CIHM Microfiche Series (l\Aonog raphe) ICI\AH Collection de microfiches (monographies) [g] Canadian Inatituta for Historical MIcroraproduetiona / Inatitut Canadian do microraproduetlana historlquaa 1995 Ttchnical and BiMietnphie Nom / Nom tadmiquM tt MblioinpliiquM Tht IniKtutt hM ammpttd to obtain iha bait erifinal copy airailaMa for f ilmint. Faatum of ihh copy which may ba MMio(raiiMcally imtqua. which may ahcr any of Iha imagn in tha raproduction, or which may •ignificantly chanfa tha usual madiod of filminf. arc chachad balow. 0Colourad coaan/ Coumrtura da coulaur □ Conn damagad/ < □ Conn ra. He "What's he in fer?" m™t'\^°*''P°''^= "^''y' ^"-le"' don't you re ^ember the wreck on the Little Sandy - down by Z Gorg^-on the D. & C. ? Judge Puiis gave hiL^Hfl SILENT SAM n Warden Zug had begun to dip his pen. He looked up at Johns with a quick craftiness, stirring his pen around in the shallow ink-well. " Judge Purvis ? " he said. "A 'D. &C.' case?" And Johns, without releasing a muscle of his fat im- passivity, dropped a solemn, sly wink of guile at him. Zug scrutinized his pen-nib a moment and then re- turned to the paper before him. " ' Unmarried,' " he said, scribbling it in on a blank line. "Daneen, eh? Huh. ^^ ' K. C let it go at that. Where 've you put " Number one cell-house, Warden — till I find out where he 's goin' to work." " TJh-huh." The warden thought it over. He said, absent-mindedly : " That '11 be all right, I guess," and held out the paper to the c ijtain. The man took it with an air of official indifference, but he had noticed the passage of looks between Johns and Zug, and he resented his exclusion from the secret. When the door had closed behind him, Johns hitched his chair up closer to the desk and said under his voice: " I did n't see the trial, Warden. I was off to the con- vention. But I remember when he was arrested. Ger- ter found him asleep 'n under a tree near the track, an' run him in on the chance." " How many was killed ? " " About thirty, mebbe. I forget." "Huh!" Zug nodded shrewdly. "What was it? Spread rails ? " Johns looked as wise as a joss — to conceal his igno- 12 SILENT SAM ranee. « Warden," he said, " that ' D. & C road-bed ain't safe fer a hand-car, half its time." He insinu- ated: " You know what Purvis is." He was, in fact, trying to draw out information under the pretense of imparting it. He knew almost nothing of Daneen's case; he had scarcely given it a thought. But Zijg-s face of suspicion had started the hint of a judicial scandal for him, and he was smokimt It out. ^ "The 'D. & C backed Purvis's nomination with twenty thousand," Zug said. " Gave it to us flat, fer the campaign in our distric', the night we put him on the ticket. He's been doin' their dirty work ever since.^ There ain't been a cent o' damages collected from em in his court since he went on the bench." " Well," Johns hazarded, " they 'd 've had some dam- ages to pay on that Little Sandy wreck if they hadn't hung It on this poor hobo. Him wreck a train 1 " He lay back and laughed shrilly - venting the pleasure he felt m having caught his scandal. " Why, the poor mutt ain't got spunk enough to derail a jack rabbit." Zug said suddenly : " I want to see him." Johns rose with ingratiating alacrity. "He's in number one." The warden merely growled: "Tell 'em tobrin* him in here." As a politician, he knew, of course, that he could not meddle with any decree of injustice that had been in- spired by the great " D. & C." It made the governors: It picked the legislatures; it nominated the supreme SILENT SAM 18 court of his state. But in forcing Judge Purvis on the district bench it had crowded aside Zug's favorite son-in-law, in Zug's own district, and humiliated him in the home of his friends. By their subsequent re- wafd of that humiliation the " D. & C. people " had only served to justilj his resentment in his own eyes, tb gh he had come to feel less bitterness toward the "D. & C." than toward Purvis. He wished — hu- manly enough — to despise Purvis, to look down on him, to find him guilty of some act that should make him contemptible; for Zug was not so small in mind that he could be satisfied with a mere resentment. He waited, frowning darkly. He was disappointed in Daneen's appearance when the guard led him in to the ofBce. The convict was no longer a possibly innocent man ; he had been made into a criminal. His head had become the sinister cropped skull of dishonor. Stripped of his beard, his face be- low the eyes had a wrinkled, unwholesome, repellent pallor. His ill-fitting prison stripes disfigured him as much as they degraded. He stumbled in his clumsy convict shoes. He looked ridiculous, odious, evil. There remained only the dignity of pathos in his mute Zug, without rising, dismissed the guard with a jerk of the head toward the door, and said to Sam, in a kindly gruffness: " Come over here." Sam did not move. He stood with his arms hanging, his head drooped. Johns took him by the sleeve and drew him up beside the warden's table-desk. His 14 SILENT SAM r prison cap lay on the carpet where he had been stand- ing. "He's dotty, Warden," Johns apologized. "He's doped." Zug replied, in an undertone, impatiently : " Leave him alone." He was absorbed in his scrutiny of the heavy, slanted sag of the mouth, the perplexed corruga- tion of the forehead, the sightless, wrinkled stare of the blue eyes. "Look at me," he said. "Here" !!■■ rose and put his hand to Sam's chin, and turned the race toward him. For a moment the eyes did not even see him. They looked through him, beyond him. When at last the pupils focused on him, it was with the empty dullness of the gaze of a sick animal "What've they been doin' to you?" Zug asked. If he had been holding a cowed collie dog by the muzzle to speak to it, it might have watched him so- not ookmg at his lips when they moved, as even an intelligent child would, but at his whole face in a large meaningless, dumb regard. ' " You never wrecked that train, did you ? " It seemed as if he w«re about to answer. His eye- brows twitched and contracted. The muscles trem- bled in his lips with a fluttering that accompanied a clicking of his teeth. His eyes wavered irresolutely, but with a light of intelligence. And then suddenly ^e eyebrows went up in their plaintive frown again. His gaze set on the distance. His lips sagged back into their loose droop. And Zug felt that he had been heard SILENT SAM 16 and, after gome sort of despairing consideration, ig- nored. He sat down and drummed thoughtfully on his blot- ter-pad. " I suppose," he said. " I suppose." He summed it up to Johns : " He 's got his, an' I guess he knows it." There was contempt in his pity — the natural contempt of such a man as he for the victim of those conditions of society over which he himself had triumphed. "Tell them to take him back," he or- dered. " Tell them to ask the steward to give him work in the kitchen." Johns had been watching and listening in an eager silence. He took Sam by the elbow, now, with the air of an old wojnan who has shared in a scene of family scandal and who conceals, in an expression of decent deprecation, her relish of the gossip in which she is to delight. He even stopped sympathetically to pick up Sam's prison cap as they passed it; and he gave the warden's instructions to the guard in the corridor, con- fidentially, in the manner of a loyal friend of the fam- ily who could be depended on to be discreet. (" I won- der what the hell 's up ? " the guard asked the turnkey, and they both stared at the mysterious Sam.) "Well, Warden," Johns said, after an awkward pause of lingering, " I guess I '11 toddle along." Zug grunted indififerentlj and the deputy sheriff hurried .iway as fast as he could shuffle, to pursue the truth about Sam where he knew he could find it in tbe sheriff's office. 16 SILENT SAM courage). And in tt,„ . ™®' '° 'how his ^- able to get a 'Z ou of V 'V"'^ °° ""^ ""^^ had ield back the lie by 1 /"^l. ^°' *"° <^-^« ^^ 'nove^aents, which IXdlr"^,""^ '^""^''^ "^ »■- thaa guided hy any IZ^™ ? n^ """""'"''' '"'^^^ disWashing i^ a Lt" ll C^T^' "' ■'^^'^^ m the evening when th. "^^^^^J affair, particularly feaeh their bSC t ^^ ntiLT;' ''T '"' " imprecations, tried to lostirH "^ ^-uttered a^d complained of ht^nXr f ^ ""f ^' foreman. - ""*v w^ho was their a- lit! r2.r2^;^;r f^' ^^ '-^^ ^^« •W When the :: ty"i T '""'"^ ^^ ^» seemed unable to control hi»l,T '■"""'trate, he an idiot when the'n di ht J^^^^l'""^ «' th^"" «ke and clattered on the stone fl^?"* '^"""^^ ^^ Angers «<«ward finally toi^riwaTa;^ Iff.^^ '^^ men who sat all dav n»,r .T ^ * ^™ ^^^ the -aping away mechTni^i; Tlt"'^ ^" ^ «*-'' ^ith a dull knife in fit, / • . ^ ^^*«™ t"bers ' '"^ ^*' ''^ ''' gate. tfl 99 SILENT SAM k ■■•■ At the end of tlie week, a negro tremp wu emitMl tbet he h.d helped D.neon wreck the train on the ^^ „d «^ht back for .ral-liJfore'jud^ Purv,^ He pleaded guilty. He wa, sentenced to iS. d!Z1 °" ' ^""■""^ ""' '"^ *>^ Samuel anftW ""°^ *° P? **"* I>«P"ty-Sheriff Johns had pother pnsoner to deliver to the Pen _ a big, simply m.hng negro who called him " boas » and accented hil escort almost protectingly. at 'him on ^ • ° ''"'^'° '"•*'''' ^""7'" J"*''''' '""M station. This 's no foot-race."' bosI"\°„T '^.5''''^ ''*"''^^*^^«*^>^- "Allraight, boss, he drawled. " Ah 'm sa'sfied. Don' you tiah yusself non. Mah laigs is jus' kind ah oneas/'' leh Johns grunted. " Well, they '11 get ust to <*<.< in the nex' thirty er'rty years." «*'""»*«> Ajid the negro chuckled delightedly ' Tha 's J-aight, boss. Tha'anolie." He continued interested, pleased, and happy in all TJZ' '"T^^^ *^«y did; and when Erl L was well under way, Johns put into words his conclu- sions on the man's behavior, by saying- "You'" just dam fool enough to belief th«e p^ple ain^^i™ to keep you in, eh ? " ^ ^ The negro, flattered by this attention from a white SILENT SAM 23 offioitl, uked, with hi* head on one «ide, grinning: " How d' you mean, boM ? How d' you mean I " "You know 'how' I mean. They're playin' you fer a lucker. Did the detective give y' any money ? " 'I Ainy money I Fo' God, boeo, I don' get nothin'." "All right," John* said. " Dream on. Dream on. What 's your name ? " " Mah name '« Joel." " All right, Joel. Tell me ivhen you find yourself beginnin' to wake up." Johns tipped his hat down on his eyes and leaned back comfortably in his seat. The fraiu was crawling up the rise of alkali flats toward the foothills, in the heat and glare of dusty barrenness. After a long silence, Joel asked: "Does you know this heah Sam Daneen, boss ? " Johns replied placidly that Sam Ta. ,-.u old and in- timate friend; that every one knew he had not wrecked the D. & C. train; but that the railway detectives had accused him of it so that the read might not have to pay damages on the wreck. Johns made that point very clear. He illustrated it, elucidated it in detail, forced it on the intelligence of the blinking ne- gro. " They put him in the Pen," he said, " so 's to save nil that money. See, sonny ? We were fightin' to get him out. We were provin' he'd never wrecked the train.^ So they gets you to say you helped him wreck it, an' that settles him. an' keeps the money in the bank. See? An' then they flings you in with him — 'cause you said you 'd helped him — an' they keeps you there. uii III If 24 SILENT SAM so's they won't have to pay you. See? An' orery- about at, af Ah wants to gait out? Ah can do thaV auhely requiahed to play squah wUh ^ 'ih sutSnV «tood by mah promises. Ah suttenly did." "^ -lo which Johns sneprnW- « v„ ^^^ , big foo, nigge™. ToTi;tten W^''^^ "^^ ^^ n^utr; his E^r^ m rr *'t r ^ -'''' '^' out: "Mebhe Ah ZYk^Z:^' 'j'^'' ''^^ FV- weii, 1 U interduce vou bo Vn„ •,„ goin' to spend the rest o' your ' bo'n d« L ' , w with him" Or ™ J "0° days' locked up tn mm. Or, more desperately: " Cain't Ah a nothin' 'bout it, boss?" La /i ^° "Ton'™ J •'' °°8S{ And still more cheerfully /ou ve done your doin's, Joel You '«. » nigger." > ""ci. lou re a gone After forty miles of this sort of « third -^ ^ee " Joel was a worried-looking, mulatto^oW sonT'^ai; SILENT SAM 25 betrayed into the p<- ver of the dominant race. He be- gan to stammer an aliaost uniiu Eligible, terrified ex- planation of what lad hannoneJ in Portland. "Keep that fer the wardeu," Johns stopped him; for Johns was planning a surprise for Zug. " I can't help you any. Keep it fer him." " The wa-wahden ? 'S he the man ? " "He's the man fer you, sonny. He can do a lot fer you. Come along, now. Here 's where you meet the ' wahden.' " A hope as simple as his terror drew him out to the station platform and cheered him up the fatal hillside to the stone walls of the Pen. " Don't go too fast," Johns purred. " You '11 get winded. You won't be able to make your little speech. That 's better. You '11 have lots o' time . . . Fine day, Joel. Sun 's hot, eh? . . . Well, it '11 be shadier inside . . . Here we are." He led him straight to the warden's office. " Here 's a nigger wants to see you," he announced to Zug. " He wants to tell you how they got him to swear he helped on that Little Sandy wreck." "To' God," Joel broke out wQdly, "Ai nevah wrecked no train, boss. Ah — " Zug rosaVith his wrinkled smile and patted him on the should^s^ " Just a minute, boy," he said. " You better ^J^^is to a man it '11 do some good to. He 's inside ^iK." He led him to the corridor. " Jake," he said, to the turnkey, "tell Geddes to put this man in to take care o' Sam Daneen." He explained, as \ I .J :\\ 26 SIIENT SAM Johns ju^ocked the handcuffs in the tunJcey's ca... likftn . """f °^ " *■*«''- Sanx ain't -It he ^i hke to hsten about that w«cL Tell Aim about t." Johns chuckled flatteringly: "He n^TJ/u neither. He can tell 'n. . *. °* ^""7' TT«'n I, , ™ ** "fte"! M he likes eh? He 1] have lots o' tima" ' HIS MOTHEB St ni HIS MOTHEE M MES. EEGAN was at the front window of her tenement-house flat, watching. She was not beautiful. Her eyes were sunken and heady under the worried wrinkles of her forehead. Her high-honed cheeks looked as tough as the comers of a battered leather trunk. Her withered old mouth was drawn tightly shut, as if she were holding pins between her lips. And yet, in those eyes, about that mouth, there was an expression of anxious and loving expectation that was more beautiful than beauty, because it was so human, because it had that endearing ugliness of worn life. She was watching for her son Larry, and she kept saying to herself: "He's late. I wonder what's keepin' him." He Wis twenty-odd, a typesetter by trade, " a sober, law-fearin' good lad," as she would boast, who neither smoked nor drank nor used bad language — " except now an' then, mebbe, when he forgets I 'm in hearin' " — and who brought his money home to her on pay-days " as reg'lar, come Friday, as Friday comes." She had worked her hands " to the bone " to give him his school- 29 in so -.^ HIS MOTHER whatever else can.e to hZ ^ "^''Wers or do She was working for hi i, k""^ "" ^°''^* P^'^^ «* night on a sewingS^achZt !' "" '*''"'^'« "^«'«« (It was the n^achinfrt i 1 I!? "''.*^ '^'^ "'«*-■ "he had been used to Ll t ^^' ^°''* «> lo"d; Now she sat at Sm^ 't^s ^ft '""l ^'^'^^ ''• and n^ended, and coo^d, ^ sc utbel " V''^ ""^•^' dusted, and washed for h^. ^ 1' ""^ '^'^'' '""^ nights till he had gone to W T^ '"* ""^ '"*« «» hi- in, l^canse shTZit^'C ^^1 t "•^''* *"<* fi-.eo, he would be Z^^^,^ ^t: ''' -' -t^h ;^i>^ "^^^*' "^^ ^ ^^^ ^^^.-dttorriit wo'nd!: whS'ki? J^^- *'^ ^^"'-^^ *^- " I eo^eJrlTh^J/r ^ f^ '^-^' ^^« -eet kitchen where l.lCt '^" T^ '""^ ^""^^ *« the ont of the oven to theTaWe / ' *° ^ "'"'^^'^ Joor of the flat, shflu 1,,":!^ "; ^« T" ^ the he would repl^ ^,h , cheerfu '^ /f ' '" "^^ never talks till he 'sfprl "' ^''t of assent ("He he no kisses, no tbr^l"7aT ^'"^ '"'^'^ ^^'^^ between then,. Her pot „>« f v. °°' "° ^'"'^ »* ^o^e HIS MOTHER SI grateful; and his final sigh of repletion would be as eloquent to he. aa the auapiration of a full heart. She would have to tell him all the gossip of the neigh- borhood, where she knew everybody's troubles, because everybody came to her to borrow a little assistance in bearing them. " Yuh can have annything I got to spare," she would tell them. " Many 's the time, when I had nothin', I wisht I o'u'd borry it meself." And he would read the newspapers and listen to her talk — both at the one time — and if there was any one hap- pier than Mrs. Eegan then, it was some one who had no right to be. She was sure of that. "He's late," she said. "I wonder— There now 1 " It was he. She did not wait to wave him a greeting. She ran to the kitchen and caught up her towel, all her anxieties forgotten on the instant. And it was with no resentful impatience that she cried " Is that yerself ? " when she heard the door open. " Sure," he answered. " How 've you been ? " She looked back quickly over her shoulder as she measured her drawing of tea. (She said afterward: " As soon as he opened his mouth, I knowed there was somethin' wrong.") She heard him coming down the hall to her; and he should have gone to wash. " Din- ner 's ready," she assured him. He said: "So 'ml." He had a parcel in his hand. He tossed it on the kitchen table. ! I ** HIS MOTHER "What '8 that?" she Mked. He answered: " Open it an' see." hhe was not only mystified; she was alam,«1 * a iw casual explanations, as she untT^ !i ^""^ not reassure her-tha hi h.^ ^* *'"'*' '^''^ that a pushcart peddt had had i^It r.^'/ T'"*' she might lite it. ' "* ^* ^^"^ t^^o^ght It was a white crocheted "umbrella" shawl ;There n.w/sh^rerrlacTed^- ^^Jf ^ waste yer money ?"' ^ " y"" bedtm."^'^' '''^''•"^'^^ -^ --t "ack toward his He knew that she would fold thn «!,. i • . drawer, and show it to her visl« »! !' ""■ " ''"'^'''' Larry," and Derhfln» J * "pnsent from Within theVrideKC: ^Td-r^t^^" " after he left her «),„ JI . ^"^ ""* "^^^ that puzzled to W :^ha ;r'W> 1^, *?- "^«« - in the extra spoonful ^t thTpof" ^'^ '"^' ^'^ P"* atS:\re;trsrLr ^'^^^^ '^ ^^ *""^''«™ stand that Jhteit tt hTd "r" ^"""^"^ *" "-<^- he was always Ztt?,'"''^*'"^°'^^'«<'''°««»<'e humored. ZsZt^l I r ^''*"*'"^ "^-^ «°°d- old eyes. But she saw mthiJlX , T ^^ '^""P finished telling her abouTthe^o;:^*; ^Jf" '^ 'l' -a. from Brooklyn Bridge J Hal;! ^'j^M HIS 310THER 88 ing pushed away hip plate and tilted back his chair comfortably, he eaid: "We could get a fine big flat uptown fer what wo pay here. It would n't take me any longer to get home, either, now. We don't have to live down here. We could move fer nex' to nothin' — five er ten dollars." He had evidently been leading up to that proposal, diplomatically; and with equal diplomacy, she evaded it. She did not reply that this was her home ; that all her friends were about her here; that the church in which she had been married, in which he had been christened, in which she had heard mass for the last thirty years, was just around the comer — to say noth- ing of her grocer and her butcher. She suggested merely: " Yuh 'd miss the boys." This referred to the younger members of the Dan Ilealy Democratic Association in which he was a stal- wart. " Oh, well, ' he said, easily, " I been thinkin' o' givin' all that up, any way. There 's nothin' in it fer me. I got my work. I don't need to live off poli- tics. I Ve sort o' cut it out lately." For some days past, he had been going out every night; and he had let her suppose that he had been spending his evenings in the rooms of the association, helping to prepare for the coming campaign. She rose to clear the table, so that, under cover of the activity, she might have time to think. " I met the Senator on the street to-day," he said, " an' told him." "Told him what?" ,1! F^l ** HIS MOTHEB "Tlwt I WW qu' ;in' polities." " Fer the We o' Heaven, " 1- "•»• y%j. Slie put down her dishes why?" ..l"^?" u' "'*^' "^ »»«« thinkin' it over If. «il nght — but it ain't atnitrht tu * o; m^, but the,'« il:r^:; SX^a W : w' t),-"7fr^ 'r •**" «^ ^"«'''» to ««. Lanr. Manv '. the dollar Senator Dan—" '■^'•'7. Many s "I know all about 'that. IVotrifl^t^ i • pill" ^' "" '"''"'" ^^ '^''^'''t ««t Flanagan', ;;Sore? No, I '„> dang glad I did n't get it." What's come over yuh, then?" ^ -ght not have to workso htd f^L "^ ^ *^»* «»•« ing to take his life i-T,t« >,• ,'"™- He was want- against his p':;;;^ ht e rid ^fr^r; *" *""» tions. So much she undei tiS a Utr^'T ous .nstinct, instantly, though sL dfd LT tu^e St HIS MOTHER W of understanding it himself. He had evidently been influenced by some one. She set herself to find out who it was. She asked: "Are yuh goin' out to-night?" He accepted the question with relief. " I thought I would — a little while. I '11 be back early." He sat with his elbows on the table. " I promised I 'd see ■ome one." She turned her back, craftily, before she asked: " Can't yuh bring him here ? " " Well, not very easy," he said. " It 's a girl." He tried to give it in a matter-of-fact tone, but he did not succeed. She tried to receive it in a matter-of- fact manner, and she was more successful. She kept her back to him and continued with her work. She glanced at the shawl with her lips tightened. A girl I It was her conviction that every girl in the town wag a designing hypocrite who was bent on flattering Larry into marrying her so that she might not have to work for a living. Not one of the whole useless set would know how to cook for him. Not one would be able to do anything but spend his wages in clothes for herself, and ruin his digestion with stuflf bought at delicatessen counters, and with her folly and extravagance worry him to death. It is a mortifying thing to raise a boy to the lovable helplessness of manhood only to have him taken advan- tage of by one of your own sex. She said angrily. " Are y' ashamed to show her ? " !' * i H 86 HIS MOTHER table, he -talked !„ „ ,.e ft 'Z' ""P"^ '-» th^ window. ''°'" "^n" "d «at down at the e.4t 2;ctrw7„!'; t" "--' '^- ^^^ ^^ had • commitfed, in his own mind 1 . • '^ ***" "'^-^jr Pe-t of hi, death itself S h "".rr'"^- ^''^ P«« «»"« to her; and ye thThardr^'^ '"/" "^^ ^«'«^<'J- I'-ttle trembling of her h!nH u*^ "^ ^"^ ^'««' «d « was going to marrvl SK , .''^ '«"• emotion. Ho with a strange Tman- ^7" ?"" '" "'"'- W gether. " '^ ^« ''"^ ""^ desert her alt<>. She continiied her work all th. • .. her, miserable, but bearing .^1 ^"^ "^ '' *f°'"' ^om did not even ask him wio the T"" ^•""'''^- ^^e -"tter n,ho it was? st t d.ef ?" ^^'"^ '^''J '' m^nedly. « She '11 not find t T ^'' ^'''^"'^ ^^'^^ --es,»shep«,„.iJtr!e,'-:i^ ''^^ "'"=» «»■« what it would be like befo" ,T, 7'."^ "" "P''"'"" of "harge of it. And wht LVrA^;;' J"*' "^^ '""^ '» 0"t, she attacked the lit"le f"nt '"''' ""'' ^"»° thought -arranging the folf T™ '"* ^'^^ """e r-' Patching,^„'d ^c^leS^;,;: deTiJ"" •"^^'"■"' *" cnmson plush » with a p,„V u *'""l"™"e8 of her HIS MOTHER Vt chair that had lo«t a ca»ter. " They '11 he gettin' new," she prophesied. She henwif had clung to the old, even when Lariy had wished to be rid of them. She wa» old herself. Well, ho would soon learn whether the new was better! She shook her head prophetically. He would soon learn whether the new was better. n That mood passed, and a more characteristic one suc- ceeded it. She told herself that the girl would bo some " gum- chewin' young gad-about with no more than brains enough to dress herself like a fool." A shop-girl, no doubt — a shop-girl that carried all her wages on her back and walked with a wiggle! There were no girls, no more, like the girls of her day. Never a one. Now, they went to work in offices instead of staying home and learning the things a girl ought to know. They made poor wives and worse mothers. They were half of them sickly and all of them silly. They knew no more about their proper business in life than a peacock knows about hatching duck's eggs. She muttered and grumbled it over and over while she dressed — angry at herself now, because she had dared Larry to bring the girl. What could she say to the fool creature ? Let him marry her and go ofF with her out of this. She could take care of herself — and that 's all she would do. She did n't want to see the girl. Why should she? Bret the young snip. Who wanted to listen to her cackle? If Larry liked it, let 88 HIS MOTHEB him take it and live with it There was for tastes. Larry 1 Of aU boys in the live and leam. live and learn. accounting^ world I Well, i leam. one plumped herself down in her rooking^hair by the wmdow and waited indignantly for them to coma She looked very sour, very stiff and forbidding. Hard work had kept her thin and angular. She snorted and muttered to herself. And she was still in this frame of mind when the arrival of Larry and his "girl" "Xfthi^;«" '^' ^-^ "^ow'th.," shel. There entered a meekly dressed young woman, about and "^ T." f ' "^'' " ""*' ^*^ '^ Pl"^- P«i« face and a subdued manner. " Miss McCarty," La^ intro- f"^ r, '''',nf """^ «"'"«-'"'* apprehensiva i ^.t^ "f' ^"^ ^^S'"' «a»d afterward, "I thought twas a joke he was piayin'. She was notHn' at a^l to look at. An' old enough to marry two of him t ") He did not notice how his mother received Miss ul tl7,f'^^■ ""' I '^°'^ '''^"' ^°^ Miss McCarty wou^dbeunpressed And the mother received her as I nva who, at first sight, disproved all the formidable rl ports concerning her; and Miss McCarty showed no more^unpressron than is indicated by the deepening of She had a broad, flat forehead ; and her eyes were set under It, far apart and colorless, with a qufet de ^d- ency of expression Her mouth had the'same flalss of a woman who has a mind of her own. When she sat HIS MOTHEB 39 hands, down she folded in her lap a. pair of immaculate large, firm, very white, and evidently very capable. Her physical largeness was obviously of the same quality of graceful strength. " Well, now I " Mrs. Regan said, at last. " Will yuh tell me somethin' ? Wherever did yuh meet ? " Her excitement gave her voice the shrillness that made her sound shrewish to those who did not know her. " Down-town," Larry answered, with his eyes still fixed on the girl. " Do yuh work ? " the mother asked her. " Oh, yes," she said, " I 've always worked." And she spoke in the voice that had glamored Larry. It was not the voice of a dialect; it was not even markedly the plaintive intonation of the Celt It was a rich full breathing of deepened vowels and blurred consonants that put a sort of pastoral gentleness and charm on every word — as soft as an Irish mist on the green undulations of an Irish landscape. " What do yuh do ? " Mrs. Eegan demanded. Larry answered for her : " She 's a manicurist." "A — What 's that ? » she cried, annoyed because the girl had an appearance of ignoring her. Larry laughed nervously. It was evident that Miss McCarty did not understand the brusk kindliness of his mother's inquiries " Never mind what it is," he said. " What diffrence does it make? " Mrs. Eegan contained herself by folding her arms on her pride. " True enough," she said. " What diff- rence? 'Tis none o' my bus'ness. None at all," And ,1 :-* as 40 HIS MOTHER M: with that she assumed an attitude of silent self-suppres- sion that was comical — m well as tragic. " It only took us twenty minutes to get down to Four- teenth Street from a Hundred an' Third," Larry told her. " Did it," she said, shortly. " Lots o' flats t» rent up there." She said nothing. " Better air, too." With one hand supporting an elbow, she fingered her lips as if she were fingering a padlock on them. Miss MoCarty was very reposedly looking aside out of the window. Larry tried to make talk. The end of it came when the girl, having carried on five minutes' futile conversation with him — about flats, comparative rents, and the possible construction of more subways — rose placidly to say good night ; and Mrs. E^an awoke, too late, to the inhospitality of her behavior, " Yuh 're never goin' so soon ! " she cried. " Wait a bit. Have a cup o' tea now." The girl refused firmly, but Mrs. Eegan hurried out to the kitchen to put on the kettle and opMi the cake box. She heard Larry call out something which she did not understand. And when she returned with her pewter cake-basket and her tray of cups, the room was empty. They had gone. She went back to the kitchen, thumped the cake into the box, banged the basket down on the table, and snatched the kettle from the stove. « There I " she said. HIS MOTHER 4^ " Now I " And seating herself in the chair by the fire- escape window she began to weep. She had done it. She had quarreled with them. Ihe girl would take Larry away from her. It was the end of everything! m Lariy had first seen Miss I McCarty in a down-town not he had seen her, he might have backed , barber shop — and if he had not i ; up his hat before out of the place; nearest As ,t was, he had taken his seat in the chai> nearest her with an uncomfortable feeling that she had intruded tibe dli" '*■ ""*' "manicuring at a little table near "Hair cut," he said, in a husky undertone, and felt like a fool when the barber swathed him in striped calico and tucked it in around his neck. It was no position the best of circumstances haircutting was to Larrv an operation of personal beautification that was to be rushed through with a scornful lack of attention; he would scarcely look at himself in the glass until he could do It ^one and unashamed, and curse the barber who had made the parting an inch too high on his head. And now when his hair had been ruffled up unbecomingly, he kept dartm„ irritated glances at her out of the comer of his eye, to see that she was not staring at She was polishing the finger-nails of a man who had his back to Larry, so that Larr^ could not see his face. ii ' 4 4S HIS MOTHER JL!t% T"^ ^°' """ '° '^ ^*''- ^0* «»«t "he w« fought her mere^ plain looking, with a nose too large. What he saw m her face was the evidence that her Z- tomer was annoymg her; and as Lariy watched her, he added bs :mtated embarrassment about his own toilet cl'ld UlTT °^'!^™'*"'-«d contempt for the man who SdHsti?"'' '" ' '-''-' ^"^' -^^« -^ ~ wavtd^'^" fr^ ^"^^ ^''^ around-first this Srad H T "* '''y-^'^ the masterful hand of ^rl s redden«l ears and, frigid haughtiness. The man was leaning forward on one elbow, a roU of flesh bul- g.g above h:s collar. Lany's slanted eye fi.ed on It fat roll malevolently for a moment before the barber -^.g him around again. And when he was shei^ and sleeked down with bay rum and out of the cha!r r—LJ""'':' '"• "^^ "^'-^'^ ^« «y- on tl^^ remembered neck-just as the girl, dropping her chamois pad, looked up appealingly a't theLlr Z u for aid agamst insult the^'l'*T!^ ^"T"^' ^'"^^ ^" ^eers in between S i ^f "^'^^'"^ ^^ '^'^' ^i'h the other. The tightened collar prevented any but a guttural, choked outery Larry jerked him clear of the table ^nd pro- ps led him swiftly toward the screen door, shoved him through that, ran him across the sidewalk, and the,^ bumping him behind with a bent knee, sent him sp/a^ HIS MOTHER 4, ner a,d hurried ba'ek "I woft" ^^' ^^^^^ « ~- ^aguely resentful ona T/ 1, ^o"ght - except a face, in City HaU Park he w '' "'' '^'' ^""^^ *» seen lev before. S« ! "°' '"'^ ^^«'^ J'e had barraased: «?Jt :,:f \ i~,i,^ Z ■ 7" , — """'" J "'"'"7 we question. She looked straight ahead of her in silence. of a W w? ^^ ''^" ?" ••" '^'* P°*''«^ ^'*'' the air of a boy who has been insulted and who puts away his fiste temporarily until he can make sure It thj nsu was intended. He asked- "Dnr.'* „.. come to see ; ou ? » " ^°" """' '"^ *° ''Na''*^'"^ °°''" "''^ "'**' '" •«" «'"<«tl'««t voice. Larry took her to her door without another word. ^^^topped on the pavement. « Good night," he chat hrst step. Good-by," she replied cheerfully; and it wa^^a cheerfulness that only made finality so^d more tb«^"^r'^^'?""*^ "^^ *^™^lled. But he did not ml he anxious penitent glances, and when he went awryl h^s ZLd 1 '" '" " ""'"'PP^ " -^-^ - -7 that ht Z n^-^-Jd he leaving her. It was all over. .er of Sr W '^' •''°^-''-^%. a lavish din- Mr of stuffed heart and mashed potatoes; and he came Jorsi:::'"V''"i:"''' *** ~* ^* -^^^ -^^^ «»•« -i ShtT), ^^"'\*"""«*°"''^l'«™lf- That night, to her surprise, he did not go out: he read his newspaper and re-read it and read ifagain untJu Jl X wilSr,^''*-'^ "■" -adingVsame IZ tw^ce without knowing it. She watched him --but witho^^gathenng any idea of what was going ont And she watched him all next day, which was Sun aSnr t,"°''"**''''"« ^'^ laiuster Zd, ;°" aWmindedness and his gentleness toward he sel^ He did not go out; he sat gloomily indoors; and when he proposed a street-car ride in the cool of ^e Tven ;Lef ^^" ^*' '^' '- ^ -orsefultrTf At last, when she could bear it no longer, she asked: '11 ^ HIS MOTHER " Wh»t '• become o' the girl that jmh don't take her f " " Her." he said bitterly. " We 're not good enough iet her." " An' why not ! " she cried. "I don' know," he answered, in a tone hard and even. " An' I don't care." " There now I " Mrs. Began addressed herself aloud. "What d' yuh think o' that?" She stared at him, turning in her seat, with such an expression of be- wilderment that he asked sourly: " What's the mat- ter!" " Nothin'," she said, collecting herself. " Nothin' at all." I But throughout the silence in which they finished their car-ride, she kept saying to herself in her thoughts: "What d' yuh think o' that? An' me thinkm' he waa mad at me an' goin' to leave me fer the girl What d' yuh tJiink o' that? The likes her I Tha likes o' her to be puttin' him down I Him — that was worth a dozen of her. It's enough to make the saints in heaven— Glory be to Peter I What d' yuh think o' that? " Amazement and indig- nation alternated with amazement and relief. She was not going to lose Larry- but the likes of herl Not good enough for her. Did any one ever hear any thing to equal ",at ? The fool of a girl ! What were they coming to nowadays — the girls- any way? She could have chuckled with contempt for them, if it had not been that Lany would have heard. Larry was evidently in no frame of mind to hear chuckles. HIS MOTHER 49 He continued in . mood -or rather in and out of Tt^^r^. f" T"""** '^'^ '•"» »>«•' t'«dition. had developed in ite place a worried indige.tion that 1U8 home, she had found them "beneath" her ^d one night he would bring his mother home the X ie would be queruloMs and sharp, and handle the fu^ature as if he could scarce!;' restrahih Jelf 'rSs bZ7/'-?' "^^ "''"'°^- He would Tme food, and after his e«gs and coffee, he would be readv o boil over with ill-temper at a ;ord. He was^ck to a atiii^"".^'- '^ p'°p-'-« thar,Jrrv: nTnlnf V '1''"'= '"''^ *^« P^'P^'ol found him m one of his proud moods and made hiiTfuriou^ sZ 1 50 HIS MOTHER Wlttt '• wrong with yuh I If yuk wut the girl, why don't yuh go get hwf God give her joy o' yuhl Yuh 're wor«e 'n a bear with a sore ear ! " ^^ "What'ro you Ulkin' about!" He glared at her. " Who laid I wanted her f I 'm done with her — and she knows it 1 I would n't look at her if ahe— " He choked wrathf uUy. "Well, then," she complained, "what is it? What 'b the matter ! I can do nothin' with yuh." " Who asked you to f Leave me alone. I 'm all right Only you 're always makin' out I 'm — she — as if I was gone nutty abo^t her. I don't care a dam about her. I 'm as good 'a she is. If she thinks we am't, that '» her lookout She can't bother me fer a minute ! " "Aoh," Mrs. Regan said, "I dunno what yuh 're talkin' about I 've said nothin' about yuh bein' nutty — though. Lord knows, y' act like it" He swallowed the insult — turned suddenly dis- pirited — and they let the quarrel lapse into a worried gloom until some fresh misunderstanding should arouse it again. It summed up for her, before long, into the conclu- sion that the boy was ill, that he was unhappy, that he was eating out his heart, and ruining his digestion, because of a fool of a giri with whom he had quarreled. "They neither o' them 've got sense enough to know what they want I Some one ought to take an' bump their heads together fer them. Drat them both! They 'U drive me out o' me wits. ... If I had her - HIS MOTHEB liere, now, I'd giro her. Ulkia aer dyin' d«y * " 61 to abe 'd not ferget to told Jr^ oftie^, t""H r' '"^ ''""^ Street, ,he TH.d s^f ''^::^^^, te«;,fr'i,:"' thesubway. First block ewt." hI Zd « T ? V w-at you to be foolin' around tbe« I m , J ''""^ wo were— " An,? .1,- "" '"we. it 11 look as if in repose it took a ivnr^^ • l, , " ""* ''*« brows'^He h^d .0:1^1,11^^'""" ^""^ «^«- he was as pathetic to her as if h« t "". ''\"'^'' *»«" could not endure it. "ItjinLT^'^''^- ^^' between them," she told herser^t"' m""^ "'""« bad. I 'd like to see that ^7 i)rat hi" I M '^ " to her straight" -t^ratlier! I'd put it 6S HIS MOTHER The next time she called in One Hundred and Third Street she examined the bells of all the apartment nouses in the block, and when she came to " McCarty " she muttered: " There y' are, are yuh ? If I thought yuh were up there now — but I s'pose yuh 're at work.' The devil take yuL Do yuh go out nights, I wonder. Huh I I see meself 1 I 'd look nice! " And turning her back resolutely, she walked oflf with her chin up. Naturally, she said nothing to Larry of that visit, and he had no suspicion of her duplicity when she went out on the following Saturday evening to confession — it being the eve of the first Sunday of the month — and took the subway north. "I'll tell no lies," she as- sured herself, " but I 'd better see her first — an' con- fess aff«r.» And when Miss McCarty, alone in the flat, received her with a well-controlled but evident sur- prise, she took the upper hand in a manner of self-justi- fication, and demanded: "Now then 1 What is it all about? Tell me that, will yuh? What 's wrong be- tween yuh? Why have yuh thrown down the poor boy ? " ^ Miss McCarty had, of course, " thrown him down" because she was too proud to intrude upon any family that did not welcome her, and Mrs. Regan, by her man- ner at that first meeting, had most obviously intended her to understand that she was not welcome. " Won't you sit down ? " she asked, cahnly. Mrs. R^n sat down while she was replying that she could not do so, that Larry thought she was at church, that she must hurry away, that he was ill, that he was 68 HIS MOTHER Miss Mer«rt^ T '"^''^ °°*'"'"' of it I " delicarel/tTcou^r '" ^^^^''^'^ ''^ "^^^^^ - kindly, miss ' wh^Tl ^ ^° ""^ ""^ ' ^hank yuh look Faith i5 IZu i'^' ^^ sot le«s sense than yuh w, ^^dir:eti:rjHtt^^^^T'f ' did n't ? There he is rt .,?""'" ^'"'* ^« «"d er mother- tuS^a2n~V '^ ^"'' ^"^^ ^« «"»•'- Pered there ',.^,S t'LT^~r' *^'" '«'<^ *- be made miseraWersurHi?"^ ^"^ ^« "» of us to to yerself, girf J » ^ '""^"''''^ "°°'«''«« » Take shame to doT"' "~ ''' ^'^ """^'^ -" -hat do you want me "ifarry him I Marry him an' W'» l. peace in the world T L'f il , '"''** «°°»» don't care. Thie's Lv , Z '"'"* y' "'«' "»»' I Take him an' lITone t UT n'' ""r ^''"^''' ^^• " Y.«," she said, lufd • " ll^K'^'' ' " " Where are yuh f™l ^ ^ ''*" <'°«1^-" „ ^"f f"'"'' annyway?" I m from Dublin. I went t/r^^j "•aid. I came here as « ITvelTn^ " "' " '"'^^^ a travelmg^mpanion — and a; 64 did n't like HIS MOTHER I took u;. manicuring because I could ao mat — ana couldn't do anything else." " Have yuh no relatives ? Are y' all alone here ? " " Yes. All alone — except for the girl friends I 've made." " There now," Mrs. Began relented. " He '11 make y' a good husband. He 's the best boy in the worid." And she launched out in a mother's eulogy of him. '' Yuh 're a fine, big, healthy-lookin' girl," she ended. " Yuh '11 be happy together, I must get back now." She rose to go. "Don't teU him I've been here." She paused, frowning. ;' How '11 I " Miss McCarty kissed her, "I'll write to him. Don't worry about that Let me take you to the sub- way." "I will not," Mrs. Eegan replied. "I'm not so old I can't walk alone. Qood-by to yuL" And when Lany, on the following Monday, had re- ceived his letter and had gone out (rather sulkily, but in his best clothes), t» reply to it in person, Mrs. Eegan sat down by her window with an exclamation that was between a sigh of satisfaction and a grunt of disgust. " There y' are," she told herself. " That 's what it is to b^ a mother. 'Tain't only that yuh can't keep yer boy, but if yuh try it, y' end by goin' down on yer bare knees to the girl to many him. A nice thing to have to be doin'! A nice thing!" She grumbled indig- nantly. "Well," she said, "that's what it is to be a woman an' have to be lookin' after the men aU yer HIS MOTHER 55 life— an' managin' them — an' feedin' fl,«™ . seein' they're ken' f,,11 .„' u ^ them — an' I'd been w/ » ^'^P^' ^«'*' I 'i"* 't Sh« !r\u ? "^ '"**'*• 'T """"t be an easy life " She shook her head over it. " I .'do„ t ,„ ^7^ , •t: " IN THE MATTER OF ART i INTHEMATTEEOFART a violently irZZiToir^'''f°^^~^'*^ test. ThechauCr ho;?L;^';'^r"«^''^P'°■ «l.ook his head a«aL 1^: !> "*' """^ "''^''«<1. ""d end is near. ThT^aL bJide h""": "'-^ ^^ *^* *^« from a cigar impair J^Ti" ^ ^'^' ^"^"^ ^^e ash of the road ahead, now on^JJ ' "^f,""'^ °" *J»« tu™ were held in single fi? a wr"" "^ ''"^' •*'^«" «""* Behind them a Z in ^ ^ ^ '^''' ^"^ " ^«»<»- true bucolic stolidiirJ^hTtt .IT^r"' '^'""'^ ''''^ her, the old apple t^tjfi^f*^"'^- ^^^^^ "onless, as itZeyZ'iTl^ ^ '^^''^' «*°^ "»°- Bkeletoned dance of dea^ t^"" '^"""^P'^ ^ «ome torted, their bare twi« * \ ^^"""^^ ^^^^ con- '•* a little in t^eTuSgh, "' " "•^'"^' ««» ^-- The chauffeur Dnll«w? . i__ 60 IN THE MATTER OF AST of those deft mechanical idiota who are never happy except when they are tinkering with machinery, who invent reasons for tinkering and then tinker so badly that they have to tinker again to cure the ill effects of the previous tinkering, and so on forever. It waa an annoying defect in the man's character, but Ruttley accepted it — as he accepted all human delinquencies — without trying to correct it He was not a reformer. He was a playwright. He did not so much as look to see which part of the machine was to be operated on, but turned his back and moved slowly away up the road, in his dust-ulster, smok- ing. The apple orchard was not like any he had ever seen on the stage, and he regarded it a moment The blue haze of the hills beyond was a commonplace of back-drops, and he turned from it to the other side of the road, where poison-ivy and blackberry brambles struggled with a thicket of plum shoots for possession of a hollow in the hillside. When he passed the thicket he saw a house, a well-top, and a woman drawing water there; That was the order in which he saw them, and the order in which he considered them, ""he house might have had some interest, for a " By Gosh " drama, if it had not been spoiled by a new roof of cedar shingles, new tin gutters, and new leader pipes. The well-top was characteristic — particularly the faded green vei^ diter of the lattice on it The young woman had her back to him; and he saw, at once, that it was a back that was all a back should be. IN THE MATTER OF ABT . Pla It re.^^fJl'^^l^'^^y prolonged, im- -rm. on tj rope of iTe wer ih TT *"* "' •"" "Buppleas.^ake'r ^''«'' «J^ bent, it wm Huttley was « connoisseur in backs -for H„ *• tad lost her. Her sn^7 t.^ ' ""^ '* ^** ^^^ ^ho New York. Slie had ^ """f ^^^e a long run in nobody knew why ifn ^?' f'oad-to England- and the n.o^ tS^d^ «!? 1 '" '"""^ -'''^nation b^n to rise to W Er Sh't"; ''"' ''' ^^'' address - in care of » T ^' "^ ^^^ ^im her hehadtorn^tupld^ui'^ /r?* "^-^-and ie turned to Wve her^^^ "" '"'^ "* ^" ^^* " not heard a worfr^ThTr or" \T'^?' '"'* ^« ^"^ While he was still scow wL, ^ tT . Gibber — the woman h^^T , *^°"^bt of Miss 6S IN THE MATTER OP ART gr«M, unoonioioui of him — bent iidewige, lithely, with the weight of the pail — u graceful as a Naiad with a vase on lier hip. The screen door of the kitchen slapped shut behind her. Inside, she began to sing, in a deep contralto voice: "■Now you are married yoit mutt obey; You must be carefvi of all you say: You mttsi be kind, you must be good — " He had flung his cigar aside, as if it were his last doubt, and strode after her. With the click of his heels on the stone slabs of the walk, the song stopped. When he came to the screen, he saw her standing beside the stove, holding a tin dipper over the mouth of the tea- kettle, her face turned to him. He was sure that she could not distinguish his fea- tures ; the strong sunlight was at his back. And he did not believe that she recognized his voice when he de- manded abruptly : " What are you doing here V But with the amazing self-possession that had been her first stage asset, she emptied the dipper into the kettle and clapped the lid on it before she replied : " I 'm making luncheon." He pushed open the door to confront her dramatic- ally, his vizored cap in his hand. She did not accept the confrontation. She put her dipper on a table. Then she wiped her fingers on the kitchen apron that she wore. Finally, with an amused arching of her eyebrows and a slowly growing smile, she said : " How do you do? " and held out her hand to him. IN THE MATTER OF ART „ or c'ril '"IS" 77 ""• .^''"' ^•'"- » " B7 Hook jHnki, that do z ;f I's iT„iri; f" "^ r do not even draw > lin. * " PUO'er, the face — that but tun. a^ide unde th ^ "'**^^ *" '^^ "»<'"«'. in two din.pi; the^''y"""l'°«?*k, «-d twinkl^ -bowed the whiteXrtS ^2" "'" *'"^- '* tbe low lauifh and d.,r v ^** ^"^ ''••t'ng for When thTchueti;^! f "f "^ *'* -«> *<> ^oLw. m that brief ^^ "aj reXj" '"^"^ ^'' ^""l- But was aa handso:ne ^^e^ l*^"^ ""^ •'"''^ed that ,he n^oreathereaae wi^Z'r '°*""""''* "" <'^«'-' «<1 of her smileT^aTnlv r " '^*''" '^^'^ ^^^diineas •'eep water^?L°e?i VeT^:<;l7"«''t - -^ peering would give him a «;..,. 7 u"' ""^ "°°''°' "^ dazde; and it wm~L 2 f ^'^'" '"^ '^l"- ^bat "What .,, you do^trer- '"""'^' ''<''^ = It^?*^'!,''" "''^ " ^n't you like it ? » c-ro:t^rd:^rr£w^^^L^^^^^^ -h:at;?s.''^'^"^''"""'^'"^-^i'-.ta again.' He preserved h lis and disgust. It was ^>"^>^s-r7^z:^, expression of Dantesq Mpression which she had ue severity ' once 's at his most iiU' «4 IN THE MATTER OF ART prcHire, It did not tw* her now ; it loaned to ubiim bar; and she Utighed, cUaping her h«nd* in her boeom M if the humor of it tickled her there. " Yon went to England." She nodded. "And came back again on the next boat — by wajr of Montreal" She added, as a wo- man's poctoript: teeaL" « Married f" qniok icmtinj. ' I was married there — in Mon- Ee bent upon her a penetrating, "Married!" She continued to hug herself with that unchanging girlish jojrousness. " Don't tell me you 're, been such a fool." She smiled and smiled, twinkling at him. "Who is it!" "Oh, a dear!" she gurgled. "Nobody that you know. A love!" He thrust his hands, cap and all, into the pockets of his ulster, " So that was it I I might have guessed it. And he supports you — does het — in this abode of luxury." Her look deepened into a sort of happy pity of him. " He works for me, and I work for him." "Did you know where he was going to bring you when you — married him ? " " I picked it out We had it ready before I sailed. I went to England just to throw you all off the track." " And you gave up your — your career — for this I " She considered him a moment with her untroubled gray eyes. " Oh, you would n't understand," she said ; IN THE MATTER OF ART «s ;J-d«pp«, W B„d. .„d turned f Ji Z::^2 Tofh.5T *" ''''* "P ""^ •'<'*» *!•« «><»»• "And '"^si'.-rr'i;.*-— ';■:;■' "Hrl" ' "*""P»P«™'">-" She broke »aother e« thf hrs?e~^-S°^— ""^ -^kB here Z; «H« «.; I, "PP^'^ ^'"^'* *o » Dover beater He gets honie at four i„ the afternoon, and lear«"; ■IX in the morning " Jeares at One-"' ' tablespoonful of butter. Ye. No^ plea«, don't bother n.e," she said. 86 IN THE MATTEB OF ABT "Go and sit down in the other room — where it's cooler." And she knitted her brows over the recipe, determinedly oblivious oif him, in an almost exaggerated poso of housewifely absorption in her work. He went to the door of the dining-room — a sunny, small room, done in what the decorators call " old gold," with yellow siU-curtains of Chinese silk on the win- dows, and a sere grass matting on the floor. « Twenty- five dollars a week I " She said, from tie cupboard: " And enough money in the bank to last us three years." "AchI" He left her — with her irritating com- placency—and stalked through to the living-room, glancing in at a whit» bedroom as he passed. There was nothing anywhere to indicate the actress. Even the pictures on the walls were not of the stage. They were the usual reproductions of popular magazine prints — many of them what are techi.ioaUy known, to the producers of them, as "kissing pictures." He miffed and turned his back r)n them, standing before the wmdow, his hands in his pockets, his feet wide apart, in a thoughtful attituda He stood there until he saw his chauffeur and his auto appear from beWnd the plum thicket. Then he went to the door and called authoritatively: « Go on up the road and get yourself something to eat »— and came back to the dining-room with the face of determi- nation. " You 're acting," he said. « It 's all a pretense." She was setting the table with dishes for two, and m THE MATTER OF ABT Md yon think it 's real." *^ " ~ " Well, at least," she said " T «,f ™„„ i of it than I ever did in ^r pla^s '^ She ^I^ '"'* at W., archly sly, to see how he'S'it. ' '"'"' "^ ile took it with a grim nod « v„ > >. Ellfin T»,»^ e^unnoa. I ou Ve been reading act the Mar, Ande^:^-^,, nVyS" ^'^- ^'^^ ^ She had shown by a blush that he had probed her before you 're thirty W. I ,f^ "PP'^ °'«^'^<1 "TV- ? i^^" °'^ yourself angular — » opoil your hands " " I '11 wear rubber gloves." tirl'STo„'l^^' ^'°"^' •-^^- ^our husband wiU "Will her' she said, reappearing with the omelet }■ " I 1-^ 68 IN THE MATTER OF ART on a platter and the teapot in the other hand. " I '11 attend to that. It '11 be variety that will tire him, if he does." " And you 'II tire of him." " If I do, I '11 never let him btow it Now " — she put the omelet before him — " help that before it goes flat Won't you take off your ulster ? " He was hungry enough to be diverted by the sight of food, and gentle enough to be mollified by an offer- ing of hospitality, but he still insisted, even as he took off the coat: "You're acting. There's not a thing of your real self in the whole house. You 're pretend- ing that you were never on the stage. Not even a pictura" " You have n't seen the garret Cieam and sugar ? " she asked, pouring his tea. "Seal cream. We have a cow. I milk her." He had to say: "Pleasa Two lumps." He helped her to a portion of the omelet, and she smiled hospitably upon him as she took her plate from him and pRssed him his cup. " Jack says I brew tea like an Englishwoman." " Now look here," he said, as he attacked his omelet, with the air of a man who was accustomed to transact- ing business at lunqheon, " you can't put me off. I 've caught you, and you might as well give up first m last Who is he ! Eh ? Where did you meet him ? Why did you marry him? Why did you run away and hide?" " Because," she replitl, addressing herself daintily IN THE MATTER OF AET 69 to her food, « I knew you would all talk just as «ou have been talkuur now and T h;,i ^»* .. I , " with you.''^ and I did n t want to be bothered "Guilty conscience," he said curtly. "You knew you w«« dou^ wrong^ ^id you tell Jur parents »" ried a^r W^- r^°*^'' '^'^-'^^ f''*- mar- ned again -before I went on the stage. He's too ::sTo:,rr - 'r*- -^°'« -^*-- jS was the only person in the world I cared a cent about L'rjTritf'"^''^™^^''^^ He'sb^nwriti^t " Love letters ? " thal'^dW t" '7''"*L" ''' ''"^ " ^' -■« ^« J«'te- "r.;*;h^:;i-::,^:-^ ™ rK. love letters th^wV^He^SriZ "8t';i:Sv;i.;^"^*-<''^-^eisni. "I will -UdI']lgive,outheli«, G, on. Why *•▼• I iiev«- mm this paragon ? " ^ and^Ui"^^^^ ^ "-- ^« ^ »- to «• P>-e W^ I >«t a«d to me* him, now ..d then, some- bTT'lt^' "^ "'^ ^ ^"^ y°" °»» o" the street b^t^ I »=« W an>u„d the comer l.fo^ ,,, ^' " ' Th. «iri who deceives her father will deceive her ^«^'-' hit 70 IN THE MATTER OF ART husband.' Tlut 'a the moral of runaway matches. Go on." " And then he took ill, and I did n't see him for nearly a month, and I missed him so much—" " That you thought you were in love with him. I understand. That's the usual thing. He was prob- ably pretending tiat he was sick, just to see whether you had ' got the habit ' or not. He played you like a fish— tautened tue line — and when he was sure that he had you well hooked — eh ? — he said : ' Now you must leave the stage. I '11 feel safer whai I have you in my own little creel.' You were a gull." " No." She pushed back her plate and put her el bows on the table, her liands clasped under her chin. " No. He did n't say a word about leaving the sta«e. I did that myself." "_ You did. Well, well. No wonder you 're proud of It." He took out his cigar^ase; she watched him, reminisoently, the light of his match reflected in her set eyes. "Perhaps," he said, "you will explain why?" She blinked quickly. « Yes," she replied, « I '11 ex- plain why. ... I was out at a studio — a painter's — and he had a pet monkey that imitated everything it had seen him do. It sat at his easel and daubed his canvas — and put its head on one side and then on the other — and when we all clapped our hands and cried: 'What a perfect little actor!' it chattered and made mouths—" She imitated its grotesque baring of the teeth. "And I said to myself: 'There I am IN THE MATTER OF ART n .?d2r" ^r'^^'tl'^'e-tor. They dress me „p, and put me on the stage, and I imitate what I Ve sTn real people do — ' " " " ^^'" lie cried, " that 's true of all art, if you want do^LLT: '''"'"'^ '^o°l^^-; monkey do. Hang that up in your library." but rilW "f ^* -^^ '^^'"■' "''""^'"y *o resuscitate it, ^^^eally to g„n a moment in which to prepare . She did not wait for him. « I was tired of it " she yTalS ".frir 'f:' '"''^'' ^'"^*-' -i -d real hfe of my own -away from all you people that don't see anytUng except to imitate it, t^ w,^^ Xt the monkey with it. And when I fo^nd 7*?! ieaHv could love Jack -that I had enough of the h^^ bemg eft in me for thai^j ^.^ 4 chan^whTe" around and reitettT.f ^^ r^l^lTl hid. Iwauttohve." She threw her arms out aJ^he sunny room. "Here. A real life WiO^VrL And be happy. And I am iJlver frou ., ""* eoa. me back as long as I can have tLs. i -^ ^ to have a real life, with real work, real lovf-fanf bah. -real babies - babies of my oZ' She n IN THE MATTER OF ABT " 1 \M stopped, tears in her eyes, her lips trembling; and with one of those sudden changes of mood that had made her acting so heart-tickling, she quavered: "And yon 're probably sitting there thinking: ' What a beauti- ful bit for a play I If I could only get her to act it like that!"' " You were thinking it yourself," he said to the ash of his cigar, " . it never would have occurred to you. However, you could marry and keep your private life to yourself. Your public life — " " I don't want any public lifew I 've had all the public life I want I don't want two lives. I want it all one — and this ona" " Very well," he said.' « If that 's the way you feel about it Nevertheless, there 's no reason why a man or a woman can't'be a great artist and live a real life as well" "'Nevertheless'! Nevertheless, what sort of life do you lead ? " He put that question aside with his hand. " My life is what I 'm able to make it If I were a bigger man, I might lead a bigger lif & You — " " I 'm not half as big as you are. This is big enough forme — this life." " You '11 eat it up. You 're wolfing it down now, and smacking your lips over it When you've de- voured it, you '11 go back t» the other, too." She settled back in her chair rather languorously — as if exhausted by the emotions that had thrilled her — and looked down at the spoon which she had begun to If "-iiinMiirn IN THE IHATTER OF ART 73 balance in her &,g«„» " You don't know. Ton don't blow how Wei, it is. J„,t the Joy o{ JrZ^H SwLri:t'!''^'^^-^-^-''««>-Xi l.eSd?ott'd'*^',T^'^- P^'J-P" it w« because tTthelTf =" P'°^«»-° '«' ' ' "^* " ™ we to come to me ''Thank you," she said, non-committaUy » ..i ■ ? ^'"^ "'"' *^** ^ ''^ J»«t fi°«hed. There 's retire, th«., with enough to keq, you both in luxury for the rest of yonr lives." "^uiy lor 8al''''^Shr ^^"'-'"'^-e'l- "Behind me, '' i't t^ r?^ ''P '"'"* ""^^^^ '^'^ ««d -*h them "Vjr, J "? ' '*'°' '""='' ^*° the room." Very well," he resigned himself. "But I w«it you to promise me one thing " ;;^at is it I "she asked from the doorway. T4 IN THE MATTEB OF ART She came in for the other diahe*. " I will on one condition — thtt you don't tell any one where I am — ihat you Ve aeen me, even." " Very good. That 'a agreed." She went about her worL He continued nnoking ailently, watnhing her. " You 're a strange girl," he ■aid, out i'i his thou^ta, "Yei?"i'' smiled. " How did you find me ? " " I 've b< 0. vorked too hard," he sighed. " I needed a rest 1 ' e been knocking around the hills with a cursed mechanic that 's always stopping to take the oar to pieces. However, people can't write — or telegraph me — " " So you 've run away, too," she said, and left him to go about her kitchen work. "Have to have the place tidy before Jack comes back," she excused her- self. He sat musing, enjoying the quiet of the room, of the view across the valley showing between the curtains of the window, of the whole life that seemed to be peace- fully breathing in the faint sounds from the fields. She called, sotio voce: "Don't let him come in. He might recognize me." It was the chauffeur coming back with the car; she had seen him from the kitchen window, far up the road. Ruttley went to the door. "All right," he called through the screen. " Good-by," he said to her, « and lenwmbor." She dried her hands hastily. "Good-by. And don't foiget Not a word to any one." IN THE MATTER OF .ABT 75 I'i;. i4. TAMMANY'S TITHES MICIOCOrY •■SOLUTION TIST CHAIT (ANSI Odd ISO TEST CHART No. J) I^M^I^ A /APPLIED llvVCE Inc ^— ■ leSJ East Main Street S^.^: Roct^«5l«r, Neo Yofk 14609 USA 1^= (716) *82 - 0300 - Phone — (716) 286 - 5989 - Tax TAMMANY'S TITHES AT ft,8 time of mght, the street wa« as quiet as a t„rh I ?fl "^^^'-^ith nothing to recall the day's turbulent flow of traffic except its empty channel of pL ".g-stones worn smooth. Over the bllck wall of the wa ehouses, a moon hung like the frosted gloi of t arehght :n the slope of a high sky. A parade of sreeT Imps marching down the deserted sidewalks, had haS along the gutter-edge; and under the ligh of one J these lamps. Patrolman Feeny was planted f uZajf rhTh::jd^:i°^*^^-'^'«"^^^-^=: S^^f^t^-rSSeSS the Deputy Commissioner on a baseless charge of S^ off post, and he had been fined two weeks'";:/ r' Dally, he had just been warned that he would cTntinue be so transferred, fined, and generally perseeSr til he gave up the twenty-five dollars thJZ ■ 1 of him A„A I. , aoiiars that was required 78 80 TAMMANY'S TITHES Or were they impossible ? The elections were coming on. The reformers were making "police graft" the great issue of the campaign. He could give some evi- dence that would be worth hearing; and if he made Tammany his enemy forever, he would make all re- spectable citizens his friends. There were other ways of earning a living besides walking the beat, were n't there? A man had a right ^ call his soul his own, hadn't r? He was n't owned by a lot of dirty grafters who c jid shake him down every time they wanted money, was he ? Not by a — ! He raised his head defiantly — his big bullock head. He was n't going to pay them for his right to earn an honest living. Not by a good deal ! If he had to leave the department, he 'd go. He could get along. He had saved a little bank account out of his salary. He could get a job somewhere. He could get a job — for that matter — on the tun- nol work, as night-watchman, like old Joe. The thought was flashed on him by the sight of old Joe's lanterns further up the street, where the red lamps of a tunnel-digging burned in the solitude like the signals of a deserted railway yard. They reminded him that it was time old Joe had his coffee; and he started up the flagstones to relieve the friendly watch- man, his shadow now shouldering along determinedly before him, now following doggedly behind. An iron shutter creaked somewhere in the wind ; the blazing windows of a trolley car floated silently across the distant head of the street; a manhole was steaming ^' TAMMANY'S TITHES 81 in the gutter. For the rest, he was the only thing that made sound or motion. ^ old Joe doddering down to meet him, muffled in a ders for a capa He had a teamster's cap dra^vn down protruded, smokeless, as . ^ ..r he general,;suS yult"£!''''""'"''^"^^- "^'"'-kouttiU finS-' °L?v\'*"Vu.*'"P '■'' P'P« -•'!" « hooked iTu *^'T,*"™«'> ''•"' round with a hand on the shoulder, and they went along together. Ibe watchman coughed feeblv " T ..-.o., * j- S;^Tt'i?,*^\n'^^'"^'-^'"^etrkth Feeny grunted; he did not reply. It 's none av my business, that 's true enough " the -tchman muttered. "I thought yeh 'd wtt to tHeW^''rn;'^-ir'^"^"*^--^-« ^^£^>:::^: "-^ -^-« 1 m sore. They 've been poundin' me — ud to TToo^ quarters. No offense, Joe They 've been t,^,?f «hakemedown....An'by4-"tbrrout 8S TAMMANY'S TITHES clenching his gloved fist before him, " I won't stand fer it. I '11 fight 'em on it. I '11 squeal on the whole lay- out I will, s' welp me 1 I will ! " " Tsh, man, not so loud," the watchman cautioned. " What is it ? Squeal, d' yeh say ? Are yeh goin' to fight Tammany Hall ? " Feeny thudded hia fist into his open palm. " I ami" The watchman struck down at Feeny's hands with a passionate blow that knocked them apart. " Niver ! Niver I " he cried. " Are yeh crazy, man ? Niver try that. Niver, niver ! Hear what I tell yeL" He had caught Feeny by the sleeve and clung to him. " Hear what I tell yeh." He dropped his voice. " They '11 crush yeh like a toad." His old loose lips, .-set between the hea/y wrinkles that fell from his nose, writhed out the words in a hissing whisper. " The way they did me!" Feeny took a long breath. " What 's the matter ? What ails yuh ? " He had been startled. The watchman pushed up the peak of his cap. " Did y' iver hear av VLnny Doyle ? " Feeny shook his head. "Doyle? What Doyle?" " Yer father 'd 'a' knowed." He tapped the patrol- man twice on the broad chest. " I 'm Vinny Doyle." He drew hack. "Me!" The light of an electric lamp above them shone in his face. It was the gray face of senility, grooved and hollowed. A three days' beard had covered his chin with a growth as fine and white as a mould. His TAMMANY'S TITHES gg stretched neck was shrunken to the sinews. There were tears in his eyes. " Vinny Doyle 1 " ^^ Feeny backed him into the shadow of a doorway. He.-e, Joe," he said, " pull yerself together." The old man shook him oflf. "I know— I know what yeh 're thinkin'-" He passed his hand over his worried forehead. "Wait now. Vinny Doyle! It's a name on a gravestone, that! " Feeny stepped out to reach an empty barrel plastered over with theater posters. He rolled it into the door- way. " Sit down," he said. The old man sat down weakly. He sighed and shook his head. In a little while he sighed again. Suddenly he asked: " D' yeh mind ' Big Six ' 2 Old 'Big Six'? — Tweed's ' Americus Six ' 3 " Feeny did not understand. " The fire injun - the big one - the double-decker," the old man urged. " I guess that was before my time," Feeny said Sure enough, it was Well, well. . . I ust to run with her, an' fight with her. . . An' Bill Tweed? Yeh mind Bill Tweed ? " " I mind when ht, died in Ludlow Street Jail," Feenv answered patiently. The old man chuckled. "He did that. He did that. But this was thurty years befoore — down in th' injun house in Hiniy Street - whin he was foreman av JNo. bix. yuh ^'^'^'" ^"""^ "'''^' " ^"^ ''" *" °^' ^"^P' "« 84 TAMMANY'S TITHES " I am that" He threw back the corner of his blan- ket, and went through hig pockets for a match. Feeny filled hU cheek with a ball of fine cut, and leaned back against the door-poet. " Them was gay ol' days, if yuh believe all yuh hear." The watchman wagged his head. "I mind the nights better thin the days," he said. " With tu sittin' 'round in the dark — an' the light leakin' out av the cracks in th' ol' store — an' the wood that was blazin' in it, stole over Grigg's back fince the night befoore. An' Duffy singin' ' Bed Robin ' er ' Th' Angil's Whis- per.' . . . My, my, how Duffy end sing. I niver heerd the bate av him." i Feeny said, absent-mindedly: "Uh-hnhl" and his thoughts returned to his troubles. He heard the watch- man rambling: "Niver the bate av Conny IjuSj to sing — an' Butcher Sleeman to fight — till I wint at him, bare-handed, in the bunkroom, an' pounded his fayturee into a mince. After that, I was 'Banty Doyle ' the ' Tirror av the Tigers ' — aa' me two eyes blue-black fer a week." This did not seem very important Teeny's atten- tion wandered. When he listened again, the old man was saying: " ' Yeh 're a beauty,' Molly says to me. ' So I am,' says I. ' But I 'm a plaster ca'.t to yer frien' Butch Sleeman,' I says. ' I come to tell yeh he won't be 'round to see ydi fer a montL' An' we wint off to Niblo's Oarden, that night togither, Molly an' me." Feeny asked : " Who was Molly ? " TAMMANY'S TITHES 85 "She wu • great g\irl — » great garL But she wanted all the fun av ooortin', an' none av the trouble that begini whin the ooortin' inds, an' she kep' me an' Butch prowlin' 'round there, spittin' an' gpattin' like a pair av tomcato on a fines, till we gplitted the oomp'ny into two halves with our fracahuns. An' whiu Tweed run fer Alderman from the Sivinth, we both woorked to lee which cud woork the hardeet — an' Tweed wint in, with a toorch-light perceasion an' a hill av a jambaree — an' I got me job in the Coort House — an' Butch got a plintiful promise av big things to be." Feeny snorted. "It's a dirty game, politics. They 're a gang o' fakers." ^^ "It's like iyiythin' ilse," the watchman replied. " It 's what we make av it. But it takes big men to play it big, an' the little men it makes little shysters." He reached out his black claw of a hand. " Man alive if we Irish had the men to lead us! If we had the men I We stick to such as we have — we vote fer thim, an' fight fer thim, an' believe in thim whin iVry one ilse is peltin' thim with pursecntions — an' by God, they diate us, an' seU us, an' laugh at us — laugh at us I — till some one ilse sinds thim to jail fer stealin' from us! An' even thin do we give thim up? No, sor! 'Tis the curse av loyalty that's on us — the curee av loyalty. I mind the day whin I 'd' ve bit off me thumb fer Bill Tweed, an' I—" " What 'd he do to yuh ? " Feeny cut in. " What 'd he do to yuh ? " "He done me dirt He done me dirt." He gulped. 86 TAMMANY'S TITHES " Wait, now. I '11 tell yeh. Lind me the loan av a match." His hand shook as he took it. When Uie dottle of hit pipe was glowing again, he went on, hoarsely: " Yeh mind, in thim days, the fire comp'nies wag a sort av military, tool Well, I was the best shot ar the Young Americus Guard. An' whin we 'd p'rade home from a target excoorsion — an' that was a clam-bake t a chowder party, 'g the caso might be — there 'd bv I-ig buck nigger at the head av us with the wooden ta ^t slung 'round his neck, an' somewheres about the middle sv that butt there 'd be my mark, now, yeh cud be sure avthat . . . That 'show I come to jine the Zouaves — th Ellsworth's Zouaves — the ' Pet Lambs ' they called us — whin the war bruk out. I want to pot holes in the nbils, an' Sleeman, that cud n't no more than hit a side av beef with his fat fist, he stayed to home, sure enough. 'An' he was the wiser man. But Hivens I there was hven hunderd av the boys listed from the fire-houses in three days, mind yeh! Sleeman must've been as cold-blooded as one av his own steaks to 've stud the whoop that carried us all in. '■I wint to Molly. An', ' Molly,' I says, ' I 'm off to Washin'ton. I 've jined,' I says. "'Jined?' says she. 'Jined what?' An' her hand was gone limp where I held it. " '} 'ye listed with the boys,' I says. ' We 're goin' to defind Washin'ton.' An' with that she gave a little grunt, hke some one 'd hit her in the wind, an' she come into me arms sobbin'. TAMMANY'S TITHES 87 " fi'.?? " ''"•' '»' 'f"''' «» ""ft «« feathen,. ^""ib. ' ^-y", ' if I -d knowed this, now, I 'd niver Z "V. 7' """" ""' »*"- '''- I thought/ I Z^h ^'::''/''' """'' ^ "'^«- ' I '•» o°ly -worn I ' 1 tT T "/ / "^^' ' '"^' "' ^^•^ '" ""'"7 me now, ■I 11 bo bBck m July to yeh ' j > A rub',er.tired coupe bowled past them, carryinir the wreck of «,me midnight dissipation to the TuSfa^h! around the comer. Feeny spat solemnly and changed off'li?!?"'' "'^ " *^' ^"""^""^ «^<^- " ^e inarched to a . "^ r * u' ,*"^'"' *" ^P"' - "J^« ^e -as goin' to another c lain-bake down the Bay-with the cLd whoopan', an' the band bleatin', an' us the bully boys 1 -down Canal Street to th' ol' ' Baliic/ that wis W InT^n 1,"'',*° ""^"^ ^^'^' """y '" *« time- W yelah-belhed eels -an' bat thim on the head fer su^ tlgh;,'" '' ""' "^"'^ "* ^'^''"S''*' I^"l« we ^Jpy cleared his throat, "^bid y„h «erve all the Rnll p'^''^ "ot- worse luck I I got no further than Bull Run . . W. sailed down to Washin'ton an' S «to quarters there. An' we toomed out to a fireZ WHB bunun' nex to a big hotel. I mind that well. An thm we were shunted here an' shunted there fer 11 88 TAMMANY'S TITHES months, an' there was nothin' but the divilmint av the hoyt till we wint to the front cheerin', to woUop the ribili. " What happened I dunno, fer right to the start av it, I got a bullet in me right arrm — here ! " He atretched out bia deformed wrist. " An' while I was huntin' fer a doctor, all the boys came runnin' back through the woods on top av me, cursin', an' weepin', an' talkin' to thimsilves — an' the sight av thim scared the soul out av me, an' I tied mesilf up in a han'kerchief an' run till the groun' lifted up an' bumped into me — an' that 's all I rimimber fer a week." He shook his head. " 'Twas a bad bus'ness. 'Twa» that." Feeny grunted. " An' whin I heard the doctors talkin' — er thought I did — I was not in me right mind, no doubt — talkin' av cuttin' off me arrm at th' elbow, I says to mesilf, ' No soree 1 If yez can't fix me togither, I know a man that can.' An' I slid out av hospital, an' crawled to the depot, an' the nex' thing I rimimber I was bein' bandaged bo ol' Doc. MoGrath right here in Cherry Street. But how I got there, no one niver lud tell." Feeny coughed apologetically. The old man hastened to add : " Anyways it made no matter. Me time was up, an' I was no good fer soldierin' with the hole in the hinge av me hand. Not a bit. Not a bit, . . . Eot the pipe! Have yeh the makin's av a smoke about yeh, at all ? " TAMMVNY'S TITHES 9 "I 've got a cigar," Foeny Mid, feeling in the breast of his overcoat The watchman sniffed. "What good's a saygar? Gi' me a pinch av yer ohewin'. I Ml smoke that." Feeny passed him the package of fine^ut, and he filled a pipo-bowl that was burned as thin and jagged as the half of a scorched eggshell He blinked his pathetic old hound's eyes at the flame of tho match. When the tobacco had begun to fume and bubble rankly, he settled down with his elbows on his knees, and said : " Listen, now. T Ve come to the pint Listen I "When I got foot on the piveminte again, what d yeh think I lamed? — that Sleeman had me job in the Coort House — Butch Sleeman! — an' him givin' me the b . jh I ' Faith,' I says, ' I '11 fix you. me brave boy, an x wint to -"weed. An' he toomed me down! Toomed me down! , . . «Yeh .vint galivantin' off to the war,' he says, an' left yer frien's to fight out their own troubles here,' he says, 'an' now yeh can make good,' he says. ' Go an' make good,' he says. " I looked at him, an', ' I 'm a married man,' I says — an' tried fer to say it meek, fer Molly's sake, the way av married men — ' I 'm a married man,' I says, ' an' the wife 'a in trouble, an' there 's the doctor to pay, an' the likes av that,' I says. " He waved me off like a street beggar. ' That 's none av my doin',' says he. An' with that, 'twat as if some one had puUed a trigger in me bead, an' I boo it out with a curse av Tweed, like yersilf here — jus' like ! 00 TAMMANY'S TITHES IP*' r . In thim days, I feared no man, nayther. I wag young an' raised rough, with fires, an' fightin', an' the divil knows what. An' I dared Tweed to his face. ' I '11 make good,' I says. ' I 'U show yeh, niver fear. I '11 show yeh,' I says. ' I '11 show yeh ! " "An' I done it I got Barney Coogan to promise he 'd run ag'in' Tweed's man far alderman. I got a meetin' togither an' nominated him. I woorked fer four months in the ward, with me frien's — an' I had plinty — an' Tweed bein' busy with his own campaign fer sheriff, an' Coogan a pop'lar man — we got Coogan ilicted by the Hn'th av his long ears, an' the boys av No. 6 swore they 'd batter me to a pulj). " Look yeh now. Here 's what happened. I was so blown up with what I 'd done, that one night I walked into a joint they called the ' Tiger,' to show the gang I was in no fear av thim — if I had raytreated all the way from Bull Run to Cherry Street, hot foot, as they 'd been sayin' durin' th' 'liction. Me arrm was in a sling, but I had a pistol in m' other pocket, an' I strode up to the bar an' ordered me drink like a loord. An' whin I toomed on me elbow, there they sat watchin' me, quiet, like so many circus cats in a cage. An' I knew, thin, I 'd done wrong. " There was no word said, but one av thim got up an' slid too'rds the door, an' whin I started backin' on it, whippin' out me shooter, the tables wint over with a leap — an' the room full av thim pounced on me — an' some one grabbed the gun — an' it wint off in his grip — an' through the smoke I saw Butch Sleeman open his TAMMANY'S TITHES 91 big month an' clutch at a splatter av blood on his throat an go down idth a gurgle I " The bullet had took him fair in the neck, an' bnik lus spine. He was dead whin they picked him up off the sawdust, an' I dropped the gun an' run fer dear life. " I was with Molly whin the police caught up to me - waitm fer thim - sittin' on the side av the bed, an' Molly propped up with the pillows, in her night-clothes -waitm' fer thim I mind the ruffles on 'round her neck an' all Niver a word she 'd said, but jus' screamed whin I'd told her -an' caught hold av mo hand, an' held to it, dumb She sat up whin they come in starin', an' her lips as white as her teeth, breathin' h"• '"d trip- ping and falling continually. When "Pop" Yoi^ .topped the hor«. Burls tried to climb up one of iu hind Ie«s, sliding down it as if it were fhe "„e.sy Immediate y,Sutley reached the whip, bent a pin to the end of the lash, impaled upon the hook - in pantomime began to fish. He was so innocently absorbed in watch- ing for a bite that Yost's indignation fell on him un- awar«. He accepted the traditional ill-treatment from laZ'TT '" " ''"""'''"« ''«'?•-«"- that Z pathetically funry, and when Yost had gone back to m WlT ' '""^^ °^ *"•"'■• l-^t^l -iA -"Other ssig':;^;;;"'™' -^ «««'«^ '■--'^ -^'y to his To the audience, they were merely four mountebanks, of no recognizable human personality, performing like amed animals together. It was not apparent, ac Isl ^Le footlights, that the girl received BurlTon the hoi H~ "'"'v' ^difference; and the rack of the nngmaster s whip expressed to the house t >thing of the parental ill^empe. of which it spoke to Milly fnd h partners Sutley seemed wholly interested fn his ab- Burd anghng, covering his head with a red handkerchief to shade hunself from a pretended sunlight, and wist- I 104 THE CLOWNS f i 1' fullj pulling on liig line to see whether he had a fish. The others seemed to he as diligently playing the fool, intent only on amusing the audience. And the truth was that the whole four — heing circus-trained and indifferent to " Bubes " — scarcely gave the audience a thought. Milly went through the motions of her act mechanically, watching Sutley and thinking of what he had said. In her pretense of awkwardness on horseback, she clung to Burls ; but she might have been clinging to a dummy, for all the thought she gave him — until he asked flirtatiously: " What 's the grouch Pop 'b got oi. ? " Then she re- turned from absent-mindedness, focusing her eyes on him to answer: "You ought to know. iZou were gpeakin' to 'im last" He, in his part, swayed and sprawled and almost fell from the horse — replying at the same time: "I was n't askin' him any f am'ly secrets." They bumped along together in silence, slipping and clutching at each other in a burlesque of fear. She said out of her thoughts : " 'E 's gettin' so cross there 's no suitin' 'im." He suggested: "You might's well be married as livin' with him, eh? " She had a feminine impatience for this sort of profes- sional humor. She did not reply. " Say, Milly," he joked, " now that you 're thinkin' about gettin' married — how about Hen there?" It was said partly in jealousy because he had noticed her friendliness for Sutley. THE CLOWNS 105 She stared at him with an expregsion that did not take the joke. He tried to smile her down. "What's ^e matter, eh? He ain't as ugly as he's painted." His make-up spread his smile across his face in a mock- i"^ ? » ""'"°*'"' '*"'■ " ^""'"^ "'* ^"" ^^™ *" '°^ " Aw, come off," she said hotly, and, lurching against mm, she upset his balance. He fell from the horse's flank to the cocoa mat This fall was a bit that was in the act, but she had given It out of its time; there was no crash of drums to mark it, and the music, instead of quickening for the change m the act, dragged along in the unfinished move- ment of the amble Nevertheless, MiUy jumped to her feet on the horse's back, untied her sun-bonnet and flung It at Burig ^h„ ^^ li^p.^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^ ^^ ^^6 to take up his part again, and bruised and angry. Then with a jerk at the fastenings that her father had ar^ ranged in her Mother Hubbard, she flung off that flimsy wrapper and emerged, the lithe and graceful "Made- moiselle Blanc," in the white silk costume of an acrobat, pirouetting on one foot, poising like a ballet dancer houS " «^mmingly i» the applause of the But the music and the horse were still moving too slowly. Her father cracked his whip at Prince and cursed under his breath. The conductor of the orches- tra, seeing the difficulty, tried io catch up to the act, and threw his musicians into confusion. The « equestrian director came up frowning to the ring-bank and cen- 106 THE CLOWNS Bured Burls for falling from the horse. There were some awkward moments before the performance began to go smoothly again, and in the mean-time the defiant Milly lost her flush of impetuous ill-temper and began to consider the explanation she would have to make after her somersaults were finished and she faced her father in the wings. Her success as a bareback rider was all that remained between him and the poverty of a circus acroDat's old age. He had taught and trained her. He watched over her talent, now, with the fierce jealousy of an old miser. He dictated what she was to eat. He saw to it that she kept light and supple. He went about with her like a Spanish duenna, afraid of the inevitable love affair that would mean the beginning of her end; for the laws of nature do not allow a matron to do horse- back tumbling, and even maturity itself is an enemy to the agility of the equestrienne. She knew how he would storm at her for having marred her act, and the knowledge made her anxious at a time when she should have had every faculty undis- tracted, every nerve tense. She made her first somer- sault successfully, with an accuracy almost automatic, quite unthinkingly. But as she gathered herself for her second leap she wakened suddenly to an unreadiness of mind that became a consciousness of impending fail- ure as her body launched into its spring. Her brain seemed to hang back, fumbling with the messages it should have sent to the responding muscles ; and in mid- air she found herself frantically " oast," dead of mo- THE CLOWNS 107 mentim and paralyzed with fear. For an instant the air seemed to support her, inert, as if she were floating, aware of the horse below her, the flies above her, the footlights, and the crowded house. Then she felt herself tauing, and with a panic-stricken convulsion of every despairing muscle she threw herself clear of the horse and came down on her feet in the ring. A pain wrenched in her back. Her father caught her as she staggered. She saw that he was white with a spasm of fear that had brought the perspiration to his forehead "Oh, you needn't be afraid," she said bit- terly. "I ain't 'spoiled.'" His face darkened with a different emotion. « You better look sharp, me girl," he threatened. « You '11 be nned for this, mind you." « S'*Vf, f ^'^'^ •""* "''O'^*' if I broke me back." «n«. L \^^^ *^ B"l« to lead up the horse. Get up diere " .. said to her, " an' do yer turn." "I won't I "she said. "Get up there I" R„7 ^°u% y,^. '"""^ ^ '^'"^'*-" She turned to Sutley. « 'En ! » she called in a fierce undertone. but ley had been trying to cover the break in the act by making a frantic dumb show of a man whose hook has been taken by a maskinonge; but at her cry his line fif L""/! T *" ^'^ *" ^^'^''^ '» P'^*''='="^e that a frl? t ?? 1^ "^"^"^^ '* "^f '" the air with trembling hands) had almost dragged him into the water. At the same time he asked, like a ventriloquist, without moving his lips: " What 's the matter ?» 108 THE CLOWNS j;ni III! " I nearly came a nasty buster. I Ve strained me bacL" Sutley turned to her father, repeating his pantomime, but increasing the length of the fish to three feet, and explaining at the same time: " You 'd better help her off. She's lamed." Crossing to Burls, he said: " Take away the horse. Milly 's hurt" And the fish, this time, was four feet long. When he came to the " equestrian director," it was apparently to lament the loss of a young whale. And lie continued running from one to the other — as they made their exit to the wings — trying in vain to stop them with his lost-fish story. As soon as they were behind the shelter of the scenery. Tost rounded on the girl, and she turned for aid to Sutley. But it was Burls who saved her, for the mo- ment, by stepping between her and her father and draw- ing the old man aside; and the authoritative ease with which he did it showed that there was some understand- ing between them to give the clown the influence he evi- dently had. Sutley said to her quickly: " He '11 use this. See?" She saw — with a glittering diy eye of anger. He whispered : " To-morrah 's Sunday. Where can I find you — in the momin' ? Will you meet me at the comer o' Broadway ? I want to see you." " If I can get out. 'E '11 try to make me stay in, if me back ain't better." She looked at him, silent " I '11 come," she said. He went with her to the foot of the iron stairway THE CIOWNS 109 Uiat led to her dressing-room; and he stood to watch her mount to the first turn of the steps. She climbed nZ •' '^/'^°«* »«y'''J' figu^, as pretty as a court page m satm doublet and hose, but lifting herself from step to step with a discouraged weariness that reflected She smiled wanly down at him as she disappeared, and SusW ""^f I"'' ''"""« "P "' ''°*'°S ™til !>« was pushed aside by a troop of chorus girls He returned to his dressin^room to change his cob- r T "t^"; " '°*'^-" ^^ ^"^^-y Shis wal It s the goods, Hen. Sashay the girl home f-night. I got bus'n^ with th' oP geezer. She 's put the hog nng in her fair young snoot all right, all right." Ill They were Hen Sntley and Hany Burls to their fnends, bu they had been, in the days of their youS Henrik Sutliev and Heniy Berlitz - the first the Z of a bird-fancier and taxidermist on the Bowery, and the other ^ he said, "the heir of a kosher b^ber" 1 Canal Street They had been doing " comic en ries " together for thirteen years - beginning with a nigk at the old Columbia Music Hall when Sutley haS ^en LaLi? ^""'''"^ ''""'^ ""'' "•"« dances and nasalized comic songs; and they were bound now in tfjeir pannership by all the years of hardship thThad endured, by the prosperity they had achiev'ed, by tie 110 THE CLOWNS apprenticeship and the success in life that they had shared together. But they had come to the Amphitheater from the circus-ring where Sutley had been little better than a "feeder" to the popular Burls; and now he was in a fair way to make Burls merely a feeder to the popular Sutley; for Burls was a "knockabout" clown, and his slap-stick art was in tone with a three-ring circus, but too loud for the theater; T^iisreas Sutley merely translated the actions of life into terms of his own per- sonality, expressing himself in a pantomime that was naturally comic just as the movements of beauty are naturally graceful, and he had " made a hit " in the Amphitheater after failing to make one in the circus tent It was chiefly for this reason that Burls wished to return to the " big top " ; and it was for thig reason, too, that Sutley wished to 'emain on the stage. " He don't know that I know why he 's doin' it," Sutley explained to the girl. " An' I don't like to let on. He 's pretendin' it 's because he 'd sooner be out on the road — where we 'd make more money, he says, if we 'd sign a contrac' all together — you an' Pop, an' me an' him. I would n't like 'm to know I was playin' against him. But I don't want to go back to the circus, if I can help it." Milly and he had stopped, on their way from the Amphitheater, to rest on a bench in Bryant Park, where the trees, in their new green, spread their leaves against the electric light with an artificial vividness and trans- parency of color that had the tone of a stage setting. THE CLOWNS m She wag sitting up, stiff-backed and defiant He was nursing a sharp knee in his clasped hands, gazing out njder his hat-brim gloomily, "'E don't consider your feelin's, 'En," she told Mm. "Well," he said, « you know I never cut much ice in the busn^s till we come here. He ain't been used to considerin' me. I don't blame him, neither. I guess I ain't such a much." "You're as much as 'e is," she cried. "An' 'e needn t poke fun at you, anyway. I gave 'm a good bump fer that." "Per what? How?" " Did n't you know I shoved 'im off the 'orse ? " " No 1 What 'd you do that fer ? " " Fer w'at'e said. 'E 's too fresh by 'alf." " He don't mean anythin' by it. He 's always been like that He 'b all right." * "y^^)y ^f^ '*'*''' "P ^^-^ 3""* *^« ^ay you stick up fer im, 'En." *^ " I guess he thinks I don't need it any more then." He shook his head. « We been stickin' together a long while. We been through a lot o' trouble." He sat thinking it over. "We were near lynched togetheri once, m Macon. They took us fer a pair o' huckmen that d been skinnin' the crowd with a shell game, out on the lot An' when we went into town to get some crackers an' cheese they foUy'd us. They 'd 'a' lynched us if It had n't been fer some o' the zinc I had in m' ears. They would n't believe m when we said we wer« 119 THE CLOWNS the clowns — until I showed 'm the make-up I had n't washed out o' m' ears." He smiled slowly as he added: "At first, when Harry seen 'em pointin' us out an' foUyin' us up on the street, he thought we 'd made a hit He thought they were pointin' us out because we were the clowns." " Served 'im right," she said. " 'E thinks 'e 's the whole show now." He did not reply to her. He went on with his thoughts : " Once, when we got stranded in Kansas, we was beatin' our way back to Chicago, an' we b^ged a couple o' handouts from a back door an' went an' sat 'n under a water-tank waitin' fer a freight to come along — We drank the water that dripped out o' the tank, too — an' there was a lot o' names cut in the beams that the tank was on, an «rhile Hany was cuttin' his name in with the rest, a big farmer's dog sneaked up an' eat his grub — an' then he was mad because I'd eat mine while he was carvin' his name." She made a contemptuous sound in her throat. "I had m' arm broke comin' home — sleepin' in among the lumber on a flat car, an' the load shifted onto me in the night — an' Harry tore the back out of his shirt to make a sling fer me," He drew up his sleeve to bare his forearm, and sat studying it for so long a time that she leaned forward, beside him, to look. There was nothing that she could see. When he had pulled down his cuff again he con- cluded: "He's all right, I guess. That's just his way. He thinks he ought to be clownin' all the tima" THE CLOWNS 118 Don t you bolievo it, 'En," Ae broke out just uain' you the way Pop docs me. An' I ain't but a trained monkey to Pop. 'E don't treat mo uman. It's a dawg*8 life; that's can't even talk to no one. w'at it is." He shook his head. " He 's scared you '11 get away from h:m." ^ o j " 'Ow get away from 'im ? " '' Well, if you was to get married - see? I guess He s scared you '11 meet some one that way. That 's the way it was with Lally Dulian an' her maw." " I got a right to get married, ain't I ? " " You sure have, Milly," he said gently. There was something in his voice that caught her ear. She looked up at him with a sidelong glance. H.S thm features, yellowed by the paints, wore the blank look that his profession had made second nature to him; but his eyes, thoughtful and melancholy, foed on vacan,^, gave his face an expression of mute wist- fulness that was almost ludicrous. "I say!" ahe laughed. "It ain't as bad as that, is it?" He turned to find her apparently mocking him with her amusement. He replied with an attempted smile that was iittle better than a writhing of the lips- " I guess I 'm a good deal of a joke, ain't I ? Oh I know," he went on. " It 's paint yer face an' play the f^^ fer mws. I ain't kickin'. They're right, all He made as if to rise. She stopped him with a hand on his arm. « W'at 're you talkin' about any'ow ? » lU THE CLOWNS " I 'm taUtin' mbont you." he laid bitterly, " an' me. If I 'd 'a' been anythin' but a joke d' you think Pop 'd 'a' let me come with you I Say, gi' me the laugh. Go on, I kind o' miss it" She straightened her hat She tucked her handker- chief into her cuff. She stood up. Then she said, loox- ing down at him : " That 's w'y I bumped 'm off the 'orse — fer talkin' that way about you an' me, . . . Come on. I 'm gr" ' 'ome." "Mill" He caught her hand to hold her, "Is that — is that right ? " Her fingers — the strong fingers of the -liroug woman — closed on his in a friendly pressure that crushed his bones. " Come on, 'En," she said. " Pop '11 be after us if we don't 'urry." He replied, in the fervent voice of a lover: " T' 'ell with Pop"— and drew her down beside him. In a moment the situation was clear in his mind. " ^ ' ^'1." he said, in a broken rush of emotion, ' if you '11 Stan' by me - I did n't care where I went to before, ner what I did. I 'd 'a' gone back with Harry an' give up. But if you '11 stan' by me — I 'm on the right track. I know I am. There 's never been a clown — a good one — that 's done the knockabout. It 's been imitatin' life with them — the same as with me. I c'n make good. I c'n make good without him — Rairv. You need n't be ascared o' that." " I 'm not ascared," she said. She asked, in another tone : " Do you like me, 'En — much ? " He drew a long breath, as if to get a grip on his " I '11 talce yep word THE CLOWNS us voice. »'Mil,» he wid, " I ,in't- The first time I •een yon — " " All right, En," she laughed, fer it" "Aw, don't make fun o' me, Mil," he pleaded. For answer she leaned fonvard and put his arm be- hind her and snuggled up to him. " Who 's makin' fun you, you big goose ? " she whispered. Her face was upturned, invitingly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he kissed her -a fumbling clumsy kiss that made her laugh again with a half amused and wholly contented chuckle. "All right En-shesaid. "I'm'appy. Now w'at 're y „£•' to do with Pop ? " ' " The following day, as Sutley had remarked, was Sunday ; and m the morning Milly tried to escape from her father's surveillance by insisting that she must go to church. " Wat for ? " « Because I want to. It ain't agayn the law to go to church, I 'ope." ° He grumbled that she was always taking up with some cra^ notion or other, but he could not in reason keep her home, and he contented himself with accom- panying her as far as the church door. She wore her new spring hat, with a white veil, and she was as excited as a bridesmaid. He did not notice ^AA^^^ ^r ®"*''^ ** " '^''^^ '°^^^' ""id Yost nodded curtly, unaware of the significant look with t. 11« THE LOWNS ^1 which Milly tignaled her lover as the went by. The clown followed her at a safe distance. He law her father leave her at the church itops, and he waited until the old man had turned the street comer. Th«i he hurried furtively to join her where she was awaiting him in the vestibule^ " Did you get it I " she whispered. " Sure 1 " He produced, from an upper pocket of hia white waistcoat a precious square of paper that shook in his hands as he unfolded it. " The parson says ho '11 see us after the show in here 's over." He indicated the muiSed singing of the congregation with .i jerk of the head toward the closed inner doors of the church. " We 're to go aroun' to the side somewheres." " 'Ow much does 'e want ? " " Whatever I v ^t to give, he says." He explained it to her perplexedly: "They don't have a reg'lar price." She choked down an excited gnrgle of laughter, blush- ing up at him. " 'Ow much d' you think it 's worth ? " " Godl Milly," he faltered. " It 'g worth all I 'II ever make." " Well," she said, with a flippancy that was half hys- terical, " that 'b w'at it 's goin' to cost you before you 're done with me." One of the ushers of the church ap- proached them. "Come on," she whispered, taking Sutley's arm. " We might 's well see th' 'ole perform- ance." They went in to their wedding like a coimtry couple entering a side show. THE CLOWNS 117 Meanwhile her father, after Rtopping by the way in a aaloon, relumed to the flat in which he and Milly had •pent the winter, and lat down beiide a front-room window, in hia »hirt-«lpoveg, to gmoka It was the typi- cal room of a circus man's leisure, decorated with old photographs of acrobatic troupes and high-wire " artists " and famous equestriennes who smiled out of yellowing prints as if they had thought their long- forgotten charms would bloom there immortally. A riding whip, which his wife had used, was crossed with a horseshoe under a staring crayon portrait of her wearing her " waterfall " in a chenille net. A tarnished gilt frame held the indenture of his apprenticeship, made when he was six years old, to a " teacher of dan- cing, gymnastics, and theatrical horsemanship." The man HFi^d to lash him with a " lunge " whip, holding him with a line about the waist; and Yost remembered that training when he wag considering how best to dis- cipline his daughter. His past was thick about him — and he smoked, in- different to it all, callous with age, and sleepy. His gray eyebrows were tilted up from the bridge of his nose in a harmless scowl ; hia gray mustache, professionally waxed, bristled above a mouth that drooped weakly at one comer where the pipe weighed it down. He was not troubled about Milly. He was accus- tomed to think of her- is the old person so often thinks of the young ou^ — not as a human being with attributes and character, but rather as a new ex- ample of the known faults and flightinesses of youth. 118 THE CLOWNS ' 'i'-i He considered that she needed a proper display of harsh- ness on occasion, patience and a firm hand. He felt that she would understand, and appreciate his stem care of her, as she grew older. And he was not troubled about Burls. He had de- cided to " turn down " that too friendly adviser. He considered himself "too old a bird to be caught by chaff." If there was more money to be made out of Milly's act with a circus, he and Milly were going to make it themselves. He was able to attend to that. Burls could make his own contracts, and he and Milly would make theirs. ^ He blinked drowsily, satisfied with himself, with his circumstances, with life in general. The sun was bright; the children were playing in the street; a Ger- man servant was singing and clattering dishes in the kitchen. He would have a good dinner when Milly came back, and then he would settle down for a quiet Sunday afternoon, undisturbed. So — He put his pipe on the window-sill and lay back in his chair to have a snooze. He waa wakened by the sound of voices. The serv- ant had come to the front door in reply to the bell that had rung in the kitchen. He opened his eyes, blink- ing. Burls was entering with a genial smile, and Yost, because he had been disturbed, scowled at the intruder! Burls accepted the scowl with a beaming good nature. "Takin'iteasy.eh? That's right. I been seein' them down at the Gardt j about that contrac'." He had be- gun to Bit down, and tLoagh Yost put in curtly: " I THE CLOWNS ■ r 119 .lon't want a contract; I 'm goin' to stay Vere I am," BuTh lowered himself into the armchair and nodded as if this reply did not in any way change the situa- tion. " Don't want it, eh ? Got somethin' better ? " " We stay w'ere we are." "Uh-huh? Well, I don't know but what you're wise. I was on'y int'rested in goin' on account o' Mil. This chorus girl life ain't exactly the right soil to bring up a girl like her, d' yuh think ? That 's the way I feel about It anyway. I 'm kind o' soft about her." He looked up at the wall, smiling. « She 's a mighty fine girl, MiUy is. I don't like to think o' her gettin' mixed up with any o' them Willies that hang aroun' the stage- door." " " I can see to that." " Mebbe you 're right. But I been thinkin' now - bhe 11 be gettin' married, some day, won't she? She was talkin' about it las' night. An' I been thinkin' what 8 the matter with givin' one of us a chanct - some one that 's in the bus'ness with you ? You can't keep her like she was in a nunn'ry. She '11 get away from you sure. That 's human nature. What 's the matter with givin' me a show ? " He was talking now with the most evident earnestness. " I 'm soft on the girl I like her -an' I don't know that she don't like me. If you 11 gi' me a leg up, I can make it." Tost threw out his hands with a gesture of uncon- trollable impatience. "Leave us alone! Leave us alone 1 Mmd yer own bus'ness, will you ? I can make ^ 1 120 THE CLOWNS me own contracts. I can look -ifter me own daughter." Ho checked himself on the sound of her voice in the hallway. " Don't you be puttin' notions into 'er 'ead now," he said hoarsely, " or by — " " That 's all right," Burls smiled. " Think it over." The door opened before her — and Sutley. " 'EUo! " she said gaily. " 'Ere 's 'En come to have dinner with us." Sutley came in, very red and guilty. And Burls, looking over his shoulder in surprise, caught his part- ner's expression and turned in his chair, drawn around by the expectation of he did not know what. Milly added, as she took off her hat: " 'E 'as some- thing to tell you." Yost said : " Somethin' to w'at ? " Sutley shifted his feet heavily, and then looked down at them as if he had expected to find them the false ones that he wore on the stage. " You see," he began inconsequentially, « Milly an' me did n't want to go back to the circus. She don't like it there any more 'n I do — an' I never out much ice 'n under canvas. I c'n make more money where I am. They '11 give us a con- trac'— Buris an' me — fer a hunderd an' fifty apiece fer three years to stay on where we are." " W'at the bl 's that got to do with me? " Yost demanded. " Well, you see, Milly an' me, we did n't want to go back, an' Milly said she 'd stan' by ma An' " "You'reatit, too, areyou?" He swallowed wrath- ily. " You can get out o' 'ere an' mind yer own affairs. THE CLOWNS 121 I 'II look to me own bus'ness without any 'elp neither from you ner Burls." " 'Or on now, Pop," Milly interfered. She nudged Sutley. " Go on an' tell 'im." She closed the door behind her to shut off the servant. Sutley gulped. " We — we got married this mom- in'." He did not look up to see Yost's expression, but the silence in the little room was itself an accusing gape of amazement. He continued apologetically : " You see, she did n't want to go back to the circus, an' I did n't. She wanted to stay in the flat instead o' knockin' aroun' on the road — so we thought we 'd jus' stan' by each other that way — an' see if we couldn't fix it up afterwards." His voice faded away in an unintelligi- ble mumble. The old man had half risen from his chair, as open- mouthed as Pantomime, his eyes fixed in a staring speechlessness on his daughter. She was unconscious of the fact that she was busily shaking out her veil and folding it in a trembling excitement. "Milly!" She shook her head, without looking at him. " I 'ad a right to get married. I 'ave a right to live as well as other people." And suddenly Burls, bringing his hand down with a smack on his knee, broke out in an echoing guffaw, and lay back in his chair shouting his laughter, open- mouthed, his eyes shut. Yost sprang to his feet. " You let 'im take you in 122 THE CLOWNS I ' ' !r with a lie like that? 'Im! 'Im an' this other one I " He pointed at Burls, his hand shaking. He shook his fist at Sutley, sputtering Cockney oaths. " The two o' them! That 's w'at they 've been up to ! " Burls bellowed «Ho-ho-hoI" convulsed and help- less, unable to defend himself though Yost, in a dancing rage, kicked at his legs and shouted: " Look at 'iinl look at 'iml Because you 've made a fool of yerself — married ! " The girl screamed through the uproar : " W'at 's the matter with 'im? W'at 's the matter with you? " Her father turned on her. " You d little I You 'd make a fool o' me. would you ? " He raised his fist at her. She darted behind Sutley. And Sutley — who had been standing quiet in the midst of the confusion, listening, solemnly intent — foced the father with an expression of disturbed pity. Yost was opening and shutting his mouth on an anger that was choked in breathlessness — caught suddenly with pain in the heart — threatening the clown with his raised fist that remained checked in mid-air. "That's all right, now," Sutley said. «I don't want none o' what she earns. You needn't get — Mil 1 " " The old man had collapsed, and Sutley, with tha'. ciy to the girl, caught him as he tottered. " Get 's a drink quick." Burls vm still sobbing with the exhaustion of laugh- ter, even when he dragg-d himself to his feet to assist them. They laid Yost back i:. the chair from which THE CLOWNS 133 Burls had risen, and Milly struck the sniggering clown an angiy cuflF on the head to silence him. He threw up his elbow to shield himself, hysterically weak. She thrust him away from them. He stumbled and fell into another chair, where he buried his face in his hands, limp. " Get 'm a drink," Sutley pleaded, trying to fan the old man with his open hands, and apolc^zing frantic- ally: " That 's all right, now. It need n't make no diffrence to you an' Milly. I c'n earn enough fer her an' me, an' you o'n have what she makes. You need n't mind me aroun'. It 's natural fer her to want to get married, an' it 's better fer her to marry some one in the bus'ness." Yost roused himself to a sort of expiring gesture of contempt and fell back gasping. " It need n't make no diffrence to you," Sutley kept on, " Buris had n't nothin' to do with it. We did it so we would n't have to go back to the circus. That need n't make no diflfrence to you. You need n't get mad about it." His feeble gestures, his anxious tone, his expression of awkward solicitude — all were unconsciously clown- ish and laughable. And when Milly came back with a bottle and a gLiss, she put him aside, in a sort of dis- tracted perception of his- absurdity. She poured a drink for her father and held it to his lips. He looked up at Sutley in a weak disgust that would have ex- pressed itself plaintively if it could have expressed it- self at all. I I 124 THE CLOWNS 1,^ Aa soon as he found his voice, he said : " Take 'im away. Take 'im away from me." " JSTow, look 'ere, Pop," she replied. « You behaw yerself. 'E never would 'a' married me at all if I ad n't asked 'im. You behave yerself. You're a disgrace to the fam'ly." And it was evident from her manner that she and Sutley were « the fam'ly." It was the servant who ended the scene — and re- called them all to the proprieties - by putting her head m the door to announce : " 'S retty — dinner I " It was through Burls, of course, that the story be- came public. He still tells it with roars of laughter- and he is most effective when he describes how Sutley announced to old Yost that Milly and he were married and Yost attacked the clown with his ringmaster's whip. Ibis IS almost as good as his other story of how he and Sutley were nearly lynched in Macon, once, and he saved Sutley and himself by sending the mob into con- Tulsions of laughter with his clowning. He is truly a romantic artist. He does not tell that he was, in his own way, almost as Boft" on Milly as Sutley was. The only hint he ever gives of it is when he says, disgustedly: « I tell you what 's lie whole trouble with women: they got no sense o' humor. They don't even know good clownin' when they see it. They 're too danged matter-of-fact." And Sutley, funnier than ever ..nd more successful than ever, continues to work at his clowning with all the seriousness of a Russian realist. « No good clown " THE CLOWNS m he iMista, "ever did the knockabout It's been imi- tatm' hfe with them, the same as me. Now, take that baby act I do, with the doll : I got that from my own hd, straight The wife didn't like it, at first - makm' fun o' the youngster - but she's all right now It s a hit No, she don't work any more. She an' Pop look after the kid." 11 I' THE DEVIL'S DOINGS THE DEVIL'S DOINGS MRS. CREGAN wept, and her tears were ludicrous. She was as fat as a Falstaff. Her features were as ill-suited for the expression of grief as a circus clown's. She had not even a channel in her plump cheeks to drain the tears from her eyes; and the slow drops, largo and unctuous, trickled aown her round jowls and soaked into her bonnet-strings, leav- ing her cheeks as fresh and as ruddy in the sunlight as if they had been merely wet with perspiration. Her eyes stared, unpuckored, apparently unconscious that they wept. Her mouth was tight in an expression of re- sentful determination. Only her little round chin trembled — like a child's. Yet Mrs. Cregan was as nearly heart-broken as she had ever been in her life. She was leaving her hus- band. What was more grievous to her, she was leav- ing her home. She was on the streets of New York, with her small savings in her greasy purse — clasped tightly in her two hands under her Sunday cape that was trimmed with fringe and tassels like a lambrequin. She did not know where to go. There was no one to whom she could turn for aid, and she would not go to any one for pity. Behind her was the wreck of a breakfast table — the visible symbol of her ruined home — with a cursing Irishman, whom nobody could 129 ISO THE DEVIL'S DOINGS .how yeh who.e ho«e it i.| I'll .how yehl I'll b«U er-r,. d.ng thing in the pl.oel» Before her 3 ^^-V^'*^ ''r'^' of -hat had once been Green- w,ch V Uage, ..quiet „ , j^.^, and a. indifferent, in ^^^^"^Z" '"''"'*' -"'' •''""^-'^ ^''''°- The domeatio peace of tho«, old strocta made her own tTtr"" S '^"^ ^'*''"^ *" ^-- She felt as ahe ttnlTi*'°"'~^^*^*^^°«-»'^ J"'' childhood, horradly from the water, with a desolate, wet sea-odor- T^Tr^'f^^' """''^f^' °° ^^^ fields and the S '^Jr v1 *^' '""' '""^ '^" '"'^ " lodging for With and dajhght to the darkness of a death-bej Thl future had threatened her with the terron, of an nn! b.own world The past, despite its poverty and star- vation, had been as dear as Ufa She hadTnffered a 1 de f t! r "^Z^"'"^ '"""^ ^^"^ ''«''^«'»°'» has made brl r\"l' ^'^ *^' ^"«''' f'^'l'-'rit/ does not breed contempt, but affection. She suffered these same miseries now. She saw her home through tears of regret - though unhappinrhad dnven her from it. And her lips were set in a deter ^l^r ""'f ."' ^'""^'^ ''' *^« determination. Some distance behmd her came a smaller woman, as shrunken, «. withered, and as yellow as an old kaf THE DEVIL'S DOINGS isi Em W ihoo. leemed to have dried and •hriveled •ruriang up .t the toe.. And .he fluttered along in the Lght mornang b,««e, holding back ag«in.t itTon her heel., with an odd effect of being carried forward f..ter than .he wi.hed to go. She wa. Mr.. Byrne, from the floor below Mr.. Cre- gan^ flat and she had been starting out on a .ec;et eT rand of her own when .he heard the quar«l overhead gl.ng between her de.ire to reach the next street un««n ^Mn,. CnBgan and her desire to know what had hap .Tot" "*" '"'• """ ^™'^ ^'''^'^ * '« She let the wind blow her alongside her friend'. portly de.pa.r. She .aid, i„ the hoarse whisper thaj eyes. Choorch?" she said, on the plaintiveness of a high note that broke in her throat. "ruh're ciyin', woman I » Mrs. Byrne's look of craftme« changed at once to one of JZI d'w Come back out o' this with yuh." She caught Mrs. Cregan's arm. " It 's no thing to be doin' on the str^U Come back, now. Where 're yuh goin' ? " r^JlZ^T""^^'^ '*°"*^'y "^^''d «"d carried her neighbor with her. " I 've quit 'm » "Quit who?" "Himsilf. . . . Dinny." liJ 183 THE DEVIL'S DOINGS Mrs. Byrne expressed her emotion and showed her tact by silently comprising her lips. " I 've quit 'im, fer good an' all." She stroked a tear down her cheek with a thick forefinger. « I 'U niver go back to 'im. Niver I" "Come away with yuh, Mary Cregan," Mrs. Byrne cned,m her breathy huskiness. "At your age I Faith, yuh re as flighty as one o' them girls with the pink silk petticoats. He'8yourhusban',ain'the? D' yuh think yuh were married over the broomstick ? Come an' be- have yerself like a decent woman. What'd Father Dumphy say to this, think yuh ? " " He 's a man. I know what he 'd say. He 'd tell me to go back to Cregan. I '11 niver go back. Niver I » Yuh won't t What '11 yuh do, then? Where 'U yuh go to ? " "I '11 niver go back. Niver! He 's broke me best chmy. An' kicked the 1^ off the chair. An' over- toorned the table. An' ordered me out o' the little bit o homo I been all these years puttin' together The teapot th' ol' man brought from Ireland — the very tea- pot-smashed to smithereens! An' the little white dishes with the gilt trimmin's I had to me weddin' day Mrs. Bynie! There was the poor thing, all broke to tats I She stopped to point at the sidewalk as if the wreckage lay there before her. "AH me little bit BofS!'^""'"- ^"°^^*'^-=^- EVrybit! Her tears choked her. She could not express the piercing irreparability of the injury. It would not THE DEVIL'S DOINGS 133 have been so bad if he had beaten her; a hurt will heal. But the innocent, wee cups — and the fat old brown teapot — and the sweet little chair with its pretty legs, carved and turned so daintily! She had washed them and wiped them, and dusted and polished them, and been so careful of them and felt so proud of them, for twenty years past. And, now, there they were lying, all in bits — past mending — gone forever. And they BO pretty and so harmless. The crash as they fell on the floor had sounded in her ears like the scream of a child murdered. ^ She started forward again, determinedly. " I 'U niver go back to 'm. He can have his house to himsilf. . . .What do I care far Father Dumphy? He wants nothin' but the dime I leaves at the chooreh doore, an' the dime I drops on the plate! Whin me poorse 's impty, he'll not bother his head about me! " "Shame bra yuhl" Mrs. Byrne wheezed, with her eye on the house she was passing. " Tub talk no better than a Prod'stunt." " An' if I was a Prod'stint," she cried, " I 'd not have to pay money iv'ry time I wanted to hear mass. I 'd not be out on the street here, not knowin' where I 'm goin' to, ner how I 'm to live. It 's ilim that knows how to take care o' their own — givin' the women worrk, an' takin' the childer off to the farrms, an' all the like o' that. You Dogans — " Mrs. Byrne glanced about her fearfuUy, « Stop yer talk, now. Stop yer talk. Stop it before some one hears yuh makin' a big fool o' yerself." rJ I 184 THE DEVIL'S DOINGS if li! 1 m gom off from here fer good an' all 'T wiU know r "° r*:^-,, '^ wiU not I -^ done with it all I 'm donewxth^t." She held ont her purse. "I'veeotm^ bU o' money I 'U hire me a little room upto^^I Z M^rl A- an' Father Dumph, an' th! wSe da^ iotoyui Slavm' an' savin' fer nothin' at all I-n ner the ehooroh ner no one ilse '11 get a pemiy's i^ o me no mor^ I got no one in the widrworrld but mesjlf to look to, an' I 'U go it alone." Zr^ T/'^/y«'^«'7 deep in their wrinkleB, her wC W??,""* °' *« perpendicular, her 'long -enriiraXai'^^^-^^^^""^---^ Seeing that M«. Cregan was beyond the reach of shame or the appeal of the priest, she eaidr«^U I don't blame yuh, woman. Cregan '« a fo^l rt ,i the rest o' the men. An' v^rjf I . ^® "" Well well! vT ^ * ""''' * S^ manager. wisttul. Where will yuh be goin'?" I dunno." " Have yuh had yer breakfast ? " Mrs. Cregan shook her head. THE DEVIL'S DOINGS 185 " ST^ }^^' ^^^' '"^' l>«^e » tite with me." Nivepl I'Univergobaek." th^?; l^T "^"''"^ ''P ^'' ^'"'^'- "Come aloi^ cZ ;», ^° '™''*"' *° *■"*« °"« °' those batter Ltgh." ^ maie ,n the restr'unt windahs, this Io,>g " Yuh Ve ate yer breakfast." " I have not," Mrs. Byrne replied. « I was off to tho grocer f - buy son>e sugar when yuh stopped Te'^ It was a he. She had, in fact, started out, Secretly on a guJty errand that she should not acknowl^ ^' n s a lonely meal I'd 've been havin'," Z^,aid. on h J ^T '^^ «* ^« ^«- house an' the boy off Avenue without more words. They paused before a cS"T:r *^«*, f^----l i'« "Su^t'ng i^otfee m white^ame' letters on its shop-front wi^ It was the first time that Mrs. Byrne had ever sat down :n any public restaurant, exceptVe eatingLls a o'S^tL^re^ltl— ;;-;^^^ .la^c^ about her,rttSwi!:L'2.oot;wS 136 THE DEVIL'S DOINGS a furtiveness that was none the less critical for being so sly. " It 's eatin' in a bathroom we are," she whispered. " An' will yuh look at the cup yonder. The sides of it are that thick there 'a scarce room f er the coffee in it 1 Well, well! It do beat the Dutch ! They 're drawin' the drink out of a boiler big enough fer wash-day." The approach of a waitress silenced her. When she saw that Mrs. Cregan was not going to speak, she looked up at the girl with a bargain-counter keennctc. " Have y' any pancakes fit t' eat? . . . How much are they? . . . Ten cents 1 Fer how many 3 . . . Fer three pan- cakes ? Fer three I D' yuh hear that ? " she appealed to Mrs. Cregan. " Come home with me, that's a good woman. It 's a sin to pay it Three cents fer a pan- cake. Aw, come along out o' this. Ten cents! We c'u'd get two loaves o' bread fer the money, an' live on 'em fer a week!" But Mrs. Cregan was beyond practicalities, and she ordered her buckwheat cakes and coffee with an air that was mournfully distrain Mrs. Byrne made a vain at- tempt to get her own cakes from the waitress for five cents, and then resigned herself to the senseless ex- travagance. " Yuh '11 not make yer own livin' an' eat the likes o' this," she grumbled asthmatically. " Yuh 'd better be savin' yer money." Mrs. Cregan was looking at the thick chinu with a sort of aggrieved despondence. It was almost the ex- pression of a bereaved mother looking at one of her THE DEVIL'S DOINGS 137 neighbov's children and thinking it a healthy, ugly brat whom nobody would have missedl She stared at the bare walk and the bare tables of the restaurant, and found the place, by comparison with her own cozy flat as unhomehke an the waiting-room of a railroad station - the waiting-room of a railroad station when you have Baid ^od-by to your past and the train has not yet arrived to carry you to your future. the'^nlir/'T';^"' "''"^ ''^"^ *<* ^''' «^« »>«"' over the plate to hide a tear that trickled down her nose. It BPj«sh^ on the piece of food that she raised to her month. She ate it — tear and all. " A^' them no bigger than the top of a tomato can ! " Mrs. ilyme was muttering. Mrs. Cregan ate, and the food helped to stop her teaw. It was the strong coffee, at last, that brought her got drunk, she said, wiping her cheeks with her napkin. itaJriV^rr-'^^*"^"- ^— "^-tetake "They're no more than children," Mrs. Byrne re- plied, "an' they 're to be treated as'such. sTre C^ gan could n't live without yuh. He 'd have no batons to his pants in a week." ^Z1^^'^^" ^T ^'■'^'''' *'"^- "I^«r «-<=« the hT's «1 M J^™,^""^/y P'^P^'^ '-e toomed his head. He s all blather about his rights an' his wrongs. Th' other moomin' did n't I tiy to get on his bus f^om the wrong side o' the crossin', an' he bawls at me- ' Th' 138 THE DEVIL'S DOINGS other side I Th' other side! Yuh're no better than any one ilse! ' Am' I had to chase through the mud after him t The little wizened runt I He 's talkin' like an amachist 1 An' that 's why he smashed me dish- He '11 have no one say ' No ' to him. . , . Ah, Mrs. Byrne, niver marry a man older than yersilf." " Thank yuh," Mrs. Byrne replied with hoarse sar- casm. " I 'm not likely to, at my age." She added, consolingly : " Cr^gan 's young fer his years. Drivin' a rift' Avenah bus is fine, preservin', outdoor work." "It is thai I" And Mrs. Cregan's tone remarked that the fact was the more to be deplored, " He '11 be crankier an' crabbeder the older he grows." She dipped to her coffee and swallowed hard. Mrs. Byrne had screwed up her eyes to squint at an idea that could not well be looked in the face. When she spoke it was to say slyly: "God forbid I But they do go off sometimes in a puff. He looks as if he 'd live fer long enough, thank Heaven. But yuh never can tell." Mrs. Cregan held her hand for a moment, and then began hastily to fill her mouth with food. The silence that ensued was long enough to take on an appearance of guilt. It was long enough, too, for Mrs. Byrne to " contrive a procedure." " Yuh never can tell," she began, " unless yuh have doin's with the devil — like them gipsies that see what 's comin' by lookin' in the flat o' yer hand. There 's one o' them aroun' the comer, an' they say she told Minnie THE DEVIL'S DOINGS 139 Doyle the namo o' the man she was to many. An' he married her, at that ! " J' " "e Mrs. Cregan looked blank. t^Tt n" T r' ^"' y«'««lf-but it was her told Mrs. Gmn that her last was to be a boy. A good -onth ah«.dl An' when she saw it was t^e sheC no peace o mind till she heard the priest say the words over the poor child an' saw that the sprinkle o' holy ThoTst':^' '"'"^ '' "^ ""^^ ^ '' '^^^'^ ^' - «w^;^?i:s:X3''^''"^^^«^'''^"^^ "An' If I was yerself, Mrs. Cregan -not knowin' where I was to go to, ner how I was to live- 1 'd go «^ have a talk with her before I went further, d'ynh " God forbid 1 'T is a mortal sin." " T is not When I told Father Dumphy what I 'd done he called me an oP fool an' gave'me an Ltry litany fer penance. What 's a litany ! " " I 'd be scared o' me life I " Tlf)ilI"^T ^^"'"^''W with me. Iwasgoin'. I got troubles o' me own. Never mind that. There's nothintobescaredof. Nothin' at all No one '11 see kn^ws iS?^° '""'^' ""^^'^ '^' '^'' «'^' - -« m It was a good half hour later that Mrs. Byrne entc.Bd the reception rooms " of Madame Wampa, " clairvoy 140 THE DEVIL'S DOINGS '^ ant, palmirt and card-reader," with the propitiatory smile of the woman who knows she is doing wrong but M prepared to argue that there is " no great harm into It." And she was followed hy Mrs. Cregan, still re- luctant, stiU guilty, but with a sort of reverential awe, as if she were an altai-boy who had been persuaded to join m some mischievous trespass on the sanctuary. Madame Wampa received them, professionally inso- lent in her indifference. Mrs. Byrne explained that she wanted only a " small card reading " for twenty-five cents. Madame Wampa said curtly: " Sit down." They sat down. Madame Wampa had been a music-hall singer when her husband was a sleight-of-hand artist, " the Great Malino, the Wizard of Milan." Her voice had long since left her. She had nothing of her beauty but its yeUow ruins. And her life was made up of two great grievances — first, that her husband was always idle, and second that her landlord overcharged her for her rooms because of the nature of her business. She saw nothing in Mrs. Byrne and Mrs. Cregan but their obvious inability to help her largely in pay- ing her rent. She said: " I give a full trance readin', with names, dates, an' aU questions answered for a do lar, or a full card readin' for fifty cents. You can't tell much for a quarter." Mrs. Byrne shook her head. Madame Wampa said " Very well," in a tone of haughty resignation. She turned to a booth that had I. THE DEVIL'S DOINGS ui been made of a turkey-red chintz, in one comer of the room and lit a small red lamp and sat down before a little bamboo table. A toy angel, from a ChriBtmas tree hung above her. A stuffed alligator sat up, on its hmd legs beside her - a porcelain bell hung on a red ribbon about its neck -to grin with a cheerful un- cannmess on the rigamaroles of magic. She said: Come ! " Mrs Byrne entered the gipsy tent, and Mrs. Cregan was left alone in the atmosphere of a bespangled past reduced to its lowest terms of imposture. There were Btnngs of Indian com hanging from the ceiling, Chinese coins and rabbits' feet on the walls, a horseshoe wrapped in tmfoil over the door, and a collection of grotesque bno-a-brac on shelves and tables. There were neck- laces of lucky beads for sale, and love charms in the shape of small glass hearts enclosing imitation sham- rocks, and dream books, and manuals of palmistry, and gipsy cards for fortune-telling, and photographs of Madame Wampa in a goigeoua evening dress trimmed with feathers. Over all was a smoky odor of kerosene from an oil heater. Mrs. Cregan looked from side to side with a vaguely worried feeling that it must take a power of dusting and wiping to keep such a clutter of things clean; and this feeling gradually rose into her consciousness above the dull stupefaction of her grief. Madame Wampa, in the chintz tent, recited without expression: "Though you travel east or west, may your luck be the best." She dropped her voice to a ton^ 143 THE DEVIL'S DOINGS le»8 mutter about a "journey," and some papen that were to be signed, and a "false" dark woman who pretended to be Mn. Byrne's friend, but would do her an injury. Mrs. Cregan gat as if she were waiting for her tnm to enter a confessional, her hands folded, her head dropped. She heard Mrs. Byrne whispering hoarsely, but she did not listen. Madame Wampa said, at last, wearily : " Very well. Send her in." She shuffled her cards and sighed. She was pro- fessionally acquainted with many griefs, and she took her toll of them. They meant no more to her than sickness does to a quack. She looked up at Mrs. Cre- gan's entrance almost absent-mindedly. But there was, at once, something go helplessly stricken about the woman's plump despair, go infantile, so touchingly ridiculous, that Madame Wampa even smiled faintly and moved the bamboo table to let Mrs Cregan squeeze into the chair that waited her. She sat down and held out her money in her palm. Madame Wampa took her hand. « I will tell you," she aaid. 1 will see it in your hand." She crossed the palm three times with the coin, and began m the monotonous voice and with the expres- sionless face of the fakir : « You - you 're married. Many years. I see many years. You've not been happy. Monday's your unlucky day. Don't begin nothin' on Monday. You 're thinkin' of takin' a journey — something — some change. It won't end good THE DEVIL'S DOINGS 148 You 'd better not Whatever it i«. There '» a man — a man that hag horsea — that drives horses. I see horses. He'll have an accident I think a runaway — 8 collision. He'll be — hurt Yes. He's old — an old man. Mebbe he '11 die. P'r'aps. He 's a rela- tive — related to you. Beware of animals. One '11 hurt you. You'll never be rich — but comfortable. The best of your life 'a coiaui'. You '11 have your wisL" Mrs. Cregan had drawn back in her chair. Her mouth had loosened. Her hand lay limp on the tablei All her intelligence seemed to have concentrated in her eyee, ic an expression of horrified surprise. She said faintly: " Is 't Cregan ? " Aladame Wampa shrugged one shoulder in her red kimono. "The lines don't say." She blew out the lamp and rose from the table, "That's all. You can't tell much for a quarter. I give a full trance readin', with names, dates an' all questions an- swered — " "God forgi' me," Mrs. Cregan quavered, crossing herself. She staggered out blindly into the room. Mrs. Byrne cried : " What 's wrong with yuh ? " And at that, Mrs. Cregan stampeded to the door in the ponderous panic of a conscience^tricken elephant — running to find a place where she might get down on her knees. Cregan! It was himself 1 ItwasDinny! Killed, maybe! Maybe, at this blessed minute, he was lying in a hospital, and the surgeons cuttmg him up with their little knives. God forgive us ! She had blasphemed against the church and Father Dumphy; 144 THE DEVIL'S DOINGS •nd ihe miMt pray. Por hemlf and for Cre.M. Dinnyl She had wished him dead 1 "" "' ^"«'"- Mrfc Bjrme tugged at her cape. "Whi.tl Whiatl What '.come over yuh, woman? What i. it f" -It 'g Dmny t " That waa all that could be had out of her. Even when , he reached her home again, .nd M«. BjZ followed her in, afraid of leaving the frightened womTn a one e«t she " blab "the wholeTcret toihe first ^^^ she had gathered up the broken diahea and propped the b«>ke^ chair against the wall, as franticall'Ts^f Jl were try.^g to conceal the evidence of a crL Then «he sank down on a sofa ani burst into tears. « S poorcreature!" she wept. " The poor ol' ml^I " Mrs. Byrne folded her arms. « Manr Cregan " she said, ,n hoarse disgust, " when yuh 've donT^IJwn ! yah. Jfo one II believe yuh. No one! An' if yuh don want somethin' turrible to happen, yuh '11 C no*.n', but yuh '11 behave yerself likeTde^rm rriS tr X %£ l'''^'''\^-' -y ^- prayers a^fnl troubla That woman with the cards says whatever th' old Nick puts into her head to say." M« P '"^'"i '"'.^ = " ®^« ^'''^ " in me hand ! " verTl;?^™.' I"*"" '"'■''" "P ^^' " prophetess. « Dip ■Now, then. Behave yerself." TUE DEVIL'S DOINGS 146 "I WM wishin' it I" ,he wailed. " T „.. • i.- , aometliin' 'd hapnen to h!« . i , " '^"'"° own home I ''^ " ^ ''*^'» "•*> '«* ^»> in «' did far yer'll^rVuh^r '"/''''" *'"" ^•"' Cr«gan, but' yuh 'v7w. ^ '^*' ""'"'«•"• ^"■ Jier wo J„"' "" '" '""" "''-' -' ^l' '» be a hap- «pa«'d?J^/- ^-■"■"^-Croganwept,"ifhe', " ^*'^' '««'." Mrs. Byrne said drily " H« 'ii k« spared to yuh." ^' ^* " ^e And he has been spared to her At fir.t i.. he was proud of his conquest ^ ' """^ de^'s doin's," she said to Mrs. Byle ^ "" ^''^ Ue had a hand in it, no doubt " Mrs T?^„ -.th her. « An' how 's'cr^an ? Wrff?' T1 r^?^:. offl* 1^ Ti'-'^ Go;di;erto Ve^ .^ ''' luJi re off early to choorch, ag-jn." "»•••. \- THE HIEED MAN THE HIRED MAN rpHE tmy room, in which they sat, looked as much J. as anything like an undertaker's parlor. It was paneled m coffin woods, upholstered in black leather, with mirrors imimnerable and shining nickle fittings head, the three men were as silent as mourners, staring solemnly, with that expression of decent dejection which he Anglo-Saxon wears when he has to listen to music in silence, or smoke among strangers who do not force ^TeZTf' ■ ""^^^ **"" "^""^^'^ * """'^y blackness streamed by, m a torrent and a turmoil that rocked and roared unceasingly. They were in the smoking-<;ompartment of a Pull- man car. There entered a middle-aged man in a peaked outmg^ap that looked absurdly boyish above hi big, unburnt face. The others watched him blow into th^ stem of a bnar pipe, his cheeks puffed out, his eyes shifting from one to the next When the pipe whistL on a high clear note, he nodded his satisfaction to the Whole party and sat down among them. « The frost plays the devil with the roadbeds in this countiy " he md^m a burly voice that filled the whole compart- 14> 160 THE HIRED MAN The young man beside him was the first to dear his throat and reply. He was prematurely bald and spec- tacled. He had the loose-laced shoes and woolen socks of a brain worker. And it was plain, before the con- versation went very far, that he was learned in the law. The others, one by one, added their voices to the discus- sion as the newcomer drew them out with a question or a remark which his eyes directed. In ten minutes they were all in conversational attitudes, talking or listen- ing; and the compartment looked like the smoking-room of a club. Railroad legislation, "trust-busting," overcapitaliza- tion, the labor problem — these were the topics they dis- cussed. The bald young man defended the Constitu- tion and the Supreme Court, and deplored the lack of respect for the law in a republic where the law was the only king. In a wicker chair confronting him, a heavy- shouldered traveler, speaking with a cigar in his mouth and frowning at the signet ring which he turned and turned on his finger, voiced the exasperation of the business man, persecuted by lawyers and politicians, and unable to get employees who were "worth their salt." The third man lolled back with an ankle on his knee, his stogie uptilted almost to the brim of the derby that was slanted down over his eyes. He interjected into the argument the smoking-room stories of a " drum- mer," each prefaced with a curt laugh and continued nonchalantly between puffs. The newcomer spoke of " Labor " with the sympathy of one who worked among laborers, in the open air, THE HIRED MAN isi without gloves. He confessed that he was a oivi, en- gineer. And to make a point in hi» diacuaaion h , asked permission to tell a story — a long one — about a " hired man." The drummer said : " Go ahead." The business man glanced at his watch instinctively. The lawyer lit a cigar, with an air of exceeding his prescribed allowance, and nodded like a judge. n The engineer relit his pipe. " I had a man named Larsen working under me once," he said. " He was foreman of one of the shifts of laborers — and a laborer himself. " We were building an intake tunnel for the water- works of a town on Lake Erie. " I don't want to be more explicit than that For one thing, there's a suit about it, between the con- tractors and the city, still on in the courts." He nodded to the lawyer over his pipe. " I had to sink a shaft just inside the island that protected the harbor from the lake. Then, from the foot of that shaft, I was to tunnel in one direction out under i!ti^ island to the lake, and in the opposite direc- tion back under the harbor to the city, so as to connect the lake with the pumping^tation on the mainland. They had been using, before this, a big steel intake pipe laid along the bottom of the harbor, but it kept leaking at the joints, taking in sewage from the bay, and keeping the people boiling their drinking-water. 152 THE HIRED MAN " Never mind that. "The point is: we'd been having as much trouble putting down that shaft as if it had been another Simplon tunnel. There 'd been an error in the City Engineei's specifications. His blue-prints, furnished us when we were bidding on the contract, showed a bot- tom of clay and gravel. We found quicksand when we got to work. And that makes all the difference to an engineer that it does to a builder. "You know what a cofferdam is? — a fouMided dam. You sink your shaft inside it, after you've pumped out the water enclosed by the dam. " Well, an ordinary cofferdam, made of wooden piles and timber sheeting, packed with clay, won't hold out water over a quicksand, because it comes in, through the sand, under the piling, as fast as you pump it out. We'd built an ordinary cofferdam. And when that did n't hold, we strengthened it with another outside of It Then we put on extra pumps and kept them going until the quicksand shifted under the piling and wrecked our three months' work. After that, we de- cided to use a caisson. " A caisson "— he illustrated it with his hands — " is properly a steel tube that 's sunk in sections to make a metal well for the men to dig in. It 's usually fitted with an air-lock and supplied with compressed air. As if the caisson were a diving-bell sunken in the earth — don't you know ? The air in it keeps out the water, and the metal holds up the sand. THE HIRED MAN 153 The com- I could n't use compresged air on the job pany would n't stand for the expense. I want to hurry over these professional details .ou u^d^rstand. but I can't very weS tell the sto^^S sections tn^I,^ f "?"'""' "'"' ^^''^ "^^^ of the bin toK !"■• "f ^'"'"^ '^' '"^« '" Po^tio'' and wit dmi-l'^f ' "'' '""'• ^y '*« own weight. It went down thirty feet, and there the suction held it We loaded U with a deck of heavy tn.bers and" hunt S tons of ironj and it sank four f«,t further before't topped again. Then we pumped the water out oTi and began to dig out the sand to see if we could lowS ^e caisson by relieving the suction on the inside. TOen o^th^ illr ?7 *"^°*^ '^'' ^^ q-ksand ro^ UP thri,i^^ T "^ '"''''' '^^ *^«y ^^ *o scramble up thf, ladders to save their lives Anv „,,» . i7 that if WB Iront «« ♦ 1 • ; y °°® ^'o'^ld see I at It we kept on taking out the sand as it rose we 'd ause another shifting under the foundations ^f he cofferdam and wreck the whole work again Elides W r^orted that his men were afrfd t; ^^2 to dig, ^use two of them had been caughTirthT quicksand and nearly lost 8« wo a . , ^ ^7 '° *^e try dynamite in the ^oe'f the caTll -Sj'''* ^ '' " You see, by that time, we 'd been working for five 164 THE HIBED MAN ! 4 ■ months. We'd been two month* building our fiwt cofFerdam, and another month strengthening it with our second. It had taken us three weeks to get the caisson placed, and we'd been five weeks sinking it. We 'd driven our first piles through floe ice — dancing on the decks of our tugs to keep our feet warm — and now it was August. We 'd worked in sleet, in driv- ing rain, in the drizzle of spring and the heat of mid- summer. We 'd fought the northeast storms that ba^ tered the walls of our dam and the quicksand that shifted and undermined them. One of my men had fallen into the shaft and broken his neck Another had had his foot crushed under a steel plat* One of the boilers in the powerhouse had blown out. M7 pumps had clogged with sand. My steam-pipes had burst. My firemen had come to work drunk. Our materials had been delayed. Even my little bedroom, in the shack that served as an ofiSce, on an angle of the cofferdam, had taken fir^ and my oilskins and such had been burned. " And Larsen had been sharing all these anxietiee disappointments — delays — with a sympathy that you could n't help smiling at. Whenever he sat with me, of an evening, in my bedroom over the office, he 'd take his chair to the window and keep one eye on the work outside. He arrived in the morning in the bows of the company's tug, and he left, at night, on the stem. He seemed to be living with his back to the outer world and his face to the shaft " I said to the company's superintendent, one day: THE HIBED MAN 155 'larwn watoheg that Bhaft a. if he thought Bome one was trying to steal it.' .u "7''* *"P*""'«'«lent had risen from the ranks of the sandhogs • himself, and he had the sort of practical nund that w n't interested in character study. He said , ■Inat s what Larson's paid for!' "I wondered whether that was the whole explana- tion of Larsen. It wasn't easy to decide anything about him. He'd been a sailor, and he had all t^ patience, and resourcefulness, and sort of silent endur- ance -don't you know? -that the sea gets into a man. He was habitually silent. "Well we were still sinking the caisson with dyna- mite-dropping it a foot or so at a time -when old Nolan, the head of the company, came to see for him- self what was delaying us. He looked over the situa- tion, and cursed the City Engineer for reporting clay and gravel where there was quicksand, and ours^ our own men for not discovering the truth when they made their bonngs. He cursed the slowness and difficulty of the operations, and the consequent loss of profits on the contract And he ended by ordering us to use more dynamite m a charge. " I objected, of course, that the dynamite might split tne caisson. ^ J^f"^ """ " """^ '^"'^ ""^ ^tl' ^^ ™ typical contractor's — the attitude of a man who sees in an engineering operation only the question of profit or loss, and who 's willing to stake everything with a chance of losing it. But I 'd seen Nolan succeed by means that most of your academic engineers would be afraid to use, and I was n't contemptuous of his failure with the dynamite. I looked around for Larsen. " That was where I got my first light on Larsen. I found him scowling after the tug that was carrying Nolan back to the city. His big fista swung down at his thighs, like knotted clubs. 'What does he want to come here for — buttin' into this ? ' he said. ' We near had her! We near had her I He thinks because he owns this business — ' " And so forth. " I could see that it was n't any personal feeling of loyalty to Nolan that had kept him faithful. I still had to find out whether it was his wages — or the prospect of better wages. " Are you interested ? Does this bore you ? " They answered, with various degrees of politeness: " Not at all. Go on. Go ahead« anyway." THE HIBED MAN 157 m He refilled hi. pipe. " We went to work again. We got a lot of .teel piling that would hold outlui^L^nd •nd we aank a fence of interlocking .teel p^Lin a juare, indde the wooden cofferdam'and bolS't^^it dam of the Ban.e .ort of .teel pile., fitting them, knuckL to hub, m a circle around the broken e^lson. And by to rook bottom. Under.tand? But the top of that circular dam was nineteen feet below the tSp of the TdT T r^; ''' «^ ^"'^ ^ ^ - 'ed niS «>^d day. I took the night shift, with Larsen under ''We had to dig out the broken caisson. It wag a. ticklish a job as you '11 meet with in the oHuiary nm of work. It was one of those bit. tJat ^ake an «,gineer's life so_.o interesting to hZ. I would n't interest you any more than a doctor's alun of a surgical oper , ion. ""»uni; "However, we got it done -or almost And one morning after the day shift had taken over the work I congratulated larsen on it. I said that Nolan olghtto give him a raise of wages. Of course, I was tS L find out how he felt about the wages. "7ing to "He was sitting at my bedroom window, waitine for the tug to start back to the city. He slept'arhomf T 1S» THE HIKED MAN Ik. i bad my boote off, Mtting on the side of my bed, «in«H«g I said: " * Nolan ought to give yon a raiie of wage* on the strength of this.' " Larsen replied: ' No. He won't raise no wage* onto me.' " I asked him whether he did n't think he was worth more than he got He opened his hands and locked at the pahns of them. ' It 's the brains that gets paid,' he said. ' I got a boy. He goes to school ... No. Not ma' " I can't give you the tone, or the words exactly. But they expressed the sort of tragedy of his own labor — don't you know ? — and the hope that made him am- bitious for the boy. He said he was making an en- gineer of him. " That was lesson number two for me. I got my next one next night." The business man interrupted : " You would n't call him typical, would you I " The engineer answered : " I don't know. Wait till I tell you the rest " I slept till ten o'clock that next morning, and then I dressed to go into the city — to arrange for a supply of stone and cement that would soon be needed — and this business kept me on my feet aU day. At nightfall I boarded the company's tug again, intending to have a look at the shaft and then turn the work over to Larsen and have a sleep. When I arrived I found Larsen struggling with a clogged pump at the foot of the shaft THE HIBED MAN 150 "The w«ter wu rising. It roM so tut that the pump wu drowned before it could be started again. Wf turned the steam on the big duplex, up above; hilt th 1, niex, waiting idle, had n't been kept in readi- ir^D. S. „., one had neglected it. It did n't answer t'lo throitlc I threw off my coat and jumped down or, the nlHtf,.,in where it had been planted, at the foot c/ U.0 « ,u(.re dam, fifteen feet below the level of the ui.tp- -.vater — and found the suction buried in the 9i.iid. r called to Larsen to lift it out with a derrick. - lui La:<;,)n, running about in the half light, like a gorilla with his long arms, slung the tackle and worked the winch and cleared the suction. " The mf.n at the shaft reported that the watrr was rising in a steady flow. "W.I threw the steam into the duplex aj, :n. Tt did n't lift I saw there was something wrong in the cylinder. When Larsen and I got the cylinder head off, we found the ring of the piston broken. It was the work of hours to mend it, and the water was rising at the rate of an inch and a half a minute. " Well — not to bore you with exciting details — be- fore we had repaired that piston, the water was up to our waists. While we were replacing the cylinder head nd setting the valves, it came up to our armpits. We worked at the nuts and bolts until the water reached our chins. We couldn't finisL I had to trust what few nuts I could get on to hold the head. And I had to drag Larsen out by the collar. " When we pulled the throttle on the pump, it 160 THE HIRED MAN could n't make the stroke. It was choked with con- densed steam. And Larsen groaned as if he were watch- ing a deathbed. " However, it got to work after a little and began to lift. I felt mighty grateful to Larsen. I took it that if he had n't been working, this way, out of any loyalty to Man — or with any hope of getting a raise of wages — It must be that he had some sort of affectionate in- terest in me and my success witi the job. And when we were drying out our clothes together, in front of one of the furnaces, I tried to express my gratitude, you know. "^ "He took it in silenoa He kept going out, every now and then, to look at the water in the shaft, in a 801 : of angry bewilderment that ignored me altogether I tried to jolly him out of his bad mood, by telling him about an engineer who got his back up at things, that way -and lost a leg before he regained his temper. Larsen did n't wait to hear about it. He simply walked back to his pumps without paying any attention to me whatever. And I was wise enough to see that he had no more personal loyalty for me than he had for Nolan. " That was lesson number three. " I 'm nearly done now. Just a minuta " When the day shift arrived, I was ' cross-eyed ' with lack of sleep, but the square dam was empty and the pumps were beginning to draw water from the shaft Itself. I took a final look around, and warned the superintendent to watch the wooden cofferdam, because THE HIRED MAN m • strong wind had been blowing from the northeast, and the wa.vw were working at the outer sheeting. I told Larsen that he had better come along and get a snooze, but he looked up, like a sailor, at the storm in the sky. and shook his head. And I left him. "As I was going into the office, I saw a company tug oommg up, with Nolan in the bows. 1 was too tired to meet him. I told one of the men to call me if anything went wrong - and climbed up to my bunkroom. I fell He looked for a long time at his pipe. It was black out He had been holding it, forgotten, at his lips. I heard, afterward, how it happened. The waves caufod a shifting of the sand on the eastern front of the dam, and loosened the piles, and spread the sheeting - wid the water began to pour in on the square steel dam The men were ordered up from the shaft, and they ran with timbers and shovels to throw clay into the hole and brace the planking; and Larsen and the shift worked like mad. It was no use. The waves sucked out the clay faster than it could be shoveled in, and the dam ]ust sank under their feet. When the inner sheeting began to give way, Larsen shouted for timbers to rein- force it. And when the men ran for beams and planks he was just crazy enough to brace himself between the wooden sheeting and the steel dam — his feet against the one, his shoulders against the other — to try to hold the planking until the men could come to his aid " I saw him there. The row had wakened me, urd I ran to the window. A big wave struck into the breach m in THE HIRED MAN behind him and spurted over him, and I yelled to him to get out of that It was too late. The wooden dam seemed to <^)en and sink as if there was an earthquake. And then, that side of the steel dam — loosened with the piles it was bolted to — fell inward like a big fence. " Larsen went under." He made a gesture of apology for the emotion that had olonded his voice, " I swung over the window-sill and struck the water at the same time as one of the men. We caught Larsen as he came up, and we dragged him out I saw he could n't stand. His legs were all sort of twisted. He looked down at them as if he was surprised to see them there. . . . I b«g your pardon . . . You see, his back was broken. He 'd held him- self braced between the timbers and the steel until his spine cracked." He blew his nose hastily. The others did Mt look at him, " He did n't pay any attentkw to old Nolan'a smw- ance that he and his family would be ' look«d after.' He did n't pay any attention to me. AH he said w» — when they were carrying him aboard Ae «»g: ' e^'» all gone, this tint* ' - speaking of tke dam." He was silent The business man challenged him : " W«ll i " " WeU ! " he cried, suddenly, " we 're all hii»4 mea, are n't we ? Do / work the way I do, for Boney ^ne, or out of any loyalty to anybody ? Doea a ««ier, or a clergyman, or a doctor, or an artist? Does even a man like Larsen ? Is the world really run by wages — THE HIEED MAN 168 by hire — or by any feudal-system sort of loyalty ! Is it? Or is it the joy of the work, of the game, that makes us break our backs in it ? You asked me whether I thought Larsen typical I tell you ' Yes ! Yes 1 A thousand times yes 1 ' We could get employees * worth their salt ' if we had work to give them that was worth its salt. We appropriate all the joy of the work, all the interest of the achievement, and we leave them nothing but the tasteless labor." The lawyer interrupted : " Are you arguing for so- cialism ? " The engineer turned to him, surprised. "Social- ism ? I don't know. I never hive time to re«d up ahoTit those thingi. I 'm teuing you what I 've seen; «h^ 'b alL" '!l THE HONEYMOON FLAT THE HONEYMOON FIAT THE ferry-house clock, at the foot of Christopher Street, marked fifteen minutes past five; and all the trucks of the wholesale district were hurrying in, over the paving-stones of the side streets, to the wide esplanade of asphalt that lies along this stretch of the New York water-front They kept coming, like the rout of a oommissariat, with noise and confusion, clattering over the uneven pavements and bumping across the car tracks. Already hundreds of them, their empty shafts thrown up before them like stiff arms, supplicated the sunset in long rows; and down the passageways between them, the drivers, on the backs of their horses, raced to the board- ing stables like farm-boys free for the night Carney was late. He had hoped to have his team in their stalls by five o'clock, but his last delivery of packing-cases had not been taken off his hands until ten minutes past five. Now he came down Christopher Street like a Roman chariot-racer, standing behind the high seat of his double truck, shaken to the ears with the jarring of the axles, his huge Clydesdales pounding *long as if to break their hoofs. 167 168 THE HONEYMOON FLAT He turned in on the wphalt at fnU speed, and wheeled with the recklessness of a battery going into action; and before the team could catch breath, he had un- hitched the tugs, and freed the pole, and vaulted to Sharkey's" back, and set o£F at a gallop to the sta- bles. He hoped to be married that night. At least, there was a possibility that he might be. And his bride-elect would leave Sturm & Bergman's display room st six. She might wait for him, and she might not It was already half-past five when he hurried into a watei-front saloon to get a bundle of clothes that he had left with the barkeeper that morning; and he strug- gled m the little washroom there — fighting with starched linen and twisted suspenders — to get himself into his wedding garments. It was a hot August eve- mng. His fingers were slippery with perspiration. His neck was swelled with blood. He strangled in his efforts to fasten his celluloid collar. And every time that he paused to take breath, ho wiped his forehead on his shirt-sleeve and sighod hard. He ran for a street-car with his coat over his arm pawing at the back of his necktie in an attempt to catch It under his collar-button. The conductor pulled him to the platform as the car started with a jerk. " Wha' 's the time ? " )io gasped. The conductor thrust him aside. " Quart' t' six." He clung to the brass hand-rail weakly. He had had no food since breakfast, except a glass of beer and some free-lunch biscuits. His legs wer» aching from I 1^ THE HONEYMOON FLAT 169 the vibration of the truck. He swayed with the motion of the car; and every now and then, be blinked like a mm in a drop-elevator when the cage floor leaves his feet. Not so the lady. She was a cloak model, " 36 figure," in Sturm & Bergman's; and she had been parading all day, in various winter furs and jackets, before the critical eyes of wholesale buyers from out of town. She had walked up and down interminably, as graceful as a drawing-room belle, but as indifferent as a dummy. One of the younger buyers, admiring the stately crea- ture in her " princess " gown of black brilliantine that fitted her like a mold, asked her, with an air of gal- lantry, whether she did not ever tire. She lowered a supercilious stare on him, and said " Uh ? " The sales- man interposed hastily : " Now here 's one of our new- est designs — " At six o'clock, she turned from the window where she had been idle, and went to the dressing-rooms to put off her " harness " and clothe herself for the street. She did not huny. The younger girls giggled and chattered around her, arraying themselves in open-work finery and picture hate. She was the last to leave. Her face had lost its work-hour heaviness and flushed with the faintest twinkle of excitement. It returned to affected indifference when she saw Carney across the street. They met, as if by accident, at the comer. " Well ? " she said. He reached his hat-brim awkwardly, his coat pinch- ing him under the arms. " How yuh been ? " 170 THE HONEYMOON FLAT "Fin*. How 're you?" "A' right" Carney n.ualljr relapted into • Mtiafled ailenoe u •oon as they met; and she, to-night, instead of making conversation for him, looked straight before her, with an air of saying: "Go on, now. I Ve helped you all I intend to. You '11 have to do this by yourself." He looked puzzled, as if he did not know how to he- pn. They walked up Broadway, jostled by the crowds that poured from the shops and the office buildings. ;WTien they came to Astor Place, she turned east toward 1 bird Avenue, as if she were going home. " Hoi' on." he said. " Ain't yuh — " " Ain't I what ? " He hitched up his neck in his tight coUar. " Ain't yuh — goin' to have somethin' t' eat f " She asked merely : " Where '11 we go f " " What 's the matter with Dinkev's f " "All right" ' And they went along again, in silence. It was a week now since she had met Carney, one midday, as she was going out to her luncheon and he was delivering a load of goods to the freight elevator of Stum & Bergman's. She had recognized him at once, by the scar on his upper lip, and remembered the day she had given him that wound, accidentally. (She had been breaking up a box for her mother's firing, and the head had slipped o£F the hatchet and struck him in the mouth.) He had been little Philly Carney then, going to school; and she had been " Clare" Walsh, carrying THE HONEYMOON FLAT J7i pared, for " M.dan.c Oilliga„ " over on Ninth Street. Tb.t wa. fifteen yean, ago. They had been neigh- bor, ,n Cherry Hill's " Dublin Row " at the time. Bnt when her widowed mother died, >ho revolted against the •Mvery of her apprenticeship to the dreggmaker. and went on the stage as a chorus-girl for three contemptu- ous years. The vanities of the theater had sickened her sturdy independence; she had returned to the work- mg world as a shop-girl, and accepted a better position as a cloak model. When Carney met her, she was adrift on the life of fr^T^,"' f "'"* °* ii>ambitiou8 isolation, working -tohdly, lonely among the younger girls with whom she had no sympathy, and bniskly repelling any flippant advances from the men. She had lost track of all her girlhood acquaintances. " Dublin Bow » had long since been torn down. When she saw Carney with hi7truck, It was like meeting an old friend in a world of stran- gers. And he had accepted her, as an old friend, with the ■ympathetio interest of old friendship in all that had happened to her in the interval of absence. He had told her nothing about himself - except that he had worked hard and saved his money, having no one de- pendent on him. " Say," she asked him, at last, " why did n t you get married ? " '' Never met the right girl," he said. I do r^"'" ^^ ^''^^^' *^™^'^ ^^ ^'' stolidity, " how 'd He looked at her. " Fina Will yuh do it ? " •••aoeOfY IBOIUTION TKT CHAtT (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 21 ^ APPLIED IM/1GE In ^5*^ 1653 Cost Main StrMt S r.S RochMter, N*w York 14609 USA •.^^ ("6) 482 - 0300 - Phon« ^S (^'6) 288-5989 -Fax V . 1^ 172 THE HONEYMOON FLAT " Sure," she laughed. They were parting at her door. " A' right," he said. " See yuh to-morrah night." And here was " to-morrah night ! " When they arrived at Dinkey's, she sat down, to look over the greasy bill of fare, her arms on the little table. It was a basement restaurant that offered a "regular" dinner for fifty cents. There were ants in the sugar-bowl and gravy stains in the salt-cellars. " I could eat a horse," she said. He turned to the unshaven waiter, absent-mindedly. " Same fer me." When he stopped laughing with her at his mistake, he was more at ease with the situation. "Well, an' that 's no joke," he said, as soon as the waiter had left them, to bring soup. She patted her back hair, smiling at him with the flirtatious air that is proper to a caf6 dinner. He looked at her as if the sparkle in her face were so brilliant that it dazzled him to any defect of beauty in her. He weighed his fork in his big fingers. " Say," he asked, " did yuh mean that, las' night ? " " Mean what ? " " You know." She tried to laugh. " Did you? " " I seen Father Dumphy this afternoon." " You did! " Her lips still held the wrinkles of her smile, but her eyes, fixed on him, kept twitching in and THE HONEYMOON FLAT 173 widening out in an alternation of incredulity and hope. " I thought yuh — I tol' 'em we 'd be aroun' to see 'm t night — if yuh 'd come." Her gaae searched his face like a light that took him full in the eyes and confused him. The waiter shuffled up with their soup and interrupted them. Car- ney in his embarrassment, gulped a steaming spoonful and burned his throat. He felt her smile on him and met It with a twisted mouth. " Did — did yuh mean it 2 " he insisted. She answered, addressing her plate : " I guess so — if you did." When she looked up, she saw him with another seald- mg mouthful at his lips, and she cried : « You '11 bum yourself I " He spilled it into the plate. He wiped the splatter from his coat-front with his table napkin and mopped his forehead. " Qeel " he said. " Fish ? " the waiter asked, behind her. "Yep," she answered. "Fish." And she spoke ir the voice of a woman who was henceforth to do the or- dering for two. She had the feminine ability to take command of a sentimental situation, and Carney evidently had the masculine inability to do anything of the sort She continued in chaige of the dinner because he ate as if he did not know what he was putting in his mouth If she wondered what was going on in his mind, she did not ask him. At one moment, he devoured his food ; at the next, he sat with meat impaled on the tines of his fork ^1 174 THE HONEYMOON FLAT tt^r f rT i" """*'' ^"^ '*' '"'» -''«« ^he "poke to hm., he listened amili^g vaguely, without any ap- parent coinprehension. Several times, when she wfs busy with her food, she felt his eyes on her, L^LgT and she did not raise her own to meet them. She hai TVhir 'f'.''''^'^''«°tJ'ey had finished. " I said 1 (i be there at eight — about." tl2lkT^''''T^ ^" ^" *''^''« t° ^^^ «P at it through her eyebrows. " jere?" " Father Dumphy's." . "All right." She rose, with the manner of accem- ing a dare, nonchalantlv. " Yo„ Wt», .u ^^ firgj). •'• ^°" "^tter pay the waiter He grinned. " I forgot." pJ^'l^.^i.'"^ ^"'^"'^ "^"'^ '^'^ i^i' «« she discov- Z^ieS" Shf ""' tT *'^ ^^""^ ^*^P« '>f *••« <"^-^, ^W™ « n u°''' ''"«""« "'^'i exasperated You re a peach," sb, said. "How'd you think we could get married without a ring " He shook his head, blissfully unashamed. It 8 bad luck," she said. "Besides, that ain't a wdd,ng nng at all." She stretched o;* her &2 with his huge seal-ring on it *^ " ?5 m' ^H"^' " <«-« ««' get one." " Ifo. Neither do I. Put on your hat." ..♦5^^'*^ They walked to the comer. He hesi- tated there, fumbling in his pockets THE HONEYMOON FLAT 175 "WeU?"ghe asked, " Where — where 're we goin' to ? " "Whatl" " WeU, I — I did n't know whether yuh meant it," he said, "An' I didn't n^e no- My place amt fit- It took all the money I had to pay him. " Well, Phil Carney," she cried, " If you » ■ the He did not deny it. He looked around, troubled, at the passers-by, " What 're you going to do ? " she demanded. He had money in the savings-bank, but that was out of reach Ull morning. He had a brother in Brooklyn, but he and his brother were not on very friendly terms. He might borrow somewhere — enough for one night in a hotel, anyway — perhaps from Mrs, Kohn, from whom he rented his room, or from his friend the bai- keeper with whom he had left his clothes. But those two were at opposite ends of the town ; and while he was trymg to decide to which he should apply, she walked out into the road to meet an approaching street-car. Where yuh goin' J " " I 'm going back to my room," she said disgustedly, lou can go where you like," " Well, say," he protested. " Well say," she mocked him. " The nest time you ask a girl to get married, you 'd better have some place to take her to, I can't live in the streets, can II " That silenced him. He stood beside the car step. 17« THE HONEYMOOK FLAT " Good night," she said. undecided, as she got aboard. " I '11 see you to-morrow." th«?, T'S '^*^' "^'^^^^ °* '^ «'^««' - watching the car chmb the slope of the avenue-until a moving van almost ran him down. The shouts of the dr:'^r ent h.m back to the sidewalk. The movement of the dmiir" '"™' ''" """'• ^^ ''''''' -"' Sttr!^f\^^ ?°" '"'* *'' '^' f°°* °f Christopher !f ^If ,r ^T'"^ °"* "' *'^« »''-"- °f the army of trucks bke a deserter returned to his camp. His eel uToM T, °"" °'" "^ '^'^ ' '^« *°™ «« 's of hi celluloid collpr were protruding under his chin; he car^ r ed h.s coat over one shoulder. He stepped do^n heav- ily mto the gutter and stumbled across^e «,ad w«. t "^''*'„^'f '" ^^ "'"-wered the challenge of the watchman. " I 'm goin' to sleep in the cart." ni like most New York truckmen, Carney owned his own team and wagon ; but unlike most of them,Te hired out b,. the day, mstead of by the week - for he had Z te ir W T"-'""""*' "''•^ '^^ -^J'^'l *° reserve ZT/ "rf'^'^r^'^^^y i«edin winter, or too dan- So when he woke next morning, he was under no neces- sity of asking leave of absence for the day I«ng before the other drivers had arrived at their stables, he was hitching up. And by the time the wate" THE HONEYMOON FLAT 177 front had wakened to the day's work, he was driving up and down the cross streets of the East Side, reading notices of flats to let. The janitors were putting out their ashK^ans. He hailed them from his high seat with How much 're yer rooms?" Then, with the price m his eye, he « sized up " the front of the building, shook his head, and drove on. He wanted something new; no "second-hand" flats for him. He did not intend to pay more than fifteen dollars a month rent; and he did not wish more than lour or nve rooms. It was eight o'clock before he came on the row of apartment houses that are known to the neighborhood of Second Avenue and Twelfth Street as " The Honey- moon Flats ''; but it did not take him ten minutes to decj^e that he had found his home. The last of the buildings had just been opened for occupancy; it was m red brick striped with white-stone facings; there was 8 shimng brass hand-rail down the front steps; the halls were gay with crimson burlaps; and on the fifth floor Bigns of red, green, and gold, to rent for twenty dollars a month. The fact that the houses were called « The Honey- moon Rats " because none but inexperienced housekeep- ei^ would try to live in them, was not known to Carney^ They were unheated, except by ga^grates; but he was not one to thmk of heating arrangements in midsummer, and the grat^ were bronzed and glittering. There were cracks around the window frames large enough to put a 178 THE HO 7EYM00N FLAT |l- ' » flfger «, had he looked for them -but he did not. He saw ga«,l,er8 as resplendent as the most gorgeous he had ever seen m a saloon; and they hung from^il- »gs that were bright with squirt-brush de«,rations of bathroom shone like a plumber's window display ^^Carney noddod. «'S aU righV he said. «'S .11 b«fw1* ^'71""^ ■" " " ^'P**^'*" '^^ <'«>'« off to Us breakfast; but he went roundabout, by way of Third Avenue and Canal Street, slowly, 'on'lhe fookouttr furniture stores. When he came to one with a gold sign S." h?: '? J'^^'-'-EveiTthing for Z^Z^ T^ p r ^nt. off for cash. One dollar opens an ao^ h^l- ?'^\^.'!*^<=«.'"^«eringitover. Then tlS 7 ^^ ^"'■"^ ^'^'^'^^'^'y "^^ ">"1^ down the^ street with as much noise as a tally-ho «ThS;L?;eS!^ as he swnng the comer. sIL!^^^T^ *'°' ^' ""^ ^'^^ "* Mittelbaum & ScWs "Furniture Emporium." On the fourth .1' i "fl'™«« '°'«"^r had screened off four kX T ^•^.'fP'^"* '^ P"H a bedroom^^ STh r ," •^r"^-'~«'- ^d when Carney en- Sf ,f P'T'o'-' ''^tween pea-green portieres beautiful with yellow ball-fringe, he took off hfs hat. Four rS red "damask" chair, and a sofa were arrangi ab^J the walls; a square "parlor" table, as big T. SZ THE HONEYMOON FLAT 179 board, stood in the exact center of the room on thi; exact center of an « Oriental " rug that waa made of a yard of cheap carpet with a border sewn on it; and in the exact center of the table, a very small lamp supported a very largo globe-shade that waa decorated like a dyed Easter egg. A " pier mirror of French glass » distorted reflections from the wall opposite the doorway. A chromo on a bamboo easel stood before a pair of lace curtains that were hung to represent a window. Everything waa bnlhant with varnish, rich with soroll-saw carving, up- holstered in imitation plushes and ball-fringe. Carney looked around him in awed silence; and when the sales- :^an turned his back to lead the way into the bedroom, the big truckman furtively smoothed his hair. That bedroom -from its "golden oak dressing-case and wash-stand" to its "elegant, brass-trimmed, steel, enameled bed "-was luxuriously complete. In the dimng-room, an "oak" table was set with "decorated Ei^lish dishes, as thick as quick-lunch china. An elegant sewing-machine with a five-year guarantee" stood at the foot of a puffy leather couch. There were forty pieces of tinware in the kitchen, a "goiden oak " refrigerator, ten yards of oilcloth -« everything to make home comfortable and a woman happy." Carney said, with a heavy affectation of nonchalance- I guess this '11 do." He went down into his bulging trousers pocket for the roll of bills he had drawn from the bank. " I got my truck outside. I 'U jus' take the stuff along with me." ISO THE HONEYMOON FLAT There were difficulties, but he overcame them all. Ao carpets went with the $129 flat; he paid ejtra for them and got a superb design of yellow flowers, as big as pumpkins, on a flaming scarlet ground. There was a cotton-batting "do^m comfortable" on the bed but no sheets or blankets; he bought them wholesale ou the lower floors. If there was anything he seemed likely to forget, the salesman tactfully reminded him He hired Mittelbaum & Schwarz's official carpet-layer to help him move in; and having paid $25 on account and signed an agreement to pay $2 a week thereafter, he took his center-table in one hand and his parlor lamp in the other and led a procession of employees with chairs, tables, pillows, and tinware to his truck. " Shake yerselves, now, boys," he said. " I ain't got all day on this job." They shook themselves. By midday, the parlor car- pet was laid; a green matting was down in the dining^ room; the ten yards of oilcloth adorned the kitchen; and Carney, standing in the disorder of the bedroom where all the furniture was piled, smiled around him on the beginnings of his happiness — and felt hungry. It reminded him that his 1»am had not been fed. He was alone in his own house all afternoon, puttimr things to rights. The front room was easily arranged because he remembered exactly how it had been set up m the furniture store; but the bedroom gave him a bad half-hour. The side pieces of the bed did not fit the ends; the brass baU-trimmings came off in his impa- tient grip ; the pillows would not go into their slips until Jiil THE HONEYMOON FLAT 181 he took them betwet^ big knees and drew the cases on thorn like stockings. The pillow-shams he spread on the wash-stand and dressing-table. By four o'clock he had the forty pieces of tinware arranged on hooks around the kitchen, and the agate- ware kettle, filled with water, set on the gas-stove. It w 4 then he found that there was no gas in the pipes ; bu 'le janitor, frantically summoned, led him to the meter in the bathroom — a " quarter-in-the-slot " tene- ment-house meter — made change of a dollar for him, and showed him how to put his money in. The rest was a matter of hanging the ^.-urtains and the chromos in the front room. Carney shook his head doubtfully at one of the latter — a picture of a yellow horse dragging a sleigh-load of wood up a forest road in a snow-storm. " Dam mut," he said. " He 'd ought t' Ve had a team fer that haul." But the crowning audacity of his day was the pur- chase of a delicatessen dinner — cold chicken, sweet pickles, potato salad, S-viss cheese, bologna, rye bread, a wooden plate of butter, and four bottles of imported English ale. He spread it on the table, in the dishes of the " decorated English tea-set," drew up two chairs, and surveyed hif work from the doorway with a chuckle of uncontainable delight. If Mrs. Carney had been a bride out of a romance, she might have entered that flat in the most adorable ecstasies of appreciation. But, unfortunately for 182 THE HONEYMOON FLAT X'u X"' "" ""* "'"""*••'' '"" ••"« »'•'' »-> She had repented of leaving him, the night before and rfie had humed down to her work, that momine ex men he had not appeared at luncheon hour, .he had ir ^ "''"'f »'"'* «he had not been abie to eat; and ti^e afternoon', parade in faU coatume., with the thcr mometer at 86o, had worn her weak. At six o'clo^l ; "hr^r a"'.t'^ ""^'^^ "> -^"- ^- !^- at hi. rooms. And he was at the comer to greet her W.A a «ni e that, in the circumstances, was iSe i„fl!!«l? T""* ""^ '"•itatii'lEly incomplete and ZlX '"T"**"^ ^" '*'" '"»«' *° &"J that her bad temper could not chafe a geniality in him that btZ "T ' *'«"r PP''-"*- She was peevish with fha^'^;«, ""'*''' ^': •^''"•*' «* °°°* She insisted di^: i^ht* n:.::^. ^"^^^ '"''■ ^^«^ -><^ ««» their She would have left him again, but her day', ex- penence had made her wise. She yielded at laft in a nothmg but grrn. They had to stand m the streetcar She counted the four flights of stair, to the flat S her jaw set on a determination to disappoint the eaeer assurance with which he led the way ^ He unlocked the parlor door and ushered her in. I THE HONEYMOON FIJVT 188 "What do you want to " I rented it empty, an' She glanced around coldly, rent a furnished flat for ? " " I did n't," he bubbled, furnished it myself." "To^ay?" she cried. " Yah," he confessed more doubtfully. " And that 's what you 've been doing all day 1 " He nodded. " Well, Phil Carney ! " she wailed. " If that ain't the meanest! Why -why-" She choked up with tears and anger. " Why, that 'sail the /«n/" She sat down in one of his damask chairs, fuir-bling for her handker- chief. He closed the door on his „asco. " W 11 say " he began. ' "Aw, shut up," she wept. "You go n do every- thing wrong. I bet you got the dangdest lot of old ]unk — " " I ain't," he defended himself. " I got the best they had." " The best they had ! " She summed up the shoddy magnificence of the parlor in a sweeping glance of dis- trust He turned his back on her to look out of the window. She whisked into the bedroom. "Ach!" he heard her cry. "Pine I . . . Cotton battin'I . . . Excel- sior I It ain't even a hair mattress I " She flung into the dining-room — and stopped in the doorway. The pitiful mute expectation of the two chairs, drawn lip to the delicatessen dinner, confronted her with a 184 THE HONEYMOON FLAT dumb reproach. Her face changed slowly, her eye- brows still knitted in a scowl that began to twitch un- certainly, her mouth trembling in a doubtful slant. When she came back to him in the front room, she took him by the two ears, from behind, and shook his head from side to side. "Dam yon, Phil," she said, between laughing and ciying, "if you ain't the darnedest Lig baby — " He turned around and saw her face. " Well, say " She had come to marriage as a strayed cat comes to a saucer of milk, with a boldness that is bom of hunger, aud a tense wariness that does not relax under the first caress. To escape from her single life of self-supported loneliness, she would have married any one of whom she was not altogether afraid; and she was not afraid of Carney. She had for him a feeling that was slightly contemptuous even when it was most tender — a feeling that held him off and smiled at him with an amused tolerance, at best. It was with this smile that she sat down to their cold dinner. But in the middle of the meal, she gathered — from something Carney said — that he did not ex- pect her to go back to her work in Sturm & Bergman's • and she was stmck dumb. She had been prepared to work until the care of a family should keep her at home. She listened to him with a pathetic expression of wistfulness and doubt, while he — in clumsy apologv for having furnished the flat without consulting her — took out his bank-book and explained his indebtedness to the " Furniture Emporium." « The stuff ain't all THE HONEYMOON FIAT 186 paid fer," he said, « an' we won't never pay fer it un- less they take back what yuh don't like, an' give yuh aomethin' else 'at yuh do." He passed the book to her to keep, as the treasurer of the household. She turned it over in her hands as if it had been a jewel-box. « You better look out," she said with a tremulous langL " I '11 break yon 1 " Carney looked at her, solemnly trustful. " A' right. We go broke together now." And suddenly she put her hands up to her face and began to sob. She was somewhat tearful again in the morning when he left her to go to his work; and she hung out of the front window to wave him good-by as he turned the comer far below her. He was taking word to Sturm & Bergman's that their cloak-model had left them; and she drew in from the window-sill, and turned to look down the little flat, with a new light in her face, all the domestic instincts stirring in her chokingly. The inherited desire to be protected, sheltered, housed in respect and love, took her in its fulfilment with a hysteric swelling of the heart ; and she clasped her hands under her breast and drew in a long breath, her eyes still shining with tears, her thin lips set in that hun- gry pout with which a child aaks for either food or She walked slowly back to the dining-room and sat in Carney's chair, stroking the handle of his knife ca- reasii.gly. And when she was taking up the dishes to ise THE HONEYMOON FLAT carry them out to the kitchen to be washed, she stooped over them and cuddled them and laughed. It was some six weeks later that Mr. Philip Carney, in his shirt-sleeves, with his pipe in his mouth and his wife on his knee, sat in the breeze of the parlor window, enjoying the evening air. « Well," he said, " how d' yuh like bein' married ? " She tweaked his sunburned nose smilingly, cooing to him in the ridiculous " baby talk " that seems to be the universal language of young married couples. He rescued his pipa " Here," he laughed. « Don't do that. Yuh tickle the roof o' me moutL" She pinched his lips, puckering up the cut she had given him in Dublin Eow when she struck her " Philly wif 'm hatchet," as she said. There was a sort of fierce playfulness in her manner, a rough fondness that was all she had left of her old imperious treatment of him. " Huh I » he teased her. « That ain't the way yuh talked that night when yuh lef me 'n Nint' Av— " She clapped a hand over his mouth. " You promised you 'd never — " He caught away her hand. "A' right," he said. " Not another word about it . . . But how did yuh like the furnished flat that day — Ouch ! " She was pulling his hair. "Shut up, then, wiU you ? " r» , " Ow ! Ye-fres I Quit it I I '11 shut up." She settled back against his shoulder. He grunted THE HONEYMOON- FLAT 137 as he got hi8 teeth into the worn mouthpiece of his pipe agam; and in the contented silence that ensued - ^iT TV^' ^'"^ **"'* ^"^ "■^•'^ ^ -erely Stl .f '^' "^^ '^'^-^^^^ the lives they had led on the pavements and in the shops - those two m fclf f ;'*^ "''" ^'^'^^ '^°«''''"« "f *•>« eternal miracle of domesticity and mildness that had been worked m them by their Honeymoon Flat. 1 I If 'I • 1 ti THE OLD WOMAN'S STORY THE OLD WOMAN'S STORY •OEHIND the fat hedge, there was a lawn like a ±J public park. The grass was as close and fine as green plush; the undulations of the ground were padded and upholstered with it; the sun and shadow lay upon it in a figured design of leaves. Great trees stood about it, as stolid and dignified as if they had been set out by a butler. And in the midst of it, sur- rounded by formal beds of flowers and bushes, a huge building of ruddy sandstone, with innumerable win- dows, lifted heavily a square, squat tower. It was the ahnshouse. On this millionaire's lawn, under these pompous trees, groups of old women in dresses of blue denim, with gingham aprons, sat gossip- ing over their sewing, smoking clay pipes, counting the beads of their rosaries, or dozing in the heat of the sun — as wrinkled as lizards, and blinking against the blaze of sunlight that gave an almost reptilian sparkle to their puckered eyes. Veterans in the unending bat- tle of life, no longer able to struggle for the food to keep them struggling, they had been brought here to die in peace. Among them was a Mrs. Judd, an old Englishwoman who had impressed the nurses with her patience and capability. They did not have to use any stratagems to draw her to her weekly bath. She kept her room neat 191 193 THE OLD WOMAN'S STORY with her own hand*. She did not hide between her mattresses any of the useless trifles which the others misered up in a senile acquisitiveness that went even to the rubbish heap for tins, and stole cutlery from the tables, and made a hoard of moldy crusts. She did not complain of her meals. She quarreled with nobody. She sat alone, placid, white-haired, and frail; and her skin, that had evidently once been beautiful, still pre- served on her old cheeks the soft whiteness of a dried peach. When a nurse joined her on her bench under a mag- nolia tree, her eyelids fluttered — wakening from the blind gaze of a day-dream — but she did not turn to greet the attendant. "Lonely?" the giri asked. " No, i..iss," she said. The nurse was a dark-haired, dark-eyed young woman with a deep voice. She had irregular features of more chanp than beauty. " I 'm going to leave you next week." "Yes, miss." She showed no interest; and the girl explained, im- portantly : " I 'm going to be married." "Yes, miss," she replied in the same tone. In a moment, she added : " When the men want you, there 's no denyin' them. It 'as to be, miss." ^^ The girl smiled at this resigned view of her fate. " You know what it is to be married." " Yes, miss. I 've been married twice." She kept her ^es on the empty lawn, and the nurse wondered THE OLD WOMAN'S 8T0EY 193 what she 8«w there to hold her thoughta - what memo- HM, what faceg, what ghosts of old events. Had you any children ? " W?w°' ^^' «'""•" She folded her hands on tlk tf 1 ?T "Children are the great thing wh le they last^ but they go off an' leave you, an' 'ave children o' their own." " They don't come to see you here ? " "No, niiss." The tone in which she answered was LS'^^.""^^*''°*' '* ""^ absent-minded. She nodded at the view before her. " That 's like the bit o^cropped paddock we 'ad between th' 'ouse an' the The nurse looked at it It was nothing but trees and grass. She asked: « What 's a beck ? » w« '\ '^-'T f'' ~ "^^^ ^'^ ^"«« •" it- The one never eard al n.ght long, when you would be sleepin'." Was that in England ? " out a window over the kitchen garden - an' the bit o' paddock — an' the beck." " You must miss it here," the nurse said - for some- tning to say. „J?\^'''! ^^' '"''*' ^^""^ ^« l«ft Liverpool, aboard sbp, the sound o' the water made me cJfo; lo^frT T 'i^P' "' "'^^*' ^''^ *^« '^^ tossin' abou^ I dreamt of It. An' all day long the cloids went by, igh over 'ead, back to 01' Cuniston-an' the meadows -an' the beck -while I sat on the deck 194 THE OLD WOMAN'S STORY watehin' which way we went, so I 'd know the way back again." ' The girl waited, touched. She asked, at laat, gently : "Were you all alone?" ' ^No, miss. 'E was with me. We'd run away to- " Run away ? " " Yes, miss." " Why ? " She shook her head. « It 's a long story. I, began before we ever knew it, when we went to school together. An not such schools as you 'ave 'ere, miss. The floor was all stone like a sidewalk. An' there was no stove but a fireplace that burned peat. An' in the big pot that ung there, we put the potatoes we brought for our dinners -boys an' girls -an' marked them so we'd knowour own. An' put the peat on the top o' the pot- Iid, red-hot An' roasted them all together. There's no such potatoes now, miss -none so big an' mealy." Ihat was in the country ? " "Yes, miss. In Cumberland. You see, miss, I was bom m London, but they brought me to Cumberland when I was a wee thing - because my mother was dead an my father gone off with 'is regiment. An' when you come to the fields, so, from the choke of 'ouses an' streets, it's tie wonder of life, an' you never forget /rr^.T^Jj'^.'^'i^''^' '^r-' ™ the fells —•iv TT , -r^., — •" ""»»" across With Uncle Wilson the first time I come to th' an ow red the sky was over th' 'ills." ' It must have been beautifuL" ouse — THE OLD WOMAN'S STOKY -95 il' tJt^ .? '"*"' ""' **■« -J"^" t» the ban. ^ the bam was all stone like th' 'ouse. An' th' 'oZ was so sweet in my lun« An' T mT ^°l "" beck an' ♦!,«> k- ^ / T* -^^ I a lie an' listen to the be.* an the birds together." She paused to turn over away at market by thr. o'e£ L" tt m^ W ^ Ss^:^tLit;---t^= ^nr^-;^^rtt?:^t'-:^ 1 1.'' -I ! It IM THE OLD WOMAN'S STORY " Thejr iU trotted me the lune m if I was one o' tlieir own — thou^ my aunt 'eld it againat me that my mother 'ad run away with a wldier before I waa bom — an' made me work, too, u aoon as I was old enough to mind the baby an' 'elp in the kitchen an' sweep the floors. But it waa Cousin William that made trouble, plaguin' me the way boys plague their sisters an' teasin' me about my red 'air. That 's the way it is with some boys, miss. Because they like you, they plague you an' drive you about An' when you turn against them for It, they almost 'ate you — because they like you still i ' you don't like .bem." The nurse nodded and smiled. "At first, it was just that we went to school with Arry when 'e would come down the road from 'is father's farm. An' 'e 'd walk back with us when school was over, an' go benyin' with us, an' nuttin'— all chil- dren together an' no thought of 'arm — ridin' in the carts to th' 'ayfields or 'elpin' pile the peat when they cut It m the spring to dry. 'E was a strange lad. Any, miss. 'E 'ated 'is books an' 'e would n't learn in them, because at nights 'e could n't sleep like the .thers that worked on the farm — an' tired themselves out — an' snored when 'e would be awake, starin' at the dark. But then 'e found picture books at 'ome an' be- gan to be always readin' thm an' bringin' them to read to us. An' 'is father would buy them in town when ^e went to market, an' put them under the pillow for 'Arry to find when 'e waked — ' Robinson Crusoe,' I remember — for it was after 'e read us from ' Robinson THE OLD WOMAN'S STORY 197 Cn«oe' that we played it among the rock, up the bedt, ^ killed a lamb, an- 'ad to bu.7 it in the peat bog .0 Uncle Wi «.n would n't know _ .n' atorie. aEut tfblTL^rJ""'"- -'"' ''-' ^" '**- '^"^ ^^ " Thoae were the good days, nji««, when we were all you^g. We played • jacka ' with pebbles, an' hop-scotch wit n t- ■?: '"'"'' '"' '"^ ^"""^ ''P t'"' •^^k, an' went pckm' w. Id apple, an' all. My Uncle Wilson -d an oatmeal mill - with an ugly big waterwheel that made a great no.se -an 'orrid big wheel that splashe.1 an ra tied in a box. An' 'Any played it was a giant turnin the wheel, an' frightened us so I dreamt of It at nights, an' woke with my legs tremblin'." Yes ? " the nurse said. " And so ? " "Well, miss, to tell the tru.L, before we were big enough to leave school, I was mad about the boy, an' 'e would be nowhere without me. 'E was as lean an' quick as a 'ound, an' 'e 'd do things to make me scream -like leapin across the rocks o' the beck when it was in flood, or jumpin' from the eaves o' th. bam into th aycarts as they drove in. An' Cousin William was eavy like 'IS father- an' alow like 'is father -an' though e could throw 'Arry in a wrastle 'e never dared tght. But It was 'im that carried stories to my aunt. tf .t" "!! ^y '""' " ^""^ ^°""« ^ffi""- An- at r? • w-n f* ''^"^ ^"'^ '^'> '""««' °°« day that Cousm Wilham fell from th' 'ayloft because he tried to follow Arry ,n some pranks. An' I - , told to play no more -vith 'im, ' ^ 198 THE OLD WOMAN'S STORY " Tou know W such things grow, miss. There was a sheep stole. An' Cousin William told 'ow 'Ariy 'd killed a Iamb an' buried it in the peat bog -though twas a year gone. An' then there was bickerin' be- tween the farms -an' 'Arry's father took the boy's part an quarreled. All the farmers 'ad shares in a meadows where liey cut 'ay, an' there started a dispute about our share an' theirs. An' so it went, till 'Ariy ad to r-ass me without lookin' aside when we were comin' to church, an' we only met up the beck when I could steal away from the others an' 'ave ourselves aJone. "That was near the end o' the good days. Cousin William grew to be a strong lad - so fat 'is cheeks shook when e walked - fer 'e walked 'eavy on 'is 'eels. An' e talked ' thee ' an' ' thou,' like the rest, with their way o speakin' without endin' the words, as if they got the mouth open on a broad 'oo' an' 'ad their jaws stuck. ^ e plagued me now with 'is calfs eyes — an' 'is ribands bought on market days. An' 'is mother plagued me because she saw 'ow it was with 'im, an' she'd not ave er son marry a girl with naught. An' 'Any went away to town to study to be a scholar, just when they were mowin' the bracken on the feUs for the winter's kindlms. An' my schooldays were over. An' I thought there 'd be no more 'appiness for me in this world, miss." " Did n't you write to him ? " "No, miss. There was no way to get the letters. But when 'e come 'ome for Christmas, we met again THE OLD WOMAN'S STOEY 199 'rto'tet '^?ir: ''"' ?f ^'^^ ^^^^y^^^ there teased me because I was so small — but T Vt,b^ '<> iw big an clumsy. An' when 'e kissed me good-by I kTew U was the same with 'im that it was 4th me_an' T i oniy sung soft m my own room sittin' «+ t\,^ • j an' lookin' out at the Lty becl^' ' ' """^°" She was smiling the smile of memory and soft was like the face oi an oW siWcoir ' """"^ ^ toil'i ''''''■ " ^' -'" «^« -^d> " you ran away "J^o,misg. Not then. Not till long after Not till Arry's father 'prenticed 'im to a lawyeran' ull Wilson went against my aunt, an' said T^ make a^ood iC . .. — ■""™ wnat 'e thought 'Axry 'd forget me in town. An' so I went 200 THE OLD WOMAN'S STOKY li ^1 !' to church with 'im Sundays, an' pulled the wool over 'is eyes. An' there we were, all playin' double, miss, the one with the other. An' 'Arry deceivin' 'is family the way I did mine; " What troubled me most was that 'Arry chafed at 'is 'prenticeship, an' was all for runnin' away to London — or to America — to make 'is fortune, if I 'd come. 'E wouldn't go so far away an' leave me to Cousin William, though I swore I 'd as soon be wed to an ox. We 'ad no money. I saw never a penny from year's end to year's end on the farm, miss. An' 'Any was not much better. But we used to meet an' talk plans — the way young folk will — an' make love as if money for marryin' was no matter. " Then one Sunday 'e did n't come, an' I was afeard that what Cousin William 'oped was comin' true about 'Arry, an' this the beginnin'. But that night there was a tap on my window, an' the casement rattled, an' I saw it was 'Arry, dark against the sky that was full o' moonlight 'E was standin' on a ladder that 'e 'd carried from the barnyard, sa' 'e laughed an' kissed me, an' said it was because 'is father 'ad found 'im out an' forbade 'im to be wastin' 'is time runnin' after a girl when 'e should be thinkin' of 'is studies. An' now 'e 'd 'ave to see me Sunday nights, after all were abed." The girl had turned, as if she were about to speak. The old woman hurried on : " It was 'is nature to do such things, miss, an' to take more delight in them because o' the risk. I was afeard for 'im — an' for myself. But that wore off with bis comin' again an' THE OLD WOMAN'S STOBY 201 again. 'E was a dear lad, an' made love like a book. We met at the window, or sat by it, with scarce light enough sometimes to see each other's faces when we kissed — whisperin' an' makin' our promises an' namin' each other fonu names. An' the guilt of it made it all the sweeter." She lingered on it, smiling. Her smile faltered and changed slowly. The girl said : « You were — They found out ? " ' Yes, miss. Cousin William -'e must 'ave guessed what was goin' on, though 'Any was careful to put the ladder back where 'e found it, an' leave no footprints in the garden under my window. Cousin William — We never knew 'ow it was. But one black night, when the summer was just warmin', an' 'Arry 'ad no more than reached the top o' the ladder an' put 'i. arms up to me some one rushed around the side o' th' 'ouse from the kitchen, an' 'Arry jumped." She dropped her voice. « It was dark, miss. 'E didnt do it o' purpose. But 'e came down on my Cousm William — an' there was n't so much as a groan. E was all in a 'eap with 'is 'at crushed down on his face an' 'is chin' on 'is chest, 'is neck broke, dead, miss. 1 saw un when I come down the ladder an' clung to Any an' told 'im to run for 'is life." " Good Heavens ! " the nurse gasped. She made the gesture of a fatalist. « There was no undoin'it. An"Any 'd not go without me. An"e ad to go, miss. It would be found out. It would be said they 'd quarreled about me. So I climbed back an' made a bundle o' my clothes. An' when I came to the w. '^- 11 202 THE OLD WOMAN'S STORY 1;! window 'Any called to me to get all Cousin William's clothes, too. An' I did n't know why 'e wanted them, hut I crep' to 'is room an' got them. An' I was shakin' BO my teeth chattered in the dark" "You—" " I 'ad but the one thought — that ' Arry 'd be 'anged for murder, an' I 'd 'ave to 'elp 'im get away. 'E told me what to do, an' I did it I 've often wondered sinw, miss, where I found the strength. But I was like a mad woman with fear, an' I breathed so 'oarse that 'Arry put 'is 'and over my mouth for fear I 'd be 'card in- doors." " Good Heavens ! " " 'E shut my window. An' took down the ladder. An' smoothed over the marks in the loam with 'is 'and. An' laid Cousin William on the ladder, covered up with the clothes I 'd brought. An' then 'e took one end, an' bade me take the other. An' we stumbled derm the paths to the back door o' the kitchen, an' out into the paddock, an' so over the fields to the peat bog. I fell once, miss. An' after it was all over, my teeth were sore to the roots with the way I 'd clenched them. But it 'ad to be done. " 'Arry said : ' We must 'ide 'im somewhere, till w© get away.' An' so we come to the place where they 'd been diggin' peats, an' left their spades for the morrow. An' there waj a pile o' the peats already stacked to dry, an' 'Arry went at them with 'is 'ands to shift them, an' I 'elped. I was cryin', miss — whimperin' with fright. An' we 'ad to wait every now an' then for the moon to THE OLD WOMAN'S STOEY 203 b^ak out of a cloud-an' I don't know whether I was mo e feared o' the dark that 'indered us or the «oon that showed us what we 'ad to 'ide. An' 'Arry sS -ver a word, but worked slow an' careful, S only tot"!: * ''"~T'^" ''''' ™°- -- -t «'- - to see that no one watched. in "tt'^y -r '"^ "^' P"" '"°^^- ^^' tben 'e dug in the bog with a spade. An' then 'e told me to i away an' turn my back. An' I feU on my ZL S 2 'i^ T? T T ""^ P'^y^'^ ^"' "^y '«»ds that 'd we d found It, an' no sign of anything 'id An' then "Horriblel" the girl said. wafrilsT""""^"''''^^''- "It -as the only way, miss. We went over it an' over it 'undreds o' times after. An' it was the only way that '7.! ^ ^They'll think 'e's run off Siryou'M^^lj to try JVr ' 'if' ' ''^ '" ^"'^ I '- followed ^aS w ^T ^^'" ^* *o Liverpool.' 'e said at; i^'^i^lra.'''- ■ ""^^ ^'^- '^ ^'' -^ '" -- '^11 et bal^'il'r"l"?1 ""V"- '^ ''"^ ""^ ''^ '- father's amess an' broken tools. An' 'e brought me food in 304 THE OLD WOMAN'S STORY the momin', an' told me Uncle Wilson was out a-' off to town, an' the news was abroad that I 'd run away with Cousin William. 'E went over to the Beck Farm, then, like a man crazed with jealousy. An' my aunt railed out on me — an' there was no one workin' in the peat bog — an' 'e saw that all was safe. 'Is father, out o' pity for 'im, said naught of goin' back to his studies that day. An' in the night, 'e came to me with clothes of 'is own, an' a sheep shears to cut my 'air, an' money in 'is pocket for our passage. An' when I was dressed like a lad, an' our clothes in a bundle together, we fled away across the moors." The nurse, stiff and silent, her eyes averted, sat as if in judgment on guilt, not knowing what to say. And the old woman went on : " At first, it was all 'orror an' grief to me, like a bad dream. An' my feet blistered with the 'eavy clogs I wore. An' my legs were wrung with pain, miss. But when I thought that we 'd done nothing wrong — un- less the money that 'Arry took, an' I made 'im promise 'e 'd send that back from America — an' there we were, all alone in the world together, an' 'im lovin' me an' carryin' me in 'is arms when I could walk no further — why, miss, I said to myself: ' 'E '11 be caught an' taken from me, some day, an' I '11 be 'appy now while I 'ave 'im.' An' so we were. We 'id by day in the 'edges an' waste places, an' walked by night barefooted with our bundles. An' it was sweet to 'ave 'im with his arm about me, an' sweet to lie on 'is shoulder sleepin' in the grass. THE OLD WOMAN'S STORY 205 " 'AppinesB 'ides iu strange places, misa. We found it there, in the midst o' fear. We were like the wild things o' the wood that know nothin' o' this world but what we saw passin' us on the roads when we were 'id. We had clapbread from 'is father's kitchen — the kind they make of oatmeal an' store in barrels. An' 'e would leave me 'idden an' go alone to buy food from th' 'ouses — though we did n't dare do this till we were far away. An' we were wetted by the rains, an' burned by the sun, an' 'ungry, an' footsore, but 'appj- as never was. It was our 'oneymoon, miss — such as it was — an' I was wishin' it 'd never end. I could 've gone on with 'im fer all time, wanderin' like gipsies, with none to plague us. " I made a fine figure of a boy, an' once when we were caught among the trees at a brookside, 'e named me 'is young brother come down with 'im from the North to work on the farms. An' I was so brown an' 'ardy no one would suspect. Just to be free o' skirts an' petti- coats, an' able to run an' climb like a boy, was a joy of itself. An' when we came at last outside Liverpool, an' I 'ad to put on my own clothes again, I felt as if my wings were clipped to go K&ek to a cage. " Down amid the big ware'ouses, built in stone the color o' smoke, we found a lodgin' 'ouse, an' stayed there till 'Any learned about the ships an' bought an old chest an' some clothes for us both, an' went aboard with me at night We were away nex' mornin' over the water. An' then I cried, miss, for th' 'ills an' the beck, an' promised myself that some day when all was for^ i- 11 VH 206 THE OLD WOMAN'S STORY gotten I'd come back. An' even now, miu, when I «t at my window upstairs, I think what it 'd be to be in my own little room over the garden at 'ome — with children, per'aps, an' grandchildren about me — instead o' what it is." She relapsed into the silence from which the nurse had first roused her, and thero was no change in her ex- pression except for the tears that brightened her eyes. " What became of him f " the girl asked. " 'E died, miss, in the West, where 'e went under a new name." " And you married again ? " " Yes, miss. An' my second 'usband never come back from the war, an' my boys went f, .her west, an' I thought to make my way to Cumberland maybe, so I came to New York an' worked 'ere. But I got myself no further, an' never 'eard word o' the farm — I wts afeard to ask — but peat bogs preserve a body, raiss, like mummies in a case, an' I doubt not they found 'im at last, an' buried 'im right" "What a life 1" " Yes, miss. It 'as its own way with you — life. I can't complain. It all 'ad to be. An' now I can sit 'ere an' see it all, just as plain as I could with my old eyes if it was 'ere before me. Your body grows old, miss, but not yourself. You '11 see, miss. You '11 see." THE HOT-AIB HARPS THE hot-air HABPS I qiHEexcurMon barge was waiting at its pier, loaded tt i!"' ? ? "'"'"fP'^^'* of perspiring in.patienee for the arnval of a tugboat that did not come. « I guess Jey're leavin' us here to melt down," young krey Maloney sa.d, "so 's the load won't be so hL/to haulT The orchestra of two fiddles and a comet laid by its n- ^rumen,. and applied itself <« its handkerchiefs! "No more ove'tures till the curtain goes up," Barney summed .p the s.tuadon. « Even the band 's played out" " bJT Z^^ ^"^ ^'^- ^"-^ •* ^"^ *»>« day of the Ta^«n t'-^"" ^^'^"'io'^'* Annual Picni"-a e^3 "^ -^ ^i"""' '^''^^' ""'1 '■'-^fo'e one to bo ^ oyed more m the prospect and the retrospect than il would ever be in the fact. « We '11 think this was Jun perLc'^ *°""''"'^" ^"^^y -<>' f^o- •'i* e- biwr"S.''L'nv^^ 't '".*'" ^•"'' "-"^ ""'« him in I l,„Tf • f ,^ Meachenoff, were sitting with ^m m a half circle along the shaded side of the barge that showed them too warm for words. On the pier be- them, gangs of sweating laborers unloaded hot 209 210 THE IJOT-AIK UARPS ll ^ Bind and pavinj^bloclu and dry haj and dusty nibble, from the barges and canal boats in tho neighboring slips. " An' it might 've been somethin' cool," Barney com- plained, jocularly. " They might, 've been unloadin' ice barges." At the foot of the street a row of heat-ex- hausted horses from a croastown car line stood under a cotton awning upon which a stable-boy was playing a stream of water from a hose. Barney said : " If that ain't enough to make you wish you was bom a horse ! " His brother Tim put in, ill-temporedly : " Aw, out it out, will you ? You talk too much." Mrs. Maloney interfered placidly: " Youse two 'ud quarrel in yer sleep." After a moment of smiling reflection, Barney replied, unrepressed : " I guess yov 'd tliink ^ -3 were quarrelin' if we did n't both snore on the same note." "Letbel" she said. She fanned herself with a crumpled newspaper. Her husband tried to polish his forehead dry with a moist " wipe." The brothe' muttered something that was un- intelligible. And Barney winked, with ..^'discouraged facetiousness, at the girl. It was for her, of course, that all this strained wit of his had been displayed. She was a little Polish-American milliner with dark eyes that were large in a small face. Sho wore long silk gloves, and her dress was an extravagant creation of frills and flounces that seemed to have been designed on the same model as her lace-trimmed hat. It was too fine a costume for such a mere family party, but she had THE HOT-AIIt HABPS gll irl'^M • t"^'*"" °' ""^'"^ '»«' «"«"-" "lone or. on rf a. .M„o,.„„, I,, j,j , tiai .ftonoon, ob the I,l.h q.niioD; bo w,. t'tr^ The girl h«d received Barn-r'. wink blanklv 9H« Jim one of those indescribable looks ^ith wSch T S^-;;: ^^ *'"'* ^''"P*" ^^ ««'>'" 't-^e of large pupils with a lurking smile. ^ f.i-r"' *?\^'^' *''"" *•"*' ^''^ had met any of Tim's family, and she had been studying them all Sb« iT^ adopted the mother as harmlL/t?, 1 fftW weak and incapable. She had understood Barney's J .-emnow,^itwro::jbiit%rrnrsc i:i I 212 THE HOT-AIR HARPS Bamey put his hat on the back of his head and re- garded her with a bold admiration. " Oh, gee ! " he sighed, " but this picnic 's a hot frost ! " She shot a smile at him tmder the lace fall of her hat. His mother replied, literally, with her usual pa- tient optimism : " We '11 get the more good of ut when we get out whur ut 's cool." " I could stand it," Bam^ said, " if some one 'd only encourage me. I 'm not so pretty, but I 'm a nice boy." The girl laughed, drawing up her glove as if she found her finery less uncomfortably warm. When the whistle of the distant boat split the hot air with three shrill notes of warning to the barge, Barney stood up to see a committeeman in the bow of the approaching tug waving cheerily as it bore down on them. "Well," he said, as he seated himself again, "here they come. We'll be gettin' Home Rule fer dear ol' Ireland next How about it, Tim? Think the speech '11 do it ? " "What speech?" The brother, as he turned his head, slanted it — one eyebrow up and one down — to rake Barney with an oblique and dangerous ey& " Don't try to show off, now," he growled. " You ain't funny." " No, I 'm as solemn as a dead mass." He took the girl into the joke with a twinkling side glance. " It hurts me to see you crackin' yer fa'- 1 that way, though. If you wanted t» laugh, what 'd you co— ,e to a picnic fer?" 1 HE HOT-AIR HABPS 213 ''Aw, f rgc it! ' Tim thrust back his chair. Come on, I a.-^." He had been aware of the object of Barney s humor, and he wished to take her away from It, as well as to escape himself. She kept her eyes fixed on the pier. " Thanks," she said. I 'm comfor'ble where I am." Tim eq,ressed his unconcern by tilting his hat down on his forehead contemptuously as he turned away, ^d she expressed her defiance in a little upward thrust of her small chin as she looked around to see him go. . " ^''■*^V' ^"^^ "*"•"* *^*«^ ^''^- The orchestra struck up "Tammany." He beamed at the girl. "Oh joy 1 Ain't we happy ! " " You seem to be havin' a good time." "Well, come on in, then," he said. " I don't want It all to myself. I ain't selfish. I'm gettin' lone- some. " Yeh young imp," his mother scolded. " Why d' yeh pester yer brother so ? " He clasped his hands behind his head, grinning at her fondly " I 'm helpin' him to ferget the wronj of Ireland. Fou 're all right. You've got a new silk waist. But Tm 's got nothin' to get gay on - except the promises of Fncle Mike." This last was a bait cast to his father, who .„». ,„ It at once. "Dang little good he'U get o' thim." he rose to said, bitterly. Whist now!" Mrs.Maloneyputin. "We'll ofusgetgoodo'talkin'thatway. Hold none ^ff yer peace.' UM' 214 THE HOT-AIR HARPS " I will not," he said. " It 's a free country, an' I '11 talk me mouthful — if I want to." Barney explained, to the girl : " Uncle Mike 's the Hon'rable Michael Maloney, member o' Congress fer the distric', an' hon'ry vice-president o' the Dry Dimers." He winked at her, as much as to say: " Watch me get a rise out o' th' ol' man." She turned expectantly to the father. "Hon'rable nothin'!" he snorted. "'Sheeny Mike '— that 's what I call 'm to his fat face, an' it 's good enough fer him." He was a thin and withered old Celt, the skin of his face fitted to the bones without the plumpness of any flesh beneath, hU lips like some soft leather that had been slit over the toothless aperture of his mouth. He drew them up in a sour pucker of tanned hide. " ' Sheeny Mike ! ' Me own brother ! " " Agh, let be! " his wife said. "We're all sick o' such like talk as that ! " " Are yeh sol " he cried. " Thin it 's you an' Tim that 'd lick the boots o' the man that put me down." " 'T was him that got yeh yer job on the light." "Yes — thinkin' he'd stop me mouth! I kjow 'm. I know Mike. 'T was to shut me mouth he did it — nothin' ilse. An' he won't shut it fer all o' that! " The barge had begun to move out from its dock, and the sunlight on the water shone in his eyes. He blinked at it angrily, under the rim of a stiff felt hat that was faded to a yellowish green. "Me stuck out in the water, with the light, like an oold duck on a rook 1 An' THE HOT-AIR HAEPS 215 him a oongrussman ! That 's what he 's done fer me I That's me brother Mike. I know 'm. An' I'll tell what I know. He '11 niver buy me np with none of his gove'mint jobs." The girl was watching him euriouslv. His wife had made a gesture of resignation und settled back in her seat. " ^f," Barney egged him on, " he got you out from Ireland, did n't he ? If what Tim says 's true, it 's a good place to come from." The old man turned on him. " I was well enough in Ireland. Why did n't he lave me there ? " He caught the girl's interested eyes. " But no ! " he cried to her. He must sind the money fer me passage, an' a letter full o' lies fer to draw me on. I was to come out an' make me for-tune with 'm. An' that's foorty years ago — an' here I am, five years older than 'm — an' him a congrussman, d' yeh see ! He 's got himself made a congrussman, an' he 's got me a job trimmin' a lamp on a rock up the river yander, on a wage that wud n't fill the bowl of his pipe. There 's the sum an' substance of all his boold promises, an' his ' Sind Nick out to me. We '11 make his for-tune 1 ' " " Take shame! " his wife said. " Yeh 've been at the drink again, er yeh 'd not talk so to a strangw." _ He wagged his head at her, with an effect of repeat- ing and insisting on all that he had said. " That 's the talk I That 's the talk that he had to his tongue when he first tried to chate me out o' me partnership in the saloon. 'Faith,' I says, 'an' what's the drink fer ■'0^ 216 THE HOT-AIR HARPS thin, if it 's not to put in yer mouth ? ' ' It 's to put in yer poorse,' says he, like a fool. Says I: 'I'm thinkin',' I says, ' 't will be little enough of it '11 be like to get into my poorse,' I says. An' that was the tnith of it, fer he was skinnin' the till ev'iy night himself. ' Little enough,' he says, ' unless yeh swally yer poorse first,' he says. An' 't was not long, thin' befoore he toomed me out. Me that 'd woorked up the trade fer 'm, mind yeh! I was but drinkin' fer t' encourage the customers. But no! He took an' toomed me out to dig drains. An' niver a cint 've I had from 'm to this day." " Have yeh not ! " Mrs. Maloney muttered. " Thin many 's the dollar's worth of help yer wife 's had — " " Niver a cint! " he said. " Fer niver a cint wud I take. Though I was to starve fer it!" " Why did n't you go into politics yerself," young Barney prodded him. "There's money in politics. You'd—" " Did n't I ? " He turned to the girl, as if he felt himself on his defense before her. "Whin he was ruunin' fer alderman — an' th' others put up oold Diedrichs ag^'in' 'm — was n't I the chairman of the comity, fightin' Mike ? An' what did he do, think yeh ? He bought up one of our lads that had the buyin' of the drinks fer a rally we was havin', the night befoore th' iliction — an' he had all the beer dosed, so 's the next day ev'ry mother's son of us was too sick fer to go tc the polls. An' he won be a big major'ty. He did that! An' thin he boasted that 't was me that dosed the drink THE HOT-AIE HABPS 217 m out o Ae party entirelyl The lyin' scut! ' Yeh fat toadl' I says to 'm. 'YehVe rooned me,' I says. he cared. « Yeh 're a most amazin' fine youn.? roon ' he «ays. ' Yeh better go back to th' oold'coZ,; '"he ^ ' ,,?.'*' ^''^'^ ''P "'^ ■* l-"! ^here th' ivy '11 grow Z!'X ^ T" ®"'''' ""^^ ^""^ - thatl\.'\; that d brought me out to make me for-tune, mind yeh! Mud^eb^^that,now,...Sor^,,eday,Mike. i:'^ anfL^K? t"7^'\^'' ^°'°« to « pathetic huskintjs, tht t t . "^ '^ *° '^'^P ''^'^'^ *«"«• Barney sa^ that the girl was not finding it amusing. " Say! " he turned to her. " Come 'n' have a lem'nade. They'l be dancm- down on the groun' floor." She rose at once. ful'JjT''" ^ ^'"'^'" ^*™^^ ^"^'^ '^""^'f' <>^r. His father, used to these sudden departures of his audxence when he would be airing his grievances, showi no resentment-no interest even. The moth r, witS rehef the accustomed companionship of silence that was the genius of her married life. dectSTv.'"? *' ^;' '"'"^" *^'' ^•'y *^°"g the crowded m2. i J"g«. through the music, and the odors of picmc baskets, and the games of children who chased one another and screamed. She said: "That's* I 218 THE HOT-AIR HARPs I I great song an' dance he's got about your uncle." Aw, that 'b all hot air," Barney replied, " There 'a nothin' but kicks in our fam'ly. Did n't you ever hear Tun on the wrongs of Ireland ? Th' ol' man ain't one- two-three with him." She felt that she was involved in relations with a lamily that she did not understand. Having a Hebraic respect for parents, she was sorry for the father, but she saw that Barney considered him amusing, and she mistook this amusement for contempt Well, It s a crime to tease Tim," he confessed to her, over their lemonade. " It 's stealin' milk from a baby -but he'll make himself sick with this Dry Dime Dolan bus'ness if some one don't stop him." " I thought you said there was money in politics " "Not fer Tim. They 're just usin' him fer a spell- binder. They put him up to talk the wrongs of Ireland so 8 you won't notice wrongs nearer home. They 're a lot o' grafters, an' he does the grindin' fer them. He might s well be capper to a con game." " That 's a sweU way to talk about your own brother." Oh, well," he laughed, "it's all in the fam'ly. How re you goin' to cotton to me fer a brotherin- law f '' Me ? I don't know as I want the job." "I'll take mine — unless you got a better one to gi me." THE HOT-AIR HARPS 219 Jt.*""' *" '"P ''^' --^'^ -t, but with indifferent LoZ" '" •" "' '" " ^°^' <^"-^' "" rigtt, all right. She had choked on a laueh. Shn „ i. j • straw ?» unnjferi Did you swally a ^^ «M loow bidL to ^ Tim „„Ji^ i,j|^j " Sav » >,» -J : *°* *° dance." makelLi/o^l^t'^rr T^' "^"'^ -'* up to you." ' "^" " «' ^^''^^ ". Bee ? It 'g her'hat'"'* '""" "''^* ^""^ •^--" She straightened Je^uP '" ^'''^ •'°'"'' -«> -« --> er you don't " Oh ? Is that so ? " " That 's what I said." . f I: ii ? 220 THE HOT-AIR HARPS She had the blood of a Polishwoman in her. " Yon can do what jou like," she said icily. " Are you comin' J " " Not if I know it. No." She reached her glass. He glared at Barney. " That settles it." He swung on his heel and went back to the bar where he had been standing in a line of picnic oflScials. Barney followed him with his eyes, half amused and half apprehensive. " Hello 1 There 's Uncle Mike," Barney said, in rji attempt to cover the silence. « He must 'a' missed the boat, too." The girl did not reply. When he turned, she met him with a blazing scrutiny, and he laughed to ease her indignation. "Wouldn't that jar you!" he said. "Tim's on horseback, eh ? D' you care ? " She drank her glass to the dregs. " Not a whole lot." She rose, throwing back her shoulders and settling her belt with arms akimbo, smiling on him brilliantly. " I saw a shady place out at the back." " Thib 'a where I come in," he said. " Trot me along." It was the parental opinion that there was a " deal o' the divil " in Barney, and his relations with his more mtense brother had always been sardonic " You don't want to take too much stock in anything Tim ever says when he's on his ear," he counseled her, as they went. " Rub him th' other way the next time you see him, an' he '11 ferget all about it." "Will he? Well, / won't." THE HOT-AIE HABPs 221 " A'l risrht " T ^ squared, yo. r handX 4 "^^""^"^ ""'''''''''"''^ " I 'U hold goin'tosit?" Thev!fL^ T°°- Where 're you i-eld " liquid refrltet" a^^- " ^^ ''^ ''°- "^^t not a chair vacam. "Here'-I mI'" ^^="* ^«« box, "they won't needllMW *m, i ^'^*'"« 'J"™ « Make yourself at h^me » *"" ^ ^*'*'* -^rinkin'. aswelldresserferap "t^'S^f « ?-. "you're done by one o' those SlvelT . "u '^ ^°" '"^ ''^^ She a.eepted thia SirttTo" "h S""^"'' 'evenge on the elder brothe " D- vo^f °^ °^ ^^' referred to h^rgW^;" '"* *^°- ^S^r n^uffler." He haS her tr**"' "''^ ^'^ ' " She spread her " They 're in the wav T ' „„ • , ^^ ^'K^ed lugu- We wilh me." ^ ' '" ^°"' ' ^'''^^ °° an' beTn ;;jou'dmakefnno'me,ifIwas." No I would n't Jus'tiyme." ^ rhat s what I Jee„ doin' " ^^ But you did n't tell me. I did n't know." weli, you know now." swdl"?"''" ^« ^"«h'-ed at once. "Say, ain't it " D' yon like it ? " rSV"'"""^^' Don't you?" «lyly^"'""" ''■^^"^''"^-'i^ack in his pocket. He folded his arms, hugging himself. « jf y, ,,„ ill SS4 THE HOT-AIR HARPS I i go back on me now," be said, " I '11 get a gun an' blow my hat off. Hello, Pop I Have a chair." He accepted bis father's sudden appearance as if it had been entirely expected. " Sit down an' save your boots," he said, placing another box. " Been bavin' a drink with Uncle Mike } " The old man blinked bis wrinkled eyes morosely. " I 'd as soon drink with the divil himself. Why did n't none o' youse tell me he was aboord 9 " " Did n't none of us know. Did be see you 3 " He sat down, rheumatically stiff. " That Tim tol' me there wag some one below here wanted fer to set me up — an' walked me into him, grinnin' at the bar." " An' you cocked up your nose an' quit him J " He spat on the deck. " I did that" " There 's a good drink gone to waste." " I want none of his drinks." " Why did n't you take a cigar then ? " " T' 'ell with 'm. Let 'm lave me be." " He wants to make it up with you. Tim says he '» talkin' about you half the time." He nudged the girl, secretly. " He says he knows, now, 'at it was all his fault. He says he never got nothin' but the worst of it, at that. Why don't you let up on him? Are you goin' to bound him to his dyin' day ? " He grunted. " Let him lave me be, thin." " He 's been tryin' to snuggle up to you through Tim fer the last five years. You ought n't to keep poundin' a man when he says he 's had enough. Why can't you ferget it, now, an' help straighten things out ? " THE HOT-AIB HARPS 225 ^l\oiTf rY "P '■" •"" '-" »»•' forehead dTd h , Well '«'?""'• "."" '^°' ''■'' -"' °f "'. did not change wfen S t ^ ""f-^" ^^P'^'^'"'' with hi« « Jr I- , ' ''""'P'og himself forward Te Id th/^. ""I ^"/°^' 'ef-^ed to notice him. He enjoyin' yerself." « nne day. How 're / 220 THE HOT-AIR HARPS She smiled at Barney as she replied : " Pretty good, I guess." And the uncle took his cue from the direc- tion of that smile, to say: " Barney 's the boy to give y* a good time. Eh, Barney? Well, y" always did have a sharp eye fer the gurrla, Barney. How 's yer mother?" They out off the father's escape by sitting down in front of him, but he pretended to be unaware of them until the Honorable Michael said : " Well, Nick, don't yeh know me ? " " Oh, I know yeh I " he answered, under his hat. The uncle smiled amiably at his nephews as he re- plied : " If yeh knew me as well as I know meself , yeh 'd like me less." " I like yeh little enough." " An' I 'm sorry fer that." He nodded, reassuringly to the girl. " We 're gettin' to be too old fer inmities." Nick flared up: "I suppose yeh think I ought to be thankin' yeh fer gettin' me the job on the light ? " "Why should yeh? It's nothin' to what I ought to've done fer yeh — if yeh'd let me. But yeh've been so dang indipendent I " His voice was politic. " I wanted nothin' from yeh but to be let alone." " I know it. . . . Well, yeh 've had yer way. It 's been a bad bus'ness, an' I 'm glad it 's all done with. If we had our lives to live over again, it might be diffrent. How 's the wife ? " " She 's well enough," Nick answered sulkily. " That 's right. Teh 're lucky to have a good wife an' a fine pair o' boys." He turned to the girl. " I 'm THE HOT.AIE HABPS j^, »;«ipi.t:'i.s:'^ -^^ ^- • .^tr— "..*• H:itr::r3f " Oh, all to the good," he aaJrl « t ^ , way." ' "®'*"1- Lots o' work, any- Tim studied his tnSes. ^ J > * n ^^f'; ^'" ' " "Well, if I had X%, bot I i"''*' '^"'•" nothin' short o' the Pridden^'" h« . l^ ^^P''^ "* a clam at a speech. The S <,„ ^ "^"f^- "I'-' hare ? ' » HTcoTered tJ,„ I '^^ ''' ^^^ '" y^^ glanced up WeC^!?, v ?' '''" ^ " ^'-^ ^-' his brothers ;?::t "cl"" V^ ""^ '°""<' ho.d^ WekafforTtofeSr-tX'^^^"^" and shook it p^S^ "Wet If '''" "^ ^'"^ ^- yo.. This'sapic^L^S.,T ««^t some bubbles in " Well, by beTuL '^17 ,T ^"^ "^ '"'"'■" that hot T M , . ,^"''.®^' 'he father muttered, « I 'n, hot I d dnnk wuh all heU." One corne; of hS ■I ii*'i ::! 228 THE HOT-AIE HAKPS mouth tried to droop with stubborn iU-temper, but the other twitched with a smile. He shuflSed along behind Tun, who followed the Honorable Michael down narrow passageways between the groups of picnic parties Barney wagged his head. « There goes 01' Griev- ances," he said to the girl. « To-morrah he '11 be tryin' to hang himself fer a traitor." "Weill" she cried. "Why did he go, anyway f After what he saidl » ^^ _ Barney put her off with a laugh that explained noth- mg. Here," he said, slipping his arm behind her. It makes mj back ache to look at you. leave it be. felt close an' no one '11 pipe it Eh? How d' you like youah honey ? Ain't I a sweet ? " She tried to reply to him with some dignity, but she had earned the affair too far to be able to retreat. She said, rather wistfully: "You're makin' fun o' me. I knew you would." "Jus' tell me that you love me," he replied, "an' 1 II never smile again." She did not answer him, but she did not move away. hhe sat gazing out at the shore of Staten Island, over a stretch of water that lay dead in the heat; and her face, in thoughtful repose, showed some dissatisfaction with herself. When she thought of Tim's actions as the cause of her own, she tightened her lips. When she considered the family relations, which the morning had discovers! to her, she wrinkled her round forehead in a puzzled frown. She disliked the uncle; and she did not understand how the father could have accepted his THE HOT-AIR HAEPS 229 Barney yawned behind his hand « nl «»d- " Tim '11 be back." ^''^' "P' ^^ She did not reply. And tl,o„ silence, when Tim retn™!^ . ^ T® ""'"«' «»' '"^ pallor of indiiaTior sir """""^ *''^'" ^''"^ » 1^- "Come to ci vo, r.T "^''^ *o ^t ^ Tim thm. hilt^'^'Ifithle'^^-'sPopr' low voice to the girl nointin.v ^ ' ''^ ""'^' « « need n't think I'^'SZ ^f "* ^^'- " ^o" las' time. This 's thfl-^ . '^'* *^" *^« ^a^ I did inis 8 the finish between us sec V He paid no attention to Bamevl "8^3 lobster, an' get busy," ^ * '^°'^> you He went on • " Vm, u !'"> on to yo^ an' IT ^ "^ ""^ ^"' " «"°i«r- «traightahead "f h^ iZ,'' ?° ^.•^•" ^^' l°«ked the eyes. « You '4; S * ^'"' ''"* ^"^''''^ ™der «tick to it. You Teedl /'" "'''' "°"' ■"^' y«» '« t wlf ""^ ''P'*^™ ^ter ine, be- t want vou nrm.^j m , '"o, oe- - :!-"=. It's He threw Bamey'a off! You're hand from his arm. talSn^tT 'f -J-^^tedly: "Come talkin through your spout" ^eJ'^wl''''' ^""°"^'^ <=«'«•• "Am I? Y„ .„ «ee. He turned and ahn„u j , • "" H little circle of the curin '^^ . ^^'^ ^'' ^"^ through a of a quarreL "°"' ^''° """' ^^'"^^^ to the sound Barney said to them as bn »„+ j away an' sell yer paZl.^ t, T' "^^' "''» 7 papers. They melted away before ■i . 1 I •I 'h 280 THE HOT-AIR HARPS }f 1 his disgusted stare. " He 's an Indian ! " he said to the girL She was putting on her glove. " What 're you ? " she cried. " You 're worse 'n he is — er you would n't 've stood there an' let him say things like that to me. You 're a cheap lot — the whole lot of you Maloneys." "We are?" He studied her, with an irritating smile. " Make fun of an ol' man," she said. « That 's your limit, I guess ! " " Say," he laughed, " you 're off your beat. That 's the whole trouble with you. You're out of your bunch." " Am I ! Well, I 'm goin' to get out o' this bunch fast enough." " You don't talk Gaelic," he said. « That 'a what 's the matter with you. We don't mean what we say — half the time— an' when we do, we '11 take it back just as quick. Me an' Tim, now — " " I don't want to hear about neither of you." " Well, you can't play me off against Tim. An' you ought 've known it." " Aw, you 're a hot-air Harp." " I 'm a Harp, all right, but you can't string me." She saw the father returning. « I 've met Harps be- fore, but they were n't your sort. You 're all mouth — you an' your whole fam'ly." Barney pretended that he had not heard, but he red- dened as he turned away. He was sensitive to a criti- cism that deprived him of any superiority over his THE HOT-AIE HAKPS ie- "Buried the hatches r^ "'''' *" '^''^^ Aiie old man sat down with a an.ff « t t Str^L^^-^^-'^-ir-B'^^rSe' ^"'one^s in the oo^f.Z tiZ H "' "" ^^ « she rose. She did not spel Shl* . ^""' ^''^ He watched her until lh!7 '"'' ''°' "^ *«• cursionists on the Ch Ll /^ '"^ ^"°« ^''^ «" enough fer 'ml" And m . ' ^* « «°od same attitude of futilelv dlT' 'T^ ^™'"^* '" t*"* truth of her critici™ !/ . ^'"^ *^^ *''^^'"' felt the self-respect i Sv ,1" '"''^""^ ^'^ ^^ -"-^^ed worst of them^f^et ha5 r '''^^' ^^ ^« ^^ hi8 kind. ^ '""^ ^°' ^^«° Tim's loyalty to The thought made him meek. "Well" h» : she 's well out of it, I ^uess Wt , ^' ^® *""^' atthebar? Come an' Wa V T 'I * ^'"^ ' ^""^^ on me." ^ " '^'"^ ^'th us, Pop. it '^ 1 f wer'zrwT^;Kiot?;;r^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ■^awneys, it waa because she did S8S THE HOT-AIR HARPS I not yet understand them. Tim made the most ap- plauded oration of the day; and afterwards, flushed with cheers and congratulations, he came on Fanny sit- ting alone on the heach. Their reconciliation was fairly complete in fifteen minutes. " You should n't 're said what you did," she wept, " back there on the boat." " I would n't 've said it if I really meant it," he con- soled her. " I did n't care what I said. I was mad." "Did n't you mean it?" " No, I did n't. An' it was n't true." " What did you say it f er, then ? " " I don't know. . . . Aw, say. Fan," he pleaded, al- most in tears himself at her distress, " fergit it. It was n't all my fault. I 'm all right, if you take me right I 'm not much of a hand with a girl. I ain't like Barney." " No. Thank the eats 1 " she said. " You ain't ! " But ■when they met Barney, he was so warm with pride in his brother's success on the platform, and so humorously meek with her, that she could not find it in her heart to give him so much as an ugly look. At the picnic "spread," to which they all sat down, he chaffed his parents, still, but with an affectionate rail- lery which the girl did not misunderstand. He waited on them jocularly, and made them comfortable, and smiled across the tablecloth at her with an irresistible " diviltry " that made her gay. She even discovered that old Nick had the same fam- ily pride in the Honorable Michael's success that Barney had in Tim's, though the references to " Sheeny Mike " THE HOT-AIR HARPS 238 continued with apparent rancor. It was Tim who en- talking of the English, later in the evening, and so far spoke of the Irish regiments and the British empire as Jf ^e gloiy of the latter had been the proud work'oJ t^e She was puzzled. r.lI^^^yT^'' ^"""^ """y^" ''^^ '^^ to tell her shop- mat^ ne^ day. "You'd think they were fighd? Bometimea when thev iln'f t ^,., A. , , snmi 'ntheyhite. ^ JJ S Uerit He 's^j:::: an says things about him -but he thinks Tim's the slyf Zlr *': "T "'^'' ^°" *"- '■^ ^' to I " Z \ T ^°T ^°^ *^ "^ «^^' ^^^" he wants i, She laughed. "Nevermind. I ain't goin' to If she could have told any more, it might have been to put a tongue to that racial mystery, the char^ and con^adiction, the appeal and the^.pSion, of Zw^d of Irish whom she had called the "hot-air il™ '' Perhaps she was wise to refrain from the atte^pt^" M i t" FHE REPOBTEE If THE REPORTER -W He was l£n, fir f^ tlf "• "" " ^''" Hotel Capitol, where he hop^Lndt '""""'' "^ ^^ I*- Animas visitor who i^S^-?":""^'"'^ "'»»«' they were called to «, on t^ •! '"*^^'«^«d before not looking C eaSrfv T TT '*'""^= ''"* ''^ ^" were now an o7d s orftk,? ' ^' ^"'""^ ^"^^''•^ hands were thnSlt. ^ ut"? ''^ ^""^^ «P5 ^s was his opinion thal^o^^ ""^^'•^ I^tet^- It in Colorad^ -^e It^CH^^cr^r ^' '"^T" he had been deported from the sttet T ^,"'"" authoritiea — and his attih,^^ T 7 *''® ^'I'taiy pressed the hope deWd wjl """'f «'"'"' -■ the prowling 'ewspt^ifn "^'^ ^"'^ ^''^ '^''^ o^ known as the best SLI ^^'^'T"'^' He was 288 THE REPORTER camps " tear oflf " the worried amateur while they con- verse dirtractingly of other things. And his whole physical make-up, from his thick ankles to his big shoulders, was as round and strong and smooth u his face. When a man came up behind him and dropped a hand heavily on one of his shoulders, he did not turn. He finished the page of the register at his leisure and then slanted his head around — to see a stranger, baldish, with white eyelashes and a sort of soggy, fat face. " You 're a reporter," the man said. Colbum did not deny it He rather took it for granted that every one knew it. He returned to his register. "Do you want to make a hundred dollars?" the stranger asked. He did, but he did not say so. He had lost thirty- seven dollars, the night previous, playing "loose deuces." He slewed the register back into position for the hotel clerk, detached his cigarette from his lip, and dropped it into a brass spittoon. The man accepted tliese movements as implying as- sent. " Come up to my room," he said. They crossed the rotunda to the elevator, and Colbum walked in a manner of absent-minded indifference that was habitual with him when his mind was busiest. Ho had " sized up " the stranger as a mine promoter from the East who had a story he wished to plant on the in- vesting public ; and Colbum intended to put the hundred dollars in his pocket — or as much of it as he could get THE REPORTER in adranoe basket 288 foot over the Fiiher," he said. — and drop the .tory into the waatepapw- spatfc He dragged bia right The man wore luede tessellated floor, limping. " My name Colburn did not volunteer anything in reply. »f ~a1 ^V '■" ■^°" '""' ^"'•» " ^ «ked as they entered the elevator. •' ''Socky Mountain Chronicle." Colburn lied. 1 bought you were with the World " " So I was." " Fourth floor." Th«tT Tu^'f..'^' ^"'^ "^ ^^'^ «'«-«*<" W's head. The boy had had his neck shaved, and it made L look as if he wore a w.g. Colburn allowed his face to ex- press a slow esthetic distaste of that cut of the hair. He knew, of course, that Fisher was scrutinizing him in the mirror-panel of the car. ^ ® They reached the fourth floor in silence, and padded down the heavy hall-carpet of the corridor in s W and Fisher threw open the door of a lighted sittin™' gaudy wuh scarlet carpet and «d wills; and SS entered wnhout taking off his hat. It wa a joke amon^ his friends that he slept in his hat ^ Fisher, having closed the door behind him, crossed the seated hmiself m a rocking-chair and took a book of cigarette papers from his watch-pocket. He waVLl 240 THE REPORTER He finished making his cigarette before he replied - of W'"*^"^*^ " ^ '"'°* ^''" *° ^'^'^'^^ « frie-^d "What about?" fl,r ^ rr ^°" *« ""k l*™ four questions. If you get the nght answers, I 'II give you a hundred dollars." W^w.Tu '*"'*/ '""'"'^ "Sited his cigarette, and Sr .?' r"^ thoughtfully. "How'U you know whether they 're right or not ? " " '^"w "I '11 know." " You know the answers, then ? " The reporter puffed up a screen of smoke before his ejes and took a sharp look at the man through it, roU ng the burnt match reflectively between a spa i tt ri 'r^««'^* -- !>-- wi'th niS tme^ Fisher was leaning forward, his elbows on the JZv ? "'' ^ "'"^ ""*•«'' 'y^ g»«--g with " I '11 play the game square." "NotWng doing." He tossed the match on the car- pet. Not on those terms." " ^"^ ' ^^^ '« the matter with it ? I Ve got four qu« ions. The feUow that knows the answers-he" »ght across the hall. AU you have to do is to go oJer THE BEPOBTEH there, and say yon Vn J-, -d ^AriZeVVT^^"^ ^ ''''^~ bucks for each answer. Worth t^^ ^°" twenty-five Colbum shook his hJad M ^°*' "^'^ '' « " -Jd pas« n>e out an' " d tif "l M *'' '•"'• " ^^ «nd get the laugh. My tiL ' ^'^ ^""e back here « I '11 _« ki,„ f^ *"°^ « ^orth monej." -d thrust out a leg ;Srh^^^' ""^ ^ ^^ "^-a- Pveyou twenty-fiJdowl' ""'"'^P'^'^^t. "I'« ' Well ? " •bought. '^ """""kl""-, „«j„pi„ Fisher cIiipL ri - i. f^-t. " You a kiim^St?'':.' '^"^^ *" "='- ^is n the Snake Eiyer ZmT .' """"^ ''^ *^>« -'«»"t a claim " Go ahead " If m ^ '^k htr ^* ^^ -i; tr n2.'°^-^-^ -^« «P to the electric uS^ZZ:^''T^ ""' ^^- ^--ed per calyxes. He blU;f ^ ^« '" *^/" bumi^ed cop- y like a man whoh^'aTll «^ r** ^"''^^'^g »P b ^ Ask him what was fhe na^eT '"*' '" ''" ""-^b. hind." ^"^^ °^*be woman he hid be- Colbum had been w,t t v'*°P **» '""7 her." ^^•«ba. S„,,i7l-W:^™..^erthebn-mof "»e sharp roiee hit I t S4S THE REPORTER of Uie reporter using the probe — " Why don't you ahoot mm up ? " Instantly, Fisher's face contracted in a spasm of hate that clenched his hands, and drew his legs in under him, and plucked him forward on the arms of his chair. "Him I G him I I want him to live just one day longer than I do. I want him to know I 'm on the other side, waiting for him. I-" He stopped, eye- ing the reporter. "No, you don't," he said. "You've got to get it from him." Colbum returned to his indifference. " I don't con- tract to publish, you understand." "Do as you — please about that. . . . And you're not to tell him I sent you. See? You 're a reporter come to interview him." " What 's his name ? " " He 's registered as * Sims '— ' S. A. Sims ' » "What's his name?" "Bell — Billy BelL" Colbum raised himself to his feet. "Across the nail? The man limped eagerly to the door, and jerked it open. "There." He pointed. "In there." Colbum slowly crossed the corridor and rapped on the panel Some one caUed faintly : " Come in." Ashe opened the door before him, he heard the one behind nim gently close. Colbum divided all mankind into newspaper men and THE REPORTEE 243 " ""'"'J*" "- whom he caUed " barbers " i. V contemptuous moods Tho « . , "* ''" '°°''® second the wriZ Th^fi ^v "T *^' ^^*^"' *»>« necessary fraternizing between SHwo h f ""^ """"^ ity of sincere friendshin Ih ' ."* "° ^'^'^^ panionaWemomenrCoI'rnH /^'°/'' ^'' '°°«* '^^■ Bider with whomTe drir "' '^* *^"' '^ '"^*- news sto^-rd ta,t?,:;- ^"^^"^ ^""^ °^ » .ide^ofTpa!;tTarT'°'^-'^ '^'^ ^'"^^ ^^^' -« - -t- " barber" CTS h " ^f" '^ ""^ '^« ^^ "^ hoodwink him anful l"""/"^. " "^"^P"?*' '"'«. But the ^T'to whom cl °"*^'''^" P"^-' opened the doorM ^^"^ ^^^"^ ''o^' «« he whofeal ai '! '^^""^."^ "« *^« -rt of outsider — rs/ nltt^-i^^.tfr'^^r™'^^"^ - He;::xrbrd2i?:^^^^^ Bed; and he contin„oJ * " »u"-case, open on his talk with you." -^ '"^o to have a few minutes' Siins shook his head quickly. « I Ve nothing to say 344 THE REPORTEK to the World." His voice was a breathy falsetto. He crammed his linen into the case. " I understand," Colbum said, putting up his hat from his forehead, " that you had a mine in Idaho." "Me? I hadn't" He clapped down the top of the case and snapped the catches on it " Nor anywhere else." "On the Snake Eaver," Colbum added. Sims was bending down to his work. He did not straighten up, but after a perceptible pause he turned to the reporter the tail of a startled eye. Colbum's face shone in the light with a plump and interested geniality. " You 've got the wrong man," Sims said hoarsely. Colbum replied, without irony, in a tone merely of seeking further assurance of his mistake: "Oh! Is that so? Didn't you stake out a claim there, with a partner, on an island in '98 ? " Sims reached his hat and his overcoat, and caught up his suitcase. " I 've got to catch a train. I've got no time to talk to you. I 've got no time, I tell you. Let me out of here." ^^ " I 'm Sony," Colbum said as he opened the door. " I wanted to give you a chance to put us right on that story. Thai thing's pretty heavy, ain't it? Let me have it" And with all the cahnness of his strength he took the suit-case forcibly from the trembling Sims. " What train do you want to catch ? " Sims struggled into his overcoat, hurrying along the hall, pulling his battered soft felt hat down on his ears. THE EEPOETER 24S 7. it s none of your damn biwineas." Colt,™ J I" "■• "" '»»rf "J fMt«l t}io„ =t„ J /^"^™ to the elevator boy. Whpn bill, Jim? Hurrvim ™ "'^f* Got Mr. Sims'a -; one calls^nT-W In h-'^"!*^' ''*""• ^^ And when Sims had p3 hi bill" C K '"\°"'-" iim out to the str^Pt T-i j ' ^°"'"™ "^^««'J .0,;.^, hj„ ..„ ,p M, „,t:^°:Tr"' °"' • '"' side of It. It makes no difference to me. I .,: J 846 THE REPORTER :!■ I wfflply thought you might want to put yourself right" Suns made no answer. Wrapped in his heavy over- coat, muffled up to the eyes, he sank back in the dark- ness of the cab, feebly obdurate. Colbum sat forward on the edge of the cushions to roll another cigarette by Si ^^J'„°l?^ T'^^ Btreet-lamps. It was one of those chill Colorado nights that come down to Denver from the mountains when the sun has set, but Colbum was used to them ; he did not even wear gloves. " Ever play loose deuces?" he asked. He added, in a mo- ment: You '11 be in time for the seven-forty-five." I 'JZ t'^~'" ^'"^ '"'^ " ^°" *""'* ""^ the first island ?» "• "^''t '^as the name of the -^^^^mizzcir'^j "''' ^ '' «■« -- a bum, he stared atTfrl th, h n"^''^' '" " ^"^"^ f « sunken on a colSt^' "^' "^ ^' «^««' i'» «hnmken neek. *!«* ^as too large for his The oar was larrivl K^ -tions of the trS-dt4* «>»-P aa the two -f- brought together JtuZTV''^'''''- Jhe covered platform echoed ^r *''* J°°™ey. from the negro porterr st , T^ °* " ^" 'b°ad I " ^^^^^-.bt. irmal^t:^;\-edfrom 'J 248 THE REPORTER f' i "Go on," Sims said weakly. « There '« n, > nothinir in thB Btr.™ * -meres — there's wantr- "'"'7--^'" « newspaper. What do you Personallv T^'. '! ^ *° •^'"e back with something, personally, I don't care a cuss about the thinit » Suns watched him in silence a moment. Th«« ^ asked in another voice- « WJiT °°'®r ^hen he He sank back against the cushions. « What do ,„ . want to know ? " »• w nat do yoii " Who was the woman ? " "ciyo;"?ea:ht :;roS'"^" '" "'•"" ■*"- Yes — but Ae won't." " He don't care." ■They generally do — that sort" PniK, mented " «»,-> — i . ' <-^olbum com- ented. She was about half his size, I suppose." „ f « ^as.n't any more than a kid." ^^ wasn'Utt""'- ^'^ "'^ ^'^ ^^'^- "^^ on her. THE BEPORTER 249 liked it. S?eStst^/ t"*"''*''°«"- S'"' tn-flThoraTk^^ r-'- »>-h, H.fr.a„ on ««■• a dog would if the m^n ^ ^^'^~ "^^ '°°« *«" •t fiL I sid to lit :r' "* ''■"'"' '*• "^^ ^t she-she lookTlLr r- T' "' '"^ '»'«i°«'«- -and I could ntsldt i-"'" " '''^ " '""'^^ Colbnrn put in • " V^,, -. * i. Si»snod5ed,;wallo2:;^;j:'*o--wa,r' And he caught you ? " aow did he know ? " Sims shook his head. "7 ^»„ jr , must Ve been watching us. W„ 1 u""""^ '"'*• ^^ to shoot something S dLoT * °"f * ''^ '^ «°- »« pony and struck off on the tTan to th T "f'''' *« f ninety-mile ride - if Z TIXh "h ' '' ^ -i-^^^r^?he^rh-t*^^-^--^^^^ --er, and then I^efSiVShe-o-^^.^ S60 THE REPORTER f Sr^."** t' T ^""^ ^"^ ""> " kn«*e*» I cn't go off and a; Z;^?^ 'T'm " 'f " ' •""' from a doctor." ''^ "^ "'*'^ *» get far There wag a long gilenp« Ti, 'ailg to a rhythmTf "7/ I. 7^, " "^''*'' »'°»« «te clack." SuddenTy Colh ^f '^* " '^'^ " "•""W CWefofPoltfsSorf ; ri-khere. Th'e come back to d1 l i -„ 'T' "' ™''«^ « ^o" '« - and doeg n't Jher " ^J^** ^°"' ^'°*^«' «««« «>"' " WeU.li„ you do ft ? " ""'*■ ^''^«'" l-^ -<>• tl.e^barron?efi:;^r-'?^-'^'-' '"••"^^ "iellasitig." HeloZ? ^!* ^"» "lo'^a He's ■ he 'd be doing this if I? ^ "T^' " ^°" '^""'t t^ink ^0 you f He taows hoH ! '""^T' ^' *« ^^^^^> Je 's got nothing'^SstT.'^ ^f/ ^^^- He knows' iun an^hing. He murde;ed W Td hT^ ^^ ^" away from it That '« ^i, !" , ^^ """ * ««* We him alone. hA! ""'^*^' ^''^ ^'^• him." ^ °'»««««'« all that 'scorning to " How about youf " "I can stand it Never mind me." H« tone waa final. Colbum retun.ed to Pishe.s i-L 9SS THE REPORTER quMtioni. " How much did you get out of the ' clean- up'!" "About two thouiand," Sims answered irritably, " Is there anything else you want to know ? " There was not He had the answers to his four queries. « I guess not," he said. " No." " Will you go away, then, and leave me alone I " Colbum rose, feeling in his pocket for his package of granulated tobacco. "Have a smoke?" he asked. Sims did not even look up. Colbum nodded, to himself, and went away to the smoking compartment. The man's story had no news value; and no other value interested Colbum. He consulted his watch; it wa« 7.67. He consulted the railroad time-table ; the first stop was Littleton, at 8.0&. He found that a train returning to Denver would pass through Littleton at 9.22; and it would get him back to Denver at 9.46. Good. If there was a night-game at the club — He settled himself in his seat, with the newspaper man's ability to dismiss the troubles of the outside world from his mind and wait as patiently as an old dog for the next whistle of events. He would return from wiring the story of a hanging, with just such placidity. His sympathies had been only momentarily stirred. And he had no literary interest in the psychology of the stoiy and no feeling for its merely human appeal When the train stopped at Littleton, he got out, and stood facing the little brick station while he reflected that from 8.09 to 9.22 would be a wait of one hour and thirteen minutes. He decided to go back by trolley. I! I THE REPORTER 268 Then he walked up the pl.tfonn to look in .t Sim.. tied fl' "" ^ wl*""*^^ ""^' ""» Co''*- carried by. " "*"' P*^"**" " ^ ^<»«» «h.ng w.., ,w .,.. !,i, „.^. j.„, ,^^ htit ■'''-■'- ^•-'■-—^«r car. he co^ld^jf Fisherl He .av.t have followed them, mieded m the darkness. One of them winked like .n A:d Colhu^'Tf ^'^ '"' "» '"'*-»* "^S U ouT And Colbum had a vague feeling that it expressed a humorous contempt of hin. for standing onZlt- he rib H^V""'?'^;'^ '«"" ^- ^— down me rails. Had he missed a story, after all? Tr„r . moment he wished that he had lerSimMai ; and ^J h« professional instinct for news assured h r'hit J story eleven years old was not worth - '"»'"*» hirn'rUre^lLr^' -i^Her had promised baZ?" *'' ^"^ ^"'^^ ' " ""' "'"''*'«''• " The dirty ciear. « was only money he had failed to get. I.- : i THE MOTHER-IN-LAW I i ;f:| ; ■ m THE MOTHEK-IN-LA',^ of hu«or tha l,d beT '"'r-^.J""^' -t^ a sense "He was a ^tf^'j^^U^ltZ' ]^''''- ^ht.ris.t::;-j-4 «>^on in a « «iutr,- bird to look after ^ \ ^r^^" ^^^ **^ '« that danced indrptdi^.T^^^d vt/ ^''' *^, k^ 'd never 'a' knowed wWn * « ^ . "^ * ^' ^ -1- 1 laid it :rfeTtL i' t'r* ^ ••» on two t.«8! If T .J ?J7P««'- gom' hoppin' along tin. co«i„' a Nock away I LT' ' "'"'' '''' ''^"' that in a trolle^.ar tj'l don't 1"": ''^ '"' "'''' it." ^ ''°° * «»^ the mother of TBese complaints, of con^., .ere intended «ore than 2S8 THE MOTHER-IN-LAW uL'C^"!^- ^t- "^""^^'^ '^"^^hter and she had rA . ^^^ ^ T"«^ *^«^'^^'' "^ °>°'1'«' being con- and the girl willing to work all day in the milliner^ departmait of Altgelt's Si.th Aven„e^to«. m^Z of Altgelts grocery department, Mrs. Joliffe saw them undertook to have their new home ready for them be- fore they returned « If y,h c-u'd eat hats," hl'a^J ookin after yer meals a while, till Hetty learns how sLtd it ".^"^^ ^^«'y*^^'««t"Pf-y«h betimes." She had It set up now, and she was expecting their re^rn at any moment They had found a"^' JlT. S^, .T "* ^^ ^""^^ «°<1 » kitchen in the apartment. There was a bedroom for Mrs. Joliffe. opening off the dining-room and separated f rom S young couple's quarters by the whole length of ^ fl^T trouble tnT. "!{ *^' *"" ^^"^'f' "-* ''O -ore SSv ., . *^u° ■" °^' ^°^ ^» t''"' back yard." Ba ley had giv«n her money to spend on fumi^l She had more of her own ; she had a small estate, which her husband had left her; and she did not spIiI her own m her desire t« give her daughter "a start tW anny gurl c'u'd be proud o'." ^* She covered the floors with carpets and then covered the carpets with druggets, with rag rug«, wird^r THE MOTHER-IN-LAW 259 tains of muBlu, staZS '""^'-'"'nds, double sash-cu,. oveivourtains of some sort * ,? ^'^ *^''' «nd 'oven tinsel thr^riTtn ^'"°" ^"^ "'^^ «^ ^■ 5«1 in gold embroider LTZ 7'"^ ""^ «« ''-"- bishop sayin'maas" Zj^^^'J'"* "« "" arch- «be had acqLri^'elbatSortrJ-'"™''"^' -''^«'' regilded her old picWfrfl *f'^'^"'g-«"»'«P«- She Fourteenth St,^tSeT'"°g every- but years out of date"' "^^'"^ '"^'^ '^"•'boned, pans as are no longer m!^„-?u ^ *'' ^^'^'^ms, such and ligh^housekeX tb«" fT ^"^^ ^^ «'*«*<'-' looked about her. " fw ,f f ^"' «™« "^in^bo and "i' of an artist openinAT' S- '•'"''' '"'"" ^^' defiant It was nine o^S ' jf^'*'""' "1«* 'en» come." ^ad b.n on the trS 1 1^ Ind H^iT 7?-. ^"^^ She was a small blonde wlt^ , ^ ^°^^^ *''ed. -itb one of those ZT'i^Pf'^Y-"- ^^^« -'^ of unlimited silence. "S 7^1 .'^' "' '="?""« a Blow correctnesrof p^nun f "' u^'^ ''^'^^''' ^''^ ambition in her," what C?°° *^"* ™'"-'^«d an ' ^^at veyoMbeenupto?" 260 THE MOTHER-IK-LAW Mrs. Joliffe laughed. " All sorts o' divilmint," she said, kjasing Bailey. " I been settlin' things in a kind o' way tiU you 'd be able to put 'em to rights." She stood aside from the doorway. "Here's the par- lor." Hetty looked it over. She had it in her mind that tb waUs were like a stationer's window in ChrUtmas week, and the whole room was as old-fashioned as her mother; but she said nothing. She accepted the ar- rangement as provisional: she could change it to the latest styles of Altgelt's furniture displays, in due course. Bailey had been a country boy who had come to the city t» be a millionaire, and he had been living in shabby hall-bedrooms. If he did not seem sufficiently enthusi- astic about the parlor, it was because he did not wish them to think he was not accustomed to such magnifi- cence. Added to this country reticence, he had the art of accepting a bargain with a show of reluctance. He said : " It '11 do us all right, won't it, Hetty ? " She pretended that she had not heard. But Mrs. Joliffe was not discouraged. She intro- duced BaOey to a Uttle tobacco-table set with a tobacco- jar, a corncob pipe, and a tobaoco-cutter on a mahogany board — the veiy cutter with which JoUffe had sliced his plugs. A padded armchair stood beside the table. A pair of new "morocco" slippers waited under the chair, and a tin spittoon beside it. " That 's the place fer you," she said, " when yuh come home with yer boots tired o' yer feet." THE MOTHER-IN-LAW ' But, Mother," Hetty objected, « he wc 261 theparlorl" ' —"•' ""'•'°"'«"' "« ''on't smoke in "Won't he then?" she said. "He'll Iw. . * i •* he don't TT^'ii 1 , iie u be a fool if h^ul" ah Ji '^^'^ "^"^ ^' ^*« >'» hi" own "Zre " ie'^l""' « shann«.mi„or in three leaves. h»,7^': \^^ ^^ "^ «* «" bit the top o' vep weL::tol;:.tt.^-^--^-*---^ ^% i^e^ M ::s^'^^ra't'"'^ 'Tr '^^■ flat^red. "All thTlfoJtrhL^n^' '' "''^'^' Mrs. Johffe made a gesture that said « Wait ! T '11 She had prepared cold ham aad hot coffee Di« »n^ pckles and chocolate caie, bananas and 7Z Z£ tHng^h can't r«.V' sirrid, "ai^e^r "^^■ baied the cake, made the salad and the chiliTauce^S ^^^ the coffee , and the, had the ^.J^JTZT^ wSThS?."/^"*" *""' """^ ^^ "^P overflowing Wlen he had had enough, she coaxed and wheedled 2 «e» THE MOTHER-IN-LAW _. star n up store some day fer yenilf ? » she a«keH for i«. J , 7 " **"* y"*! lees than it did for board, er I'm, n Dutchman. Hettv'Il J«,f . to nothin' fer clothes »' like a girl who has letlZTT l^^^' ^'"P'J'-handed, to find nothing to do ^"^'''^■''''^°o^ and come home h.X'errthrei-jv^^' ^^^--^ ^«-«^ " likely to sprout a mtuVdet J °" " ''*'"'^ ""'"d it "ot " slnshin' abont/^ i sSln ,:"?• ^'^" «^« -"» «he was humming "oS-co^S" / ' '"^ *'^ ^•'«''«''' happily in a favorite cha^Sh sh"eTr' '""^'"^ t (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) _^ APPLIED IIVHGE In. ^^r*^ '61 J Eail Main Street ^^ (^'6) *e2 - 0300 - Phone =SS (7'6) 288- 5989 -Fo« h 266 THE MOTHER-IN-LAW at least, she was invited to "go ahead an' do it, then." But when Bailey opened a bad egg for breakfast and sat down for dinner to a rolled roast so tough that no one could eat it, there was a scene at the table, and Hetty declared, in a passion, that she would never buy another thing for the house. She went to bed aknost weeping with anger. Bailey played his cribbage and smoked his pipe. "Leave her be," Mrs. Joliffe counseled him — and Hetty overheard her through the open door— "she'll come out of her tantrums. I know her. Twofer'his heels.' Go on now." He tried letting her be and found it a poor plan. She let him be. She withdrew herself ostentatiously from the household life, was silent at the table, and turned her back on him when they were alone. She sat all day by herself, amid the furnishings of a room that she hated, brooding upon the incidents of a life that she despised. Bailey's manner during his courtship had flattered her by a tacit acknowledgment that she was something finer and better than he. (He had fallen in love with her « citified " sophistication.) She had not allowed him to see much of her mother, of whose sim- phcity and commonness she had been ashamed. She had never let him know that her father had been a butcher; she had intended to leave all that sort of thing tehmd her when she married. She had known that Bailey was a trusted man at Altgelt's, with a future be- fore him, and she had counted on rising with him out of reach of her past She had vaguely intended to sub- THE MOTHER-W-LAW 267 due h„ther and put her into the background of her ..rfof ', *" ^''Y' '"'"''' ■* ^"^ '^' °>othor who had husban1-"^1*"- . I'l "' '"' '"' ^-'^y «»«>"' ''- mierf Had° '^T^ '~'^-'^^^ tene.ent-h^ots "mat's the matter with you, anyway?" Bailey asked her .mpatiently; and she turned ofhim in fb aT hf c' • r- "i ^^'^'.^ ^•°" '^'' "^ - "^^ *^<' " T r .. ,, .'^^ "^ * "'""'''^ ^ ^^^'"'t girl." You seem to 've married a mother-in-law » she said Go and su in the kitchen with her. It 'a the par of the house you 're most int'rested in." ^ " That 's a nice sort of talk 1 " she^was^r^ ^T \°'' ""'' ^"^"y- She «aw that she was lowering herself still further in his regard • and thereafter she said nothing. She became ^Cn tanned, haughty, silent, and altogether impossibS To endearments could draw an explanation from hlr and no m>pat,ence provoke her to a retort. She iTv'ed a -lent protest against the whole situation, and BaL 2;% found himself reduced to a stat; of wS He could no longer enjoy his evening game of cril^ did no wish to hurt Mrs. Joliffe's feelings. He could not enjoy his meals, but he had to pretfnd, for Mr^ ■ 268 THE MOTHER-IN-LAW Joliffe's sake, that he did enjoy them. She exerted herself to please him, performed miracles in cookery, and tried to keep the table lively with an indomitable good nature. But she did not understand what was wrong. She thought there had been some belated lover's quarrel between the two, and she considered it the part of wisdom to ask no questions. She was cheer- fully happy herself, worked singing, read the news- papers in her rocking-chair, and kct to her own end of the flat " The gurl 's a fool," sh .id herself, " but I was the same mesilf at her age. . . . Poor Jollie! Heaven give 'm rest! " She laughed to herself. "Us women — we 're danged hard to live with ! " She played her part until it was not humanly possi- ble to play it longer. Then she scolded her daughter and got nothing but a malevolent look. She advised Bailey to take his wife to the theater at night, and he did so, though he fell asleep in his seat. Then he took her to Coney Island on a Saturriay afternoon, and came back desperately discouraged — for the girl had told him eahnly that she would not live in the flat more than a month longer ; that as soon as the cool weather came, she would return to work in some shop. He sat with his cards in his hands, too worried to play his game. He gazed at nothing, with an empty pipe in his moutL " She wants a couple o' babies," Mrs. Joliffe declared. "When she has some squallin' young appitites to be 8tufl5n' she '11 have no time to be thinkin' of hersilf." He ?hook his head. THE MOTHER-IN-LAW 269 "Aw, yuh 're as bad as them ol' maid ministers," she oned, that 're alius writin' to the paypers about the divoree problum. If you men had more children, yuh d be havm' less trouble with yer wives." " She does n't like the flat." " The flat ! What 'a wrong with it, man ? " He looked at her as if he were going to tell her, flushed self-consciously, and went on with his game That look gave her ber first suspicion of the truth. She lay awake a long time in the night, " puttin' two an' two togither," as she would have said. When she saw her daughter in the morning, she understood. T . uj" f.^ '"^ *° ''''^^^' " I "»'t g°i"^' to butt in. I.et her do things her own way if she wants to. She 'U Jeam as well by tryin' as by bein' told ! " She understood why Bailey did not play cribbage with her that night -though he pretended that it was because he had a headache. He spent the evening in the other end of the flat, with the doors closed against her so that she might not hear what Hetty was saying. Ihe old woman darned his socks and assured herself that It was natural in the girl to want him to herself. She overlooked his guiltily apologetic manner toward her in the morning, and said nothing to Hetty when they were left alone together. The girl swept the parlor herself that day, rearranged ihe furniture, and took dovvTi all the calendar -as Jttrs. Johffe discovered in the evening, when Bailey I' I 270 THE MOTHER-IX-LAW and his wife had gone off to a roof -garden. She found her cherished decorations thrown together in a closet, and she put them away in her tnink, her lips twitching with a pained indignation. The insult was two-edged, though it hurt her most by impugning her taste as a housekeeper. "Dang the girl," she said. "A few years ago she'd not V behaved so — er if she did, she 'd 'a' got well spanked for it ! " She was up early and had breakfast ready for Bailey in the morning, with a cheerful countenance that changed, for a moment only, when she understood from his long and shamefaced explanation that he was going to take Hetty out to dinner in a restaurant and would not be home to the meal Here was an insinuation that her cooking was not all that it might be! He invited her to come with them, but she knew hotter than to ac- cept. "Xever mind me," she said. "I'm too old to be gaddin' about." Hetty's manner during the day seemed to have a suggestion of silent triumph in it, but nothing was said. The mother could not speak of what was in her thought, and the daughter would not. Mrs. Joliffe could only wait and watch, hoping that what seemed to her an un- reasonable anger in the girl would abate for want of provocation. But Hetty was determined to have her mother understand that she could not be ignored and pi-t aside in her own house; and as her mother yielded, bewildered and hurt, Hetty pressed on to the reali- zation of the plans that she had made before her mar- riage. THE MOTHEB-IN-LAW 271 life\h„TT r f '^°'" fagi-comedies of household hfe that develop day by day, week after week, b the rfrf ""^ "1'°'""'''= '°"*'»^- ^"'^y d'd i.is bT. tentatttJ ^''•/."'•^^ '" P'«y <=ribbage with him, once, tentatively; but he was evidently relieved when she did not accept. He allowed Hetty i send her oZ cl tL sXhlJTi. ^ '"'' "°°*""* ^^^'^ ^^'^ ""''^Pted these tKoI th T""? ^''''^'''^ *''«'"• Se 'et Hetty take down the curtains in the parlor and put up others more to her taste. He gave her money ^to ZZZ new fnmnure, and she put away the rugs. "^ Mrs. Johffe, sitting quiet and humiliated in thn din^room, heard the girl, now, singii^a^st «t5^ f't *^'' °^ ''°"'^' S«"7 ^«« =0 longer silent at the t.ble, except when she and her mother we" ate L !« r,/ "^ "", '^""•^ ^^"^ ^°°'^«d "5^« ill tumor m the old woman. "She'll come around," she toS him privately. "She's sulky because she ca^' hate book and die was experimenting in the kitchen with jargeiy ot. bhe had persuaded him that tea eave him -digestion ; she did not drink it herself; and hefltW had none to pour but her own. When the fumShLg of the dining-room were overhauled, she turned Z 273 THE MOTHER-IN-LAW table around and placed Bailey's >hair opposite hen- by which niano-uver Mrs. JoliflFo was left in the place of the outsider. As a final touch, Hetty helped the vege- tables; ryd there was something hard to define in the way in which she passed her mother's plate. It was perhaps unconscious and unintentional; but it made Mrs. Joliffe feel that the hand of a slighting charity was extended to her with the food. " I 'm not wanted," she told herself. " I 'H go away I 11 go away an' live by mesilf." But she had spent too much of her own money on the despised furniture and decorations of the flat, and she was too proud to ask tor ,t back. The prospect of a lonely and useless old age frightened her even more than poverty. She wanted work to do; and here was work, if Hetty would child? she asked herself. « What 've I done <<, her ? I m that worried I've got the heartburn." And she rubbed her waist-line pathetically and blinked her faded eyes. She did not appreciate this desire of a young life to mold Its own circumstances, direct its own plans achieve its new ambitions. She saw herself dirust aside by a filial jealousy that seemed to her the most horrible ingratitude, umiatural and heartbreaking; and this jealousy having begun in ill-temper, continued in that aspect because the girl was best able to justify herself in her own eyes by preserving her resentment against her mother, even after Mrs. Joliffe had been reduced to the meekness of despair. TUE MOTHER-IN-LAW ties." ^ " ^ "'''« to gJve little par- Bailey remained gilenf anrl i.;. m She gi»«rf ., i„ i " /If "" f 1'°"' '•:■ p»««it, to p„.h «,. ,„„„„ j':^^"'' '"I' •'")' op- ..., w. Mio, 0.,,.. .h„ ,T.,«,f.':-jr ■ "i;; " Tb«l '. an Mk " B.... P""'«l7 with h„ ,i, 274 THE MOTHER-IX-LAW Bailej Mid indignantly: " Well, I 'm tired of this vjde bu.„e«s. We don't need a ,iH and we can- afford ona I*ave the poor old woman alone. The !::Th:;rT''^^''^''^p^--^'--^-ide.be. of L™?"'"- '^' T^' "■"P"'''- " " yo" 'hink more of her crazy notions than you do of my health ~" bought some food in a delicatessen shop and hid it in her trunk She ate nothing for dinner oJ^^lZ tapoca pudding which she had made herself and i IZ 1 \fir^'' *'"' •; ''■^"'^-J -'h he'r. She was .11 in the morning, refused to have her breakfast brought to her in bed, and sent Bailey to his work to worr, about her Her mother came to s«, h r Tmi ^ day with a bowl of chicken broth and some buttered toast. She refused it. « If I want anything t^ ea7" she said, " I 'II cook it myself." ^ ' ho^l ^1'^^ T.'^' ^°°'^ °" '^^ -^^'^^ ""d went to her room to pack her small belongings. " I can't stav here," she told herself, « an' I dfn'f know wher Tu go to. I '11 have to get work. I '11 have to get work omewhere but '11 go to the poorhouse before Al Stan fer this. I 've slaved for her all me life, an' I 'd 71 L""' '"i*^ '"^ ''"^^^ °ff »« fingers. If she wanted me. But she don't. I'll go -an' be danged to her! " She wiped her cheeks on the end of her apron « God help Bailey. I'm glad i^ him that 's got to stay an' not me." She stripped her little room, packed her pictures of f I THE MOTHER-m-LAW left it umillllTeotai.- -''"^r'l'r^'^' ""f the floor to please nobody " °°* "'«* "'^ faction of fi,?injL. i •'^ '"'"^'"-■'''' '""^ '^o satil came home ^ °« T'""''^ "'• "'^''" bailey He4. blanrarXie'^tir ^--^-"^-^'^ 4^ar"::!-\rortri--r ' She '11 let me do nothin' ffir Jio, I oook. She wants a ^^ Sh7 . .' T '"' ""*'"' I'mgoin'." ^ She wants to be rid 0' me. He wandered back to the bedroom again. sai? ott; r T™7^ ^^« ''f o^s voice and .he doubt, x.;i^„,,,^:;--^^^^^^^^ ^.".e'sa?^f^h^?Ceai?;r "'^ ■Ue came out to her, pale « «!i,» he said huskily. ^""^ ^■'"'*^ *° «ee you," "What is it?" 276 THE MOTHEIMX-LAW " She '11 tell you, I He looked down at bia feet guess." His manner alarmed her. She hurried to the bed- room and found Hetty lying among the pillows, her eyee dilated, her lips trembling. « Mother," she said, clutching at the old woman's hard hand, "don't kJ '"'.!^;n.°°'''' '*"*''*""'• I ''»- I'm frightened." \Vhat is it?" the mother whispered. "What is It t And even as she asked it, she knew. . . " Dear God," she laughed, while the girl clung to her " I wanted nothin' but to stay with yuh. Who said I was gom to leave yuhf Don't be a fool, gurl. What 're yuh scared o' ? D' yuh think yuh 're the first woman ever had a baby? Wait now. Yuh 're hungry. Ihat 8 what 8 wrong with yuh. Where 's that broth ? " There! she said to Bailey. " What 'd I tell yuh ! We 11 have no mtre trouble in this house. Sit down there an eat yer dinner like a man an' a father I 'U beat y at cribbage when I get her off to sleep " She chuckled to herself, good-naturedly, over the Tl: . l^"^ '*'" ^ " ^'J' «' ""arry young. I lived to be a mother-in-law hersilf, fer her sins. A mothe.in.lawI An' they make jokes about us' in "the IN THE MUSEE i i 1^ THE MUSEE iTt™. T "' *^' ^"^^ °f Mod-^e Carloti'I gipsy tent and grinned in at Madame. "Well" L ilX;-'^^^'"^^"'^'^ Been.oldin.:;U^ amonff soiW k »"'«' aressed in a scarlet kimono. down therrto"^ iS to" ll" f"" ^'^ "^ '' ^* '"'^ ««d feeble griAfeill^l^Tatr ^d- ^'^ '''' anything but a carpenter's vL Id T ?''"""''«" pince-nez had beer^ot wr^'^i^i".' ^^^^ "^ ^''^ _^l.e looked up at Redney, carefully, mindful of the " Yuh '11 sneeze some day," he said " «„' ^f ,i goggles stuck in yer throat'' ' ^' ^^'^ 279 I t liJII 280 IN THE MUSEE " Why ain't you sellin' She took them off to ask: your things ? " " Nothin' doin'." He had a wooden tray of chewing- gum and prize packages slung before him on straps from h>s shoulders. " Could n't sell that gang silver dollars at three fer a nickel. They ain't got the pWce. Bunch o kikes Say! The nex' dame yuh get in here, tell her she s goin' to find her fortune in a prize package, will yuh? That 'd help." *- °6 . She shook her head. "They don't come the way they ust to. The Professor says he don't think we 're more than payin' rent since Peb'u'ry." Eedney made a sound of derision in his nose. " The game 's a dpa^ one. Ev'ry one 's wise to them fakes." He indicated tdie "exhibits " with a backward jerk of the head. He was called " Eedney » as a dog is called « Spot " : his real name was as unknown as his history. He had arrived at the Musee with the sun-scalded complexion of an amal«ur tramp ; and after " boosting " for a time on the street, he had obtained the privilege of selling candies inside, on a percentage basis. It was under- stood that he had previously been traveling with a circus as a butcher," selling lemonade and " red-hots " He had a lumpy chin and jaw, but lips that were nimble, tuu of unexpected muscles, suave and slangy — the lips of a man who has the gift of the gab. .V "^°11, F'"*"'' ^"°'"*' ""' "ictelodeons 've got us on the bhnk," he said. "We're tryin' to pay too much rent anyway." ""^ir IN THE MUSEE 281 call his wares on t},« fl "^"""^ ^"^ney had wished to licit" except sileni^' ^ '"^"'^'^ *° '«* ^^'^ "«> s.?shThrh:ra£rfS:t"-^ we 'II do." °'' * ™ow whatever J'zr^i^r^.t":* ^ "'°"« -'^ ^ -^ " Oh, well," she siffhed « v„ i people-" ^ • ^°" 1^0^ -old married He cut in: « When were yuh married ? » tt- . was dispassionate and inquiring b" 11 thing under it that startW her ™ '"'' '"""^ She gave him a quick look. He said : " TTh ? " Ti;„ r -id ,uh were old marri J "2 T .""""■ , " ^"^ ried young." "»«« peopla Yuh must V mar^ ^r^tSLt;^^'^:^:--™:;^^^^ , a P- together, inside of themselves,! thf ttma';' V m nil HI 282 IN THE MUSEE deft way of housewives. " We 've been married a long time." " Yuh Ve said it twice, so it must be true," lie re- marked, with his usual brazen calm. " Been a gay life, eh ? Enjoyed ev'ry minute of it ? " She regarded him with a pathetic doubtfulness of expression, bewildered by worry and not sure of his sarcasm. " Gay ? " she said — and got no farther. There was a look in his eyes that had nothing to do with his words — one of those indescribable signifi- cances of scrutiny which do not express thought but show where it is concealed. On the instant, with a shifting of the eyelid, it was gone. " Well, cheer up," he said. " The worst is yet to come." And, shrugging up the tray-straps on his shoulders, he went out, to meet the small attendance of visitors who were following the Professor from the '.owpr end of the hall. She sat looking after him, blankly, with the socks in her hand, weighed down by an apprehension which his parting words had not allayed. II The hall on which he had issued was the width, length, and height of a single Bowery shop — and that is narrow, long, and low. It was dismally lit with a half-dozen gas-jets that did not seem to thrive in the ex- hausted air ; and under these jets, on platforms along the. walls, sat a half-dozen entertainers, exhibitors, and living curiosities waiting for the public to be drawn to them by the Professor's "spiel." In a double row down the ^ THE MVStE 283 the lung,, Jifting ^^^ Sh H^ '"^'''''"- f- for the hands, autoratic nh '^''' ^'P "'"'1"°«« chines, and mutaZZHt'^^'^^'' "^'S^ing ma- knew by heart the antolat Tc /ecord oH" '1'^°"^ prowess. They walked up and Til ^^^''""^ chines listlessly, with the L ' ^ ^ ^°^' "^ '»«■ ife when he is r,i^^ t^ "'7^ *e true Boweiy- dering about iXelllT'^i ~ *''''* «' "f wal clse, with the certain El, ?' "l ""^'»» ^'^'"^where nothing new. ^'^^''^^^ **"" ^e will find there «ei;;^w7frjrproro: ^'"'°™ -'^'^^^-^ ^- the'^eZaf «;^rr^T't^'^^"-' *^« ~neer, »an.nablaekfittirsnitof ^''"~'* "'"''^ ^'"'e as old and n:sty ^ L'" gf ^^^"'"f "^o^hee that looked manner becanae^hem aWsT h'^^t"^^' ^""^ ^'« h.gh manner of public 11^' 5 C ^^^ " ^'^^^'^' *ache-a mustache that ^ihed ""^ '^^'^ ^'^ "-- overnanging nose as if i^elt Z^, "°'' ^'^^ "^ «" I'^tween the nose and thell -^ f"f ""comfortably black strings of hal ttV ^" ^' ^""^ ''^^ ^^e greasy top. He h'ld dy d S T ""f ^''^^ ^■^''«'d «andy Scotch by nature andT^ "''^'°'''- ^^e was But ever, one whoTnew hi''" T' ""^ ^""^-"O for professional reasons an-T "fl"'"^^ '^'' ^' ^yed ■ di^ise his eviden age : h" iTt ^""t '^ "■^''^'^ *» age, ie had too much tolerant con- 284 IN THE MFSEE tempt for the world to aflFect any appearaaees that were o»ed to talk down to his audiences patronizingly, with lir/ r"'^'"^"* « they might come to a high fZ , r "°"' -'-olation-and, while he lied to tollth " P"r^;\»'« did it for their own good. rii* J-"*^ '^"' ""^""'''^ °^ ^-^^ *'«'* !■« had been wor- hi!? K "'f '/' ^'"'"'"" ^"''o"" had said-tharie had been bad-ten ,ered, as Redney had had cause to observe The stah of the Musee had suppos^ hat thb change ,n km was due to the « bad busfness "; and the staff, of course, had been right. But tonigh he had gaiety, and Eedney- after listening to him at the Wer end of the hall-had come to Madame CalS 1^ T r '^' "" """^ °^ "''ything that had hi pened to reheve t„e anxieties of her husband. H^ sjrr rd h ""r^ ''"^ *'«* ^''^ -- -* -^h watch the Professor again and listen. The pompous little man cleared his throat. « Ladies an. gent e-men , » he b^an. with a sort of beni^c t tempt. Allow me to in-troduce to your no-tice Pr«-.. that ProW IT«r„ ^"^"^ "»<"■ will perfonn a darLTl,? T"' "" '^"^^ '^''«°» «ands of feet above the ^r^^oiT J^ *«°« '^'>^- weather on that OK,asion uZn^toC ■ ■ ' '' *^ The aeriaJist was starinl !!?., u .^"""P"'""*-" «>''« head, startled ^ *^' "^'^'^ ''^ **■« P'ofes- -it:£ditr:arr' ?^- ^'^^ ^"^»« en-tirel^newandfoiLrS'^ '"tr'* '''' on ex-hibition in this hall frrK " "7'" ''" P^'^'^d erican puWic . . . d„r inl " * °^ *^" ^'«- ie-fore the Pro-fe^or iZ hit" '°-«''«"'°^"* • • ' Lon-don." ^ ^* '°-Jo»™ to Paris atui ito^'' 'itllT^ °° ^^''"--t an^ong the " vis- «ible Proi^rX'-^.^^^'^t^eiC performed. It startled TT»,- ^ commonplace only; he had phot^lphs^rT" '°' ^'^ "•«--' »ale, and he h'astnSl offer t. '"{ "' ''^ «^« f- was still new. It llful""^ ^^"" '''^ ^"^der - W tent; but shTSrf "1°"''' ^'«*--g -Hn, an heroic e.ort:t:^ri7^X;- if r ( 286 IN THE MUSEE 1 ill ifr il' 1 Redney alone, lounging against the wall, saw something in the reckless promise of the speech which the othera did not appreciate. The Professor rarely joked. He had always been a conservative liar on the platform and magnified the past of his exhibits without promising too much for the A^ ^And Redney, thoughtfully scratching in the red thatch of his head, was aware that there was, as he would have said, " somethin' doin'." The MusSe had seen its busiest days in the early eighties, when its Civil War relics were still fresh from the factory and there were enough English-speaking im- mip-ants on the East Side to give the Professor a profitable aud,enee. In the nineties, when "Madame Carlotta jomed its staff, it was just beginning to feel the competition of the Yiddish theaters and the pemiy arcades. A decaH. later, when Redney came to it, it was already m its hopeless decline. What he called movin-pictur' joints" and "nickelodeons" had changed the public taste in amusement. Civil War fr^'- '"' l""^''" °^ '°t«'««t-even though they had been imperfectly converted into relics of the cam paign m Cuba. The living curiosities had outlived curiosity. Even the Musee's « Amateurs' Night "- of he Professor's own origination - had been stolen by departed A thre^story building, with a theater on its ground floor and two large amusement halls above, can- thatZk? b'f "'""" ""^ "^ '^"^ ^^'^'^ °f dimes tiiat took a whole evening to fill one of the wooden pools IN THE MVSEE 287 Tltdltftir'^- ^'"-"^''^- Citable, The Professor pr^^eiM ^7®"' *" ''"^'^'^^ -»e tHoueand ^Z^^^^^'j ^^^ °^ ^^-p into shoe-dressing that he harl ^ , " water-proof Yellowstone Pa4 and to T'*^ '" " " ^'^'" - paper, " showing seven wnJ T^ "'^' *«'' t"8"e of thennive.e,L7dL^;t;f :^^^^^ scene in honor to our natinn^V ^ . t™°«fonnation And when the par^rJT ''"' ^^"''^ Dewey." h« sleeves, the J^ ~V^«PP«» Ward to rol/up " What 'a that b'; do Lrfn " "? ^'''""^ ^'^'o"-- he demanded. « i iT^ '"A°" *«"' «» the time i " thatbeforu" ' ^<'"'* ^«'" l»m round. I told you had been increased tlLnf J """^ °^ ^°"''"- I* Professor's eloquent VTV T" «°°te«>Pt for the feet when Hedneyrcc Jd Jt ^""^ ""'^'^^ -^ «f- with iiadame Carlottrttat 1 \'°, '"K'''*'**"^ himself ]r' 888 IN THE 11 USEE |v " That '» — that '« that boy I » "And I won't stand it. Here I've been «pendin' ev ry cent I made - on you an' the flat - ev'ry cent of It. An now, ,f anything happens I got nothin'-" She checked herself with the thought that if she quar- reled, now, she might not have even him. '« I 've done everything fer you, an' you haven't- You won't 'Tl -T '^' ''"'^' P'^'^'i'^ely. " about the Musde, whether it 's goin' to bust up." He nodded at the charts of palmistry and decorations of hocus-pocus on the walls. "Read it in the cards," tie said. « Bead it in the cards." " You 've never troated me right. Never I " He had found her practising her innocent black arts in a tenement-house, and had procured her her place in the Mu«^. He was then a lonely old bachelor, and she was the deserted widow of a circus man who had run away from her and taken their child. She had been so grateful to the Professor that she had served h.m ever smce like a bound slave; and he had accepted everything from her with his high-platform air, ac- knowledging no obligation to anybody, reserved and selfish, above the world and vain. He said now, narrowing his eyes: "If the Musee shuts up, p'rapsAe '11 look after you, eh J You were so set on giving him a home, mebbe he'll give you one. I ve never treated you right! You turn on me the L • iTl.! "f"^'^ ^'■"^ ''^^ '^^'' •"«• Mebbe he 11 do better for you. Yes I Eh ? " " I never turned against you." she weakened. " The IN THE MUSEE 289 hoy 'g nothia- to me, an' you know it" Sn. i^ weep. « I Ve been that worn^T' Yovl t bad-tempered— Wh n,v,.» 1:0.1 re been bo place d.ru up » » ^""'" "* "" «oi to do if the Arewegoin'toclcetc^night?'' ^' ■I hat s not your bus'ness " "We are/" " You keep quiet," he ordered « n« to -a here and J. ere^ for^i^^e T" ' ^'^-^ cH^^o?ir;rdttz^ii-°^-°^^'=-^'^e eall of duty to the p'^Z "? '*'"'' '* ^"^ '•>« i>e left her and wJk ?"'' ^^ "''^ " «""' ««°rt out after hmherC Xd" ^^ ""'• '^« '^'^^'^ not see confrJnSXl "fri2\r ^* '''^ ""'"^ De^ey " with the PhfLn" *""'"]'''»' ""^^ *» Admiral But even throul th j ?'°V''*°''' '" '''^ •'■'"^^^^ Jeard the Sfouf^ Str 'i'^ ^f ^f flowers blossom on these islan lly foZ'ZT' and P.S3 away, but the flower of the L ' ' iiOO m TUE AIUSEE that .hould have been filled with an ovation to the hem, the paper wizard bow. ■ ^ . ® ' mas." ^'"°° "°««» fe' Chria'- The Professor had mounted another platform bhng^vuh rag., «.f j.ou will „ow kindly ,tep thi, "These here packages," Rodney overtopped hi., sels fer a dune, ton cents, but on th'^Tt J : '. The Bowery knew a bargain; and the prize packages :;-ptHisway."butnoolCdS''A:rrhe: wipe the f ,or with him. he shouted: " We will ..„ 292 III IN THE MUSEE proceed downstairs, where some inter-es-ting exhibit, are awa.tmg us," and, leaving Eedney to his triun.ph, he went below w:th all the dignity of an old dog tha has been barked out of countenance by a pup {Z >^"^/"^""'^'''^ *■'" ''"y' ^' «^'d cheer- fully: "Now, fnen's, I want to thank yuh fer yer kind attention an' say good-night. The rest o' the show s waitm' fer yuh downstairs. Huny up. er ^LT.:1.'-- «°- ^O figh?to-n%ht. . I f ' Ml, ni He waited until the last reluctant small boy had taken to the stairs; then he grinned his way over to Madame's tent, winking at his friends on their plat- forms and counting his nickels as he went. " Well " T^'T"?'"''^""*- How'reyougettin'on?" ' do it^rl '' ' '"""'' ^ " '^' '''^'^- " ^^"^ ^^^ y*'" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the hall. They re grabbin' everythin' downstairs fer rent. Two fer a nickel 's better 'n nothin' apiece. The game 's "There!" she said. "I knew it!" She sank back upon her cushions, staring at him with the dumb eyes of disaster realized. ". , , , . reached foi er cards on the table. " Now what '11 we do 2 " she said. " Now t " He at down and shuiBed the bits of pasteboard began to lay them out on the table before him and IN THE MUSEE 293 «ru'^°* ^°^°* ""'^'^'" "''« *"''• "Not a cent. . . . Where « he? The Professor? What's he goin' to " Yuh can search nw." Eedney assured her. " I don' know. He studied the cards. « Say," he said, " yuh been married before." "What?" She blinked at him between grief and amazement. was n't he ? What become o' the boy ? " She opened her mouth to speak aoid remained with it open, leaning forward to see the cards - which he was studying sagely. « Yer name vas Carr, eh? » he said. aiSu?" ' ' ^^^ '''' ^^"^^ C^'l"""' She clutehed his arm. " What 're you talkin' about ? " I m telhn' yer fortuna" He spread more cards. Huhl He ran ofF with the kid. A tumbler. Yuh don t say. Got his neck broke in Denver. What be- come o' the kid ? » She answered, as if in spite of herself, faintly " I don't know." .; • '■ "Well let's see." He spread more cards. "The f, f, .'^ see. . . . How about thai? That looks like It. He went on with the troupe. An' then when he would n't tumble he got to sellin' peanuts an' ■ lem nade. He was darned glad he was quit o' th' ol' S94 IN THE MIJSEE man. Let's see. He come back to N' York " Her hand had tightened on his arm, in a shaking grasp. An one day, on the BoVry, he seen a sign ' Madame Cariotta inaMusee. Wonder if it was her ? » He grinned round past his shoulder at her. « Looks iike her." Her poor old face was as if paralyzed in an expres- sion ot incredulous amazei.ient and delight. "Ah'" she said in her throat, without moving her lips, open- mouthed And then, with a shaking jaw, stutteringly, sheened: "B-b-bab!" •' Sure thing," he grinned. She caught him round the neck and drew him down to her, and in spite of his shamefaced and protesting laughter she almost strangled him with a hug and smothered him in her embraces. "Babl Bab!" she cried, her hands about his face as if he were a child - patting his cheeks, stroking his hair back from his fore head, kissmg and fondling him. "Oh, Bab!" Her tears came with her kisses. " My — my " It was too much for her. She burst into sobs, fum- biing for her handkerchief. • '^''^!^ r""^ ^'' awkwardly on the back whisper- Ztit.'^ "'"""• T^^^'^^^^ght. Don't cry t>,r ?^' ^ TH ^f ? '*'" '^^ ^'P*' ^'P'^g her eyes with the sleeve of her kimono. "I'm so- Oh, I was so orsi' "^' '' '^''^ "'* "^^ "" '^ *"■■' ""^ ""^ °°'' - " That 's all right," he said. " I 'd 'a' told yuh long IN THE MUSEE 296 Oh, Bab! " «""caiiy. oh, I 'm so glad. right," J aid "?th J' f°"''^^'-- "That's all The nam! oh.\ a I ^^^' P"P' *« Professor-" J- recaiiea to the thought of hini. "t ^-j u I Jd';ik^-rb !'S tr l-r -"■'-^ "• "■»■ 0' see IN THE MUSEE If'; ' "you've got it now. They 've seized eveiything." He saw Eedney, and threw out a hand at him, passionately, shaking the handkerchief. " Get out of here. Get out." Eedney nodded. " I 'm goin'. Come on, mom." She jabbed in her hat-pins. " That '3 my son," she said. "That's my boy. He's offered me a home. Now, then ! " The Professor looked from one to the other, with his scowl of anger slowly fading tiU his face was a gape of staring astonishment. ^^ "You've never treated me right," she cried. " Never I I 've given you everything — worked fer you an' everything. I 'm not goin' to do it no more." He sat down among the cushions, blinking, with a sort of stunned look that was pitiable enough to accuse her of inhumanity. " You 've made my — It 's been a cat an' dog life," she defended herself. « You 've brought it on yerself. I wanted to do what was right. You 've no one but yer- self to blame." He tried to pull himself together, with a return of his pride. " I don't want to leave you on the street," she said, relentingly. She looked around at Redney. "I s'pose, if he — until he gets work somewhere—" The Professor drew himself up. "Nol" His voice was no more than a croak. " No ! " His vanity would not let him — or if not his vanity, then his self- respect. He did not know how dependent he was; we none of us do. He had regarded himself as a masterly it IN THE MFSEE gjy strong spirit, living aloof from th^ i*y: «.d he was wilW toTt f """^-T "^ *'"°"'»- of kindliness or reconSatti ^^ "'''''"' "^ "°«^ spedTnUnSrhlritt ^'■^'^^- ^^ tie living curiMit;», !, °/*^k af^r her. There, all P-aenger^ onTsSi^gJ^'^^ *°^*''- "ke the their trunks, their propertief th^T' "T "^^ '"«*' their poor exhibits were au' he ^ f'"!^ '"^"'^^ ""'^ faced_ bankmptc, and ^an" IVj. ^''^ 'r ^^^ captain of the wreck stoo^f. Professor, the that hubbub, aTt^en tl ! T'^'''' ?'''« I'^fo'^ back stairs, i^to the stet' '"*" ''' ^'^^ ^^e He wandered about desolately till f.,- j iome to his empty rooms ^\ ] {^^^ ^'"^^ ^™ trunk was gone\idTof I. n^^" *^^'«- Her could be paSed S t OnThT .'""""^''"^^ *^* hu.g on a ga^iet where he''^, I 'Ct:^ ^^ ^-^T' had scrawled : « Qood-by " '^ "' ^^e He left it therei .t,'t'pi:^,r .ranis'" ""»"■•"■' - That was some veara airr. t? Bowery Musee <•. Jn^^' ^'"'•>. """^ of the old t, Ill lil III III ^*® IN THE MU8EE gother-no one knows whera Only the Professor remainB-an old rounder on the Bowery, gray an' shabby, sleeping in doss-houses and hawUng a china cement -and he, as the chief victim of this tragedy m fakirdom, is still too proud for pity and too absurd lor anything elsei I ' ,). . THE EXILES THE EXILES stari»g. with all its shut ts IT '^'^ '" "^ roadway at the other inTf. T u "'''•^''^«' a^^s the meeting his double b1 ^^ T^""^"' "^ « °"'° the saie four "0": of T™ '"^^ ^^"^''-"^ •" like all its elloT L w "' ^'"'^ "''"^°- -- « line as the ncLarts ol? ""^'f "' ^^'"'^ third window in Ll^LtZ ^h ' ' ""' "' ^^'-'^^ -as if it were a foot oll^rul-r^r ""'•'' "^ a brownstone stoon fr«™ u- 1. ''^ ^ P'"°J^tion of down to the!ide3t "'^"^ " ^^'^ '' ^*«P« 1«<« pe-usl;r:t!^ff"r'«^, "' ''"""' ''"^' - '*« p- ideal of i'ZZr:^zr^::zr''^/' to the strictest -.^,.,r„„+- / ' *"^"' accord ne it i.ad fZTlrzSrj^T''''- ^"' ^^' methodical air seemed oX ^'^'"' "^'"^ '*' '«*' boarding-houses wW tT ^ ^'?"" ^ '""^ =* «t'^t of w^ing^and e.ting, Jo AXlcIV"'' '"^^"^' M« ZXtlTX''^' '^' ''-°^~ -aid in • ^ « board.ng-house had to look for entertain 809 I fi THE EXILES ment whenever she waa tired of Ler round of «v.V,V- -rving, .nd wa.hing.„p. She w.. T w/^^'S hernan.e w.. Annie Free]; and her cheek, were 'till tarnuhed g. t fran.e«, hung on a yellowedTalpl ; that mad© the whole room look -if *v. ■ ^^ on the area and the street; and whenever theThS She let her hand fall idle into the cool water of th« pan and .tared the dust floating in the iTght ^_The cook called hoarsely from the kitchen: "An- She started. "Yis?" THE EXILES 303 ''Wh«t'rey',t}.. " Peelin' pitatie*." "What'8n.akin'yehsonowy|" ■Annie looked down at h^r i,.„j • i " Whjr don't veh ,;n! ^ '"*^°"* MBwering. voice wi ,221 * "" ""'^ ''"** '^^' ' " Th'e silencft ''' '""Sned herself to a stifled -VSeX LTntr'^'^ '^'^ ^''^ «*-'' Annie dropped h^rnl; T ^f"^ "^ ^'^ « J^'-k; and 'hesawalliXlrKr*"''^^'*^''^- ^hen her dish-pan Tthe de^^^*?"" -^ "''-J' «he put fn>n. the light to larT^r T'" "'"' «*<^ a tug at the^r "* '^'' ^^'^'^ «" »•« -«ight that?'""^ bel" the cook cried to her. "What's wtcht^ ^ hTwll'tt rt T'^' •■- - ^'■^ -t' That's not JaZ;,' ''"* *'^ "^^ ""' "^ ^^ Annie shook her head. «Wo» =1,^ -j and turned to er tv thA i J^ ' ® ^*"^ vacantly, ^ '^y *''« ^asJ'et on the serving^table. i ^'^ 304 THE EXILES <.J »*^'' '*"^'*' ' moment on the tone of that No; " and then, taking up the chopper, ahe attacked the meat in the wooden chopping-bowl with vicioua Mows. She had the arm of a butcher — short but powerful -and a body of the same LuHd; her hair was a greaay gray; her face wag the flat-nosed type of Irish, that is so pathetically like an ape's. Annie went out with the empty basket, but this time ahe met the man's eyes with a look of inquiry that held him until she could ask: "Where's Mr. Boland now ? " Ho grinned. "Jack J Oh, he's quit. He's got married. I don't know where he is." She released her hold of the basket, her face as blank as a bewildered child's. " Jack 'd sooner marry than work,=' he laughed. He added over his shoulder as he went, " Hot, ain't it ? " She shut the basement door, and stood for a long time with her fingers in the iron lattice, gazing out at the area with set eyes. When she turned back to the din- ing-room, she groped her way ' ndly through the dark b.M. And when she sat down to her work again, h^.T hands went about it mechanically under the fixed mask of her face. "Is 't the heat that 's worryin' yeh ? " the cook asked a tieir luncheon « Sure I know it is," she persisted, at the girl's listless denial. "It's bad weather far young blood. Me own ould skull's splittin' like the Bhell of a hard-boiled egg. Phew I Go in an' lay yer- silf down, that's a good child. It's out 'n the fields THE EXILES /o»« of steam ro f fl'^°"« f "^-^eys ; thf "fraight in the still air Th^ t^r""^' ''""'^^g* "mothering alL ^^^ ^"^^ ng dishes - at the sink wSSl" 'u P"" °^ «*«"»- ^''ere the roaches gathered to 306 THE EXILES the sound of trickling water — she washed a thousand glasses, cups and saucers, plates and spoons, knives, forks, pans and pots, deaf to the kindly garrulity of the cook who helped her. When it was done, she went back to her bed again. « Ah, go away, Maiy," she said wearily. " Go away an' let be." Mary took the kitchen rocking-chair and carried it out resolutely to the area. " As sure 's my name 's Mary McShane," she promised herself, " I 'II break the back o' that boy Jawn! Here's Saturda' night, an' no sight of 'm since this day week. Let 'm come now. Let 'm come. I '11 give 'm a piece o' me mind." And she sat down with her arms crossed to wait for him. There was a fluttering of white skirts here and there on the porches across the road, where some boarders were sitting out. Men dragged past with their straw hats in their hands and their coats on their arms. The clang of trolley gongs and the iron hum of trains on the elevated railroad came to her drowsily. She relaxed to an easier posture and b^an to fan herself with her apron as she rocked. Both motions ceased together. She closed her eyes. It seemed only a moment later that she was awak- ened by an insistent "I say, cook! Cook!" She started up to see the young man whom she knew as Mr. Beatty of the top-floor rear" leaning over her He said : " What 's wrong with Annie ? " "Annie?" she gasped, wide awake. "Saints in Hiven — " THr EXILES 307 " Oh, it 's nothim ," ho huahel " «su» -. j ■ of ! eXf ^vt "' '" t '- ^^^ - ^ P-'^- He waited. " Annie i " she said " <3„- u . answer the door bell fo7her T ' ' • ^^"^ """^ ^^ ff,»,„ I. ■ ^'^^ ^ "'as sitting on the sten^ there, having a smoka" ^ » »«. .t.. j.» o,rr \, b. ™ iir r;: totter than Ireland, cook." ' '" ^'^ But this is despS;'''^' i;i Jat"^^^^ - -f-ted gesture of eCent resig^a^ n. "lli^t , I" '""t f ^ back tn it * J J"^* dreamm' I was back to It. Aw, dear, dear! Will I niver fergel He laughed He asked in a bantering tone- Would you like to go back ? " ^ ™ go Daok to? Naw, naw. .Whin yeh're 308 THE EXILES ould there 'a no goin' back to the young days — excipt while yeh sleep. An' it 'a the sorry wakin' yeh have." " That 'a true," he said, to humor her. " It is," she replied, unmollified, " but little enough yeh know of it. Yeh '11 learn whin yeh 're a dodderin' ould man with no teeth to grip yer pipe to." She nodded at a memory of her own grandfather, drowsing before the peat fire, of an evening, under the soot-black- ened beams of tho kitchen, with his pipe upside down in his mouth. Beatty smiled. The talk of this old woman of the basement's underworld — with her plaintive Irish in- tonation and her comic Irish face and her amusing Irish "touchiness"— was as good as a play to him. " How long have you been out ? " he asked. "Long enough to learn better. Foorty year an' more." " Well, why did you come then ? " She turned on him. "God knows! Why did I? Why did Annie gurl? Well may yeh ask!" She • tossed her head resentfully. "Beca'se roasted pitaties an' good buttermilk were too poor fer proud stummicks. Beca'se we wud be rich, as they toP us we wud, here in Amenky. An' what are we? The naygurs o' the to^-n, hvin' in cellars, servin' thim that pays us in the money that we came fer, an' gettin' none o' the fair ^vords an' kindness we left behind. Sure at home they 're more neighborly to the brute beasts than y' are here to the humans." She looked out at the stifling street. " We 're strangers in a strange land, as Father THE EXILES 309 Tierney says. We 're a joke to yez, an' that 'a the best yeh '11 iver make of us." He sobered guiltily and looked do;vn at his feet. An Annie! " she broke out, "the simple cr'ature, ust to b.g gossoons o' boys that swally their torgx,c whm they go coortm' an' bare niver a word to say- atb- \f .VTt' °' '^'' erinnin' Ja,vn of hers with all his blether? I know him. He 's the mate of a lad that came acrost me the first year I was out, with his bat on the comer oi his head an' the divil in 's eye. An he talked with me an' walked with me an' called me candy names, till there was nuthin' but the sound eye the whole livelong day till he came again of an eyen.n'.» Her voice broke. "Faith, the time he kissed me first - at the gate that was - 1 ran into the house tnmblin' an' blushin' wit' the fear an' th. delight of It, me ban's shakin' so I cud scarce get me clo's off me to git into me bed, an' layin' a-wake weepin' an' mihn thither all night long to think of it. That 's ^e sort o' fool I was. Th' angils jus' come to Hiven were no happier. ... I was come to th' ither place be- ^e^I was done with him. . . . Poor Anniel Poor He looked at her, silenced and ashamed. She wiped her cheeks with her apron and sighed under a load'S anxiety for Annie He tried to think of something to say m apology and reassurance; and glancing from her, silhouetted against a street light. " There ! " he whis- 310 THE EXILES |1! slfh "J'"''*i^t-Ye«itis. She '« coming back. She hadn't met him. . . . That's all right now S^ must n't let her go out again" ieepm her from gom' out with him any niirht these T was not like her to steal out so." ^ sugi^S! ""' ^ ""'*'"« "'""^ -'^J' !>-'" he "There is that," she said. "There's somethin' wantm' to her an' she'll niver find it in this W hough she seek it iver so. A home of her own b^k o' the boor-tree. - an' a dip o' bog fer to plant her p^tety Bhps m an' a scraw fer her fire an' her man toS lei o^h !:• •*' r: *^^ '^'y "-'-' betw^ ^e iegs of bs chair, an' the neighbors droppin' in to sossin -• sp.t ,n the bla^e - she '11 niver findTt here ! Z7 ti' tli^ f. K ""''" *"""' *" '^^ *•"»* has it, tellm thim the big wages she earns an' sendin' thim mon^y to Christmas - powerful small!" While she had been talking, Beatty had seen a noHoP- man stop to look up at the door and^hen sTi^ter tS toward his street comer. And Beatty was sSl frnwf Whur ve yeh been to, Annie ? " He turned to see the girl standing behind the grated basement door AndBeattys^peclicke/surn-i;!^;;^^" THE EXILES sil bed' ^mm "1'" '^ T^ "'^"'■«^- " G" back to yer " IsTt ? " T "'fV "'^''* ''''''■ 'T - too 'ate." "Is il^^la";''"''*''^ '"''''' '^"-''^«^''"^- ;;iti.that. Gotobed,g„rl. Yeh 're tired out" Oh? sae said softly. " It 's too late." And she disappeared in the darkness. Beatty caught a quick breath. «W-what is it? What's the matter with her?" ' hJ^^r"" ^'"""'"^ ^''""y-- "I've told yeh sor but yeh '11 not understan'." ^ ' ' huZr *!:7'%^'>'"f^"g -ong with her," he said T T ,. "°* ''^ natural voice " i«t be, boy," she replied. "Her tro„Kl«'« „ to liBi- ^xr„ 1 , trouble s come to her. We can do naught fer her now." She added more gently: " Wn>,o i;i,„ » ^ ■, '^"e aaaea, 'T is Lt tn 7 t 1 ^'^^ ^^^ o"'" ^ores, sor. .£S' - ""* — ^^^ She nodded and nodded Aft*.,. „ -i "No donVt Tt, I : ^"^'^a silence, she said: bornV' ^''^ ^«'*' t°o- Are y a Noo Yorker ^i^t':i^ii£::ui~="^°-^-- -'^:ss^:r;:r:''-^^**"— -- He did not reply, and she- did not speak again. For 312 THE EXILES a long time, they sat silent. Then they began to talk in low tones of anything but the thoughts that were in both their minds, until a stealthy rustle at the basement door brought them around with a start to see Annie, all in white, fumbling at the latch. She got the door open and drifted out into the light, bare-footed. Beatty stiffened at the sight of her face. The cook started up and caught her by the arm. She swung unsteadily. " That 's me money," she said tonelessly ; and Beatty heard the ring of coins on the area paving. " Annie ! Annie ! " the cook cried. " An' that 's me purse," she said, dropping it. The cook threw her arms about her. "Annie! Annie dear ! What 's this fer i What ails yeh, gurl ? " She put a hand down to loosen the cook's arm from her side. " 'T will bum yeh," she said. " Me heart 's all afire there, like the pi'ture." A bit of silver fell from her sleeve and tiiikled at her feet. She looked down at it. " I put it by fer Jawn. . . . What 's be- come of Jawn ? Jawn ? " The cook backed her to the rocking-chair and forced her to sit down. "Dang yer Jawn!" she cried. " Will yeh drive us all daft ? " It was then, for the first time, she got the light on the girl's face — a face set like stone, while the eyes shifted and wept — and she wailed: "Ach, Annie darlin'," and dropped on her knees beside her. " Is it come to this, gurl? Dear Lord, what've they been doin' to yeh ? Look at me. Look at me, child." Annie was staring at Beatty, and he was sitting cold THE EXILES 813 with horror on the window-sill. « Who 'b that ? » she said. Good-evenin', sir," she smiled. " Yeh 're late with the eroc'-ies" Rl,« ^* ^e" relate '• Ti/ » . ^® ^* "** answer. " Look at .m, Mary," she said fearfully, and put her hand up to her eyes, and peered at him through her fingers. "He glowers at me so." o -^ xie ^.^''ATC*''^ "^^ ^^"'^'^- "■^^' '»<"-' Annie pnl Don't be takin' on. 'T is Mister Beatty from the top floor, an' what '11 he be thinkin' of yeh talkin' such hke foolishness." She wWspered: "Have wit, tI .n u ^T ^'' ^*"'^^- ^'^'^^ t° »>«• Listen They'll be takin' y' away. They'll shut y' „p « BeUevue fer mad. Have yeh no sinse lift ? " Beatty had risen heavy-kneed and stumbled to the basement door. "I'll bring-I'H bring the doctor," he stammered, and ran in for his hat The cook had not heard him, but when she looked around she knew what had happened, and she jumped They re coinm';" and fell on her knees to gather up the scattered money in her apron. " Go to bed, guri I Ach, Anme, Annie," she cried despairingly Annie was rocking" in the chair, crooning and talk- ing t« herself. The cook caught her by the frm, puTli wLst"!''''. , "^-l hurried her indoors. "Whist! Whis ! she pleaded. "Quit yer nonsinse, Annie. Ah, quit It - quit It ! Wud yeh let yerself be taken to the madhouse? Ah. God ha' mercy-" She hurried the giri indoors; and she had her in bed and frightened mto silence when Beatty returned with ■ - ( 814 THE EXILES I the doctor. "She's better now," ihe said iuavely, meeting them in the dimng-room. " 'T was but a touch of the sun, doctor." He looked at her. She stood blinking and shifting her small eyes. " What did you do for her? " She began to stammer: " Wh-what did I do fer her ? Why, to be sure, I — I — " " Take me to her," he ordered. She gave Beatty a look of hate and despair, and led into the kitchen. Beatty did not follow. He steadied himself against the old marble mantel of the dining-room, and mopped his face and neck weakly with his handkerchief. When the doctor reappeared, he ordered : " Call the ambulance. From Bellevue Hospital Be quick now!" _ Beatty edged slowly to the door. He darted through It, and ran upstairs, and locked himself in his room. " You'U have to get your breakfast at a restaurant, Mr. Beatty," the boarding-house mistress told him next morning. " My cook has left me." " What for ? " he asked guiltily. She shrugged her shoulders. " The maid that waits on the table took ill last night. She was delirious — out of her mind — positively violent when the ambu- lance came for her. The doctor ordered it I could n't keep her here. How could I? Who's to look after her here ? The work has to be done — " " How is she ? " he interrupted. THE EXILES 315 "S'w'hadssnMtroke.opIdon'tkiiowwhat. I was ^ upset last nigh. - We had a terrible time with her I dou t know wh«t U was. It must Ve been a sunstroke. We had a fet rti.1 tK-ene." " Is she betiur i" ««l^f '" "^^ '"'^' '"^ " '"'* "^ •'««'"<'«. "'he died Z ^ ^» ^orning in the hospital. ... And lla.7," she cned" accuses me of murdering her. And The packed up her trunk and left at six o'clL this m^ifg ^thout even waiting for her wages. I never heard oi ™-gS;:^./*'^^-'«*''^-<'-^^- Irish DURING THE WAR CUBING THE WAK A WAR," he said omphatieaJly, laying Us big hand flat on the bill of fare, " a war 'a a fire in a house. It 'g fought to save the house. The house 'b the important thing. Everybody underatands that at the tima Nowadays, you all talk and write about it — glorious fire — heroic firemen — as if the whole thing 'd been some sort of spectacle that the rest of us stood around and cheered I All damn nonsense 1 " "Father I Father!" his daughter cried, between laughter and frowns. "You'll scandaUze the wait- ers." The lieutenant smiled at him unabashed. " That 's true of a civil war, at least." " Any war 'a a civil war," he replied. « We 're all human beings." He waa leaning forward, with shoulders almost as broad as the smaU table, with the huge head of a saga- cious gianti glaring under irascible gray eyebrows. The slim lieutenant looked like a David t» his Goliath — respectful but undismayed. The daughter put her hand on her father's great maul of a fiat. " You cross old bear," she said. " Why don't you order your din- ner ? You 're hungry." 319 m 330 DURING THE WAR 'nothing fit to eat," He growled stanething about and took up the menu again. t.IT* Tu'" P''.* ""^ ^ ^""^ ^^^ '^'-^'^ Avenue' torn down,' she explained to the lieutenant; and he re- flected her aznusement in a frank expression of his £r^ ^'^' t'^ '"''' *" ^ '-*-«d V her M /** ".f"' "■■ "^ *P^"t«J independence, wbch came of a military carriage of the heaVand ^ unwavenng directness in the eye. She approved of it. fatLr T " ^'1* '^""^ "^"^ ''^^^ before her riSouTLrL!*'^" "''^'^"^'^ ""^^ *''^""'^^- The lieutenant asked: "You wer« accustomed to going there — to the ' Fifth Avenue ' ? » " Only hotel in the town," her father muttered " A mn^^might's well have dimier in a church -this 8 J« T,r'^ '**"'' f *" "'^ ^'°'° ^ °f Polnis, ?S.^ . \-*r' '""^' ^°"« ^"'1« '^"hed and gar- landed and a high vaulted roof of skylights from whTch W b^kets of ferns and ropes of wisteria vines tJIt W?r ."^ '''^"'' ''"°P*- '^•'^ «»' ^" artificially heatc^ and moistened to the temperature and freshness ofthe spnng, and the music of an orchestra softly cov- SgS. *' ''''* °" *^ *^"*^' «''«'' ^f tl-e anfvTml' t"""^ '"*^^''^''^' "^^'^'^^y «^«-e tablee and its quiet multitude of guesta "I ish DURING THE WAR agj they'd turn off that tap," the father growled at the V«W fountain. «AU nonaenae. Serve a dinner without running water." « Now Fath^," ahe laughed, " endure it for to-night. We U find a quieter hotel tomorrow " him ' S^''^,'^"'''^ f°' the waiter, who waa behind Hun. They began to give their order. "And while we re waiting for it," she aaid to her father, « you 'II teU^utenant Price about your meeting with General It would be difficult to say how she succeeded in giv- ttg the lieutenant to understand _ by the mere turn of her eye that her father's account of his meeting with General Morgan might have point in excusing his man- ner of meeting Lieutenant Price. General Morgan," he said gruffly. " It was the raider," she explained to Price. " Gen- eral Morgan — during the war." ^'Oh?" Price waa interested. "Did you know TTsId^'"' 'Tlu^^ ^^ ^' ^"'*^'' Charlton. Used to come to the Burritt House in Cincimiati when I was telegraph operator there. Huh! I'm one of thejldest telegraphers in this country, do you know Lieutenant Price knew merely that he was the vice- pi^ident of a system of railroad and steamship lines that oceans to show its routes - and that he was the father :.k 828 DURING THE WAR of a young woman who was entirely chann W The latter fact interested Price more than the former. He was of an age to be curious about the father because the daughter had probably inherited from him some of her qualities of mind; he was not of an age to appr^ ciate that this tremendous hulk of a man had one of the most powerful mental equipments in the world of transportation." Price had not yet learned the limitations of his own mtellect; and when aman still believes that at the proper opportumty he will prove himself another Napoleon, he IS contemptuous of any genius that is not transcend- ent. "I learned telegraphy when I was tMrteen," the . father said. "I was a conductor wheri was eighteen. The directors picked me out to take Shield's t^S'''^ ^ ^ ^*^'^* ^^^ "^'^ ^ ^^ It was ^sting. But it was the millionaire modesfly boasting of the poverty of his youth. himself, his daughter reminded him. " He had I He 'd been destroying houses and crops ■- and tearmg up railroads - and burning bridges and derailing trams. For two day8-/<,r tu,o Zys- there had n t been a train out of Cincimiati. NuisLe ? The whole war had been a nuisance -drafting every- body -upsetting the country -making us ran our trains from Columbus around by Xenia and Dayton so aa to connect at the ' Transfer ' for the South. But DUEING THE WAR 828 th^ Morgan-" He straightened back in his chair. Wlien they took me in the room to him — » "But, Father," she interrupted, "you haven't told us how you came to be there." He put the things away from him to clear the table- doA before W « Here," he said curtly. « Here 's iiere s Ohio. Morgan got across into Indiana on the fJlceDean and raided up into Ohio and got around behmd Cincimiati and cut off the town. Our troops were after hm., or he 'd have burned Cincimiati if he 'd JT^■^?^?' '"^'"^ ^ ««* ^'^^ *° the river, and we believed he'd cross the C. H. & D. somewhe,^ be- tween Cincinnati and Dayton. Shield's Battery was ordered up the line from Cincinnati, at the last minute, to help mtereept him, and when the train was made up - about twenty cars, five hundred men, guns on flat cars -the directors called me in and asked me if I was afraid to take it out" ^j;And you weren't, of course," the lieutenant said He looked up with a flicker of amusement. " How old are you ? " The lieutenant answered calmly: " Twenty-six " He nodded -or rather, he swayed his head. * He had no visible neck; the weight of his enormous skull seemed to have sunken his jaw down on his shoulders. red_.headed — if you know what that means." The lieutenant considered him. He was gray now. ' li L>i 1(1 «!■ 324 DURING THE WAB but his hair was touded on his head in a sort of humor- ous impatience of convention ; his gray eyebrows winged up from his nose fiercely; his mouth, between heavy wrinkles was hung with as many muscles as a great Danes; his eyes were keen blue under lids that sailed down toward their outer comers. a butL"™*''"*"* ^^ ^^" ^"°*'°« "^•"^«" ^'t^™* He went on again: "All Cincin::ati was down in the yards, asking questions in the dark and crowdiuR on the tracks. They started us off with a whoop shoutmg to us as we pulled out We put on steam till we got clear of them. Then we slowed down and crawled up the track, ten miles an hour -as quiet as we could -no headlight, not a light on the train. It was dark. We couldn't see at aU, and it didn't take long for the excitement to leak away and leave us anx- ious It had been hot in town; it was cooler out on the line. That made a difference. Felt chiUy There was an officer of some sort in the cab -;th us and he was aU on edge because his artilleiy was and if Morgan derailed the train and swooped down on ZZ r Ji' '* ^'^^ ? three^iuarters of an hour to make Carthage, and that gentleman was fretting all the way, with his hands tied behind him. I don't doubt he was a good %ht6r. Don't doubt it But this sort of thing was like running past the block signals when you have to make time and don't know whSier you 11 bump into the train ahead or not It 'a a thing DURING THE WAE 896 you have to get used to. And mind you," he admon- ished the lieutenant, " a man 's like a horse. He shies at a thing that 's new to him. Don't you be too quick to call a man a coward. You '11 probably find there are some things he 's a mighty sight braver about than you are. I 've learned that. "Well, we got to Carthage. Ed Nash was agent there, and he stopped us with a lantern and called me in to the telegraph key. 'Come in here,' he said. ' Some fool 's asking questions. See what you make of it.' " I did n't make anything of it, at first — except that there was something famiUar about the ' send.' It was some one who wanted to know who we were. We wanted to know where he was. And we kept sparring with him till suddenly it came to me that perhaps it was Ellsworth, Morgan's operator. He used to work on our line once, and L thought I recognized his way of handling the key. Telegraphers w, -e scarce in those days. And the artillery oflScer kept asking : ' What is it? What is it?' "I said to him, with a wink at Nash: 'It's the man at Dayton. The line's clear. Get aboard and weT go aiead.' And when we'd got rid of him, I said to Nash: ' He 's tapped our wire. Cut him off from Cincinnati so he won't get hold of any messages. Wire them that we 've gone ahead.' " You see, I figured that if we did n't want to meet MoiTgan, it was just as likely that he didn't want to meet us either. If he had wanted to, he could have 886 DURING THE WAR «»pl7 waited for „«. The fact that Ellaworth tn^ t-pswe4XToS;'rdZ"'::''^- «"- ably on ahead wiU tli^ f^ Ellsworth was prob- make a dash for Ha™;i* ® '^"^ ^***»ep to w.e.ta.ttht;fro''^^^^^^ M. orders with!tSL^°^ri;«°«--"PHcep„tin, thaitaS:-"'''"'^ '""•''-• I -- in charge of a^,t^^ rthllft^'SrM^ ""^"^^ "^''^ - *^« began to loot n~» "^cn *<> as he went along. It spSfl'SLSd^Z'*'"^ Wecouldn'fn.ake feel our way S ^ ^? ? ^''^ *"«''* '"^e l«d to you knewTu'd LLd?bur:? "/"' --'"Where whether he was wSL t? ''"Tf^'^ '^''^'''t know -aking off do:^Z^ai ^J^f " """^^'-'^ - when .ou feel ehil,, abolt^l I^^ "" "^ '^'^ "^«^* -aS^IdTot^SS^'^^^ bM tb.t did n't hdp „v T k!l' , " •'""'■' - DUBING THE WAB 827 just north of Glendale, we ran by a half-down men on horseback, standing as close to the rails as they dared to get; and it was so dark we could scarcely see more than the whites of their faces, but they let us pass without a word, just leaning over in the saddle to peer into the cars. And I says to myself : 'Now who was ^at< Any of our own men would have hailed us. ramers would n't crowd up to look at a train that way.' And I said to the engineer: ' let her out, Bob. Let her go.' "He did it And I was right. It was Morgan's men -the first of them — and the test was clear track to Hamilton. We just got through by that." And he Held up two thick fingers. The lieutenant nodded. The daughter was watching him thoughtfully. ° " f \^«!;« °'' «ire °f it tm we got to Hamilton and heard that Morgan was south of us, making for Glen- dale; and when I went to the despateher's room to tele- graph Nash that we'd arrived safe, I found the wires cut. " So " Price said, "you did n't meet Morgan on that tnp, after all." ^ "Did n't, eh? Huht My orders were to report to Czncimiati that I had arrived at Hamilton. I got a hand-car and a couple of men mi began to pump back to Carthage. Before we got to Ellison's we slowed doTO and listened, and we could hear the horses' hoofs scuffling and pounding across the planking between the rails at the crossing. We left the hand-car there, and mi. 338 DURING THE WAR climbed the bank into the woods and onpt along to where we could «ee the road. It was ju.t about dawn — l«ht enough to see them dragging along, half asleep in their saddles — so much steam rising from the horses you could scarcely see the riders. Tired. It had been a red-hot day. They were riding in undershirts and trousers -and they looked less like glorious war and heroic warriors than anything you ever saw in a book of battles — like a procession of tin-peddlers, the way their sabers rattled." He made a gesture, dianissing the picture. « My orders were to report t» Cincinnati. I had fooled that crowd of corn-crackers once, and I thought I 'd try it again. They were trailing along, with gaps between them, and nobody was paying any attention to any- thing he passed, apparently; and I thought if I could come down on them full sweep in the hand-oar, if I did n t strike on one of the gaps, I 'd probably scare the howes into opening up to let me through - do yon see f A hand-car can make quite a noise, rattling down on you that^y. I thought we could help it with a yell at the right minute. The only thing was: had they torn up the track ? ^ "To find that out, I had to turn off through the woods as near as possible to the crossing, to look at the rails. I was careless, maybe. Anyway I ran head on into a squad .>f men lying down under the trees. They grabbed ma I knocked two or three of them over before some one struck me a crack on the head with the butt of a carbine: DURING THE WAR 82» "They were with Ellsworth — waiting there with hw key for any messages that might oome along from Cincinnati. He knew me. They 'd have known I waa a conductor, anyway, by the silver badge on my cap. Didnt wear unifonn - those days -train men. And they wanted to know where our troops were — where I had left my train. And I told them they could ail go — " He checked himself, hoisted himself in his chair, and put his clenched hand on the tabl^top, menacingly I was mad. I- In those days I had a bad tmper. And I guess Ellsworth knew it. I told him what I thought of him. When they could n't get any- thing out of me, I heard him say: ' Take him to the General. That '11 give him time to cool o£F.' So they hoist^ me on a broken-legged plow-horse and started me off to Harris's stock farm, where Morgan and his staff were having breakfast "It gave me time to cool off, all right, but I did n't et th^ see it I saw I 'd have to bluff it out and I kept cursing and abusing them all the way. They were too dog^tired and sleepy to resent it They were w tired they talked as thick as if they were drunk." He pointed his finger at the lieutenant " You can do anything you like with a tired man. Remember that. All the mistakes I ever made in my life I made when I was tired. And I said to myself : ' If Morgan 's as done out as the rest of them, I can bluff it through. I can bluff it through.' "Besides, I never did have much respect for sol- K S30 DURING THE WAR diers — account of their dothea. 'No need for a man to drew himaelf up like a performing monkey. Cursed nonsense. " Morgan had stopped for breakfast at Harris's — a big house — big farm. Harris had always talked as if he could eat a rebel a day and still thirst for blood, but when I got into the dining-room, Harris was waiting on the table himself, as willing as a nigger. I recog- nized Morgan — I 'd seen him at the hotel — and I just stood there glaring at him, while they explained who I was. I could hear Harris cracking his finger- joints behind him, with nervousness, while he listened. And when Morgan looked at me, I looked at him under my eyebrows, with my head down, and I said ; ' Mor- gan, I helped your brother — ' " "Oh, dearl" his daughter interrupted. "You have n't told the lieutenant about that." " Well," he interpolated briefly, " Charlton Morgan had been sent up to Camp Chase on my train with a carload of other prisoners about a year or so before, and he recognized me going through the car with my lantern, and I promised to get word to his family that he was n't killed, and go out to Camp Chase to see him — and took him tobacco. And when he was ex- chang \ I lent him money and took a signet ring from him. ' And dam your eyes,' I said to Morgan, ' this 's the thanks I get If you want to fight, why don't you stay where there are soldiers to fight with? Coming around here burning private property — assaulting private citizens. You ought to be ashamed of your- DUBING THE WAB 881 WK ^n^'\^ "'''' '■^°" **** *^»* "°8 back to your broUu,r Charlton, and tell him if he ', ever penn J „p « Camp Chaw again and I go there to «h, him, it '11 be to see him hanged.' " The lieutenant waa grinning. " It was a wonder h- rne. I u^de^tan^LLd fleft C '^^ ^ -^^^^' <^° ^- <« *. rtik ih».» ^ ° ' '""■" "'" I ™ ipm ^'iX'zr'ur^" '"^K ' '"^ ■"- -». .1 hZ it^r^ritr.- •" The daughter added: "Exceot tW T „ u • 336 DURING THE WAR " Soldier f I \ i seen a good many great soldi^ — and I only saw one man in the whole war that I 'd take off my hat to, now." " Who was that ? General Grant ? " "Abraham Lincoln." He leaned forward impress- ively. "All the generals that ever lived didn't come knee-lugh to him. I wasn't old enough to appreciate him then. I don't know whether I ever wiU be old enough to appreciate him all But I tell you, young man, if you want to see war as it is, learn to see it the Tray Ae saw it — if you ever can. We were like a lot ^ quarreling children beside him. War! Glory? Heroism? If you want to know about what they ainoimt to, get a good war-time photograph of Lincoln and look into his eyes. Into his eyes!" His lips quivered with some unacknowledged emotion. He looked down at his plate. "Now, Daddy," his daughter put in quickly. yon ve talked enough. Eat your dinner. I 'U en- tertain the lieutenant." Price turned to her, flattered. When she looked at him it was rather absent-mindedly. There was an un- guarded expression of appraisal in her eyes. As a plebe at West Point he had noticed something of the Mme look in another girl -when she first saw him out of his cadet uniform. He puzded over it Before they rose from the table he knew what it meant He showed the knowl- edge in the stiffer set of Us shoulders and the more determined poise of his chin as he foUowed her out DDBING THE WAR 337 of the dining-room. She said Kood niaJ,* ♦« v.- ^ door of the elevator, and shf^dTw,^ '* her anxiety for hnr /»«,« i. nastily — m depre,«o7^d tif;^'^\r ^"^ «^ ^t roused himself to *r 1 ^ ^ •*"" ''"^*- ^e night" • ^""^ nuisance. Good- IN LOVEKS' MEETINa ' f IN LOVERS' MEETING "Journeys end in Were' meeting." 1 the day had come nimbly - clean, ruddy, and ftrbtti! of . ^"^ '''"■'°« ^''"* **■« -j"-^ -iti* leaflet and .i' *^f '^""^ °"* '^^ *"ft« "f gl"*! eaflete, and tossed and dried the wet grasses. The sunshine was as yellow as the season's daS The wi:rt:tn-rrrs5°--:?^^ h,7 iS ^^'T *** «^ " ^''"'^'^y ^"^Wng, and she Ld :S *^ r'-*'^ r^- T'-^ --tureTf the 2 Ton her )!' '*'"* "' ^"^'^^ ""^ ^^^ ^- --- ^_^ turned aside to the path that entered the piS^e^K ".? "^ ^T *^^'^ "" » ™^*- »'-«'', drop- ping her bundle on the seat beside her, and claspi.^ her hands over the ragged fringe of her shaJl Ilf she were chnging to the strength in her gnarled L1^ She blinked under her bot.T.o+ . • nngers. faded fm„ M w T *~™«* — 8 mourning bonnet, , faded from bl«A to dustygreen - that did not shade ■III 342 IN LOVERS' MEETING JlTtZi'^^ ®h -^""^ P'''«"y °W « the midst of all that glow and lurtinew of yonnir life. watSV' *^ ^'''^ "" « «1"'"«1 *at had watched her coming; and it began to approach her now, through the graa., with quick maheaLd^uddS place* on her face m an e^resdon of motherly good- nature Jat took wonderfully from her ye«r«. It*^ a face that had not soured with age-thaTwas sTS ^ JkLT'"*! r* "P •*" *^ '«'* "■"* ■'•»'«»M» - ft. .,„i,^" XX I'll; I! j|.x - n 1 li^: **♦ IN lOTERS' MEETING ground full o' rat-hole.." ha «pl.u.ed, « «' tW y„ She did not awwer; .ad he ^turned to the MuirwL nearer. He towed ,t the nut, and it ran btuik to tJ.« «ra«topeel«,deatitthew. ° » 'wbwk to the "Were y' ever out West, ma'am?" he asked h«r ahoving back into the .eat ' in^Noo York, an' mver . foot have I put out 'f it t„l^"*^ ^""f-" ^ ""^^ "W«". well. . . . The town '8 changed since then, ma'am." • • • -^^e She nodded and nodded, compressing her lips in an 'T^z: Z'"'t ^.J""^ -^CnHr «.t^' ^' Tl' "^ "'f^^' ««1 tl«> thought of the past loosened her face in a pathetic droop of mou^ Sh-T/ ^^u^"'^ '^^'^^' °'»''^" J« Mid. She did not hear him. "Aw m-^ „,„» u on. " Whin I think 'f Tt _ oTZ'r^a fK-'^ "^^ nuAin' *^ J-. . f "of a Snnda', whin there's ^ne. She shook her head sorrowfully from side to I' It 's a long time," he said. "Ain't it now? Alonstimfil TK**^ «n<« I come over in ^ TaUy^nSLT -'"l were thrown in the sea, without so much as putdn' IN LOVERS' MEETING |him in . chi,i. An' there I wm „„„•„. . I '-a. that «ok; an' thinki,' Jw ^ " •^** *»»*' "Mt. An' here I «n S ^ """"'• ^ 'd be the yet" '"'' ^^ yet, Praiie God-livin' "We were young then, ma'am." »oS:t^1;rn't"? Si r-'-^^n change of -"in they cried. tLk &uJlT^ '° ^- York. »ow. An' if w. Elliott -.TLiT' ?^'"'y *oJ me <*«<, woon.e 'n the child I An' II- t ''*y»-«e cr^n' At the mention of Mrs Pin^** *l i«-. «. if Wa head w«I ;f ^^ ^^ '^'^ ^^ t"«ed to dmnmy, withouTlX Jis l',?' " ''-"'•'^-'t's her, wooden-faced. ^ '^<»ddeTB. He stared at " I was the green one," she said « t from the fani^s o' Coua y cLlT' ,. '*"'^ **'"«J't brought «p in innocent W^l"7 *^' *^'^ -" -iancin' of a Sunda' in^J ban.T!i1, ''"*'''' '"'* « no theayter — n„thin'-nn*^^™ ^'^** ^"^ — all dependin' to S- ,,^^,f |* "Jj^ The folk was mm. "I mind whin 1.1 rt^^^^a" *<> chuckle .nthRose-theywa;Ldi?"' ^"'*^«"'^ Street, in thim days - 1 aa^ LrT '^'^ "" ^hurteenth Stree all poor here,' I ,!^ ^.^', ^-^' ^ "^ys, ' they 're - I -ay., ' on'y'what Xy h^t f 1"^? ^' '''*« ^ -P-' J- "ys. An Rose says: 'Don't i ,'1 ' If, it if 846 IN LOVERS' MEETING be taUcin' tieh nontiiue,' the say*. Thim very word* I ' Don't be ialkin' tick nontinse,' she Mya." He leaned down again to hold a peanut to the •quirrel. " Mre. Elliott I " he asked thickly. « Where did «Ae live!" " On Tinth Street, to be mirai An' she 'd riven to help. 'T waa a lov'ly place, an' a fine fam'ly — an' good frinda they was to me. The hand o' Gtod waa with me whin I wint there." He aaid : " Did y* ever know Jim Farrell ! " Her hand, on the bundle of washing on her knee, twitched and trembled with a sudden leap of her heart. " Indeed, indeed," she said, " he was keepin' oomp'ny with me whin he 'listed." He dropped his head, as if shielding himself from her eyes behind the breadth of his shoulders. " Did yeh know 'm ? " she asked in a quaver. He did not answer for. a moment Then he said huskily: " He was in th' Excelsior Brigade with me. I jus' ust to hear him talkin' about a girl at Mrs. Elliott's." The squirrel darted away to safety with another nut, but the man did not rise from his stooping posture. As for Mrs. Dolan, she was gazing, with trembling lips, at the shimmer of sun among the trees. " What be- come of 'm, sur ? " she whispered. " He was killed," he said. « At Gettysburg." Two great tears trickled down her old nose. She wiped them off with the comer of her shawl. " God rest his soul," she said. « We was to be married whin IN LOVERS' MEETING 847 tyr?J:t ; • • ^,'""' ■''"«• !«• -«•• Poor heard word of 'm. l.vin' „er dead." Sho wiped her M^'^iT'lrtf '■ ' -'.neatly booted. ■I went with thi .v 'en j/t.,, .1, t ■ . . ^ di'iT t,ti4 , |]p oxnlainRfl w '• "it""' "■"'"■'- '• ' ^"-^^^ ^ again when my teru.soxr.rof I got my discharge now, an' my pension." «-"argB 'c!Jdv7"*'T, 'T^^'^ "''■'■ "^'" -' to call 'm dor1{ f"°' '••" "'•'^' ?••*'"« «t the soiled table- cloth that wrapped her bundle. '< ' Candy Jim' L^So?"?'""". '^^"'"•'"- I' '-f-- afar off tiJat God Binds sometimes. . . . D'veh m^J ». u waskiUed?" 1^ .yeh mind how he rilof? "^^ . ^° *^ '"""'•" He took a and helped himself hurriedly to a mouthful of it ' ridin^LT * ""^^ ^"^'" '^' "''^- "W« »«t to go to the Battr^ ... He was free of his money. An' ImarnedTim-reathissonl! Tim an' five chil- dren, I buned thim all." She fell back into sil"! 348 IN LOVERS' MEETING " Did he leave yuh money ? " he aaked suddenly "Nuthin'," she said, "nuthin'," with a bittemew which he did not ask an explanation of. "I been washin' iver since. These thurty years I been bendia' over tubs. Thurty years I " " P'raps yuh put somethin' by ? " he insinuated. " Niver a cint," she said. « I 'd John's children to raise whm m' own was gone. An' that came terrible hard on me, terrible hard. Poor gurls, I didn't be- grudge thim the worL I edacated thim so 's they both got good men. An' they slnds me a dollar now an' liun, God bless thim. They ain't rich— not thim. They 'd hilp their ol' aunt if they was." He turned the fine^ut in his cheek, staring across the sunlight under eyelids that had tinkled in the glare of alkali deserts. "'T was easy enough, easy enough, thim times," she said. " But now I ain't got th' ambition to take heavy pieces, an' my sight's bad. I don't get the clothes cleaned no more." He did not speak. "Well, well," she concluded. "What matter? Sure, what matter?" and twisted her hand in her bundle. " Good-day, sur," She got slowly to her feet. He reached a hand to her arm, and stood beside her. I '11 carry that," he said grufly. The unexpected kindness flustered her. " Not a bit of it," she protested, as he took the bundle from her. There 's no need, man. 'T is no weight at all Well, well; thank yeh, sur. The kindness o' gome IN LOVEES' MEETING 349 PJopW' Her faoeut with ple«„^. «Tlumk,eh 8ur. It's a touch o' the snn I had." ShTT ^ j al^hssidehi. "I'lH^aUH^h^ttheier^ iJofth:t«S.1^,?f:- J^ old soldier had noth. -St have i hlTonht n"' ^^r'^""^ '""' Bolan, ahnost his equalTn hi.? "" '"^ "^ ^'^ fandn^other. ..nfflSTn W^l tla'f "^ "*""* J"*'^ her knees, and in a skirt rt.fj^ that came nearly to She talked in^Tti* ^' '"^ '^''^'^ ^^ hc«ls. there was no one in t^ dtvM fl ^ ^*"" ^''•'*^' «plied with tales o"J:il*:57-?f,!-- ^'^ ticularly of those wh. hadTeTJhfr 5 ""* ^'' P"" months when she hi 1 ivT • ,. '^""°« *he winter >-; .nd b. .CSS 1 1'"" T',"' *" "" U k 350 IN LOVERS' MEETING dowless bedroom, as large as a clothes-closet, opened off it; and lie could see the white coverlet of the bed in the shadows, and a spray of chuidi palm on the wall above the pillow. He sat down, in silence, on a chair with a perforated scat that had blistered and peeled with age: She set to work to light a fire in the msty kitchen stove, pottering about busily, chatting with a voluble hospitality, show- ing him the brown photographs which she kept on the mantel-shelf, and apologizing for the disorder in which he found the room, with its tubs and ita boilers. He looked at the plaster on the wall, cracked and yellowed with steam. Once or twice he coughed, as if he were about to speak, but she did not wait for him. Finally — when she had turned her back to put a pinch of tea in the little brown teapot — he said : " If old Farrell was alive — " She turned on him. " Sure, man," she said, " he died in Ireland — " He caught at his hat as it fell from the table. " I meant Jim — Jim FarreU." He was red. "We called him ' old ' FarreU." " Name of Heaven, why ? " she cried. " He was n't but twintyl" He shook his head. Mk« laughed at him. "An' if he was livin' this day," she said, " what 'd he be to me ? " " He 'd have his pension. A dollar a day an' more." "An' it's needin' it he'd be," she replied. "He was near's old as mesilf." She poured water in the teapot and set it on the steaming kettle. IN LOVERS' MEETING 351 . I, " ^^[\^^^ '"> relations," he said. " He 'd want a home of his own." " Poor boy," Bhe sighed tremulously. « He 's home thMmanyaday. Let bygones be." mlSy. '^^ ^ "^^ ^^ *" •^' ""'''""'" ^« '"«!«"«1 She felt the tears gathering in her eyes. "Well welV' she chafed " I been gettin' on her'e alone thS thurty years. Please God, I '11 finish it so " He eat with his eyes on the kettle, and said nothing Sm Ah if 1r *"" '*°°""^''"' ""?« "^d saucer! tS '^wm" *Jr™"u.""* ^'"^ *^«" ^'^ *!"« little i- 18 all I have to Mt before yeh." He aodded. She ran doB^ with «, explanation that bread and te. was all sh» ,te W«If ; „eat was too tough for her; ^h-d an eer on E«» Sunday, but it had Made he^ .i^J^:f tl"* <*•*>' W», -< he drew up hi c^r.tWlHdd.ng. HebegMtoatirifcedrinkJitha pe*^r *pe>m. both elbows on the t^>l& " M-^-"'" 1» Baid, « Jim FttOI now - T ain't «,«, W^^r '^k'^'k'"!'^''^' " "^° ^"'' "''-• l^-«' done? Wby do yeh be botl»rin' an' ol' woman with sich like n-«et It', forty years .go, d' yeh mind? rorty ^ ago! Let tbm that's dead rest in peace, will yw ! Her anger passed in the instant « Now, I nt IN LOVERS' MEETING •hould n't be talkin' like that," ahe apologized. « I «t few enough oalle« these days. Will yeh take a bit more sugar, sur-an' forget an ol' wonum's blather. 1 m not mesilf this noon." He took the sugar without a word, and drank down the tea m a gulp. She pressed him to take another cup, but he shook his head. " Thank yuh, nu'am," he .itktthl^.""^^-'^*^^""''-" =««^^^-t She faltered : « I _ I Ve offlnded yeh, thin i " He went out without answering -without meeting hands, then she set xt heavily on the table, and sank luto a chair, stanng, bewildered, at the closed door. vjI t ??"* ^^ ^'"'' "^^ *^^ excitement of his v^sit bid been too much for her. She felt ill _ and 1 Her mouth weakened and drew down in the whim- ^r of a child; the memories of the past which he had recaUed, overeame her; she wept. In the midst of it, she heard the door pushed open «.dshe checked herself quickly, looking uj wiA aS <^ ^.' o"""**'^ *° ^ f""- *he tears in her eves. What is it i » she asked faintly. ^ " It 's me again," he said. « I been - lyin' to yuh Ls£::^et.»''''''' '^'' "' ^-'.^hurner- Name of Hiven I Jimmy Farrell, d' yeh say ? " Jl© ■ — hd — '^ IN LOVERS' MEETING 363 " D* yeb know it ? " He nodded, avoiding her eye. eie waited, ghakinir AH fk.«» ■ , Of Jnnn.y Farrell, b!' Z^ l^ ^ He ' ''T' ' He had desertpH ).», j ■ ' ^® "'■« "live. «u ueserted her, and deceived her <«),„ shame of it in the face of thi, ^ **"" ^^ " Well » .».» Tj ® °^ '*'•» man, even. it f » ' "^ '"•' •' ^'"*' - "» hard voice, " what of -if^eWt^M '" *'^ ^"'^ °^ »'' *-- yuh 6 «■ -ne 8 got his pension." ^ Sshe dropped her apron. "D'vo), take money f^^ the-themaf?" """ *""* ^ '^ beglaJ-.^"" ^^^""'Wed with his hat. "He'd tjere's a liar WMWhy-X'd d'f ' ''"^^' these yea«, an'-God hilpTs I^""^ n "~ "^^ -a-b. « I liied him hotter dead" ^^' ^"'^ '>«>^'« -t"hris^^r>sr"™^*'^-^»^«- ^^„ -f- He d be Sony to hear rnh say wTr «l-n^?i-'" «^« -^^**' "'""ted in his 86S THE TWO MICKEYS Swiia obeeie with all the vacuous good-nature that goea, profeMionally, with beer. He smiled a somewhat fuddled smile at little Mickey's shoulders, breathed heavily, and let his pouched eyes settle again on the pair of lovers before the footlighta far below him. He did not hear what they were saying; He was occupied with thoughts of pride in his boy'a precocity. The heroine continued to talk to her " dear Bobert" in a voice of affection that continued to make little Mickey squirm. , He was not only impatient; he was not merely disgusted; he was beginning to despair. Since the rising of the curtain, there had been nothing but this " muggin' " going on. A blind wife had begun it, in a sickening high falsetto, her arms around her hus- band's neck. Then the comic Irishman and the inn- keeper's daughter had taken it up. Now another pair were at it. There had not been so much as the hint of a murder or a robbery to bear out the promises of the bloody posters on the avenue billboards. And Mickey — watching with eyes that were as big and round in his pale face as two holes in a triangle of his mother's Swiss cheese — kept complaining to himself: "Aw, dhis 's rotten 1 Aw, say, dhis 's rotten!" liehind him the gallery rose in tier on tier of in- tent faces — faces strangely white in the reflected glare of the footlights — faces that protruded out of the dark- ness, bodiless, unblinking, like the faces of a nightmara But from tier to tier an uneasy shuffling of hidden move- ments replied to Mickey's impatience. To all the THE TWO MICKETS 868 "godg" thi« MntJmenUlity wm "dead .low"- th« H« father noS 1^1'"' v "* ''' •"'^•" M? ^™"^.'^:C'^«^^« ""•>«='' the prioer' Mr. Flyna shook hig head. « TTo-.. „ u-_. This 's on'y the first act." ''^ ^'' "'"'* *»»• «IW Sl^"^^'." *" "'«'* °f *h« others in that gallery, Saturday night at the "show" was the ,1 ward of a went nf .»7/j • 1 , '"* "^ «,„„ * L self-denial; and to Mickey it was He slid down dejectedly on his back-bone. « Dhis 's slower 'n church I " * * It was a remark that appealed to his father -for Micxocorr iiEsoumoN tist cnaiit (ANSI and ISO TEST CHABT No. 2) d APPLIED IM/1GE Ini ST 16» East Wain Stmt ',iS RochMtar, N«w York 14609 USA = (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone as (716) 288-59S9 -Fox 360 THE TWO MICKEYS personal reasons. He wheezed and shook apprecia- tively. " Don't yuh like goin' to church i " " New." "Why don't yuh V "Why don't ymi?" Mr. riynn evaded the question. " Yer mother wants yuh to go." " She wants you to go, too." " I ust to go when I was your age." The boy looked up at him with the sharpness of a self-sufBcient little animal. " Did yuh like it ? " Some one behind them said: " Shut up, will yuh ? Youse ain't the show." And Mr. Flynn coughed apolo- getically, glad of the interruption. He had been vaguely aware, of late, that Mrs. Flynn was setting his son against him; and although she had been welcome to the care of the boy as long as he was an infant, now that he was growing old enough to take a side in the family quarrels, Mr. Flynn b^an naturally to feel a jealous interest in him. It was for this reason that they were at the theater together. And the elder Mickey smiled to find that in their dislike of church- going— as in their common contempt of feminine af- fection as it was misrepresented on the stage — he and his son were not divided. Mrs. Flynn, he assured him- self, would not be able to make a mother's " Willie " of that boy ; he had too much of his father in him. Little Mickey had dropped his elbows to his knees again and craned his neck. A man with a villain's black mustache was attempting to interfere between the THE TWO MICKETS 361 sailor and his wifp Ti,„ *_ a sudden quar^, J)l ° "''° "^"^ ^^^^ voices in and felled hinriLT;T"*r "'^ ^'""'"'^ "^n cackled. '"DTuh r^v''^^ ^'"'^"^ "'"^^d and father. « G^rDi^'. ." T'' '" ^ " ''^ ^'^d *« ^is W,« *„*>.. "^ "" * ^® J'M'd him a beaut 1 " -U.er.«i,f„^::,t;''''eabIetomalcea ersTs^; h^St -t^'^, 'r'-'P^ -«^-ted pow. in an insta^ "t pmlrzLt^'^''*^ " ^^<"« -- drawing his W^^' ITiXanl V^ '' T'^ over it. Little Mieke, tittereT- jlld!!! ^ t""' and screamed with kuffhter TK ^^f^'^* — shook — -mciating p„„eh int V 7^ S^ ' T'" love md secret marriage robbprx- ™°^«° P'ots of themselves inextrica^rCheT '^1'"""*' ^'"^'^ tableau. And when iL !! -^ '"*^ ^^^^^ knot a act, the vinainlrd^lrrri^-^^-^jof tHe revenge; the captain of the gaT^d ^S *' ^^ gerous robbeir; the 8aiW= ^*''®'' * dan- hy the viUai^Clt ?/?"^ "^^^ ""^ ?««»«» b. which ^e ^r::^tlzift' >r ^" fort^e; andthecomio Tr;«l,l 1 1 , ^^ "'^ miser's MS THE TWO MICKEYS an obscure way, to Mickey's enjoyment. It was a part of the daring truancy of the evening; for he knew how his mother fought hia father's love of a frequent glass. He smiled at the curtain. The smile faded as he became aware that the curtain was not the one that he had seen there before. It was a tame pastoral — a Sunday-school prize volume com- pared to the penny-horrible in paint .:.at had been hang- ing thera " Dhey w d bull-fight on d' odder one — d' ol' one," he explained to his father, who had returned refreshed. " An' dhe bull was jus' givin' it to 'em — an' dhey was bleedin' blood." His voice went husky with the thought of much gore. "Was they?" His father turned a Wearily sym- pathetic eye on the place where the masterpiece had hung. " It was did by a convic'. An' he was in fer life. An' dhey pardoned 'm — fer doin' it 1 " His father nodded, drawing a package of candy from his pocket. Mickey took it awkwardly, without thanks. "Dyuh get yer drink?" he asked, t» be "sociable." " Sure ! Havin' a good time ? " Mickey, sucking on a candy, winked archly. " Uh- huh ! " His father grinned. There was no need of words. They understood each other. When the curtain rose again, it rose on the promised robbery, on low lights and tremulous violins, on an air vibrating with mystery and crime; and little Mickey THE TWO MICKEYS forgot hh father. Be h.„.^ ^" ^"^ P"er^, tingling w th «? 7' °''' '^^ ^'^^ °f the Tie captain was pi.ki jj** >»i« lower insidee. miser's strong box. He«w„,- "' ''"'' ^"""d the t^«g it on the table - wi^ """^ "" ^« ^<^^ emp- ^o«ej.. He was looking for tL"*"'^ '''"^""« °^ '^^^ ^wkej recognized it; he h»f ''"S^ '^^ seal, He breathed as if on tinto! ?^'**«« ^"^ before Tvas opening! He w«= j- ^ ''"O' behind him r It Heth ,L^,f:- W^^ "Help, Heip," and choked. AndMickevT' ?^^^ "'"^ """n struggled -'^^ a relentless cTutl^ I'^f'^ ^^^ ^«"ery rating He had killed him! He'dte^'^^/ ^''-^hatf Someone-aomeone-V ''"^^'■' "S««s-sh!" ter's blind wife. " Thank c!^ T'^' ^'^a^tierol^ caught a long breath, JSthit ' '""'^ ' " ^'^^^ through the open doo;,7ust as tlL w' T""^ ""'^^'^-i? - the bod, of the de^d mi: td 's "°"^'^ ^'"-^led "^ The mnocent sailor rnshed Tto 1 "^'^ ''^ "J"™- bj the police (who had o " r'-^" ^^^as seized --)• "Arrelt that m 7^7^^ T '" *^^ »-' tn-no-ceni!" Tl,«„ *i, "^ murder!" «t ,„ ^11 prrrove it 1 » ^ ""'* " And my evidence 364 THE TWO MICKEY8 When the captain, posing for Liberty enlightening the Upper Bay, uttered those generous words, Mickey brought his dirty little palms together with a smack that led the gallery. A whirlwind of applause beat upon the curtain, and -when the curtain rose again — upon the actors bowing before the storm. Mickey's shrill pipe of happiness topped it all. When the up- roar dwindled down to an excited interchange of appre- ciations, his treble kept the key-note. " Gee 1 Was n't It great ? 'D yuh see 'm grab d' ol' guy be dhe pipe ? Say wy didn't he lift dhe box, 'stead o' monkeyin' roun dhere till dhey got in on 'em, eh? Gee, dhough, wasn't it great?" • > e . His father had been watching Mickey rather than the play; but he simulated a smiling interest and answered: burel That fraa somethin' like, eh?" A boy of Mickey's acquaintance — the son of Schurz, the butchor- leaned in from the aisle to say: Yer mother's out huntin' fer yuh, Mickey. Tow '11 get it!" And Mickey's face fell half-way to an ex- pression of unhappiness before it lifted to upper elee again. He turned to his father, full of the self-sacrifice of the robber captain's climax. " Dhat 'a all rieht," he cheered his parent. " If she finds out 't you was here, I 11 tell her I took yuh." "She won't find out nothin'. Never mind her Havin' a good time ? " Mickey chortled. "Sayl D' yuh guess dhe cap'n 's goin' to eonfest?" ^ They discussed the question, sharing the candies, THE TWO MICKEYS them. "*'"^"* "laf was preparing for ^or the remainder of th^ ^een iis frequent Weitf ^ZT'' """ ^^"' ^^ «t«e ifieiey also movel I^'E ''^ '^ '^'""'' '^'^ -a world of robber denl oft ^ " ^"''' ^°'^<1 feacheiy thwarted, and^< th« •* ""' ^'^'^' "^ evaded and abused. It di/ . ""'"'*'" *** *^« 1*^'" -aj trying to betra/an ntdr^ ^'' "^^ ^'"''- and escaped capture by com * J- " ^'^"'^ ^^ ""^bery Jaw had a kind heart L aW "T."'""'^''- ^'^ -^ -atiments that were llf ,?'^'^^^ *<> *he gallery company filed befo« ZolK"""^^'- "^^'^ the -«ainwithaven;ZstLTar -^"'^^ "^'^^ *<"" pathetic neighbors, "gay kfd V"""*^ ^^^'^ »"■« ^y-- at;t;;r-^--tShr'.— ^:--:- He feasted his eyes ™ .h " "^""^ "^J^ed. cave in the woods, wh" e"hf trr^**"^ "' *^^ '"''l^'''' of misty blue mosi beautifS He si"' !^'"'^ '"^ ''^^ of their underground J^ ifptr ," *'^ ^'•"»» door was opened except with L IT' ''^''' "^^«' " and chains. He iJedonZf''''^"'''^''^^^'^^^ office of the chief of p7li^' ^ h"T"''' '" *^^ ««-* head when he recognized 2eT f' ^'"' '^''^ '''' h« - a «endam.,^4^t;t2^d:rS '''^^^^^ """• -inere was a 366 THE TWO MK'KEYS S f*':^" *•"« «'i«'>'y outlaw and the five gen- darmes who tned vainly to handcuff him. There was another when he escaped from his dungeon with a Te- ZZ If: "^""l ''^' '"'^-^ «-* Et his guardt with a blank cartridge and so startled Mickey whh the r^ ^>:^ f "' "' ^"^ "''^"'"^ f^o"! the red on his «J|rt bosom. He died with his face upturn^ to Mickey, and the curtain fell upturned to the^i?'''-f °°' ""''' ""'" ^'"^ °«« butted him in Stl ht 7t '" '"r*""* ""^ «« -- «Wd along with his father m the crowd; he floated down the stai ! to the chill air of the streets, still half stup^ Ce "VS;rSl^l:trS;^r"-^-rJd: better get a g, it on, pop," he said « «5J,. 'ii • . ynh, if yuh don't." She 11 give It to They would have made a moving illustration for a temperance tract Little Mickey Trotted alZ fl and eager^yed beside his father^ who^^lwTa f S agger, mumbling to himself. They made a pictut Hotous turmoil Of his mind;iasi:^rMlL;a;\^ THE TWO MICKEYS K^ ~~ 367 DOOM companion, proud of l,;= i »he robber capt^rieZt T'tf '""'^■-»-", -a hand, hi. pockL fu, ofl "'"' ^'^^ "^^ the on tho instant of intJl ''°"'^'' "^'"^ 'eady, that minion of the "aw Tr;/"^ ^^■••'" ^'"-'^ '- o"t from any doonvay to S; . V""" '^"' "'" '-^"i' door of his „„derZ.md reL:! , '' "'' ''" ''«^' «' «'« - and saw no 8p™eh7nr. f """^'^ """''■"^ hi« to the eh.ef of polij; ^ ^"''"''^ ^'^ hiding-place "/^llS'In^ -iS-rj^J-^^^here," he ordered, 'tyuh seen nie." '^^ ^^ '"^''^= "^on't tell 'm a« he had disappeared lehf.,!,°° '"°"'- ^« «°on delicatessen sh^^ i" t„t"f K ""J *" ''°°'- "^ '^e the shadows, and pr^etdTd toTh t' """""''''^ ^ .his trail by doubling a^nd ^ bl^ol''" ''' ^'-*^« «« far :: t^^^;^^ him, nntracked. as the whole sidewalk lay 1; blai frt^' ^"* *^«'« hid beMnd-the woodenlndi Itft if '' ''"^^-'^«^ next door, planning a detour It w *°^Tf '*' ^^"P' 368 THE TWO iflCKEYS d^ided to c„y off the .itu.tion with . bold iront. hind IL Th n t 7"'^^ "'""^^ ^' ''"'•^•^ — «n^ , '^P^ <>»' f«>m his hidiM-nla™ arxn. ^' '^^ **'^«'' "^^ «»ght him by the He looked at her, bewildered. « Qee 1 " h„ .«i^ pnned to find himaelf «,HH«ni^ • V "*' *"'" subject to maten^JauthSr^^ " """ '"' She shook him, «Y«t. ii#»i-. • , . have betrayed him. If "thirty "t.^ ?T "'""" SbTh :,^ u? '^"* *^ ** "^^^ge*! on « Shirty " ». -^trs::'?!'.," -.: »r '^f i another tone "Hayeyeh been playin' the Naw, lain't. I ain't been craps again f ■ Whayr'dyehcomebyit,thin doin' not'in'," 360 THE TWO MICKEYs " Seme one give 't to me." h'deyehferthat'' '" ^*^' ^'^W- Yer father '11 a leather strap. « i ^^..^^^^^^ °» ^lickey with "Do yer own lickin'. ^L ^'^" ^""^ ^^d once, hate me? I b'lieve ynh do^" c?"' ''."^'^^ *^- hoy do yer doot^ as a f ah^er er veh 'r^"\^-' " ^^^^ '" »ow. Yer a dang poor L!h/? " '^"'^^ °"' o' here <^. But yeh '11 tS f^ t f ~ '^' ^ '^« «tood fer ^"Jiin'r^unJheririon^^^tT'r ' '" ^^^ ^«" with the air of n T^^ Vr . '^'' ^''^ «*«>? ' " Ar.^ «^t the flg„ral:?^f ""-^' ^« ^«d ^or^d him^o £S';Si t- t; o^^^^Jather this nigh, be almost dragged to the shop do!^ 7"' ^''^'^^ *° was ^ide ,,, t^j,^ past X °S' ""f " «»<>- as he l»ad been tendim? th« T . -Lynn's sister — who away-.„d ranVhidri,;''^\^"- ^'^^ - which he slept ^^'^^ "" *h« little room in It ^-^s at the very oacfc „' t\, which the Flyn^s Kf a^^t^^"" «""« «' -oms i„ t«' captain's dungeon cdl But M" T *'^ "* *^« ^°h- of the dark; the« had been „" , f '^ ^"^ "«* "f'-aid »» his education. He shuThr. '^ ""'""'^ nonsense outer olofhing excjt £ tier,!!? *"' "^ «" ^^ f ais tajicterbockers. Then he 370 THE TWO MICKEYS clambered into bed and waited for whatever wrath there was to como. Of the interview between Mr. and Mr.. Flynn he heard only the muffled shrill voice of the wife interred gating «.lcnc«.. He lay on his back, hi. leg. and arm. spread w.de - ready to resist any attempt to turn him over and expose h.. vulnerable rear - wondering, dully, whether h.s mother would .ucceed in extortinfa con- fession from his partner in crime. He himself wa. P-vpared to endure all the mythical tortures of the .rd degree" rather than speak a word that micht betray h.s aithful confederate. At the same time t Baw himself on the very edge of his doom, saved f om W.ng the final penalty of his .ilence by L magna" n^ous mterference of hi. father. « I am in-noSt! " would shout: And my evidence will prrrove itl " He stiffened at the sound of approaching footsteps bracmg himself from his heels to hi. eis. Mrs fJn." f'^Z T^ *'"' ^'^''- ^^^ ^"d « light in one haad and the strap in the other. He saw that .he :l^.ZX ^-^-^-^-i-tinctivelyhard. "Mickey now/' she pleaded, « tell me how yeh come £ni::s."''''""^^-*'''-'^'"-'^«^^eh. Zr::t::^''-''- -«— g^-'ttome.- ' Some one.' ' That ain't the truth, Mickey.' THE TWO AUCKiiYs r !• 80." -7 out of bed to rfl:;!^t J^» ^f^. at last and struggling __, he beat hL • ^"^^ '^^ « "'"b f e herself with .n^XZ^\" "'"""^ ^•^"^^. •>- d'd not utter a sound He 2 ^ "^ «e«ilessly. He m-no^ntl" And , "' ^''^ "ry out " I am --p;-pB^:iho:;r:';\'"rr,^pe^s: '- from the room sobbingl Lt ^^'^°"^' ""^ relaxed with the groan of In^' i^' ''"'« Mickey -rted in distr«« ^H'^^T"^ that has been de to ite rescue. ^ "^ '^^'^ ^"^ to have nwhed He was not subtle Ha had merely boyish ide;is of ^ZT T *''"^*^- He faal m th«e without disgrace !^^t .1* "" ''"^ <«"'<» In that bitter moment thrbTy'wl h^?'^' "^^ ^-"^• «nd applauded the hero saw ht A ^"'^ **■« ^'"«'' sneaker." His moth^sL^ t' "^ » ""'^"d, a any resentment of hef^elu " h"'' "''"'^ "^'^^t traced; and in the du3u.hti'' "^' ^"^ ^" ^^ admiration a.d his lo^ wfnt f f T "' " '"'^ ^« burst of tears that shook hS. '"" ^'*^ '^^ ^^t 372 THE TWO MICKEYS He crawled back mto bed and wrapped himaelf as well a, he could m the coverlet An hour later, when h 8 mother came m to look at him, he was throttling a b midnight — an' vengesminel" She did not faiow that the elder Mickey had taken the after, the boy wae to be more and more her defense agamst her husband's good-natured but skulking shift- ZfT Zrl *'"' "^-^^ on-against the world only that the two Mickeys had been at the theater to- gether and she stood looking down at him through t^ S "1"^ « °° *^' ''^"'•^«'' ^'^ ^ ^^^ gentle ne^a "layoffyerclothee,Mickey,"aheaaid' «yS can't sleep so." ^mething in hia swoUen eyes, as he opened them heai The two o' them," she said. "The two Mickeys ... Ah, child, have I put nothin' of LeS intoyeh? Nothin' at aU ? " oi mesm X-ABKIN IT was after niehtfaH ,•„ *i, . ^ which i«, to tJ^Tof I*'.:* Pf °f J^ew York Jonse -- ^here the «^l: ;,^; J'*^' ^> «tor, of the b-iness district of ^ Iw 1' ^"^ ''°"' ^^- ^^e deserted basement, the liill*""?. ^ <« ^^^^t as a «g windows; and beW.ff T'* ^'* '"^ "" *ie^ «hin- l^okkeepers, i.op.giri7alt J""^ ''"'"'^' "^-k^ and pavements with an appeafaleeoT. T "^ ""''-''«- " pool of frozen stone^Tlf '^''"^ '^'o deep i„ jock had hardened eveniv^.f, I'T^"*'"" °^ ^"'d ^''ery .nequaiity of the Z^7J^ fT"" """^ ''""«d suburb unde. a barren cSTof , T, '''"'^ ^°" "^ « ^P one of the bar^^e ?h ' ""' """' Larkm struggled against^im«r^ "^"^ P'^^^^'^nt, fo'^ght and jostled him l"tit7""^^ f December tha 'f ts until they ga^p'ed tST-'^'"'^""'^^^- g'«««es, and puffing sfiff mT" ,'"■ '"'"''''g ^^"'P- «-eep the stones as Ian t "'°"| '^ «'dewalk to -tb his chin in his tZ TJZ ^f> f°-ard, about his neck, he looked as if th^-'f ""'''"" ^""°^>^ I'-'d pounded hia head Lfo hi! w °'''"=^ "^ *he wind nito h„ body and crushed his 37ft LARKIN stiff derby down on his ears. He had one hjmd thru into the breast of his overcoat at the aperture of missing button and his elbows were pressed in again his sides; «o that he seemed to be hugging himsc against the cold, shrunken in on himself in an unwillii and shivering discomfort. Yet, when he stopped in the light of a hall-lamp look up at the number on the door, a package showed : the crook of his elbow to explain his posture^ and aboi the wrappings of that package there shone the gi twine of the bonbon counter. His lips were contract* with the cold as if to the pucker of a whistle^ and h simple face, glowing with the nip of the wind, was tl sort from which an always cheerful melody might J expected continuously to pipe. He came up the steps to pick out the name of " Coi nors " over an electric bell, and he pressed the buttc heavily with the flat of his thumb. T'le door-lo( clicked. He wiped his feet on the mat for a momei of hesitation, and then blew apologetically into tl thumb-crotch of a closed fist as he entered; but the were the only signs of any inward agitation at the pro pect of making a social call, iminvited, .n a girl wl did not know his name;, and who might possibly n< even remember his face. A little old woman in a shawl was waiting for him i a doorway on the second lau ding. He asked oautiousl; from the top step: " 'S Miss Connors live here ? " " She does." She peered out to see that he was atranger. « I '11 tell her." She disappeared. LABKIN ^y a«ked hinC S^ X? '"" '"'" ^''^ P-'<"- She nodd^ bu't he diTnt^';" ''^"°*''' *" "^ ^^'^^- Ho -t/r^t ^ri:i"?r ""^ *'^ '^-^^-^^^^ -^ graph album undlr Ms haS ' r " ^^ ^'"^^ PJ""*- ing on the cover aLdL^T " '"'°" "^ ^^' '«««- ^t. With a faaeinlS^X ^Sh^r ^^^ ^ of skirts and a nattPr nf • ? ^ ^^""^ » «^ish the gaud, hangings^ thTdJo^S;^ ^If ^ "^^T -ooti?;rthi3r;ft "tL-*^''* ^^ •^^ jacket - caught at th?., 1 P'^^-heribboned dressing there, a. if sfe d d lo^ ZtZ7 "' ^'^ "'^"^^'^ ^^'^ plained himself. "^ *" ""**' "°*a he had ex- hairXTs^eTo^lS';?; '^f "^ -1-ettish black the middle of her fori !? "f «* '""'«i"g down in "*>' flhe said, with an affectation „* 3 first time: "you '^TZ.l'j^'^''-?. He red- lunch nodded, -headed counter Pipp you'reMr.Eattra/sfrien'? girl. We been right along.' was aatin' about jnih from the go:n' to jour place at the 878 LAKKIN c^oclates. He lifted hi8 hat to uncover the c»ndj From the way he did it, it was plain how much he had counted^ on the effect. She laughed. "Oh-ol blush out, like rouge, on either cheek-bone. dot, away from her and took refuge in a chair,Sin^ down m his overcoat, with his hat in his hands. vaiJT ^^'^'">« y*"- tWngs ? " ghe asked, in the yun were. He looked around the room in a manner of being very much at his easa r,.!l?^,^''"^^r**^ ''^'' ^ «^^««'" ^''^ «»id. ^th a ne^ous laugh ihat was followed by a fit of coughing She sat down with the box in her lap and began to o^n atS/'°<^l'5*^!'^"^'" " That 'srighV he said at_lMt Yuh don't want to go back too soon after the "I guess mine was nemmonia, too," she replied, He nodded at a crayon portrait of Mrs. Connors on the far wall " That 's what they toP us." I-AKKIN „^ candie. " Won't ^ft^oSeT"' '-'^"^ -' «« Jilt''' •""' "^^ ^" *^ '"''» "><» J"" ««ched aero.. of h,. cheek m a way which made it plain to her th^ ^^^ , esaia. Pipp 8 in the Pennsylvania oflS- "Oh?" "Did yuh?" ch^'^i'wf^^'l^'^' """"^ °° *« '>'J«>' in hi. cneet We sort o' ran awnv T v„ i„ ?>. Bince he was about Xi" Vhlw vT f '''^ '"^ Wfil xm-tJ. I,- u ,j * ® "^'^ ™8 J"** out on a "Where 'd yuh urt to live ? " she asked politely " Jit ' wh '^JT'' ''^*^' «''*«^1 ho-^ there, an^ de^^lTt ™"' '" ."' *^" "^''''' «•■« ^h«» one 8 got to have it back Satur- LARKIN 383 She said she liked it. My d«y — • girl at the hoa«e. name'aLarkin," JwZ^l h K "irff'^ "'»""7 "O-*'. " Wedded He laughed unexpectedly. "Well, I ain't such a much. I saw ^me book, over on Third Avenuh 't we Z I d-r Vl*": """J °"* '"- -"' 8«» *-o o' them but I did n't get through the firgt." _ J Didn't yuh?" She emiled at his sudden volubil- Th7'^ * y^ '"^ *° '^''^ ««** *''"«' ^ 'he hay loft They cost five cent, each-about Jesse James an' the ^diana. We ust to borr" an' lend them - untS But! SouS""'^''-^-^-^ Heborr'dthem 1 He shook his head uncertainly and then he smiled a broad gnn. She turned the pages of the bolt ^1 cept when yuh want to jolly us along," she added. He hitched up his shoulder and looked troubled. 1 dont know but what yuh look „« - * P^^nter. tK^," she said, and gOtp^Jly'^.T Oh, htm, she stopped him. « I guew he don't do 884 LABKIN " w.™ n . " °°' answer. Have n't yuh never been ? Because " .f. without looking UD "I w«n»* 1. "'" '''^^enton, in the booU» ^' '"' '° ''""'' '^ ''«y do it right ou / '"'^ •**'»'• come fer it on—" •^' one dropped the book " v„k » cried. ^u'' w not 5-o,Vr' .he down." Bhe'^dere/TV^Xr t^*^'^ '°'^' the handle at likeTliL o" '"^^" *° ^^ "^ go. Goonb'ack::^,;-,.,!:,^- ^ -"^'^ ^^^ ^ He did go. thilv^ ^^" ^^^ -d; "you're as touchy as any- tohtttwTv'°'/'Y'"*- He raised his eyes exp^ssrtt dlr T'T"^' '"* ^* '"°^''' ^«^N 385 not unxaixed with .hi? "' ~'"^''^°" »•"' -- He replied that he diZoT "^'^u '"™ "*"'"•" chiefl, about h" Sn the wrfT' """""''•"'' ti.e " lu,.ch counter " Whl ), *'°"**' '""^ ''«"' »' did not meet hig eyL ' "*' "^ '«'"'« her «he HertStrVje?^/"^ P'^' ^"^ '•"« - ''-d. night. " ''"' "'"«'"'« '^'^efully far into the A,n t «he getfn' better? " he wWgpered. the^oltei "''Sr-- i!' ^^- - laid "Not a hi,» .^'''.*/l'0'"»y better?" day.an'drngs.au'dainisJhat'"''; '^"^ "^'^'J I 'd put by fS'us-evS" *t of it T? *'^ ""'^ *>'' ends. I am that" "^ **"* °* "• I 'm at my wits' She bega. to pour out all the anxieties that she had 380 LABKIN He listened, blinking at been restraining for months, the bag of peanuts. old. I m not good fer much. Our frien's 's S got tn^ubles of their own, Heavens knows-poor LSl It's a bad way we'll be in if Maggie's nC^ ^Tt strong again. A bad way." She sTdiraJknottS her hard old hands together in her lap. " An' h« suS a bright girl — poor child." ^ overtt! w' "Y 'r '^'''- ^' '"^^'J his hat from the door. He started at the sight of W P^pmg around the hanging at him. sL laughed Juh re gettm' so fash'nable, I thought yuh .eVJl "I was huntin' fer some peanuts," he confessed " T could n't find a peddler." "econiessed. I " Peanuts 1 " she cried. " Wait MI T «.f ™ on." *" " ^ g«t my wrapper He turned to smile at Mrs. Connors. They '11 do her no hurt anvwava " pfc.> j j " T vcUh '♦..,„ _^ . anyways, she conceded. I wish t was port wme, poor girl " It was port wine, the next time he appeared • it r.<.. ^so calves' foot ielly. And though Miss' Co^ llde meriy oyer them, her mother was visibly won. ShTrt heved In^ „f His hat and made him ta'ke off hi!t ^ coat And having intervened to save him from her daughter's teasings several times throughout the^l^; LABKDf 387 she parted from iim with «.i. ^ and scolded the girl tol^ "'"'"^ "' ^^^'P'^t ten ile 8 as slow as mud" What of it? "she cried. «it',.u . . 2 yet. He 's no fl^-awayanywal Tf^ '^'^ ^*''*'' He IS now. Y' ought to t.tn^' ^««a«»odboy. baitin' him so. Yero^fT "^^ "" ^^^^^^ *» ^ -a«, an' he made as Zdt f " ""* "^ "'^ ^'^ "« -- Mind yeh that." ^ * ""^ «» any girl M want. " Ton ,;„i.t J ^^ " ^''^ momin'.'' i on . light do worse." I might do better." The f ™ Miss cTmioil'^^J"^^; - «-at progress with her mother. She sent him ZT^- T "^"e^^t from tion filled at the druTstore and ""^ *,*" ^' * P^^^^P- for the medicine ^hThet'l^'^l'^^^^P^y ^thout letting "M^e-t, ^' ^" *°»W-f tained that privilege, E,,^";^- «-«« Wing ob- from this b^ni^he iSal^r™'^^''* °»«J and "lent of some of the otheTr u ^ ""^ '""^ «•« Pay- ^- Connors preJn;""^ ertd** "^"^' •''-^^* slipped a part of his r,JJ ^v '"^'^' """l feally -hen she was biddin/S^"^ "."^^ ^*<' ^«' band - " fer the doctor's bS? ^ ^^''^ "«^' ^ the hall - 38S LAKKIN "God bless yeh, boy," she whispered tearfully. "Don't mind Maggie now. It's the way with the girls. She '11 marry yeh when the time comes. Don't doubt it." He fled down the stairs in such haste that he almost fell on the landing, but when he reached the sidewalk he stopped to turn up the collar of his overcoat and solemnly shook his head before he went on again. Though he came every night — and even accepted an mvitation to supper Sunday evening — he never had much to say for himself. Mrs. Connors received him at the door, maternally, and made herself busy about him, and followed him down the hall to the kitchen. Her daughter, propped up among the pillows in an arm- chair by the stove, greeted him with a flippant " Hello, Mikel" although she knew his name was Tom. He would grin and reply, respectfully: "How 're vuh feelin' ? " " Oh, great ! " she would say sarcastically. « Don't I look it?" She was, in fact, pathetically thin and faded. " That 's right," he would insist " I guess we '11 have 't warm pretty soon now." He would sit down at the opposite side of the room and smile and listen and watch her. She had given up teasing him about coming; she accepted him as one of the family and chatted with her mother about their neighbors and their household affairs without making any change of topic when he came in. When she was too weak to leave her room she caUed LARKIIf 389 out-Hello Mikel»ashepa,8edherdoor. And when he was at la^t steadily confined to her bed, she had t^^ the flat, and she received him there with a smile even when her voice was too faint to raise her greeting aZ a wbsper. She had apparently accepted'^hei^^sttd; as ,f they all beheved that the impossible could bfppea and were resolved not to wony meanwhile. ^^ He had been given her keys to the flat, so that he rn.ght not disturb her by ringing the bell f she we^e ktehed and the room filled with women, talking in sul. dued ton^. None of them knew him and theyTll sta^ room. Through the hanging he saw a priest. toSLti .''T T""' *'P*^ ^""^"^ downstairs to the street, and stood on the froni steps until a police- man who was watching him, came up to speak to hS^ He wandered off aimlessly without answering door-jamb and turned home, and as he went slowly around the comer, in the silence of the Sunday ZZ •ng, «! undertaker's wagon came drumming hollowly over the paving-stones. ""owiy "Ah. don't lea' me, lad," Mrs. Com.ors ple'aded. 880 LAKKm teU m I'd V married him,' 8he said." Larkin shook his head. He knew better However he did not go back to his boarding-house. He^it in h.s d place in the kitchen until she made Tp a bed for km m the room that was .ow to spare. IS when Mrs. Connors had gone pla.ntivel/to bed he It** 'tf""^' *""^ ''■^ ^^^ "f the'^ndow 'that open^on the fir^scape, and took up the oil lamplhS she used to save gas in the kitchen. He stood a long time gazing at the light in his hand hall to lie door of the room and stood there, hangi^ his head. He blew out tie light. In the darknW^ he "Maggie?" THE END son, Tom, ij good-by ay. ' An' ing-house. 5 made up ire. And J bed, he idow that tnp which his hand, It up the aging his mess, he y, apolo-