which one, do you
remember?"
"It was a picture of the Thames valley."
"Ah, I don't recall it at the moment. A rather
hackneyed subject, too. Probably he sent it to
America because he couldn't sell it in England."
"Oh, I suppose you think we buy anything here
that the English refuse. I beg to inform you this
picture had a place in the Eoyal Academy, and was
very highly spoken of by the critics. I bought it in
England."
"Oh yes, I remember it now, 'The Thames at
Sonning.' Still, it was a hackneyed subject, although
reasonably well treated."
"Eeasonably well! I think it one of the finest
landscape pictures of the century."
"Well, in that at least Trenton would agree with
you."
"He is very conceited, you mean?"
"Even his enemies admit that."
"I don't believe it. I don't believe a man of such
talent could be so conceited."
"Then, Miss Sommerton, allow me to say you
have very little knowledge of human nature. It is
only reasonable that a great man should know he is
a great man. Most of our great men are conceited.
I would like to see Trenton's letter to you. I could
then have a good deal of amusement at his expense
when I get back."
"Well, in that case I can assure you that you will
never see the letter."


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP. 183
"Ah, you destroyed it, did you?"
"Not for that reason."
"Then you did destroy it?"
"I tore it up, but on second thoughts I pasted it
together again, and have it still."
"In that case, why should you object to showing
me the letter?"
"Well, because I think it rather unusual for a
lady to be asked by a gentleman to show him a
letter that has been written to her by another
gentleman."
"In matters of the heart that is true; but in
matters of art it is not."
"Is that intended for a pun?"
"It is as near to one as I ever allow myself to
come. I should like very much to see Mr. Trenton's
letter. It was probably brutally rude. I know the
man, you see."
"It was nothing of the sort," replied Miss Som-
merton, hotly. "It was a truthful, well-meant
letter."
"And yet you tore it up?"
"But that was the first impulse. The pasting it
together was the apology."
"And you will not show it to me?"
"No, I will not."
"Did you answer it?"
"I will tell you nothing more about it. I am
sorry I spoke of the letter at all. You don't appreciate «
Mr. Trenton's work."
"Oh, I beg your pardon, I do. He has no greater
admirer in England than I am—except himself, of
course,"


ONE DATS COURTSHIP.
I85
me roam around the world if I wish to, and get half
drowned in the St. Maurice Eiver."
"Oh, is it not strange that we have heard nothing
from those boatmen? You surely don't imagine they
could have been drowned?"
"I hardly think so. Still, it is quite possible."
"Oh, don't say that; it makes me feel like a
murderer."

"You are not rich, then, I imagine?"
"Well, I think it was a good deal your fault, don't
you know."
Miss Sommerton looked at him.
"Have I not been punished enough already?" she
said.
"For the death of two men—if they are dead?
Bless me! no. Do you imagine for a moment there
is any relation between the punishment and the
fault?"


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
Mies Sommerton buried her face in her hands.
"Oh, I take that back," said Trenton. "I didn't
mean to say such a thing."
"It is the truth—it is the truth!" wailed the
young woman. "Do you honestly think they did
not reach the shore?"
"Of course they did. If you want to know what
has happened, I'll tell you exactly, and back my
opinion by a bet if you like. An Englishman is
always ready to back his opinion, you know. Those
two men swam with the current until they came to
some landing-place. They evidently think we are
drowned. Nevertheless, they are now making their
way through the woods to the settlement. Then
comes the hubbub. Mason will stir up the neigh-
bourhood, and the men who are back from the woods
with the other canoes will be roused and pressed
into service, and some time to-night we will be
rescued."
"Oh, I hope that is the case," cried Miss Som-
merton, looking brightly at him.
"It is the case. Will you bet about it?"
"I never bet," said Miss Sommerton.
"Ah, well, you miss a good deal of fun then. You
see I am a bit of a mind reader. I can tell just about
where the men are now."
"I don't believe much in mind reading."
"Don't you? Shall I give you a specimen of it?
Take that letter we have spoken so much about. If
you think it over in your mind I will read you the
letter—not word for word, perhaps, but I shall give
you the gist of it, at least."
"Oh, impossible!"


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
I87
"Do you remember it?"
"I have it with me."
"Oh, have you? Then, if you wish to preserve it,
you should spread it out upon the ground to dry
before the fire."
"There is no need of my producing the letter,"
replied Miss Sommerton; "I remember every word
of it."
"Very well, just think it over in your mind,
and see if I cannot repeat it. Are you thinking
about it?"
"Yes, I am thinking about it."
"Here goes, then. 'Miss Edith Sommerton '"
"Wrong," said that young lady.
"The Sommerton is right, is it not?"
"Yes, but the first name is not."
"What is it, then?"
"I shall not tell you."
"Oh, very well. Miss Sommerton,—' I have some
hesitation in answering your letter.' Oh, by the way,
I forgot the address. That is the first sentence of
the letter, but the address is some number which I
cannot quite see, 'Beacon Street, Boston.' Is there
any such street in that city?"
"There is," said Miss Sommerton. "What a
question to ask."
"Ah, then Beacon Street is one of the principal
streets, is it?"
"One of them? It is the street. It is Boston."
"Very good. I will now proceed with the letter.
'I have some hesitation in answering your letter,
because the sketches you send are so bad, that it
seems to me no one could seriously forward them to


ONE DATS COURTSHIP.
an artist for criticism. However, if you really desire
criticism, and if the pictures are sent in good faith, I
may say I see in them no merit whatever, not even
good drawing; while the colours are put on in a way
that would seem to indicate you have not yet learned
the fundamental principle of mixing the paints.

If you are thinking of earning a livelihood with your
pencil, I strongly advise you to abandon the idea.
But if you are a lady of leisure and wealth, I suppose"
there is no harm in your continuing as long as you
see fit.—Yours truly, John Trenton.'"
Miss Sommerton, whose eyes had opened wider
and wider as this reading went on, said sharply—


ONE DATS COURTSHIP.
191
She held out her hand frankly to him as he crossed
over to her side, and as he took it in his own, a
strange thrill passed through him, and acting on the
impulse of the moment, he drew her towards him
and kissed her.
"How dare you!" she cried, drawing herself
indignantly from him. "Do you think I am some
backwoods girl who is nattered by your preference
after a day's acquaintance?"
"Not a day's acquaintance, Miss Sommerton—a
year, two years, ten years. In fact, I feel as though
I had known you all my life."
"You certainly act as if you had. I did think for
some time past that you were a gentleman. But you
take advantage now of my unprotected position."
"Miss Sommerton, let me humbly apologize!"
"I shall not accept your apology. It cannot be
apologized for. I must ask you not to speak to me
again until Mr. Mason comes. You may consider
yourself very fortunate when I tell you I shall say
nothing of what has passed to Mr. Mason when he
arrives."
John Trenton made no reply, but gathered another
armful of wood and flung it on the fire.
Miss Sommerton sat very dejectedly looking at the
embers.
For half an hour neither of them said anything.
Suddenly Trenton jumped up and listened intently.
"What is it?" cried Miss Sommerton, startled by
his action.
"Now," said Trenton, "that is unfair. If I am
not to be allowed to speak to you, you must not ask
me any questions."


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
193
wine long ago. You should have had a glass of
sherry the moment we landed here. By the way, I
wanted to say, and I say it now in case I shall forget
it, that when I ordered you so unceremoniously to go
around picking up sticks for the fire, it was not because
I needed assistance, but to keep you, if possible, from
getting a chill."
"Very kind of you," remarked Miss Sommerton.
But the Englishman could not tell whether she
meant just what she said or not.
"I wish you would admit that you are hungry.
Have you had anything to eat to-day?"
"I had, I am ashamed to confess," she answered.
"I took lunch with me and I ate it coming down in
the canoe. That was what troubled me about you.
I was afraid you had eaten nothing all day, and I
wished to offer you some lunch when we were in the
canoe, but scarcely liked to. I thought we would
soon reach the settlement. I am very glad you have
sandwiches with you."
"How little you Americans really know of the
great British nation, after all. Now, if there is one
thing more than another that an Englishman looks
after, it is the commissariat."
After a moment's silence he said—
"Don't you think, Miss Sommerton, that notwith-
standing any accident or disaster, or misadventure
that may have happened, we might get back at least
on the old enemy footing again? I would like to
apologize "—he paused for a moment, and added,
"for the letter I wrote you ever so many years
ago."
"There seem to be too many apologies between
o


194
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
us," she replied. "I shall neither give nor take any
more."
"Well," he answered, "I think after all that is
the best way. You ought to treat me rather kindly
though, because you are the cause of my being
here."
"That is one of the many things I have apologized
for. You surely do not wish to taunt me with it
again?"
"Oh, I don't mean the recent accident. I mean
being here in America. Your sketches of the
Shawenegan Falls, and your description of the
Quebec district, brought me out to America; and,
added to that—I expected to meet you."
"To meet me?"
"Certainly. Perhaps you don't know that I called
at Beacon Street, and found you were from home—
with friends in Canada, they said—and I want to say,
in self-defence, that I came very well introduced. I
brought letters to people in Boston of the most
undoubted respectability, and to people in New York,
who are as near the social equals of the Boston
people as it is possible for mere New York persons to
be. Among other letters of introduction I had two
to you. I saw the house in Beacon Street. So,
you see, I have no delusions about your being a
backwoods girl, as you charged me with having a
short time since."
"I would rather not refer to that again, if you
please."
"Very well. Now, I have one question to ask you
—one request to make. Have I your permission to
make it?"


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
195
"It depends entirely on what your request is."
"Of course, in that case you cannot tell until I
make it. So I shall now make my request, and I
want you to remember, before you refuse it, that you
are indebted to me for supper. Miss Sommerton,
give me a plug of tobacco."
Miss Sommerton stood up in dumb amazement.
"You see," continued the artist, paying no heed
to her evident resentment, "I have lost my tobacco
in the marine disaster, but luckily I have my pipe.
I admit the scenery is beautiful here, if we could only
see it; but darkness is all around, although the moon
is rising. It can therefore be no desecration for me
to smoke a pipeful of tobacco, and I am sure the
tobacco you keep will be the very best that can
be bought. Won't you grant my request, Miss
Sommerton?"
At first Miss Sommerton seemed to resent the
audacity of this request. Then a conscious light
came into her face, and instinctively her hand pressed
the side of her dress where her pocket was supposed
to be.
"Now," said the artist, "don't deny that you have
the tobacco. I told you I was a bit of a mind reader,
and besides, I have been informed that young ladies
in America are rarely without the weed, and that
they only keep the best."
The situation was too ridiculous for Miss Som-
merton to remain very long indignant about it. So
she put her hand in her pocket and drew out a plug
of tobacco, and with a bow handed it to the artist.
"Thanks," he replied; "I shall borrow a pipeful
and give you back the remainder. Have you ever


196
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
tried the English birdseye? I assure you it is a very
nice smoking tobacco."
"I presume," said Miss Sommerton, " the boatmen
told you I always gave them some tobacco when I
came up to see the falls?"
"Ah, you will doubt my mind-reading gift. Well,
honestly, they did tell me, and I thought perhaps
you might by good luck have it with you now.
Besides, you know, wasn't there the least bit of
humbug about your objection to smoking as we came
up the river? If you really object to smoking, of
course I shall not smoke now."
"Oh, I haven't the least objection to it. I am
sorry I have not a good cigar to offer you."
"Thank you. But this is quite as acceptable.
We rarely use plug tobacco in England, but I find
some of it in this country is very good indeed."
"I must confess," said Miss Sommerton, "that I
have very little interest in the subject of tobacco.
But I cannot see why we should not have good
tobacco in this country. We grow it here."
"That's so, when you come to think of it," answered
the artist.
Trenton sat with his back against the tree, smoking
in a meditative manner, and watching the flicker
of the firelight on the face of his companion, whose
thoughts seemed to be concentrated on the embers.
"Miss Sommerton," he said at last, "I would
like permission to ask you a second question."
"You have it," replied that lady, without looking
up. "But to prevent disappointment, I may say
this is all the tobacco I have. The rest I left in the
canoe when I went up to the falls."


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
197
"I shall try to bear the disappointment as well as
I may. But in this case the question is of a very
different nature. I don't know just exactly how to
put it. You may have noticed that I am rather
awkward when it comes to saying the right thing at

Smoking in a meditatice manner.
the right time. I have not been much accustomed
to society, and I am rather a blunt man."
"Many persons," said Miss Sommerton with some
severity, "pride themselves on their bluntness.
They seem to think it an excuse for saying rude


198
ONE DATS COURTSHIP.
things. There is a sort of superstition that bluntness
and honesty go together."
"Well, that is not very encouraging. However, I
do not pride myself on my bluntness, but rather
regret it. I was merely stating a condition of things,
not making a boast. In this instance I imagine I
can show that honesty is the accompaniment. The
question I wished to ask was something like this:
Suppose I had had the chance to present to you my
letters of introduction, and suppose that we had
known each other for some time, and suppose that
everything had been very conventional, instead of
somewhat unconventional; supposing all this, would
you have deemed a recent action of mine so unpardon-
able as you did a while ago?"
"You said you were not referring to smoking."
"Neither am I. I am referring to my having
kissed you. There's bluntness for you."
"My dear sir," replied Miss Sommerton, shading
her face with her hand, "you know nothing whatever
of me."
"That is rather evading the question."
"Well, then, I know nothing whatever of you."
"That is the second evasion. I am taking it
for granted that we each know something of the
other."
"I should think it would depend entirely on how
the knowledge influenced each party in the case. It
is such a purely supposititious state of things that I
cannot see how I can answer your question. I suppose
you have heard the adage about not crossing a bridge
until you come to it?"
"I thought it was a stream."


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
199
"Well, a stream then. The principle is the
same."
"I was afraid I would not be able to put the
question in a way to make you understand it. I
shall now fall back on my bluntness again, and with
this question, are you betrothed?"
"We generally call it engaged in this country."
"Then I shall translate my question into the
language of the country, and ask if"
"Oh, don't ask it, please. I shall answer before
you do ask it by saying, No. I do not know why I
should countenance your bluntness, as you call it,
by giving you an answer to such a question; but I
do so on condition that the question is the last."
"But the second question cannot be the last.
There is always the third reading of a bill. The
auctioneer usually cries, 'Third and last time,' not
'Second and last time,' and the banns of approaching
marriage are called out three times. So, you see,
I have the right to ask you one more question."
"Very well. A person may sometimes have the
right to do a thing, and yet be very foolish in exer-
cising that right."
"I accept your warning," said the artist, "and
reserve my right."
"What time is it, do you think?" she asked him.
"I haven't the least idea," he replied; "my watch
has stopped. That case was warranted to resist
water, but I doubt if it has done so."
"Don't you think that if the men managed to
save themselves they would have been here by this
time?"
"lam sure I don't know. I have no idea of the


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
20I
still further over the water, straining the branch to
its utmost.
"Say 'John.'"
"Mr. Trenton."
"' John.'"
The branch cracked ominously as Trenton leaned
yet a little further.
"John!" cried the young lady, sharply, "cease
your fooling and come down from that rock."
The artist instantly recovered his position, and,
coming back, sprang down to the ground again.
Miss Sommerton drew back in alarm; but Trenton
merely put his hands in his pockets, and said—
"Well, Eva, I came back because you called
me."
"It was a case of coercion," she said. "You
English are too fond of coercion. We Americans are
against it."
"Oh, I am a Home Ruler, if you are," replied the
artist. "Miss Eva, I am going to risk my third and
last question, and I shall await the answer with more
anxiety than I ever felt before in my life. The
question is this: Will"
"Hello! there you are. Thank Heaven! I was
never so glad to see anybody in my life," cried the
cheery voice of Ed. Mason, as he broke through the
bushes towards them.
Trenton looked around with anything but a
welcome on his brow. If Mason had never been so
glad in his life to see anybody, it was quite evident
his feeling was not entirely reciprocated by the
artist.
"How the deuce did you get here?" asked


202
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
Trenton. "I was just looking for you down the
river."
"Well, you see, we kept pretty close to the shore.
I doubt if you could have seen us. Didn't you hear
us shout?"
"No, we didn't hear anything. We didn't hear
them shout, did we, Miss Sommerton?"
"No," replied that young woman, looking at the
dying fire, whose glowing embers seemed to redden
her face.
"Why, do you know," said Mason, "it looks as if
you had been quarrelling. I guess I came just in the
nick of time."
"You are always just in time, Mr. Mason," said
Miss Sommerton. "For we were quarrelling, as you
say. The subject of the quarrel is which of us was
rightful owner of that canoe."
Mason laughed heartily, while Miss Sommerton
frowned at him with marked disapprobation.
"Then you found me out, did you? Well, I
expected you would before the day was over. You
see, it isn't often that I have to deal with two such
particular people in the same day. Still, I guess
the ownership of the canoe doesn't amount to much
now. I'll give it to the one who finds it."
"Oh, Mr. Mason," cried Miss Sommerton, "did
the two men escape all right?"
"Why, certainly. I have just been giving them
'Hail Columbia,' because they didn't come back to
you; but you see, a little distance down, the bank
gets very steep—so much so that it is impossible to
climb it, and then the woods here are thick and hard
to work a person's way through. So they thought it


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
203
best to come down and tell me, and we have brought
two canoes up with us."
"Does Mrs. Mason know of the accident?"
"No, she doesn't; but she is just as anxious as if
she did. She can't think what in the world keeps you."
"She doesn't realize," said the artist, "what
strong attractions the Shawenegan Falls have for
people alive to the beauties of nature."
"Well," said Mason, "we mustn't stand here
talking. You must be about frozen to death." Here
he shouted to one of the men to come up and put out
the fire.
"Oh, don't bother," said the artist; "it will soon
burn out."
"Oh yes," put in Ed. Mason; "and if a wind
should happen to rise in the night, where would my
pine forest be? I don't propose to have a whole
section of the country burnt up to commemorate the
quarrel between you two."
The half-breed flung the biggest brand into the
river, and speedily trampled out the rest, carrying up
some water in his hat to pour on the centre of the
fire. This done, they stepped into the canoe and
were soon on their way down the river. Eeaching
the landing, the artist gave his hand to Miss Som-
merton, and aided her out on the bank.
"Miss Sommerton," he whispered to her, "I
intended to sail to-morrow. I shall leave it for you
to say whether I shall go or not."
"You will not sail?" said Miss Sommerton
promptly.
"Oh, thank you," cried the artist; "you do not
know how happy that makes me."


ONE DAY'S COVRTSMP.
205
CHAPTER VII.
After Trenton awoke next morning he thought the
situation over very calmly, and resolved to have
question number three answered that day if possible.
When called to breakfast he found Ed. Mason at
the head of the table.
"Shan't we wait for the ladies?" asked the
artist.
"I don't think we'd better. You see, we might
have to wait quite a long time. I don't know when
Miss Sommerton will be here again, and it will be a
week at least before Mrs. Mason comes back. They
are more than half way to Three Eivers by this
time."
"Good gracious!" cried Trenton, abashed; "why
didn't you call me? I should have liked very much
to have accompanied them."
"Oh, they wouldn't hear of your being disturbed;
and besides, Mr. Trenton, our American ladies are
quite in the habit of looking after themselves. I
found that out long ago."
"I suppose there is nothing for it but get out my
buckboard and get back to Three Eivers."
"Oh, I dismissed your driver long ago," said the
lumberman. "I'll take you there in my buggy. I
am going out to Three Eivers to-day anyhow."
"No chance of overtaking the ladies?" asked
Trenton.
"I don't think so. We may overtake Mrs. Mason
but I imagine Miss Sommerton will be either at


206
ONE DATS COURTSHIP.
Quebec or Montreal before we reach Three Eivers. I
don't know in which direction she is going. You
seem to be somewhat interested in that young lady.
Purely artistic admiration, I presume. She is
rather a striking girl. Well, you certainly have
made the most of your opportunities. Let's see, you
have known her now for quite a long while. Must be
nearly twenty-four hours."
"Oh, don't underestimate it, Mason; quite thirty-
six hours at least."
"So long as that? Ah, well, I don't wish to
discourage you; but I wouldn't be too sure of her if
I were you."
"Sure of her! Why, I am not sure of anything."
"Well, that is the proper spirit. You Englishmen
are rather apt to take things for granted. I think
you would make a mistake in this case if you were
too sure. You are not the only man who has tried
to awaken the interest of Miss Sommerton of
Boston."
"I didn't suppose that I was. Nevertheless, I am
going to Boston."
"Well, it's a nice town," said Mason, with a non-
committal air. "It hasn't the advantages of Three
Rivers, of course; but still it is a very attractive
place in some respects."
"In some respects, yes," said the artist.
* # * # * *
Two days later Mr. John Trenton called at the
house on Beacon Street.
"Miss Sommerton is not at home," said the
servant. "She is in Canada somewhere."
And so Mr. Trenton went back to his hotel.


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
207
The artist resolved to live quietly in Boston
until Miss Sommerton returned. Then the fateful
number three could be answered. He determined
not to present any of his letters of introduction.
When he came to Boston first, he thought he would
like to see something of society, of the art world in
that city, if there was an art world, and of the people;
but he had come and gone without being invited
anywhere, and now he anticipated no trouble in
living a quiet life, and thinking occasionally over the
situation. But during his absence it appeared
Boston had awakened to the fact that in its midst
had resided a real live artist of prominence from the
other side, and nothing had been done to overcome
his prejudices, and show him that, after all, the real
intellectual centre of the world was, not London, but
the capital of Massachusetts.
The first day he spent in his hotel he was called
upon by a young gentleman whose card proclaimed
him a reporter on one of the large daily papers.
"You are Mr. Trenton, the celebrated English
artist, are you not?"
"My name is Trenton, and by profession I am an
artist. But I do not claim the adjective, 'cele-
brated.'"
"All right. You are the man I am after. Now,
I should like to know what you think of the art
movement in America?"
"Well, really, I have been in America but a very
short time, and during that time I have had no
opportunity of seeing the work of your artists or of
visiting any collections, so you see I cannot give an
opinion."


2 IO
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
Tadema, for instance, with Sir John Millais, or Sir
Frederic Leighton with Hubert Herkomer, or any
of them with some of your own painters. Each
has his speciality, and each stands at the head
of it."
"Then there is no one man in England like Old
Man Eubens, or Van Dyke, or those other fellows,
I forget their names, who are head and shoulders
above everybody else? Sort of Jay Gould in art,
you know."
"No, I wouldn't like to say there is. In fact, all
of your questions require some consideration. Now,
if you will write them down for me, and give me time
to think them over, I will write out such answers as
occur to me. It would be impossible for me to do
justice to myself, or to art, or to your paper, by
attempting to answer questions off-hand in this
way."
"Oh, that's too slow for our time here. You know
this thing comes out to-morrow morning, and I have
got to do a column and a half of it. Sometimes, you
know, it is very difficult; but you are different from
most Englishmen I have talked with. You speak
right out, and you talk to a fellow. I can make
a column and a half out of what you have said
now."
"Dear me! Can you really? Well, now, I should
be careful, if I were you. I am afraid that, if you
don't understand anything about art, you may give
the public some very erroneous impressions."
"Oh, the public don't care a hang. All they want
is to read something snappy and bright. That's
what the public want. No, sir, we have catered too


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
2 I I
long for the public not to know what its size is. You
might print the most learned article you could get
hold of, it might be written by What's-his-name De
Vinci, and be full of art slang, and all that sort of
thing, but it wouldn't touch the general public at all."
"I don't suppose it would."
"What do you think of our Sunday papers
here? You don't have any Sunday papers over in
London."
"Oh yes, we do. But none of the big dailies have
Sunday editions."
"They are not as big, or as enterprising as ours,
are they? One Sunday paper, you know, prints
about as much as two or three thirty-five cent
magazines."
"What, the Sunday paper does?"
"Yes, the Sunday paper prints it, but doesn't sell
for that. We give 'em more for the money than
any magazine you ever saw."
"You certainly print some very large papers."
With this the reporter took his leave, and next
morning Mr. Trenton saw the most astonishing
account of his ideas on art matters imaginable.
What struck him most forcibly was, that an article
written by a person who admittedly knew nothing at
all about art should be in general so free from error.
The interview had a great number of head lines, and
it was evident the paper desired to treat the artist
with the utmost respect, and that it felt he showed
his sense in preferring Boston to New York as
a place of temporary residence; but what appalled
him was the free and easy criticisms he was credited
with having made on his own contemporaries in


212
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
England. The principle points of each were summed
up with a great deal of terseness and force, and in
many cases were laughably true to life. It was
evident that whoever touched up that interview
possessed a very clear opinion and very accurate
knowledge of the art movement in England.
Mr. Trenton thought he would sit down and write
to the editor of the paper, correcting some of the more
glaring inaccuracies; but a friend said—
"Oh, it is no use. Never mind. Nobody pays any
attention to that. It's all right anyhow."
"Yes, but suppose the article should be copied
in England, or suppose sorne of the papers should get
over there?"
"Oh, that'll be all right," said his friend, with
easy optimism. "Don't bother about it. They all
know what a newspaper interview is; if they don't,
why, you can tell them when you get back."
It was not long before Mr. Trenton found himself
put down at all the principal clubs, both artistic and
literary; and he also became, with a suddenness
that bewildered him, quite the social lion for the
time being.
He was astonished to find that the receptions to
which he was invited, and where he was, in a way,
on exhibition, were really very grand occasions, and
compared favourably with the finest gatherings he had
had experience of in London.
His hostess at one of these receptions said to him,
"Mr. Trenton, I want to introduce you to some of
our art lovers in this city, whom I am sure you will
be pleased to meet. I know that as a general thing
the real artists are apt to despise the amateurs; but


ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
213
in this instance I hope you will be kind enough not
to despise them, for my sake. We think they are
really very clever indeed, and we like to be nattered
by foreign preference."
"Am I the foreign preference in this instance?"
"You are, Mr. Trenton."
"Now, I think it is too bad of you to say that, just
when I have begun to feel as much at home in
Boston as I do in London. I assure you I do not
feel in the least foreign here. Neither do I maintain,
like Mrs. Brown, that you are the foreigners."
"How very nice of you to say so, Mr. Trenton.
Now I hope you will say something like that to the
young lady I want you to meet. She is really
very charming, and I am sure you will like her; and
I may say, in parenthesis, that she, like the rest
of us, is perfectly infatuated with your pictures."
As the lady said this, she brought Mr. Trenton in
her wake, as it were, and said, "Miss Sommerton,
allow me to present to you Mr. Trenton."
Miss Sommerton rose with graceful indolence, and
held out her hand frankly to the artist. "Mr.
Trenton," she said, "I am very pleased indeed to
meet you. Have you been long in Boston?"
"Only a few days," replied Trenton. "I came
up to Boston from Canada a short time since."
"Up? You mean down. We don't say up from
Canada."
"Oh, don't you? Well, in England, you know,
we say up to London, no matter from what part of
the country we approach it. I think you are wrong
in saying down, I think it really ought to be up to
Boston from wherever you come."


214
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
His hostess appeared to be delighted with this bit
of conversation, and she said, "I shall leave you
two together for a few moments to get acquainted.
Mr. Trenton, you know you are in demand this
evening."
"Do you think that is true?" said Trenton to
Miss Sommerton.
"What?"
"Well, that I am in demand."
"I suppose it is true, if Mrs. Lennox say it is.
You surely don't intend to cast any doubt on the
word of your hostess, do you?"
"Oh, not at all. I didn't mean in a general way,
you know, I meant in particular."
"I don't think I understand you, Mr. Tren-
ton. By the way, you said you had been in
Canada. Do you not think it is a very charming
country?"
"Charming, Miss Sommerton, isn't the word
for it. It is the most delightful country in the
world."
"Ah, you say that because it belongs to England.
I admit it is very delightful; but then there are other
places on the Continent quite as beautiful as any part
of Canada. You seem to have a prejudice in favour
of monarchical institutions."
"Oh, is Canada monarchical? I didn't know that.
I thought Canada was quite republican in its form of
government."
"Well, it is a dependency; that's what I despise
about Canada. Think of a glorious country like that,
with hundreds of thousands of square miles, in fact,
millions, I think, being dependent on a little island,


216
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
When they reached the conservatory, Miss Som-
merton said—
"This is really a very great breach of good
manners on both your part and mine. I have taken
away the lion of the evening, and the lion has for-
gotten his duty to his hostess and to the other
guests."
"Well, you see, I wanted to learn more of your
ideas in the matter of dependencies. I don't at all
agree with you on that. Now, I think if a country
is conquered, it ought to be a dependency of the
conquering people. It is the right of conquest. I
—I am a thorough believer in the right of con-
quest."
"You seem to have very settled opinions on the
matter, Mr. Trenton."
"I have indeed, Miss Sommerton. It is said that
an Englishman never knows when he is conquered.
Now I think that is a great mistake. There is no
one so quick as an Englishman to admit that he has
met his match."
"Why, ha,ve you met your match already, Mr.
Trenton? Let me congratulate you."
"Well, don't congratulate me just yet. I am not
at all certain whether I shall need any congratula-
tions or not."
"I am sure I hope you will be very successful."
"Do you mean that?"
Miss Sommerton looked at him quietly for a
moment.
"Do you think," she said, "I am in the habit of
saying things I do not mean ?''
"I think you are."


218
ONE DAY'S COURTSHIP.
"you accept a plate of ice cream as tragically as if
you were giving the answer to a proposal."
Mrs. Lennox said afterward that she thought
there was something very peculiar about Miss Som-
merton's smile in reply to .her remark.

The End.


THE HERALDS OF FAME.
CHAPTER I.
Now, when each man's place in literature is so clearly
defined, it seems ridiculous to state that there was a
time when Kenan Buel thought J. Lawless Hodden
a great novelist. One would have imagined that
Buel's keen insight into human nature would have
made such a mistake impossible; but it must be
remembered that Buel was always more or less of a
hero-worshipper. It seems strange in the light of
our after-knowledge that there ever was a day when
Hodden's books were selling by the thousand, and
Buel was tramping the streets of London fruitlessly
searching for a publisher. Not less strange is the
fact that Buel thought Hodden's success well
deserved. He would have felt honoured by the touch
of Hodden's hand.
No convict ever climbed a treadmill with more
hopeless despair than Buel worked in his little room
under the lofty roof. He knew no one; there were
none to speak him a cheering or comforting word;
he was ignorant even of the names of the men who


2 20 THE HERALDS OF FAME.
accepted the articles from his pen, which appeared
unsigned in the daily papers and in some of the
weeklies. He got cheques—small ones—with illegible
and impersonal signatures that told him nothing.
But the bits of paper were honoured at the bank,
and this lucky fact enabled him to live and write
books which publishers would not look at.
Nevertheless, showing how all things are possible
to a desperate and resolute man, two of his books
had already seen the light, if it could be called light.
The first he was still paying for, on the instalment
plan. The publishers were to pay half, and he was
to pay half. This seemed to him only a fair division
of the risk at the time. Not a single paper had paid
the slightest attention to the book. The universal
ignoring of it disheartened him. He had been pre-
pared for abuse, but not for impenetrable silence.
He succeeded in getting another and more respect-
able publisher to take up his next book on a royalty
arrangement. This was a surprise to him, and a
gratification. His satisfaction did not last long after
the book came out. It was mercilessly slated. One
paper advised him to read "Hodden ; " another said
he had plagiarized from that popular writer. The
criticisms cut him like a whip. He wondered why
he had rebelled at the previous silence. He felt like
a man who had heedlessly hurled a stone at a snow
mountain and had been buried by the resulting
avalanche.
He got his third publisher a year after that. He
thought he would never succeed in getting the same
firm twice, and wondered what would happen when
he exhausted the London list. It is not right that a


THE HERALDS OF FAME.
221
man should go on for ever without a word of encourage-
ment. Fate recognized that there would come a
breaking-point, and relented in time. The word
came from an unexpected source. Buel was labouring,
heavy-eyed, at the last proof-sheets of his third book,
and was wondering whether he would have the
courage not to look at the newspapers when the
volume was published. He wished he could afford to
go to some wilderness until the worst was over. He
knew he could not miss the first notice, for experience
had taught him that Snippit & Co., a clipping agency,
would send it to him, with a nice type-written letter,
saying—
"Dear Sir,
"As your book is certain to attract a great
deal of attention from the Press, we shall be pleased
to send you clippings similar to the enclosed at the
following rates."
It struck him as rather funny that any company
should expect a sane man to pay so much good
money for Press notices, mostly abusive. He never
subscribed.
The word of encouragement gave notice of its
approach in a letter, signed by a man of whom he
had never heard. It was forwarded to him by his
publishers. The letter ran :—
"Dear Sir,
"Can you make it convenient to lunch with
me on Friday at the Metropole? If you have an
engagement for that day can you further oblige me


222
THE HERALDS OF FAME.
by writing and putting it off? Tell the other fellow
you are ill or have broken your leg, or anything, and
charge up the fiction to me. I deal in fiction, any-
how. I leave on Saturday for the Continent, not
wishing to spend another Sunday in London if I can
avoid it. I have arranged to get out your book in
America, having read the proof-sheets at your pub-
lishers. All the business part of the transaction is
settled, but I would like to see you personally if you
don't mind, to have a talk over the future—always an
interesting subject.
"Yours very truly,
"L. F. Brant,
"Of Rainham Bros., Publishers, New York."
Buel read this letter over and over again. He had
never seen anything exactly like it. There was a
genial flippancy about it that was new to him, and
he wondered what sort of a man the New Yorker was.
Mr. Brant wrote to a stranger with the familiarity of
an old friend, yet the letter warmed Buel's heart.
He smiled at the idea the American evidently had
about a previous engagement. Invitations to lunch
become frequent when a man does not need them.
No broken leg story would have to be told. He wrote
and accepted Mr. Brant's invitation.
"You're Mr. Buel, I think?"
The stranger's hand rested lightly on the young
author's shoulder. Buel had just entered the un-
familiar precincts of the Metropole Hotel. The tall
man with the gold lace on his hat had hesitated a
moment before he swung open the big door, Buel was
so evidently not a guest of the hotel.


224
THE HERALDS OF FAME.
while I am staying in this tavern, and I thought we
could talk better if we had lunch there. Lunch costs
more on that basis, but I guess we can stand it."
A cold shudder passed over the thin frame of Kenan
Buel. He did not know but it was the custom in
America to ask a man to lunch and expect him to
pay half. Brant's use of the plural lent colour to
this view, and Buel knew he could not pay his share.
He regretted they were not in a vegetarian restaurant.
The table in the centre of the room was already
set for two, and the array of wine-glasses around
each plate looked tempting. Brant pushed the
electric button, drew up his chair, and said—
"Sit down, Buel, sit down. What's your favourite
brand of wine? Let's settle on it now, so as to have
no unseemly wrangle when the waiter comes. I'm
rather in awe of the waiter. It doesn't seem natural
that any mere human man should be so obviously
superior to the rest of us mortals as this waiter is.
I'm going to give you only the choice of the first
wines. I have taken the champagne for granted, and
it's cooling now in a tub somewhere. We always
drink champagne in the States, not because we like
it, but because it's expensive. I calculate that I pay
the expenses of my trip over here merely by ordering
unlimited champagne. I save more than a dollar a
bottle on New York prices, and these saved dollars
count up in a month. Personally I prefer cider or
lager beer, but in New York we dare not own to liking
a thing unless it is expensive."
"It can hardly be a pleasant place for a poor man
to live in, if that is the case."
"My dear Buel, no city is a pleasant place for a


THE HERALDS OF FAME.
225
poor man to live in. I don't suppose New York is
worse than London in that respect. The poor have
a hard time of it anywhere. A man owes it to him-
self and family not to be poor. Now, that's one
thing I like about your book; you touch on poverty
in a sympathetic way, by George, like a man who
had come through it himself. I've been there, and I
know how it is. When I first struck New York I
hadn't even a ragged dollar bill to my back. Of
course every successful man will tell you the same of
himself, but it is mostly brag, and in half the
instances it isn't true at all; but in my case—well, I
wasn't subscribing to the heathen in those days. I
made up my mind that poverty didn't pay, and
I have succeeded in remedying the state of affairs.
But I haven't forgotten how it felt to be hard up, and
I sympathize with those who are. Nothing would
afford me greater pleasure than to give a helping
hand to a fellow—that is, to a clever fellow who was
worth saving—who is down at bed rock. Don't you
feel that way too?"
"Yes," said Buel, with some hesitation, "it would
be a pleasure."
"1 knew when I read your book you felt that way
—I was sure of it. Well, I've helped a few in my
time; but I regret to say most of them turned out to
be no good. That is where the trouble is. Those
who are really deserving are just the persons who
die of starvation in a garret, and never let the outside
world know their trouble."
"I do not doubt such is often the case."
"Of course it is. It's'always the case. But here's
the soup. I hope you have brought a good appetite.
Q


THE HERALDS OF FAME.
227
brated writers. I would think it a privilege to know
Hodden and some of the others."
"You're lucky, and you evidently don't know it.
I would rather meet a duke any day than a famous
author. The duke puts on less side and patronizes
you less."
"I would rather be a celebrated author than
a duke if I had my choice."
"Well, being a free and independent citizen of
the Democratic United States, I wouldn't. No, sir!
I would rather be Duke Brant any day in the week
than Mr. Brant, the talented author of, etc., etc.
The moment an author receives a little praise and
becomes talked about, he gets what we call in the
States 'the swelled head.' I've seen some of the
nicest fellows in the world become utterly spoiled by
a little success. And then think of the absurdity
of it all. There aren't more than two or three at
the most of the present-day writers who will be
heard of a century hence. Eead the history of
literature, and you will find that never more than
four men in any one generation are heard of after.
Four is a liberal allowance. What has any writer
to be conceited about anyhow? Let him read his
Shakespeare and be modest."
Buel said with a sigh, "I wish there was success
in store for me. I would risk the malady you call
the 'swelled head.'"
"Success will come all right enough, my boy.
'All things come to him who waits,' and while he is
waiting puts in some good, strong days of work.
It's the working that tells, not the waiting. And
now, if you will light one of these cigars, we


228
THE HERALDS OF FAME.
will talk of you for a while, if your modesty will stand
it. What kind of Chartreuse will you have? Yellow
or green?"
"Either."
"Take the green, then. Where the price is the
same I always take the green. It is the stronger,
and you get more for your money. Now then, I will
be perfectly frank with you. I read your book in
the proof-sheets, and I ran it down in great style to
your publisher."
"I am sorry you did not like it."
"I don't say I didn't like it. I ran it down because
it was business. I made up my mind when I read
that book to give a hundred pounds for the American
rights. I got it for twenty."
Brant laughed, and Buel felt uncomfortable. He
feared that after all he did not like this frank
American.
"Having settled about the book, I wanted to sec
you, and here you are. Of course, I am utterly
selfish in wanting to see you, for I wish you to
promise me that we will have the right of publishing
your books in America as long as we pay as much as
any other publisher. There is nothing unfair in
that, is there?"
"No. I may warn you, however, that there
has been no great competition, so far, for the
privilege of doing any publishing, either here or in
America."
"That's all right. Unless I'm a Dutchman there
will be, after your new book is published. Of course,
that is one of the things no fellow can find out. If
he could, publishing would be less of a lottery than


THE HERALDS OF FAME.
229
it is. A book is sometimes a success by the merest
fluke; at other times, in spite of everything, a good
book is a deplorable failure. I think yours will go;
anyhow, I am willing to bet on it up to a certain
amount, and if it does go, I want to have the
first look-in at your future books. "What do you
say?"
"Do you wish me to sign a contract?"
"No, I merely want your word. You may write
me a letter if you like, that I could show to my
partners, saying that we would have the first refusal
of your future books."
"I am quite willing to do that."
"Very good. That's settled. Now, you look
fagged out. I wish you would take a trip over to
New York. I'll look after you when you get there.
It would do you a world of good, and would show in
the pages of your next book. What do you say to
that? Have you any engagements that would pre-
vent you making the trip?"
Buel laughed. "I am perfectly free as far as
engagements are concerned."
"That's all right, then. I wish I were in that
position. Now, as I said, I considered your book
cheap at £100. I got it for £20. I propose to
hand over the £80 to you. I'll write out the cheque
as soon as the waiters clear away this debris. Then
your letter to the firm would form the receipt for
this money, and—well, it need not be a contract, you
know, or anything formal, but just your ideas on any
future business that may crop up."
"I must say I think your offer is very generous."
"Oh, not at all. It is merely business. The £80


THE HERALDS OF FAME. 23 I
Brant to that effect. The day before he sailed he got
a cablegram that bewildered him. It was simply,
"She's a-booming." He regretted that he had never
learned the American language.
CHAPTER II.
Kenan Buel received from his London publisher a
brown paper parcel, and on opening it found the
contents to be six exceedingly new copies of his book.
Whatever the publisher thought of the inside of the
work, he had not spared pains to make the outside as
attractive as it could be made at the price. Buel
turned it over and over, and could almost imagine
himself buying a book that looked so tastefully got
up as this one. The sight of the volume gave him a
thrill, for he remembered that the Press doubtless
received its quota at about the same time his parcel
came, and he feared he would not be out of the
country before the first extract from the clipping
agency arrived. However, luck was with the young
man, and he found himself on the platform of Euston
Station, waiting for the Liverpool express, without
having seen anything about his book in the papers,
except a brief line giving its title, the price, and his
own name, in the "Books Received" column.
As he lingered around the well-kept bookstall before
the train left, he saw a long row of Hodden's new
novel, and then his heart gave a jump as he caught
sight of two copies of his own work in the row labelled
"New Books." He wanted to ask the clerk whether
any of them had been sold yet, but in the first place


232 THE HERALDS OF FAME.
he lacked the courage, and in the second place the
clerk was very busy. As he stood there, a comely
young woman, equipped for travelling, approached
the stall, and ran her eye hurriedly up and down the
■ tempting array of literature. She bought several of
the illustrated papers, and then scanned the new
books. The clerk, following her eye, picked out
Buel's book.
"Just out, miss. Three and sixpence."
"Who is the author?" asked the girl.
"Kenan Buel, a new man," answered the clerk,
without a moment's hesitation, and without looking
at the title-page. "Very clever work."
Buel was astonished at the knowledge shown by
the clerk. He knew that W. H. Smith and Son
never had a book of his before, and he wondered how
the clerk apparently knew so much of the volume and
its author, forgetting that it was the clerk's business.
The girl listlessly ran the leaves of the book past the
edge of her thumb. It seemed to Buel that the fate
of the whole edition was in her hands, and he watched
her breathlessly, even forgetting how charming she
looked. There stood the merchant eager to sell, and
there, in the form of a young woman, was the great
public. If she did not buy, why should any one else;
and if nobody bought, what chance had an unknown
author?
She put the book down, and looked up as she heard
some one sigh deeply near her. <
"Have you Hodden's new book?" she asked.
"Yes, miss. Six shillings."
The clerk quickly put Buel's book beside its lone
companion, and took down Hodden's.


THE HERALDS OF FAME.
233
"Thank you," said the girl, giving him a half-
sovereign; and, taking the change, she departed with
her bundle of literature to the train.
Buel said afterwards that what hurt him most in
this painful incident was the fact that if it were
repeated often the bookstall clerk would lose faith in
the book. He had done so well for a man who could
not possibly have read a word of the volume, that
Buel felt sorry on the clerk's account rather than his
own that the copy had not been sold. He walked
to the end of the platform, and then back to the
bookstall.
"Has that new book of Buel's come out yet?" he
asked the clerk in an unconcerned tone.
"Yes, sir. Here it is; three and sixpence, sir."
"Thank you," said Buel, putting his hand in his
pocket for the money. "How is it selling?"
"Well, sir, there won't be much call for it, not
likely, till the reviews begin to come out."
There, Mr. Buel, you had a lesson, if you had only
taken it to heart, or pondered on its meaning. Since
then you have often been very scornful of newspaper
reviews, yet you saw yourself how the great public
treats a man who is not even abused. How were
you to know that the column of grossly unfair rancour
which The Daily Argus poured out on your book two
days later, when you were sailing serenely over the
Atlantic, would make that same clerk send in four
separate orders to the "House" during the week?
Medicine may have a bad taste, and yet have bene-
ficial results. So Mr. Kenan Buel, after buying
a book of which he had six copies in his portmanteau,
with no one to give them to, took his place in the


THE HERALDS OF FAME.
237
"The ticket is for 159, sir," he said, at last.
"Then there is some mistake. The room is mine.
Don't have me ask you again to remove the port-
manteau."
"Perhaps you would like to see the purser, sir."
"I have nothing to do with the purser. Do as
I tell you."
All this time he had utterly ignored Buel, whose
colour was rising. The young man said quietly to
the steward, "Take out the portmanteau, please."
When it was placed in the passage, Hodden entered
the room, shut and bolted the door.
"Will you see the purser, sir ?" said the steward
in an awed whisper.
"I think so. There is doubtless some mistake, as
he says."
The purser was busy allotting seats at the tables,
and Buel waited patiently. He had no friends on
board, and did not care where he was placed.
When the purser was at liberty, the steward
explained to him the difficulty which had arisen.
The official looked at his list.
"159—Buel. Is that your name, sir? Very
good; 160—Hodden. That is the gentleman now in
the room. Well, what is the trouble?"
"Mr. Hodden says, sir, that the room belongs
to him."
"Have you seen his ticket?"
"No, sir."
"Then bring it to me."
"Mistakes sometimes happen, Mr. Buel," said the
purser, when the steward vanished. "But as a
general thing I find that people simply claim what


238
THE HERALDS OF FAME.
they have no right to claim. Often the agents
promise that if possible a passenger shall have a
room to himself, and when we can do so we let him have
it. I try to please everybody; but all the steamers
crossing to America are full at this season of the
year, and it is not praticable to give every one the
whole ship to himself. As the Americans say, some
people want the earth for £12 or £15, and we can't
always give it to them. Ah, here is the ticket. It is
just as I thought. Mr. Hodden is entitled merely to
berth 160."
The arrival of the ticket was quickly followed by
the advent of Mr. Hodden himself. He still ignored
Buel.
"Your people in London," he said to the purser,
"guaranteed me a room to myself. Otherwise I
would not have come on this line. Now it seems
that another person has been put in with me. I
must protest against this kind of usage."
"Have you any letter from them guaranteeing the
room ?" asked the purser blandly.
"No. I supposed until now that their word was
sufficient."
"Well, you see, I am helpless in this case. These
two tickets are exactly the same with the exception
of the numbers. Mr. Buel has just as much right
to insist on being alone in the room as far as the
tickets go, and I have had no instructions in the
matter."
"But it is an outrage that they should promise
me one thing in London, and then refuse to perform
it, when I am helpless on the ocean."
"If they have done so"


THE HERALDS OF FAME.
239
"If they have done so? Do you doubt my word,
sir?"
"Oh, not at all, sir, not at all," answered the
purser in his most conciliatory tone. "But in that
case your ticket should have been marked 159-160."
"I am not to suffer for their blunders."
"I see by this list that you paid £12 for your
ticket. Am I right?"
"That was the amount, I believe. I paid what
I was asked to pay."
"Quite so, sir. Well, you see, that is the price
of one berth only. Mr. Buel, here, paid the same
amount."
"Come to the point. Do I understand you to
refuse to remedy the mistake (to put the matter in its
mildest form) of your London people?"
"I do not refuse. I would be only too glad to give
you the room to yourself, if it were possible. Un-
fortunately, it is not possible. I assure you there
is not an unoccupied state-room on the ship."
'* Then I will see the captain. Where shall I find
him?"
"Very good, sir. Steward, take Mr. Hodden to
the captain's room."
When they were alone again Buel very contritely
expressed his sorrow at having been the innocent
cause of so much trouble to the purser.
"Bless you, sir, I don't mind it in the least. This
is a very simple case. Where both occupants of a
room claim it all to themselves, and where both are
angry and abuse me at the same time, then it gets
a bit lively. I don't envy him his talk with the
captain. If the old man happens to be feeling a little


THE HERALDS OF FAME. 241
"Do you understand the meaning of the language
you are using, sir? You are calling me a liar."

Mr. Hodden quickly found that the appeal to Csesar was
not well timed.
"You put it very tersely, Mr. Hodden. Thank you.
Now, if you venture to address me again during this


242
THE HERALDS OF FAME.
voyage, I shall be obliged if you keep a civil tongue
in your head."
"Good heavens! You talk of civility ?" cried the
astonished man, aghast.

"If I haven't robbed that poor innocent young man
of a booh!"
His room-mate went to the upper deck. In the
next state-room pretty Miss Carrie Jessop clapped


THE HERALDS OF FAME.
243
her .small hands silently together. The construction
of state-rooms is such that every word uttered in one
above the breath is audible in the next room. Miss
Jessop could not help hearing the whole controversy,
from the time the steward was ordered so curtly to
remove the portmanteau, until the culmination of
the discussion and the evident defeat of Mr. Hodden.
Her sympathy was all with the other fellow, at that
moment unknown, but a sly peep past the edge of
the scarcely opened door told her that the un-
named party in the quarrel was the awkward young
man who had found her book. She wondered if the
Hodden mentioned could possibly be the author, and,
with a woman's inconsistency, felt sure that she
would detest the story, as if the personality of the
writer had anything whatever to do with his work.
She took down the parcel from the shelf and undid
the string. Her eyes opened wide as she looked at
the title.
"Well I never!" she gasped. "If I haven't robbed
that poor, innocent young man of a book he bought
for himself! Attempted eviction by his room-mate,
and bold highway robbery by an unknown woman!
No, it's worse than that; it's piracy, for it happened on
the high seas." And the girl laughed softly to herself.
CHAPTER III.
Kenan Buel walked the deck alone in the evening
light, and felt that he ought to be enjoying the
calmness and serenity of the ocean expanse around
him after the noise and squalor of London; but now


244
THE HERALDS OF FAME.
that the excitement of the recent quarrel was over,
he felt the reaction, and his natural diffidence led
him to blame himself. Most of the passengers were
below, preparing for dinner, and he had the deck
to himself. As he turned on one of his rounds, he
saw approaching him the girl of Euston Station, as
he mentally termed her. She had his book in her
hand.
"I have come to beg your pardon," she said. "I
see it was your own book I took from you to-day."
"My own book!" cried Buel, fearing she had
somehow discovered his guilty secret.
"Yes. Didn't you buy this for yourself?" She
held up the volume.
"Oh, certainly. But you are quite welcome to it,
I am sure."
"I couldn't think of taking it away from you
before you have read it."
"But I have read it," replied Buel, eagerly; "and
I shall be very pleased to lend it to you."
"Indeed? And how did you manage to read it
without undoing the parcel?"
"That is to say I—I skimmed over it before it was
done up," he said in confusion. The clear eyes of
the girl disconcerted him, and, whatever his place
in fiction is now, he was at that time a most unskilful
liar.
"You see, I bought it because it is written by a
namesake of mine. My name is Buel, and I hap-
pened to notice that was the name on the book; in
fact, if you remember, when you were looking over it
at the stall, the clerk mentioned the author's name,
and that naturally caught my attention."



"Was this the book I was looking at? The story
I bought was Hodden's latest. I found it a moment


248
THE HERALDS OF FAME.
combined to irritate me, and Of course, that is
no excuse. But"
"Don't say anything more. I unreservedly retract
what I was heated enough to say, and so we may con-
sider the episode ended. I may add that if the purser
has a vacant berth anywhere, I shall be very glad

Entering the state-room, lie found Hodden still there.
to take it, if the occupants of the room make no
objection."
"You are very kind," said Hodden; but he did not
make any show of declining the offer.
"Very well, then; let us settle the matter while
we are at it." And Buel pressed the electric button.


THE HERALDS OF FAME.
249
The steward looked in, saying,—
"Dinner is ready, gentlemen."
"Yes, I know. Just ask the purser if he can
step here for a moment."
The purser came promptly, and if he was disturbed
at being called at such a moment he did not
show it. Pursers are very diplomatic persons.
"Have you a vacant berth anywhere, purser?"
An expression faintly suggestive of annoyance
passed over the purser's serene brow. He thought
the matter had been settled.
"We have several berths vacant, but they are
each in rooms that already contain three persons."
"One of those will do for me; that is, if the
occupants have no objection."
"It will be rather crowded, sir."
"That doesn't matter, if the others are willing."
"Very good, sir. I will see to it immediately
after dinner."
The purser was as good as his word, and intro-
duced Buel and his portmanteau to a room that
contained three wild American collegians who had
been doing Europe "on the cheap" and on foot.
They received the new-comer with a hilariousness that
disconcerted him.
"Hello, purser!" cried one, "this is an English-
man. You didn't tell us you were going to run in an
Englishman on us."
"Never mind, we'll convert him on the way over."
"I say, purser, if you sling a hammock from the
ceiling and put up a cot on the floor you can put
two more men in here. Why didn't you think
of that?"


250
THE HERALDS OF FAME.
"It's not too late yet. Why did you suggest it?"
"Gentlemen," said Buel, "I have no desire to
intrude, if it is against your wish."
"Oh, that's all right. Never mind them. They
have to talk or die. The truth is, we were lonesome
without a fourth man."
"What's his name, purser?"
"My name is Buel."
One of them shouted out the inquiry, "What's the
matter with Buel?" and all answered in concert
with a yell that made the steamer ring, "He's
all right."
"You'll have to sing 'Hail Columbia' night and
morning if you stay in this cabin."
"Very good," said Buel, entering into the spirit of
the occasion. "Singing is not my strong point, and
after you hear me at it once you will be glad to pay
a heavy premium to have it stopped."
"Say, Buel, can you play poker?"
"No; but I can learn."
"That's business. America's just yearning for
men who can learn. We have had so many English-
men who know it all, that we'll welcome a change.
But poker's an expensive game to acquire."
"Don't be bluffed, Mr. Buel. Not one of the
crowd has enough money left to buy the drinks all
round. We would never have got home if we hadn't
return tickets."
"Say, boys, let's lock the purser out, and make
Buel an American citizen before he can call for help.
You solemnly swear that you hereby and hereon
renounce all emperors, kings, princes, and potentates,
and more especially—how does the rest of it go!"


TEE HERALDS OF FAME. 25 I
"He must give up his titles, honours, knighthoods,
and things of that sort."
"Say, Buel, you're not a lord or a duke by any
chance? Because, if you are, we'll call back the
purser and have you put out yet."
"No, I haven't even the title esquire, which, I
understand, all American citizens possess."
"Oh, you'll do. Now, I propose that Mr. Buel
take his choice of the four bunks, and that we raffle
for the rest."
When Buel reached the deck out of this pande-
monium, he looked around for another citizen of the
United States, but she was not there. He wondered
if she were reading his book, and how she liked it.
CHAPTER IV.
Next morning Mr. Buel again searched the deck for
the fair American, and this time he found her read-
ing his book, seated very comfortably in her deck
chair. The fact that she was so engaged put out of
Buel's mind the greeting he had carefully prepared
beforehand, and he stood there awkwardly, not know-
ing what to say. He inwardly cursed his unreadi-
ness, and felt, to his further embarrassment, that
his colour was rising. He was not put more at his
ease when Miss Jessop looked up at him coldly, with
a distinct frown on her pretty face.
"Mr. Buel, I believe ?" she said pertly.
"I—I think so," he stammered.
She went on with her reading, ignoring him, and
he stood there not knowing how to get away. When


252 THE HERALDS OF FAME.
he pulled himself together, after a few moments'
silence, and was about to depart, wondering at
the caprice of womankind, she looked up again, and
said icily—

lie found her reading his book.
"Why don't you ask me to walk with you? Do
you think you have no duties, merely because you
are on shipboard?"
"It isn't a duty, it is a pleasure, if you will come


THE HERALDS OF FAME. 253
with me. I was afraid I had offended you in some
way."
"You have. That is why I want to walk with you.
I wish to give you a piece of my mind, and it won't
be pleasant to listen to, I can assure you. So there
must be no listener but yourself."
"Is it so serious as that?"
"Quite. Assist me, please. Why do you have to
be asked to do such a thing? I don't suppose there
is another man on the ship who would see a lady
struggling with her rugs, and never put out his
hand."
Before the astounded young man could offer assist-
ance the girl sprang to her feet and stood beside him.
Although she tried to retain her severe look of dis-
pleasure, there was a merry twinkle in the corner of
her eye, as if she enjoyed shocking him.
"I fear I am very unready."
"You are."
"Will you take my arm as we walk?"
"Certainly not," she answered, putting the tips of
her fingers into the shallow pockets of her pilot
jacket. "Don't you know the United States are long
since independent of England?"
"I had forgotten for the moment. My knowledge
of history is rather limited, even when I try to
remember. Still, independence and all, the two
countries may be friends, may they not?"
"I doubt it. It seems to be natural that an
American should hate an Englishman."
"Dear me, is it so bad as that? Why, may I ask?
Is it on account of the little trouble in 1770, or when-
ever it was?"


THE HERALDS OF FAME.
255
"Don't you think the States are a little too sensi-
tive about the matter?"
"Sensitive? Bless you, we don't mind it a bit."
"Then where's the harm? Besides, America has
its revenge in you. Your scathing contempt more
than balances the account."
"I only wish I could write. Then I would let you
know what I think of you."
"Oh, don't publish a book about us. I wouldn't
like to see war between the two countries."
Miss Jessop laughed merrily for so belligerent a
person.
"War?" she cried. "I hope yet to see an
American army camped in London."
"If that is your desire, you can see it any day in
summer. You will find them tenting out at the
Metropole and all the expensive hotels. I bivouacked
with an invader there some weeks ago, and he was
enduring the rigours of camp life with great fortitude,
mitigating his trials with unlimited champagne."
"Why, Mr. Buel," cried the girl admiringly,
"you're beginning to talk just like an American
yourself."
"Oh, now, you are trying to make me con-
ceited."
Miss Jessop sighed, and shook her head.
"I had nearly forgotten," she said, "that I
despised you. I remember now why I began to walk
with you. It was not to talk frivolously, but to
show you the depth of my contempt! Since yester-
day you have gone down in my estimation from 190
to 56."
"Fahrenheit?"


256 THE HERALDS OF FAME.
"No, that was a Wall Street quotation. Your
stock has 'slumped,' as we say on the Street."
"Now you are talking Latin, or worse, for I can
understand a little Latin."
"' Slumped' sounds slangy, doesn't it? It isn't
a pretty word, but it is expressive. It means going
down with a run, or rather, all in a heap."
""What have I done?"
"Nothing you can say will undo it, so there is
no use in speaking any more about it. Second
thoughts are best. My second thought is to say no
more."
"I must know my crime. Give me a chance to,
at least, reach par again, even if I can't hope to
attain the 90 above."
"I thought an Englishman had some grit. I
thought he did not allow any one to walk over him.
I thought he stood by his guns when he knew he
was in the right. I thought he was a manly man,
and a fighter against injustice!"
"Dear me! Judging by your conversation of a
few minutes ago, one would imagine that you
attributed exactly the opposite qualities to him."
"I say I thought all this—yesterday. I don't
think so to-day."
"Oh, I see! And all on account of me?"
"All on account of you."
"Once more, what have I done?"
"What have you done? You have allowed that
detestably selfish specimen of your race, Hodden,
to evict you from your room."
The young man stopped abruptly in his walk, and
looked at the girl with astonishment. She, her



At first Mr. Hodden held aloof from his fellotc-passengers.


262 THE HERALDS OF FAME.
"No. The pleasure of reading that book must be
postponed until I reach New York. But my punish-
ment does not end there. Would you believe that
authors are so vain that they actually carry with
them the books they have written?"
"You astonish me."
"I thought I should. And added to that, would
you credit the statement that they offer to lend their
works to inoffensive people who may not be interested
in them and who have not the courage to refuse?
Why do you look so confused, Mr. Buel? I am
speaking of Mr. Hodden. He kindly offered me his
books to read on the way over. He has a prettily
bound set with him. He gave me the first to-day,
which I read ever so many years ago."
"I thought you liked his books?"
"For the first time, yes; but I don't care to read
them twice."
The conversation was here interrupted by Mr.
Hodden himself, who sank into the vacant chair
beside Miss Jessop. Buel made as though he would
rise and leave them, together, but with an almost
imperceptible motion of the hand nearest him, Miss
Jessop indicated her wish that he should remain,
and then thanked him with a rapid glance for under-
standing. The young man felt a glow of satisfaction
at this, and gazed at the blue sea with less discon-
tent than usual in his eyes.
"I have brought you," said the novelist, " another
volume."
"Oh, thank you," cried Miss Duplicity, with un-
necessary emphasis on the middle word.
"It has been considered," continued Mr. Hodden,


THE HERALDS OF FAME. 263
"by those whose opinions are thought highly of in
London, to be perhaps my most successful work. It
is, of course, not for me to pass judgment on such an
estimate; but for my own part I prefer the story I

The conversation was here interrupted by Mr. tiodrien.
gave you this morning. An author's choice is rarely
that of the public."
"And was this book published in America?"
"I can hardly say it was published. They did me


TEE HES ALDS OF FAME. 265
"What did you wish to ask me?" inquired the
novelist.
"Was it the American spelling or the American
piracy that made you dislike the United States?"
Mr. Hodden raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, I do not dislike the United States. I have
many friends there, and see much to admire in the
country. But there are some things that do not
commend themselves to me, and those I ventured to
touch upon lightly on one or two occasions, much to
the displeasure of a section of the inhabitants—
a small section, I hope."
"Don't you think," ventured Buel, "that a writer
should rather touch on what pleases him than on
what displeases him, in writing of a foreign country?"
"Possibly. Nations are like individuals; they
prefer flattery to honest criticism."
"But a writer should remember that there is no
law of libel to protect a nation."
To this remark Mr. Hodden did not reply.
"And what did you object to most, Mr. Hodden?"
asked the girl.
"That is a hard question to answer. I think,
however, that one of the most deplorable features
of American life is the unbridled license of the Press.
The reporters make existence a burden; they print
the most unjustifiable things in their so-called inter-
views, and a man has no redress. There is no
escaping them. If a man is at all well known,
they attack him before he has a chance to leave
the ship. If you refuse to say anything, they will
write a purely imaginative interview. The last
time I visited America, five of them came out


2 68
THE HERALDS OF FAME.
CHAPTER VI.
The big vessel lay at rest in New York Bay waiting
for the boat of the health officers and the steamer
with the customs men on board. The passengers
were in a state of excitement at the thought of being
so near home. The captain, who was now in
excellent humour, walked the deck and chatted affably
with every one. A successful voyage had been com-
pleted. Miss Jessop feared the coming of the customs
boat as much as Hodden feared the reporters. If
anything, he was the more resigned of the two.
What American woman ever lands on her native
shore without trembling before the revenue laws of
her country? Kenan Buel, his arms resting on the
bulwarks, gazed absently at the green hills he was
seeing for the first time, but his thoughts were not
upon them. The young man was in a quandary.
Should he venture, or should he not, that was the
question. Admitting, for the sake of argument, that
she cared for him, what had he to offer? Merely
himself, and the debt still unpaid on his first book.
The situation was the more embarrassing because
of a remark she had made about Englishmen marry-
ing for money. He had resented that on general prin-
ciples when he heard it, but now it had a personal
application that seemed to confront him whichever
way he turned. Besides, wasn't it all rather sudden,
from an insular point of view? Of course they did
things with great rapidity in America, so perhaps
she would not object to the suddenness. He had no


THE HERALDS OF FAME. 271
the trouble. I don't care a—I don't care whether
you are rich or poor. I"
Miss Jessop drew away her hand.
"Oh, there's the boat, Mr. Buel, and there's my
papa on the upper deck."
She waved her handkerchief in the air in answer
to one that was fluttering on the little steamer.
Buel saw the boat cutting a rapid semicircle in the
bay as she rounded to, leaving in her wake a long,
curving track of foam. She looked ridiculously small
compared with the great ship she was approaching,
and her deck seemed crowded.
"And there are the reporters! " she cried; "ever
so many of them. I guess Mr. Hodden will be sorry
he did not accept my offer of protection. I know
that young man who is waving his hand. He was
on the Herald when I left; but no one can say what
paper he's writing for now."
As the boat came nearer a voice shouted—
"All well, Carrie?"
The girl nodded. Her eyes and her heart were too
full for speech. Buel frowned at the approaching
boat, and cursed its inopportune arrival. He was
astonished to hear some one shout from her deck—
"Hello, Buel!"
"Why, there's some one who knows you!" said
the girl, looking at him.
Buel saw a man wave his hand, and automatically
he waved in return. After a moment he realized
that it was Brant the publisher. The customs
officers were first on board, for it is ordained by the
law that no foot is to tread the deck before theirs;
but the reporters made a good second.


274 THE HERALDS OF FAME.
"Good heavens!" cried Buel, aghast. "There
is nothing of that in it."
"I am afraid not," said Brant, regretfully. "But
it will give us a week more at least before it is
decided. Anyhow, I'm ready for the pirates, even
if they do come out. I've printed a cheap paper
edition, 100,000 copies, and they are now in the
hands of all the news companies—sealed up, of
course—from New York to San Francisco. The
moment a pirate shows his head, I'll telegraph the
word 'rip' all over the United States, and they will
rip open the packages and flood the market with
authorized cheap editions before the pirates leave
New York. Oh, L. F. Brant was not born the day
before yesterday."
"I see he wasn't," said Buel, smiling.
"Now you come down and be introduced to the
newspaper boys. You'll find them jolly nice fellows."
"In a moment. You go down and open the
champagne. I'll follow you. I—T want to say a
few words to a friend on board."
"No tricks now, Buel. You're not going to try
to dodge them?"
"I'm a man of my word, Mr. Brant. Don't be
afraid."
"And now," said the other, putting his hands on
the young man's shoulders, "you'll be kind to them.
Don't put on too much side, you know. You'll for-
give me for mentioning this, but sometimes your
countrymen do the high and mighty act a little too
much. It doesn't pay."
"I'll do my best. But I haven't the slightest idea
what to say. In fact, I've nothing to say."


THE HERALDS OF FAME.
275
"Oh, that's all right. Don't you worry. Just
have a talk with them, that's all they want. You'll
be paralyzed when the interviews come out to-morrow;
but you'll get over that."
"You're sure the book is a success on its own
merits, and not through any newspaper puffing or
that sort of thing, you know?"
"Why, certainly. Of course our firm pushed it.
We're not the people to go to sleep over a thing. It
might not have done quite so well with any other
house; but I told you in London I thought it was
bound to go. The pushing was quite legitimate."
"In that case I shall be down to see the reporters
in a very few minutes."
Although Buel kept up his end of the conversation
with Brant, his mind was not on it. Miss Jessop
and her father were walking near them; snatches of
their talk came to him, and his attention wandered
in spite of himself. The Wall Street man seemed
to be trying to reassure his daughter, and impart
to her some of the enthusiasm he himself felt. He
patted her affectionately on the shoulder now and
then, and she walked with springy step very close to
his side.
"It's all right, Carrie," he said, "and as safe as
the bank."
"Which bank,,papa?"
Mr. Jessop laughed.
"The Chemical Bank, if you like; or, as you are
just over from the other side, perhaps I should say
the Bank of England."
"And did you take out every cent?"
"Yes; and I wished there was double the amount


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