BOOKS BY GOU VERNEUR MORRIS 
 
 PUBLISHED BT CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 The Penalty. Illustrated. (Postage extra) net $1.35 
 
 It, and Other Stories net $1.25 
 
 The Spread Eagle, and Other Stories net $1.20 
 The Footprint, and Other Stories ... $1.50
 
 The Penalty
 
 ffe 
 
 'Are you in love with me now?" he 
 asked wistfully
 
 THE PENALTY 
 
 By 
 
 Gouverneur Morris 
 
 Illustrated by 
 Howard Chandler Christy 
 
 New York 
 
 Charles Scribner's Sons 
 1913
 
 COPYKIGHT, 1913, BT 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Published March, 1913
 
 TO MARY BALDWIN 
 
 IF I should lose from my life that part of it of which you are a part, 
 there would be but a skeleton left. Yet if you had played a larger 
 part in my life I should have been so spoiled that there would be no 
 living with me. And I'm spoiled enough, God knows! 
 
 In the Iliad you wrote for me, and I "drawed" for us both, 'twas 
 Hector fixed Achilles. When I sat at your right hand and your 
 sharp, swift knife went into the turkey, 'twas I that got the tit-bits 
 and the oyster. And all was right with the world then, I can tell you! 
 
 We have ridden together over old battlefields, and I have worn the 
 epaulettes and the swords in the attic, and listened to tales of the 
 great brother who died of the war, and whose bull-terrier Jerry chased 
 the cannon-balls at Gettysburg. Oh, the cutlass captured from the 
 Confederate ram, and the wooden canteen, and the Confederate 
 money (in a frame) ! I was the hunter that used to handle the Colt 
 (with the ships engraved on the cylinder) that shot the buffalo from 
 the rear platform of the train, and was stolen by a genuine thief. 
 Is Jeff Davis's bible that he gave to the brother who with Major R. 
 caused game chickens to fight for the edification of his captivity still 
 in your upper bureau drawer? 
 
 Are the photographs that General Gilmore had taken of Charleston 
 siege still in the bookcase with the glass doors? Or have they van- 
 ished like the child's footprint that I made for you when we were 
 planting the the "plant," and I was going away? 
 
 Time has passed. GranJnephews are as young and hopeful as 
 nephews used to be. 7 have written innumerable miserable grovel- 
 ling tales. I dedicate this one to you; despairing at last of writing 
 that masterpiece which should have been worthy of you. 
 
 But tell me this: Is there still a little corner of your heart that I 
 may call mine? a corner into which no one else is allowed to put 
 yes to put foot? Oh, but I should be glad to know that I 
 
 G. M. 
 
 BEDFORD, February, 1913. 
 
 2137361 *
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "Are you in love with me now?" he asked wistfully 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 She wished that she might die, or, infinitely better, that 
 
 she had never been born 6 
 
 She had on her work-apron, but she was not working . 16 
 
 He praised, blamed, patronized purled his pipe, and 
 dwelt with superiority on topics which are best left 
 alone (Double page) 28-29 
 
 She took some coins from her purse and dropped them 
 
 into the tin cup 50 
 
 The young man knelt at the door by which he had en-' 
 tered and began to remove its ancient lock 
 
 (Double Page) 72-73 
 
 Harry, the workman, . . . rose to his feet, and turned to 
 
 Barbara with a certain quiet eagerness .... 74 
 
 But Barbara and Wilmot Allen, well used to even larger 
 and more stately rooms, chatted ... as two chil- 
 dren 80 
 
 She faced him, still scornful, but white now, and biting 
 
 her lips 88 
 
 In a few minutes Bubbles returned. "He's just sitting 
 there with a hell of a face on him," he said, "and 
 she's working like a dynamo " . (Double page) 98-99 
 vii
 
 viii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 Dr. Ferris frowned. "I'm not trying to interfere," he 
 said. "You're old enough to know what's best for 
 you" (Double page) 128-129 
 
 "Some unknown person," said Barbara, "has formed 
 
 the habit of sending me flowers " 134 
 
 In the dim light she looked wonderfully young and 
 
 beautiful 142 
 
 He turned with one foot on the sidewalk, and one in the 
 
 cab. . . . "Here I wishes you salutations . . ." 146 
 
 Wilmot Allen took her in to dinner, and looked much 
 
 love at her, and talked much nonsense .... 148 
 
 He saw her with the vase of jonquils in her hand . . . 
 and his stout heart failed him a little 
 
 (Double page) 162-163 
 
 When Bubbles had trotted off, she dropped into her 
 
 chair and cried 168 
 
 The door opened, and Rose staggered into the room . 172 
 
 And in his soul the legless man was playing only for 
 
 Barbara (Double page) 210-211 
 
 "'D afternoon, Mr. Lichtenstein," said Bubbles . . . 224 
 
 "I want me thumb bandaged" 236 
 
 She said in a small, surprised voice, "Why, it's finished " 242 
 
 In that instant the legless man overreached himself and 
 
 fell heavily (Double page) 246-247 
 
 Barbara . . . dashed into her dressing-room and locked 
 
 the door behind her 248 
 
 They passed out of the house and by marble steps into 
 
 the first and most formal of their many gardens . . 256
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS ix 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 " What is Wilmot doing with himself these days? " " He 
 went away," said Barbara, her eyes troubled 
 
 (Double page) 258-259 
 
 He caught her by the wrist, drew her to her feet, and 
 
 into the room (Double page) 280-281 
 
 "I twisted the truth out of him, and then flung him over 
 
 a cliff" 290 
 
 " Climb out of that chair, and let me out of this house " . 298 
 
 "I've seen that man. I was writing notes in the sum- 
 mer house when he came " 306 
 
 "Read that, father" .... (Double page) 308-309 
 
 The engineer made generous terms across the dinner- 
 table (Double page) 340-341 
 
 "You will," said Barbara, "when the things dry" . . 342 
 
 They were much amused with Bubbles, who came out to 
 
 them for Christmas vacation . (Double page) 344-345 
 
 "And when you think," said she, "that some women 
 
 spend the best years of their lives making statues! " 346
 
 The Penalty
 
 THE PENALTY 
 
 THE number of love affairs which intervened between 
 Barbara Ferris's first one, when she was eleven, and 
 her twenty-second birthday could not have been 
 counted on the ringers of her two hands. Many 
 boys, many men, had seemed wonderfully attractive 
 to her. She did not know why. She knew only 
 that the attraction seemed strong and eternal while 
 it lasted, and that it never lasted long. She was 
 sixteen before she began to consider herself a heart- 
 less, flirtatious, unstable, jilting sort of a girl. When 
 she made this discovery, she was terribly ashamed, 
 and for one long depressing year fell in love with 
 nobody, became very shy, and hated herself. It was 
 during this year that she had her first, last, and only 
 touch of mania. It lasted only a little while and 
 was not acute. She got the idea that she was being 
 watched, spied on, and followed. But she was too 
 strong in body and mind to give in for long to so 
 silly an hallucination. And when she had dismissed 
 the second man and her maid, who had particularly 
 excited her suspicions, the mania left her, as a dream 
 leaves at waking. 
 
 3
 
 4 THE PENALTY 
 
 In her seventeenth year she was presented to soci- 
 ety, and became an immense favorite. There were ex- 
 cellent reasons for this: she was lovely to look at, she 
 would inherit a great deal of money, she had charm- 
 ing natural manners, and she was sweet-tempered. 
 
 During her second season she had an unpleasant 
 experience. She had almost reached an understand- 
 ing with a certain young man with whom she fancied 
 herself in love. They were spending a Saturday to 
 Monday at a great place on Long Island. On Sunday 
 night, her host, a man old enough to be her father, 
 invited her to see his rose garden by moonlight. 
 She accepted this invitation as a matter of course. 
 Pacing down a path between tall privet hedges, her 
 host, who for some minutes seemed to have lost the 
 use of his tongue, made her a sudden impassioned 
 declaration of love, seized her in his arms, and kissed 
 her wherever he could with a kind of dreadful fury. 
 For half a minute she stood still as a statue. Then, 
 crimson with shame and anger, she wrenched free, 
 and struck him heavy blows on the face and head 
 with her strong young fists. She beat him, not in- 
 deed to insensibility, but to his senses. They re- 
 turned to the house after a time, and entered the 
 drawing-room talking in lazy, natural voices and 
 praising the beauty of the night and of the garden. 
 Not even Barbara's lover suspected that anything 
 out of the common had happened. 
 
 Barbara, having played half a dozen rubbers of 
 bridge with the great skill and sweet temper which
 
 THE PENALTY 5 
 
 were natural to her, excused herself, went to her 
 room, and cried half the night. It was not the 
 shame of having been forcibly kissed that sickened 
 her of herself, but the unforgettable, unforgivable 
 fact that toward the last of that furious kissing she 
 had found a certain low feline pleasure in the kisses. 
 She wished that she might die, or, infinitely better, 
 that she had never been born. 
 
 It seemed terrible to her that she could at once be 
 in love with one man and enjoy the kisses of another. 
 She had heard of girls who were thus, and had for 
 them the contempt which they deserved. And yet 
 it seemed that she was one of them; neither better 
 nor worse. What Barbara did not realize was, that 
 in the first place she was not really in love with any- 
 body and never had been, and that it was not she 
 herself who enjoyed being kissed by a man to whom 
 she was indifferent, neither liking nor loathing, but 
 nature, which for reasons, or perhaps only whims, 
 of its own, tempts the cell to divide and the flower 
 to go to seed. 
 
 Through the tangle of her love affairs Wilmot 
 Allen threaded a path of hope, despair, and cynicism. 
 There were times when she seemed to have a return 
 of her childhood infatuation for him; there were 
 times when he feared that in one of her moments of 
 impressionable enthusiasm she would marry some 
 other man in haste, and repent at leisure. And there 
 were the cynical intervals, when it seemed to him 
 that he could do without her, and that nothing was
 
 6 THE PENALTY 
 
 worth while but enjoyment, both base and innocent, 
 and pleasure. 
 
 During Wilmot's junior year at New Haven, his 
 father's sensational, dissipated, and stock-gambling 
 career came to a sudden end. There was even a 
 shadow on the name. He had done something really 
 discreditable, something of course to do with money; 
 since a man who is merely a gambler, a drunkard, and 
 a Don Juan may with ease keep upon good terms 
 with society. 
 
 Wilmot Allen failed, at least without honor, filled 
 himself full of brandy, cocked a forty-five-calibre re- 
 volver, put the muzzle hi his mouth, pulled the trigger, 
 blew off the back of his head, and was "accidentally 
 shot while cleaning the weapon." 
 
 The real tragedy was that so good a career as the 
 son's should have come to so untimely an end in so 
 good a collegiate world as Yale. He stood well in 
 his class, he had played right tackle for two seasons 
 and was heir apparent to the captaincy; he was well 
 beloved and would have received an election to a 
 senior society in the spring. But the solid ground 
 being withdrawn from under his feet in other 
 words, his allowance from his father he left amid 
 universal regret, and found himself a very small per- 
 son in a very great city; worse, a youth who had 
 always had everything, loved pleasure, lights, games, 
 and color, and who now had no visible means of 
 support. 
 
 Friends found him a position in Wall Street.
 
 She wished that she might die, or, 
 infinitely better, that she had never 
 been born
 
 THE PENALTY 7 
 
 Being young, attractive, a good "mixer," not in the 
 least shy, he was given a handsome "entertaining" 
 allowance and told to bring in business. So he fore- 
 gathered with out-of-town magnates, made the city 
 a pleasant, familiar place to them, and brought much 
 of their money into the firm's office. When Barbara 
 was kind he despised his anomalous position and 
 strove to free himself from it; but even the best man 
 has to live. 
 
 And during those intervals when he thought he 
 could do without her, Wilmot sank deeper and deeper 
 into methods of self-advancement which, if not actu- 
 ally base and culpable, at least smirched the finer 
 qualities of his nature, and hardened his heart. 
 
 If the father's heritage, drink and women, were 
 spared him, or at least that part of him which was 
 really noble, a love of cleanness, clear-mindedness, 
 and purity, died hard. But gambling was second 
 nature to him. He could not enjoy a game unless he 
 had something on it; and all book-makers and pro- 
 prietors of gambling-houses were friends of his and 
 called him by his first name. Sometimes through a 
 series of lucky turns he rose to heights of picturesque 
 affluence; more often he was stone-broke; but so 
 much money passed through his hands in the course 
 of a year that it was always possible for Vn'rn to bor- 
 row and live well enough on credit. Money became 
 his passion, not for its own sake, not for the sake of 
 what it could buy, but because it was a game upon 
 which the best wits of the world have been engaged
 
 8 THE PENALTY 
 
 for ages and ages and because you have to have it, 
 or be able to owe so much that it amounts to the 
 same thing. 
 
 At first when he got in a hole, owed money which 
 he saw no way of raising, Wilmot suffered all the 
 anguish and remorse of the trustee who has specu- 
 lated with orphans' funds (for the first time) and 
 lost them. Gradually he became hardened. And 
 those who knew him best could never tell whether he 
 was worth fifty thousand or had just lost that much. 
 He drew upon a stock of courage and cheerfulness 
 worthy of even the noblest cause, until the term "self- 
 respect" dropped automatically from his inner vo- 
 cabulary and his moral sense became a rotten, rusty 
 buckler through which the spear of temptation or 
 necessity passed like a pin through a sheet of tissue- 
 paper. 
 
 He put himself under obligation in moments of 
 supreme need to dangerous persons, and suffered 
 from the familiarity and perhaps the contempt of 
 some who were his inferiors in breeding, in heart, and 
 in soul. 
 
 One day, being at his wit's end, he walked rapidly, 
 seeking light, through a quarter of the city which 
 was not familiar to him. He was in that mood 
 when a man does not wish to be at the trouble of 
 nodding or exchanging a word even with his best 
 friend. A voice hailed him, "Mr. Allen." 
 
 He stopped and saw that the voice came from a 
 legless man who sat in the sun by a hand-organ on
 
 THE PENALTY 9 
 
 which were displayed for sale a few pairs of shoe- 
 laces and, to excite charity, a battered (and empty) 
 tin cup. 
 
 "Have you forgotten me?" 
 
 The light of recognition had twinkled instantly in 
 Wilmot's eyes, for he was wonderful at remember- 
 ing faces. And he smiled and said: 
 
 "Of course not. How are you?" 
 
 "Pretty well," said the beggar. "And you?" 
 
 " Pretty well." 
 
 Wilmot's giving hand had slipped automatically 
 into his trousers pocket. Then, for once in his char- 
 itable life, he hesitated, since the pocket contained 
 nothing but a ten-dollar bill, and that was all the 
 money he had in the world with which to meet a 
 pressing note of ten thousand. His hesitation lasted 
 only a moment. He laughed and stuffed the ten- 
 dollar bill into the cup, and said: 
 
 "For old acquaintance' sake." 
 
 The beggar studied the young man's face. Then 
 he said: "Mr. Allen, I once had the honor to warn 
 you against three things." 
 
 "I remember." 
 
 "Your face is innocent of wine and women. How 
 about the gambling? " 
 
 "My friend," said Wilmot, "you read me like a 
 book. The gambling is all to the bad. I have just 
 given you all the money I had in the world." 
 
 "A few dollars are of no use to me," said the 
 beggar.
 
 io THE PENALTY 
 
 "Nor to me. Don't worry." 
 
 "I am not worrying. I'm thinking that you and 
 I have something in common. And for that reason 
 I am tempted to ask if a few thousand would be of 
 any use to you? " 
 
 Wilmot smiled with engaging candor. "Fifteen 
 thousand would." 
 
 "You shall have them," said the beggar shortly. 
 He pointed to a glazed door across which was printed 
 in gilt letters: 
 
 BLIZZARD MFR. 
 HATS 
 
 "That," said the beggar, "is my name, and that is 
 my place of business. Come in." 
 
 Wilmot followed the beggar through the glass door, 
 which at opening and closing caused a bell to dang. 
 The front of the establishment was occupied by a 
 dust-ridden salesroom, and an office with yellow-pine 
 partitions. As he followed the beggar into this, 
 Wilmot caught a glimpse in the distance of fifteen or 
 twenty young girls who sat at a long table industri- 
 ously plaiting straw hats. He lifted his own hat a 
 little mechanically, and thought that he had never 
 seen so many pretty girls at one time under one roof.
 
 II 
 
 WILMOT buttoned his coat over fifteen one-thousand- 
 dollar bills. Only supreme necessity could have per- 
 suaded him to take them, since, although he had not 
 put his name to a paper of any kind, he felt a little 
 as if he had sold himself to the devil. But Blizzard 
 had shown him no deviltry; only kindness and a 
 certain whimsicality of speech and a point of view 
 that was engaging. 
 
 The transaction finished, Wilmot was for leaving, 
 but being under obligation to the legless man was at 
 pains not to be abrupt. He lingered then a little, 
 and they talked. 
 
 "The first time we met," said the beggar, "you 
 were roller-skating with a pretty child. She was so 
 pretty that I asked you her name. And I have 
 never forgotten it." 
 
 He did not add that he had watched that pretty 
 child's goings and comings for many years; that he 
 had lain in wait to see her pass; that he had bribed 
 servants in her father's house to give him news of 
 her; and that the day approached when, fearing 
 neither man nor God, he proposed that she should 
 disappear from the world that knew her, and go down 
 into the infamous depths of that vengeance which 
 had been the key-note of his life. Nor did he add
 
 12 THE PENALTY 
 
 that there were but two contingencies which he felt 
 might thwart his plans: her marriage to Wilmot Allen, 
 or his own untimely death. And he feared the latter 
 but little. The former, however, had at times seemed 
 imminent to those who spied upon the daily life of 
 the heiress for him, and in lending money to Wilmot 
 he was taking a first step toward making it impos- 
 sible. For Barbara herself Blizzard had at this time 
 no more feeling than for a pawn upon a chess-board. 
 It pleased his sense of fitness to know she was beau- 
 tiful; and to be told that she was like sunshine in 
 her father's house. 
 
 "What has become of her?" he said. 
 
 "Of Miss Ferris?" Wilmot did not care to dis- 
 cuss her with a stranger. But unfortunately there 
 were fifteen thousand dollars of the stranger's money 
 in his inside pocket. "She became a great favorite 
 in society," he said, "and then dropped out to study 
 art" 
 
 "Painting? " The legless man knew perfectly well, 
 but it suited him to make inquiries. "Music?" 
 
 "Sculpture," said Wilmot shortly. 
 
 "Is she succeeding?" 
 
 "She works very hard, and she has talent." 
 
 "That is not enthusiastic." 
 
 "You mustn't ask me; I'm not an art critic." 
 
 "What a pity." 
 
 "A pity that I'm not an art critic?" 
 
 "No. A pity for a beautiful girl to do anything 
 but exist."
 
 THE PENALTY 13 
 
 Wilmot's eyebrows went up a little. The beggar's 
 speech surprised him, and pleased him, since it ex- 
 pressed a favorite thought of his own. 
 
 "Is any of her work on exhibition? Having seen 
 her once, one takes an interest, you know." 
 
 "I think there is nothing that can be seen," said 
 Wilmot coolly, "except upon special invitation. And 
 I think she is very shy of showing anything that she 
 has done." 
 
 "True artists," said Blizzard, who criminally was 
 an artist himself and knew what he was talking about, 
 "live in the future." 
 
 Again Wilmot's eyebrows went up a little. Why 
 should a legless beggar be able to make loans of fif- 
 teen thousand dollars, and why should he be able to 
 talk like a gentleman? 
 
 "I am interested in art," continued Blizzard; 
 "sometimes I have earned a few dollars by sitting 
 for my portrait." 
 
 He did not add that he continually put himself in 
 the way of artists in the hope that his fame as a 
 model would reach Barbara, and touch her imagina- 
 tion. He did not add that he haunted Washington 
 Square and McBurney Place, where her studio was, 
 in the hope that his face, which he knew to be differ- 
 ent and more terrible than other faces, might kindle 
 a fire of inspiration in her. He believed rightly that 
 if a woman once looked him in the eyes she would 
 never forget him. But hitherto Barbara had not so 
 much as glanced at him, since she carried her lovely
 
 14 THE PENALTY 
 
 head very high, and looked straight before her as 
 she went. While, as for him, he stood upon the 
 stumps of his legs, a gigantic sort of dwarf, beneath 
 the notice of the proud-eyed and the tall. 
 
 Wilmot passed out of the place in deep thought; 
 not even the pretty girls plaiting straw won a glance 
 from him. Coupled with the relief of being out of 
 present difficulties was a disagreeable sense of fore- 
 boding. Suppose the legless man were to ask favors 
 of him before the money could be repaid? Suppose 
 they were favors which a gentleman could not grant? 
 And he determined to find out, from the police if 
 necessary, just what sort of a man it was with whom 
 he had had dealings.
 
 Ill 
 
 IT seemed to Wilmot that he had not seen Barbara 
 for an age. And indeed a week had passed without 
 their meeting. Therefore, although he had often been 
 forbidden to call during working hours, he had him- 
 self driven to 17 McBurney Place and climbed the 
 two flights of stairs to her studio. 
 
 It was a disconsolate Barbara who received him. 
 She had on her work-apron, but she was not working. 
 She sat in a deep chair, and presented the soles of 
 her small shoes to an open fire. Wilmot, expecting 
 to be scolded for disobeying orders, was relieved at 
 being received with visible signs of pleasure. 
 
 "You're just the person I wanted to see," she said, 
 "just the one and only Wilmot in the world." 
 
 "Are you dying?" he asked. 
 
 She laughed. "I'm discouraged. I've come to one 
 of those times when you just want to chuck every- 
 thing. And there's a man at the bottom of it." 
 
 "Tell me," said Wilmot, "in words of two syl- 
 lables." 
 
 "Well," said Barbara, "I woke up in the middle 
 of the night out of a dream. I dreamed I'd made a 
 statue of Satan after the fall from heaven, and that 
 everybody said: 'Well done, Barbs, bully for you/ 
 'Got Rodin skinned a mile' it was you said that 
 
 is
 
 16 THE PENALTY 
 
 and so forth and so on. I rose, swollen with conceit, 
 and made a sketch of the head I'd dreamed about, 
 so's not to forget the pose, and then I went to sleep 
 again. Next day, early, a man stopped me in Wash- 
 ington Square and begged for a dime. I looked at 
 him, and he had just the expression of the fallen 
 Satan I'd dreamed about a beast of a face, but all 
 filled with a sort of hopeless longing to 'get back,' 
 and remorse. I invited him to pose for me not for 
 a dime but for real money. Well, he fell for it. 
 And for all that morning he looked just the way I 
 wanted him to look. But the next morning, having 
 had the spending of certain moneys, he looked too 
 tidy and well fed for Satan. And this morning he 
 was hopeless. He looked smug and fatuous and dis- 
 gustingly self-satisfied. So I gave him quite a lot of 
 money, not wishing to hurt the creature's feelings, 
 and told him to go away." She looked up, laugh- 
 ing at herself. "Do you know, I really believed I'd 
 dreamed out a golden inspiration, and then to strike 
 just the face I wanted and then to have everything 
 foozle out!" 
 
 Wilmot walked over to the modelling-table on 
 which, strongly modelled in wet clay but quite mean- 
 ingless, was the bust of a man. 
 
 "I think," said Barbara, "it would look better if 
 you snubbed his nose for him." 
 
 Wilmot snubbed the long nose heavenward, and 
 the effect was such as to make them laugh. Barbara 
 recovered all her usual good humor.
 
 She had on her work-apron, but she 
 was not working
 
 THE PENALTY 17 
 
 "Get some forms out of the kitchen," she said, 
 "and we'll turn him into mud pies." 
 
 For half an hour they diverted themselves, dis- 
 playing a tremendous rivalry and enthusiasm. And 
 then Barbara announced that there had been enough 
 foolishness, and that if Wilmot would put fuel on 
 the fire, he might talk with her till lunch-time and 
 then take her out to lunch. 
 
 "Always provided," she said, "that you are not 
 broke at the moment. In which case Barbara will 
 pay and tip." 
 
 "I've had a funny adventure," said Wilmot. "I 
 was dreadfully broke. A man I hadn't seen for years 
 and years and only the once at that stopped me 
 in the street, told me I was broke, and offered to 
 lend me money. Wilmot accepted, and is now 
 plenty flush enough to blow to lunch, thank you!" 
 
 Barbara reseated herself in the deep chair, and 
 once more presented the soles of her shoes to the 
 flames. "Look here," she said, "aren't you, just 
 among old friends, rather flitting your life away? I 
 don't think it's very pretty to borrow money from 
 strangers, and to be always just getting into diffi- 
 culties or just getting out of them. Do you?" 
 
 "Well, you know," said Wilmot earnestly, "I 
 don't. When I don't hate myself, I don't like my- 
 self any too well. But there's something wrong with 
 me. Maybe I'm just lazy. Maybe I lack an im- 
 pulse. Maybe I'd do better if any single solitary 
 person in this world really gave a damn about me."
 
 i8 THE PENALTY 
 
 His cheerful boyish face assumed a proper solemnity 
 of expression, and a certain nobility. At the moment 
 he really thought that nobody in the world cared 
 what became of him. 
 
 "Nobody," said Barbara, "likes to back a flighty 
 pony. You yourself, for instance, are always put- 
 ting money, your own or some one else's, on horses 
 that always run somewhere near form. Of course 
 you have excuses for yourself." 
 
 "I? None." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you have. You were brought up to be 
 rich, and you were left poor, and a man has to live 
 and even secure for himself the luxuries to which he 
 has been accustomed. Haven't you ever excused 
 yourself to yourself something like that?" 
 
 Wilmot admitted that he had, and went further. 
 "You can't knock livings out of a tree with a stick 
 like ripe apples," he said. "You've either got to 
 use your wits or begin at the bottom and work up. 
 And it seems to me that I'd rather be a little bit 
 tarnished than toil away the best years of my life 
 the way some men I know are doing." 
 
 "Yes," said Barbara, "but why not go somewhere 
 where the world is younger, and there are real chances 
 to be a man, and real opportunities to make money 
 in real ways? I don't blame you for living on your 
 wits. I blame you for gambling and never getting 
 anywhere and not caring." 
 
 "Not caring? And this from you?" 
 
 She changed color under his steady eyes.
 
 THE PENALTY 19 
 
 "You just give me a certain promise, Barbs, and 
 I give you my word of honor I'll settle to something 
 above-board and make it hum. Look here now! 
 How about it? Who's been so faithful to the one 
 girl for so long? Who understands her so well? 
 Who'd enjoy dying for her so much?" 
 
 " Good old Wilmot," she said gently and gave him 
 her hand. He kissed it and would have liked to go 
 on holding it forever, but she took it away from him, 
 and after a silence said, with some bitterness: "I 
 mustn't ever marry anybody. I've learned to know 
 myself too well. And I've no constancy, and I don't 
 trust myself." 
 
 "That," said Wilmot with the faith of a fanatic in 
 his god, "is because you've never really cared." 
 
 "And besides," she said, "I have what I am 
 pleased to call my career. And 'Down to Gehenna 
 and up to the throne he travels fastest who travels 
 alone.'" 
 
 "True," said Wilmot, "he arrives soonest, but all 
 tired out, and the house is empty, and there are no 
 children in it, and only paid servants. And it may 
 be very showy to live for fame, but it isn't good 
 enough. When we turned that bust you began into 
 mud pies, we did a wise thing. We amused ourselves, 
 and we said the last word on art as opposed to life. 
 The best thing in this world is to be children and to 
 have children and the next best thing is nowhere." 
 
 "Would you," said Barbara, and her eyes twinkled 
 a little, "really rather be a parent than a Praxiteles?"
 
 20 THE PENALTY 
 
 "It looks to me," said Wilmot sadly, "sometimes 
 in moments of despondency as if the honorable 
 gentleman was never going to be either. But then 
 again," and he spoke in a strong voice, "I believe in 
 my heart that after you've done handling the book 
 of life and admiring the binding, you'll open it at 
 chapter one, and read, 'Young Wilmot Allen " 
 
 "Lunch-time," said Barbara, and she rose from 
 the comfortable chair with sharp decision. "I vote 
 for a thick steak, being famished. Is my hair all 
 mussy?" 
 
 "No," said Wilmot dejectedly. "I wish it was. 
 And I wish it was my fault and yours."
 
 IV 
 
 "I'VE done enough for you more than once," said 
 the legless man; "you're big enough and strong 
 enough to work, but you're a born loafer." 
 
 "I had a job." The speaker, a shabby, unshaven 
 man with a beastly face, whined dolefully. "And I 
 done right; but I got the sack." 
 
 "What was the job and why were you sacked?" 
 
 "I got a job as a artist's model. I sits in a chair 
 while the lady makes a statue out of my face, and 
 then she gives me money, and I goes and spends it. 
 The third day she gives me more money, and tells 
 me I looks too well fed and happy to suit her, and 
 sends me away." 
 
 The legless man was astonished to learn that his 
 heart was beating with unaccustomed force and ra- 
 pidity. "Who was the artist?" 
 
 " She's a lady name o' Ferris." 
 
 The legless man steeled his face to express nothing. 
 "Ferris," he commented briefly. 
 
 "Say," said the unshaven man, "what's all that 
 about the devil falling out of heaven and fetching up 
 in hell?" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "That's how she says I looks. And she wants to 
 make a statue of him, just when he comes to and 
 sits up, and looks up and sees how far he's fell. She
 
 22 THE PENALTY 
 
 says my face has all the sorrers and horrors of the 
 world in it." 
 
 "And then, you fool," said the legless man, "you 
 spoiled her game by high living. You ate and you 
 drank till you looked like a paranoiac bulldog asleep 
 in the sun. Where was the lady's studio?" 
 
 "Seventeen McBurney Place." 
 
 "And she wants to do a Satan, does she?" 
 
 The unshaven man drew back from the expression 
 of the legless man, in whose face it was as if all the 
 fires of hell had suddenly burst into flame. The un- 
 shaven man covered the breast of his threadbare coat 
 with outstretched hands as if to shield himself from 
 some suddenly bared weapon. His eyes blinked, but 
 did not falter. 
 
 "Say," he said presently, after drawing a deep 
 breath, "if she could see you once." 
 
 "If I don't know," said the legless man, "how 
 Satan felt after the fall, nobody does. The things 
 I've been the things I've seen back there down 
 here the things I've lost the things I've found! 
 Hell's Bell's, Johnson! what is it you want food? 
 drink? a woman? " 
 
 The unshaven man's eyes shone with an unholy 
 light. 
 
 "What would you do for twenty-five dollars?" 
 
 The unshaven man said nothing. He looked 
 everything. 
 
 "Do you know the Mclver woman?" 
 
 "Fanny?"
 
 THE PENALTY 23 
 
 The legless man grunted. "Yes. Fanny. She'll 
 look at you if you've got money." 
 
 "She'd crawl through a sewer to find a dime." 
 
 "Quite so," the legless man commented dryly. 
 "Well, it wouldn't matter to me if she went on a 
 tear and was found dead in her bed." 
 
 "It's worth fifty." Something in the unshaven 
 man's voice suggested that he had once been remotely 
 connected with some sort of a business. 
 
 The legless man shook his head. "Judas Iscariot," 
 he said, "betrayed the Lord God for thirty. Fanny 
 Mclver's scalp isn't worth a cent over twenty-five. 
 You're just a broken-down drunk. It takes a bigger 
 bluffer than you to make me put an insult on Chris- 
 tendom. Fifteen down. Ten when Fanny's had her 
 last hang-over." 
 
 "Why don't you do some of your dirty work your- 
 self?" ' 
 
 "I do all I can," said the legless man simply; "I 
 can't find time for everything." 
 
 The unshaven man shifted uneasily on his shabby 
 feet. In his stomach the flames which only alcohol 
 can quench were burning with a steady gnawing fury. 
 "How about a little drink?" he said. 
 
 "Fifteen down," said the legless man; "ten when 
 the job's done, and a ticket to Chicago." 
 
 "With a reservation? I'll feel like the devil; I 
 couldn't sit up all night." 
 
 "I'll throw in an upper," said the legless man. 
 
 Still the unshaven man resisted. "What's Fanny 
 done to you?"
 
 2 4 THE PENALTY 
 
 "None of your business." 
 
 As if that settled the matter, and removed all ob- 
 stacles and moral scruples, the unshaven man sighed, 
 and held out his hand for the money which was to 
 bind the contract. 
 
 Twelve hours later, Fanny Mclver's death was be- 
 ing attributed by the authorities to the insane, jeal- 
 ous rage of a lover. But as she had lately changed 
 her name and address, she lay for a while in the 
 morgue awaiting identification. It was the legless 
 beggar who performed that last solemn rite. He was 
 quite unmoved. Her death mattered no more in his 
 scheme of life than the death of a fly. 
 
 But as he held up his hand and swore that the 
 identity of the corpse was such and such, he remem- 
 bered how graceful she had been at sixteen, how affec- 
 tionate, how ready to forgive. He remembered with 
 a certain admiration that during the heyday of her 
 earning powers she had always trusted to his gener- 
 osity, and had never tried to hold any of her earnings 
 back. Prison and drink had destroyed all that was 
 honest in her, all that was womanly. So a drop of 
 acid will eat out the heart of the freshest and loveli- 
 est rose. She became a very evil thing full of evil 
 knowledge. There was even a certain danger in her 
 not much nothing definite but enough. She was 
 better dead. 
 
 He turned and swung out of the morgue into the 
 sunlight. And he wondered whatever had become 
 of the child that she had borne him.
 
 V 
 
 IT would have been easier for Wilmot Allen if he 
 could have come into Barbara's life for the first 
 time. She was too used to him to appreciate such 
 of his qualities as were fine and noble at their true 
 value. And contrarily it was the same familiarity 
 which limned his faults so clearly and perhaps ex- 
 aggerated them. She often thought that if she could 
 see him for the first time she would fall head over 
 ears in love with him, and be married to him out of 
 hand. Was it not better therefore, since the man's 
 character had its disillusionments, that their life-long 
 friendship precluded the idea of marrying in haste 
 and repenting at leisure? "It's almost," she said to 
 herself, "as if I had married him long ago and found 
 out that I had made a mistake." 
 
 But she hated to hurt him in any way. And it 
 caused her a genuine sorrow sometimes to say no to 
 him. He had proposed to her many times a year 
 for many, many years, and always with a passion 
 and sincerity that made it appear as if he was pro- 
 posing for the first time in his life. Twice, the strength 
 and devotion of his physical presence had seemed to 
 remove every doubt of him from her mind, and she 
 had said that she would marry him, and had been 
 ecstatically happy while he kissed her and held her 
 in his arms. And each time better knowledge of 
 
 25
 
 26 THE PENALTY 
 
 herself, a sleepless night, and the unsparing light of 
 morning had filled her with shame and remorse, and 
 made it quite clear that she had made one more mis- 
 take, and must tell him so, and eat humble pie. And 
 exact a promise that he would never make love to 
 her again. But she could never get him to promise 
 that. And she could never keep him from kissing 
 things that belonged to her when she was looking, 
 and when she wasn't. And if, as he sometimes 
 threatened in moments of disappointed and injured 
 feelings, he had gone far away, so that he could never 
 cross her path again, she would have missed him so 
 much that it would almost have killed her. And so 
 it is with all human beings they care little enough 
 about their dearest possessions until the fire by night 
 consumes them, or the thief walks off with them. 
 Then the silver and the jewels, and this thing and 
 that, assume a sort of humanity and are as if they 
 had been dear friends and unutterably necessary 
 companions in joy and sorrow. 
 
 To Wilmot a little encouragement was a great 
 thing, a foundation upon which to undertake pyra- 
 mids. Having intruded upon Barbara's working 
 hours without being scolded, Wilmot began to pict- 
 ure for himself a delightful life of intruding upon them 
 every day. He hoped that if she was really working, 
 she would not actually send him away, but let him 
 sit in the deep chair by the fire and wait till she was 
 through, and ready for talk and play. As much al- 
 most as he loved her, he hated her ambitions, if only
 
 THE PENALTY 27 
 
 because they interfered with him, and because he 
 found it impossible to take them seriously. Her 
 work seemed surprisingly good to him not surpris- 
 ingly good for a genuine sculptor who exhibited in 
 salons, but for a girl of his own class whom he had 
 always known. In this estimate he did not do Bar- 
 bara justice. She had a fine natural talent and she 
 had been well trained. People who knew what they 
 were talking about, shock-headed young fellows with 
 neighboring studios, prophesied great things for her, 
 partly because she was beautiful, and partly because 
 her work, as far as she had gone in it, was really good. 
 What she lacked, they said, was inspiration, experi- 
 ence, and knowledge of life. When these things came 
 to her in due time, her technique would be quite equal 
 to expressing them. 
 
 Wihnot's dream of being much in Barbara's studio 
 proved negotiable only as a dream. Barbara began 
 a fountain for her father's garden at Clovelly, and 
 during the modelling of the central figure the studio 
 was no place for a modest young man. He had one 
 glimpse through the half-open door of a girl with 
 very red hair and very white skin, and he turned and 
 beat a decided retreat, blushing furiously. He did 
 not repeat his visit to her studio until Barbara as- 
 sured him that the nymph had put on her clothes 
 and gone away. Then, much to his disgust, he 
 found there a young fellow named Scupper, who 
 smoked a vile pipe and had dirty finger-nails and 
 was allowed to make himself at home because he
 
 28 THE PENALTY 
 
 had recently exhibited a portrait bust that everybody 
 was praising (even Wilmot) and because he had vol- 
 unteered during a delightful contemplation of Bar- 
 bara's face to do her portrait and tell her all that he 
 had learned from his great master, Rodin. 
 
 The little beast had the assurance of the devil. 
 He praised, blamed, patronized, puffed his pipe, and 
 dwelt with superiority on topics which are best left 
 alone, until Wilmot wanted to kick him downstairs. 
 Scupper, aware of Wilmot's dislike for him, and thor- 
 oughly cognizant of its causes, did his best to goad 
 the "young prude" (as he chose to consider him) 
 into open hostility. He strutted, boasted, puffed, and 
 talked loosely without avail. Wilmot maintained a 
 beautiful calm, and the more he raged internally the 
 more Chesterfieldian and gorgeously at ease his man- 
 ners became. Barbara enjoyed the contest between 
 the terrier and the Newfoundland hugely. Person- 
 ally she disliked Scupper almost as much as she liked 
 Wilmot, but artistically she admired him tremen- 
 dously and felt that his judgments and criticisms were 
 the most valuable things to be had in the whole city. 
 
 Wilmot not only kept his temper, but outstayed 
 his antagonist. The latter gone, he turned upon Bar- 
 bara, and she in mock terror held up her hands for 
 mercy; but Wilmot was not in a merciful mood. 
 
 "When you imagine that you are uplifting the 
 cause of art, Barbs, are you sure that you aren't de- 
 basing it? You won't marry a man who has always 
 loved you. Art. You put marble and bronze higher
 
 He praised, blamed, patronized, purled 
 his pipe, and dwelt with superiority 
 on topics which are best left alone
 
 THE PENALTY 29 
 
 than little children. Art. You allow disreputable, 
 unwashed men to talk in your presence as that man 
 talked. Art. You hire people of bad character to 
 sit for you, and people of no character. All art. 
 You treat them in a spirit of friendliness and cama- 
 raderie. You affect to place art above all consider- 
 ations; above character, above morals; worse, you 
 place it above cleanliness. 
 
 "A man yes, take him for all and all, a man 
 eats out his heart for you; desires only to live for 
 you, only to die for you, only to lie at your feet 
 afterward that is nothing to you. You do not even 
 care to listen. You would rather hear through a 
 braggart, indecent mouth that ought to be sewed up 
 what Rodin said about Phidias. It seems finer to 
 you to be an artist than a woman, and you so beauti- 
 ful and so dear!" 
 
 Barbara made no answer. She looked a little hurt, 
 possibly a little sullen. She had a way of looking a 
 little sullen (it did not happen often) when she could 
 not hit upon just the words she wanted to express 
 her thoughts. She felt that her attitude toward life 
 was almost entirely right, almost entirely justifiable, 
 and she wanted to explain exactly why this was thus, 
 and couldn't. So after a silence she said: 
 
 "Oh, I'm just a little pig. Why bother about me? 
 And besides, it's no use." 
 
 "Don't say that, Barbara. There must be use in 
 it. Don't you know in your heart that some day 
 you are going to marry me?"
 
 3 o THE PENALTY 
 
 "No," she said. "Sometimes I've thought so, but 
 I don't know it." She selected an arrow from her 
 quiver, touched the point with venom, and because 
 she had not enjoyed being scolded shot it into him. 
 "And at the moment I don't think so." 
 
 Wilmot spoke on patiently. "Every true lover, 
 Barbs," he said, "comes in time to the end of his 
 patience and the end of his endurance." 
 
 "And then he ceases from loving and troubling." 
 
 "He does not. When he knows as I know what is 
 best for her happiness and for his, and when he finds 
 that humbleness, and begging, and gentleness, and 
 persuasion are of no avail why, then if he's a man 
 he makes her love him, makes her marry him." 
 
 "I hope, my dear Wilmot," she said, "that you 
 are speaking from a very limited experience." 
 
 "From the experience of ten million years. I have 
 only one life to live. Somehow I will make you love 
 me, make you belong to me. Just because I eat with 
 a fork, do you think my heart is really any different 
 from that of the cave-man from whom it descended 
 to me, or that your heart is any different from that 
 of the girl he wanted, who kept him guessing and 
 guessing until he couldn't stand it, and then turned 
 and ran and ran through the woods, and swam rivers 
 and climbed trees and jumped down precipices until 
 he caught her? " 
 
 There was something in Wilmot's lowered brows, 
 a certain jerking, broken quality in his utterance, 
 that was new to Barbara that at once frightened
 
 THE PENALTY 31 
 
 her a little, and caused her heart to beat with a sort 
 of wild triumph. But she did not guess that the old 
 cave-man was at that moment actually looking out 
 through her old friend's eye-places, and that ten 
 thousand years of civilization are but a thin varnish 
 over the rough and splendid masterpiece that God 
 made in his image. 
 
 There was a knock at the door. It was Scupper 
 returning. He had left his beloved pipe (on pur- 
 pose). His shrewd, bloodshot little eyes took in the 
 situation at a glance. In two beats his little heart 
 was wild with jealousy. 
 
 "I beg everybody's pardon," he said. "I didn't 
 know. I er wouldn't have knocked I er mean 
 I would have knocked just the same." 
 
 Wilmot took one slow step toward the famous 
 sculptor, then smiled, picked up the fellow's pipe, 
 and returned it to him. "I saw you put it down 
 just before you left," he said. "I think there is 
 nothing else you have forgotten, is there? If there 
 is I think it will be best not to come back for it until 
 I have gone. Meanwhile you will have time to shave 
 and bathe and make yourself presentable." 
 
 Scupper, sure that he was not actually going to be 
 hit, escaped with an ease and jauntiness which he 
 was far from feeling. And Barbara, the high tension 
 relieved, burst out laughing. 
 
 It was Wilmot's turn to look sullen. He had felt 
 that the sheer animal force of his love was holding 
 and even moulding Barbara to his will, as no tender-
 
 32 THE PENALTY 
 
 ness and delicacy had ever done. But at the sculp- 
 tor's entrance, the honest if brutal cave-man had 
 fled, like some noble savage before a talking-machine, 
 and left in a state of civilized helplessness a young 
 gentleman who could not find anything to say for 
 himself. 
 
 As for Barbara, she had never seen Wilmot look as 
 he had looked, or heard those quivering, broken tones 
 in his voice. The savage in her had gone out to him 
 with open arms and, behold, the primal force which, 
 standing like an island of refuge in a sea of doubt, 
 she had been about to clasp was but an empty shadow. 
 That Wilmot had not done very nobly with his tal- 
 ents, that there were weaknesses in his character and 
 record, things even that needed explaining, had not 
 at the moment of his mastery mattered to her a jot. 
 But now such thoughts flocked to her like birds to a 
 tree; and she was glad that she had escaped from a 
 situation that had so nearly overwhelmed her reason 
 and drowned her common sense in the heavenly 
 sweetness of surrender. 
 
 Wilmot could find nothing to say. It was no mere 
 gust of passion that had swept over him, but a storm. 
 He was physically tired, as if he had rowed a long 
 race. He no longer wished to play the master. He 
 would rather a thousand times have rested his hot 
 forehead on Barbara's cool hand, and fallen quietly 
 asleep like a little child come in at last to his mother 
 after too much play in the hot sun. 
 
 "Life," he said at last, "is a nuisance, Barbs.
 
 THE PENALTY 33 
 
 Isn't it? Would you, honestly, be happier if I dis- 
 appeared, and never bothered you again? Some- 
 times I feel that I ought to." 
 
 She shook her head. "If you like people," she 
 said, "you like them, faults and all. I'm dependent 
 on you in a hundred ways. You're the oldest and 
 best friend I've got. If you disappeared I'd curl up 
 and die. But now that we are talking personalities, 
 you very nearly forgot yourself a few minutes ago. 
 Well, I forgive. But it mustn't happen again." 
 
 He bowed his head very humbly. "I will go back 
 to patience and gentleness," he said, "and give them 
 another trial." 
 
 "I wish," she said, "that you would go back and 
 begin your life over again stop drifting and sail for 
 some definite harbor." 
 
 "I will," he said, "on condition " 
 
 "No no no," she said hurriedly, "no condition. 
 I am in no position to make conditions, if that's 
 what you mean. I don't understand myself. I don't 
 trust myself. I will not undertake to bind myself to 
 you or any one until I know that I can trust myself. 
 It would be very jolly for you if I married you and 
 then we found that I really loved the other fellow. 
 I'm like that selfish, unstable, susceptible and very 
 much ashamed of myself. I wouldn't talk myself 
 down so if you didn't know these things as well as 
 I do. Why you go on caring for me is a mystery. 
 I'm no good. And I'm not even sorry enough to 
 cry about it ever. I've actually thought that I was
 
 34 THE PENALTY 
 
 in love oh, ever so many times: sometimes with 
 you. What's the use? The only things I've ever 
 been faithful to are the dressmaker, dancing, and 
 what in moments of supreme egoism I am pleased to 
 call my art." 
 
 "Barbs," he said, "you're an old silly billy, and I 
 love you with all my heart and soul. That's that. 
 Don't forget it. Take pen and ink if necessary and 
 write it down. I'll try a little more patience, and 
 then, my blessing, if there's no good in that, I shall 
 perpetrate marriage by capture." 
 
 They both laughed, the girl with much sweetness. 
 And she said: 
 
 "If you and I ever do marry, it will be with great 
 suddenness." Her eyes danced, and she added: 
 "There are moments!" 
 
 "Thank you," he said gravely, and then with a 
 kind of wistful gallantry: "Could I kiss the dear for 
 luck?" 
 
 She turned her cheek to him bravely and frankly 
 like a child. His lips touched it lightly, making no 
 sound. 
 
 Far off hi the native jungle the cave-man moaned, 
 and shut his eyes and turned his face to the wall of 
 his cave. The medicine-man came, examined him, 
 and said that he was about to die of a new disease. 
 He looked very wise and called it "predatory in- 
 anition." 
 
 As for the cave-girl, having run and run and run, 
 she pulled up in a flowery glade, looked behind, lis-
 
 THE PENALTY 35 
 
 tened, saw nothing, heard no sound of painfully pur- 
 suing feet, and called herself a fool and a silly for 
 having run. She wanted to explain that she hadn't 
 meant to run away, that girls never really meant 
 what they said, and would the cave-man please re- 
 cover at once from his predatory inanition and take 
 notice of her again? 
 
 "Come," said Barbara, after quite a long silence, 
 "let's go forth and collar a taxi. Anywhere I can 
 take you? I can't ask you to lunch, because I am 
 having seven maidens, and afterward Victor Polideon 
 to teach us to turkey-trot." 
 
 "I wouldn't be afraid of seven devils," Wilmot 
 urged in his own behalf, "if you were present." 
 
 "There are only two," she said practically, "and 
 they are very little devils. But I won't let you come, 
 because you would have much too good a time." 
 Then she relented. "Come later, about three, and 
 teach me to turkey-trot. You do it better than 
 Polideon. And I hate to have him touch me." 
 
 "That's something," he exclaimed triumphantly. 
 
 "What's something?" 
 
 "That you don't hate for me to touch you." 
 
 She laughed and tapped his shoulder in rag-time. 
 Also she whistled, and did a quiet suspicion of a 
 turkey-trot with her feet.
 
 VI 
 
 ONE bright morning in May, divinely early, two 
 persons of very different appearance and nature 
 came out of two houses of very different appearance 
 and nature at precisely the same moment, and 
 started to move toward each other by methods of 
 locomotion no less different than were the appear- 
 ances of the respective persons or the respective 
 houses from which they emerged. 
 
 The house from which the one issued was of speck- 
 less white marble, and looked from the advantageous 
 corner of Sixty-something Street and Fifth Avenue 
 upon the purple and white lilacs and the engaging 
 spring greens of Central Park. 
 
 The other came out of a dark house at the angle 
 of a narrow street hi the shadow of Brooklyn Bridge, 
 whose door, crossed by dingy gilt lettering, violently 
 clanged a bell at opening and dosing. The first per- 
 son stepped with the long clean strides of youth and 
 liberty. The second person cannot be said to have 
 stepped at all. The first person, meeting a police- 
 man, smiled and said: "Good morning, Kelly." The 
 second, similarly meeting with an officer of the law, 
 scowled upward, and said: "Do it again, and I'll 
 break you." The first person came out of the up- 
 town palace like a fairy from a grotto; the second 
 
 36
 
 THE PENALTY 37 
 
 emerged from the downtown rookery like some pre- 
 historic monster from a cave. 
 
 At a distance you might have mistaken him for an 
 electrician or a sewer-expert coming into view through 
 one of those round holes in the sidewalk by which 
 access is provided to the subterranean apparatus of 
 cities. But, drawing nearer, you perceived that he 
 was but half a man, who stood upon the six-inch 
 stubs of what had once been a pair of legs. But what 
 nature could do for what was left of him nature had 
 done. He had the neck, the arms, and the torso of 
 a Hercules. His coat, black, threadbare, shining, and 
 unpleasantly spotted, seemed on the point of giving 
 way here and there to a system of restless and enor- 
 mous muscles. But that these should serve no better 
 purpose than ceaselessly to turn the handle of an un- 
 usually diminutive and tuneless street-organ might 
 have roused in the observer's mind doubts as to 
 the wisdom and vigilance of that divine providence 
 which is so much better understood and trusted by 
 the healthy and fortunate than by the wretched, the 
 maimed, and the diseased. 
 
 For the most part the legless man went about the 
 business of begging among the business men of the 
 city, since from the congested slum into which he 
 disappeared at night it was no great feat for a man 
 of his power to reach the more northern streets of 
 that circle in whose midst the finances of the nation 
 by turns simmer, boil, and boil over. It was not 
 unusual, during the noon-time rush of self-centred
 
 38 THE PENALTY 
 
 individuals, for the legless man to get himself stridden 
 into and bowled clean over upon his face or back, 
 since nothing is more loosening to purse-strings than 
 the average man's horror at having injured some 
 creature already maimed; nor was it unusual for 
 him at such times to scramble up smiling with a kind 
 of invincible cheerfulness that more potently stirred 
 the generosity of the man who had knocked him down 
 than ever groans and complaints could have done. 
 
 If the weather was fine and conducive to bodily 
 comfort, the beggar sometimes turned north and 
 worked his way to Washington Square or the lower 
 blocks of Fifth Avenue. Sometimes, having agreed 
 to pose for the head and trunk to some young art 
 student, he left his hand-organ behind, and permitted 
 himself the extravagance of riding in a surface car. 
 His boarding of a street-car was a feat of pure gym- 
 nastics, swift and virile; so, too, was his ascending 
 or descending of a flight of steps, or the high plat- 
 form on which he was to pose. Incessant practice, 
 added to natural skill and balance, enabled him to 
 accomplish, without legs, feats which might have 
 balked a man with a capable and energetic pair of 
 them. He could travel upon his crutches for the 
 length of a city block almost as fast as the average 
 man can run, and if it came to climbing a rope or a 
 rain-duct he was more ape than human. In his own 
 dwelling he had for his own use, instead of the labo- 
 rious stairs needed by its other inmates, a system of 
 knotted ropes by which he could ascend from cellar
 
 THE PENALTY 39 
 
 to attic, and polished poles by whose aid he could 
 accomplish the most lightning-like descending slides. 
 
 Marrow Lane, shaped like a dog's hind leg, is one 
 of those crooked and narrow thoroughfares which the 
 approaches and anchorings of the Brooklyn Bridge 
 have cast into gloom and darkness. There are spots 
 upon which the sun will not shine again until the 
 great bridge has perished; there are corners in which 
 drafts strong as a heaven-born wind whistle from one 
 year's end to the other. There are thousands of chil- 
 dren in the region, and in the more purely tenement 
 settlements to the north, who have yet to see a green 
 field or to handle a flower. 
 
 At the very crook of the dog's leg, on the north 
 side of Marrow Lane, a narrow door, half glazed and 
 sometimes burnished by the sun, has printed across it 
 in dingy gilt letters: 
 
 BLIZZARD MFR. 
 HATS 
 
 Once the door with the faded gilt letters had 
 closed, with him inside, the legless man, who was 
 none other than Blizzard, the manufacturer of hats, 
 put off those airs of helplessness and humility by 
 which so many coins were attracted into the little 
 tin cup upon the top of his hand-organ, and assumed 
 the attitude of one accustomed to command and to 
 be served, to reward and to punish. He was no 
 longer a beggar, but a magnate. He swelled with
 
 40 THE PENALTY 
 
 power, and twenty girls of almost as many national- 
 ities, plaiting straw hats by the gas-light, cringed in 
 their hearts, and redoubled the speed of their hands. 
 About the twenty girls who slaved for Blizzard there 
 were two peculiarities which at once distinguished 
 them from any other collection of female factory- 
 hands on the East Side. They were all strong and 
 healthy looking, and they were all pretty. He had 
 collected them much as rich men in a higher station 
 of life collect paintings or pearls. If some of them 
 bore the marks of blows and pinchings, it was not 
 upon any part of them which showed. If some of 
 them suffered from the fear of torture or even sud- 
 den death, it did not prevent them from showing the 
 master rows of even white teeth between ingratiat- 
 ingly parted lips whenever he deigned to speak to 
 them. If any girl among them thought to escape 
 him, to find work elsewhere, to betray what she 
 knew of him, even, and vanish into the slums of some 
 far city, she was deterred by the memory of certain 
 anecdotes constantly related by her companions. 
 The most terrible of these anecdotes was that re- 
 lated of a certain Florence Magrue. She had fled 
 with her story to the nearest policeman, who had 
 quietly returned her to the shop, reluctantly, it was 
 admitted, but with the determination of a man 
 whose very existence depends upon the favor of an- 
 other. The master had welcomed her and smiled 
 upon her as upon an erring child. He had sent her 
 upon an errand into the cellar under the shop, him-
 
 THE PENALTY 41 
 
 self unlocking the door. And that was the last that 
 any one had ever seen of Florence Magrue. 
 
 In addition to fear, the master supplied certain 
 creature comforts, not lightly to be thrown away. 
 If a girl could make up her mind to accept shame, 
 bodily injury if she displeased, and a life of toil, she 
 fared better under Blizzard's direction than her 
 sister who worked for Ecbaum, let us say, the lace- 
 maker, or Laskar, or any of a thousand East Side 
 employers of labor. The man could be kind upon 
 impulse, and generous. He paid the highest wages. 
 He supplied nourishing food at noon, and a complete 
 hour in which to discuss it. Furthermore, if a girl 
 pleased him, the work of her hands was subjected 
 to less critical inspection, and if she had any music 
 in her, he invited her upstairs sometimes to work 
 the pedals of his grand piano, while his own power- 
 ful, hairy hands rippled and thundered upon the 
 keys. He was of a Godlike kindness when his 
 mind inclined to music, and the pedalling was skilful 
 and sure. But let the unfortunate crouched under 
 the key-board, her trembling hands taking the place 
 of those feet which the master had lost, respond 
 stupidly to the signals conveyed to her shoulder by 
 graduated pressures from the stump of his right leg, 
 and punishment of blows, pinchings, and sarcasms 
 was swift and sure. 
 
 The legless man was very much at home in his own 
 house. He had inhabited it for many years, and its 
 arrangements were the expression of a creature im-
 
 42 THE PENALTY 
 
 mensely able and ingenious, but maimed both in 
 body and soul. 
 
 The whole building, four stories tall, had once 
 been a manufactory, but Blizzard had subdivided its 
 original lofts into pens, dens, passageways, and rooms 
 according to an elaborate plan of his own. And it 
 was evident to the most casual glance that expedi- 
 ency alone, untrammelled by any consideration of 
 purse, had been followed. Those walls, floors, and 
 ceilings, for instance, through which no sound of 
 human origin, unaided by mechanical device, could 
 penetrate, must have cost a mint of money. Nor 
 could any man who depended for a living upon occa- 
 sional pennies dropped into a tin cup have got to- 
 gether so extensive a collection of books upon scien- 
 tific subjects, many of them handsomely bound and 
 printed in foreign countries. Works upon explo- 
 sives, tunnelling, electricity, and music were especially 
 abundant, not only in English, but in German. And 
 there were books upon the organization of armies, 
 and upon the chemistry of precious stones. A cur- 
 sory examination of his books would have found the 
 master of the house to be interested also in obstetrics, 
 in poisons, and in anaesthesia; but of romance, hu- 
 manity, or poetry his library had but a single example, 
 the "Monte Cristo" of the elder Dumas. 
 
 Had all the doors and windows of the house been 
 thrown open, and all its inhabitants expelled, so that 
 you could have free ingress with a companion or two, 
 and time and the mood to explore the whole of its
 
 THE PENALTY 43 
 
 ramifications and arrangements, you must have con- 
 cluded that the designer of so much that was hide- 
 ously obvious and so much that was mysteriously 
 obscure was a most extraordinary example of vicious- 
 ness, ability, purpose, and musicianship. You must 
 have been staggered at passing from a room contain- 
 ing a grand piano and a bust of Beethoven to find 
 yourself in a little operating-theatre such as any 
 eminent surgeon might wish to be at work in, to find 
 beyond this a small but excellently appointed gym- 
 nasium; above this, to be reached only by climbing 
 a knotted rope, a long room, lighted from above, 
 containing drawing-tables, many cases of drawing- 
 instruments, and a host of workman-like designs and 
 specifications. Thence you might pass, still wonder- 
 ing, into an apartment of soft divans, thick rugs, and 
 open fireplace, a smell of incense, double windows 
 and double doors. 
 
 Or you might descend by stairs or polished poles 
 to the cellar under the hat factory, and find yourself, 
 prying into the most obscure corner and lighting 
 matches for guidance, confronted by the door of a 
 mightily strong safety vault, the knobs of the com- 
 bination lock bright and easily turned. And you 
 might say: "Well, it's either the house of a man 
 whose scheme of life is utterly beyond my compre- 
 hension, or of a madman."
 
 VII 
 
 OF the two persons who left their homes this morn- 
 ing, the legless beggar, owing to having ridden part 
 of the way in a street-car, was the first to reach the 
 northeast corner of Fifth Avenue and Washington 
 Square, whence the last rear-guard of fashion in old 
 New York retreats before the advance-pickets of the 
 encroaching slums, like a stag before a pack of hounds. 
 Here he ensconced himself, placed his tin cup on the 
 top of his organ, together with the few pairs of shoe- 
 laces which proclaimed him a merchant within rather 
 than a beggar without the law, and proceeded to 
 enliven the still quiet neighborhood with the dread- 
 fully strained measure of Verdi's "Miserere." He 
 turned the handles of the little organ fitfully, so that 
 now the strains of sorrow arose at such long intervals 
 as hardly to be connected with one another, and now 
 all huddled and jumbled like notes in a barbaric 
 quickstep, and as he played he addressed his instru- 
 ment in a quiet, cruel voice. 
 
 A house-maid opened a window in the servants' 
 wing of No. i Fifth Avenue. Blizzard turned his 
 head slowly at the sound, and looked up at her with 
 agate eyes, coldly interrogative. There was no one 
 else at the moment within earshot. 
 
 Nevertheless before speaking the house-maid looked 
 
 44
 
 THE PENALTY 45 
 
 nervously into the house behind her; then up the 
 avenue, and down into Washington Square. She 
 was a girl of some beauty, but her face was most en- 
 gaging from a kind of waggish intelligence that it had. 
 
 "Tst!" she said. 
 
 The organ squeaked and rattled. It was ma- 
 noeuvring for a position from which to attack the 
 "Danse Macabre." Blizzard indicated by a lift of 
 heavy eyebrows that he was all attention. 
 
 "You can trust Blake," she said. 
 
 Blizzard grunted. " Send him to me at six." 
 
 "Marrow Lane?" 
 
 He nodded, and turned from her with an air of 
 finality. The house-maid hesitated, drew a long 
 breath, pulled in her head, and closed the window. 
 
 A loose-jointed man in clerical garb came hurry- 
 ing down the avenue. He made longer swings with 
 his right arm and longer strides with his right leg 
 than with his left. He had a white, thin face, and 
 a look of worry and anxiety. He was perhaps dis- 
 tressed to think that the world contained many souls 
 to whose salvation he would never be able to attend. 
 Perceiving the legless beggar, he stopped hurrying, 
 sought in his pocket, and found a few pennies. These 
 he dropped into the tin cup. 
 
 " God bless you, reverend sir," said the beggar in a 
 voice of deep irony. 
 
 "Don't," said the clergyman. He managed to 
 look the beggar in the eyes. "How many hats have 
 we?" he asked in a quick whisper.
 
 46 THE PENALTY 
 
 "We're on our fourth thousand." 
 
 The clergyman was visibly upset. "Six thousand 
 to go," he muttered. "I shall be caught." 
 
 The beggar smiled. "Come to me at six- thirty," 
 he said. 
 
 The man of God's eyes brightened. "You'll help 
 me again?" 
 
 "Tst," said the beggar. "Move on. Here's a 
 plain-clothes man." 
 
 The shepherd moved on as if he had been pricked by 
 an awl, since it was not among the police that he felt 
 called upon to separate the black sheep from the white. 
 
 The plain-clothes man approached loitering. He 
 might have been a citizen in good standing and with 
 nothing better to do than hobnob with whatever per- 
 sons interested him upon his idle saunterings. 
 
 "How many pairs of laces have you sold this 
 morning? " he asked. 
 
 "Nary a pair, charitable sir," returned the beggar. 
 
 "Speaking of shoe-laces," said the plain-clothes 
 man, "what is your opinion of head-gear?" 
 
 "Bullish," said the beggar. "Straw hats will be 
 worn next winter." 
 
 The eyes of both men sparkled with a curious ex- 
 hilaration. The plain-clothes man drew a deep and 
 sudden breath, and appeared to shiver. So a soldier 
 may breathe at the command to charge; so a thor- 
 oughbred shivers when the barrier is about to fall. 
 
 "There will be nice pickings," said the beggar; 
 "there will be enough geese to feed ten thousand."
 
 THE PENALTY 47 
 
 The plain-clothes man dropped a penny into the 
 tin cup. "By the way," he asked professionally, 
 " where can I lay hands on Red Monday?" 
 
 The beggar shook his strong head curtly. "Hands 
 off," he said. 
 
 "When did he join the church?" 
 
 "Last night, with tears and confession. A strong 
 man Red, now that he has seen the light." 
 
 The plain-clothes man laughed and passed on, still 
 loitering. 
 
 The "Danse Macabre" had come to a timely end, 
 if that which is without tempo may be said to have 
 any relation with time, and the trio of Chopin's 
 "Funeral March" was already in uneven progress. 
 The legless man sat on the bare pavement, his back 
 against the handsome area railing of No. i Fifth 
 Avenue, and steadily revolved the mechanism of the 
 organ with his hairy, powerful hand. 
 
 Passers were now more frequent. Some looked at 
 him and continued to look after they had passed, 
 others turned their eyes steadfastly away. Some 
 pitied him because he was a cripple; others, upon 
 suddenly discovering that he had no legs, were shocked 
 with a sudden indecent hatred of him. A lassie of 
 the Salvation Army invited him to rise up and fol- 
 low Christ; he retorted by urging her to lie down 
 and take a rest. Then, as if premonition had laid 
 strong hands upon him and twisted him about, he 
 turned, and looked upward into the fresh, rosy face 
 of Barbara Ferris.
 
 48 THE PENALTY 
 
 Their eyes met. Always the child of impulse, and 
 careless of appearance and opinion, she felt her 
 thoughts, none too cheerful or optimistic that morn- 
 ing during her long walk down the avenue, drawn by 
 the expression upon the legless man's face to a sudden 
 focus of triumph and solution. She struck the palm 
 of one small workman-like hand with the back of the 
 other, and exclaimed: "By George!" 
 
 The face that was upturned to hers was no longer 
 the insolent, heavy face of success which we have 
 attempted to describe, but one in which the sudden 
 leaping into evidence of a soul dismissed facts of 
 color, contour, and line as matters of no importance. 
 If there was wickedness in his glance, there were also 
 awe and wonder. He had a tortured look, the look 
 of a man who has fallen from unknowable heights 
 from an Elysium which he regrets and desires with 
 all a strong man's strength, but to which the way 
 back is irrevocably barred by the degradation and 
 the sin of the descent and who, all but overwhelmed 
 by the knowledge that he can never return whence 
 he came, yet bears his eternal loss with an iron cour- 
 age that has about it a kind of splendor. 
 
 Barbara Ferris felt that she was looking upon 
 Satan in that moment when he first realized that his 
 fall from heaven was for eternity and that, against 
 every torturing passion of conviction, he must turn 
 his talents and his fearful courage to the needs of hell. 
 
 In that first moment of their meeting, she realized 
 nothing about the man but the terribly moving ex-
 
 THE PENALTY 49 
 
 pression of his face. Nothing else mattered. If her 
 plastic training was equal to catching and fixing that 
 expression in clay or marble, she would be made ac- 
 cording to the mould of her ambition. The flame of 
 art burned white and clear in the inmost shrine of 
 her being. She saw before her, and beneath her, not 
 a human being, but an inspiration. And since in- 
 spiration is a thing swift, electric, and trebly enticing 
 from the fact that it presents itself shorn of all those 
 difficulties which afterward, during execution, so ter- 
 ribly appear and multiply, her heart beat already 
 with the exquisite bliss of an immortal achievement. 
 In her vocabulary at that instant it would have been 
 impossible to discover under B the aggressive But, 
 or under I the faltering If. She was inspired. It 
 was enough. 
 
 Then she, in whose mind strong wings had sud- 
 denly sprouted, perceived that the person directly 
 responsible had not even a pair of legs, and felt 
 throughout her whole being a cold gushing of horror 
 and revolt. 
 
 This was not lost upon Blizzard. It was an ordi- 
 nary enough human sensation, whose reflections had 
 often enough given the iron that was in his soul 
 another twist and refreshed in him vengefulness and 
 hatred. Yet on the present occasion the knowledge 
 that he was physically loathed roused in the man a 
 feeling rather of that despair which may be experi- 
 enced by the drowning at that precise moment when 
 the straw so eagerly clutched has proved itself a
 
 50 THE PENALTY 
 
 straw, and he winced as beneath a shocking blow 
 between the eyes. 
 
 On discovering that the creature was maimed it 
 had been Barbara's first impulse to pass swiftly on. 
 But another glance at the face which had arrested 
 her held her. She took some coins from her purse 
 and dropped them into the tin cup which the beggar 
 held out to her. And he looked upward into her 
 face. 
 
 "Did you ever pose for any one?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes, miss." 
 
 "I should like to make a bust of you. I'll see that 
 it pays you better than better than earning a living 
 this way." 
 
 For the first time Blizzard smiled. "Do you want 
 me to come now?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," she said. "My studio is in No. 17 McBur- 
 ney Place." Here she stopped upon a somewhat em- 
 barrassing thought. But the legless man read what 
 was in her mind. 
 
 "Two flights up?" he queried. "Three? I can 
 climb. Don't trouble about that." 
 
 "You will come as soon as you can?" 
 
 "I have to meet a man here in half an hour. Then 
 I'll come." 
 
 "Please," she said, "ask for Miss Ferris." 
 
 At the name a tremor went through the legless 
 man from head to stump. He blanched, and for the 
 thousandth part of a second all that was devil in 
 him rushed with smouldering lights to his eyes. But
 
 She took some coins from her purse 
 and dropped them into the tin cup
 
 52 THE PENALTY 
 
 And here, one morning, Dr. Ferris, interested in 
 spite of himself in her swift progress, found her, with 
 a number of other young ladies and gentlemen, ear- 
 nestly at work making, from different angles of vision, 
 greenish clay statuettes of a handsome young Italian 
 laborer who had upon his person no clothes whatever. 
 That fastidious surgeon, to whom naked bodies, and 
 indeed naked hearts, could have been nothing new, 
 was shocked almost out of his wits. He had left 
 only the good sense and the good manners not to 
 make a scene. He beat instead a quiet, if substan- 
 tial, retreat, and put off the hour of reckoning. His 
 daughter was soiled in his eyes, and when she ex- 
 plained to him that a naked man was not a naked 
 man to her, but a "stunning" assemblage of planes, 
 angles, curves, lights, and shadows, he could not un- 
 derstand. And they quarrelled as furiously as it is 
 possible for well-bred persons to quarrel. He com- 
 manded. She denied his right to command. He 
 threatened. She denied his right first to create a 
 life, and then to spoil it. He advanced the duty of 
 children to parents, and she the duty of parents to 
 children. Finally Barbara, thoroughly incensed at 
 having her mind and her ambition held so cheap, 
 flung out with: "Have you never made a mistake of 
 judgment?" And was astounded to see her father 
 wither, you may say, and all in an instant show the 
 first tremors she had ever seen in him of age and a 
 life of immense strain and responsibility. From that 
 moment the activity of his opposition waned. She
 
 THE PENALTY 53 
 
 knew that her will had conquered, and the knowledge 
 distressed her so that she burst into tears. 
 
 "My dear," said her father, "I once made a very 
 terrible mistake of judgment. There isn't a day of 
 my life altogether free from remorse and regret. I 
 have given you money and position. It isn't enough, 
 it seems. My dear, take the benefit of the doubt 
 into the bargain. If I am making another terrible 
 mistake, you must bear at least a portion of the 
 responsibility." 
 
 It is curious, or perhaps only natural, that Barbara 
 was at the moment more interested to know what 
 her father's great mistake of judgment had been than 
 in the fact that her ambition had won his tolerance 
 and consent, if not his approval and support. If she 
 had asked him then and there, for he was still greatly 
 moved, he might have told her, but reticence caught 
 the question by the wings, and the moment passed. 
 
 And they resumed together their life of punctilious 
 thoughtfulness and good manners. Dr. Ferris con- 
 tinued to cut up famous bodies for famous fees, while 
 Barbara continued to do what she could to reproduce 
 the bodies of more humble persons, for no reward 
 greater than the voice of her teacher with his variously 
 intonated: "Go to eet, Mees Barbara! go to eet."
 
 VIII 
 
 IT was a discouraged but resolute Barbara who 
 stepped forth from her father's house that bright 
 morning in May and passed rather than walked down 
 the quiet upper stretches of Fifth Avenue. That 
 she might fail in art, and make a mess of her life 
 generally, sometimes occurred to her. And it was a 
 thought which immeasurably distressed her. It would 
 be too dreadful a humiliation to crawl back into the 
 place which she had so confidently quitted for a bet- 
 ter; to be pointed out as a distinguished amateur who 
 had not succeeded as a professional; and to take up 
 once more the rounds of dinners, dances, and sports 
 which serve so well to keep the purposeless young 
 and ignorant. 
 
 To society the tragedy of Barbara's back-sliding 
 into art was very real. Dozens of men said very 
 frankly that they missed her like the very devil. 
 "There is nobody else," they said, "quite so straight- 
 forward, or quite so good-looking." 
 
 Hers was a face not less vivid than a light. It 
 seemed that in her, the greatest artist of all, abandon- 
 ing the accepted conventions of beauty, had created 
 an original masterpiece. If she had been too thin, 
 her eyes, tranquil, sea-blue, and shining, must have 
 been too large. Her nose was Phidian Greek; her 
 
 54
 
 THE PENALTY 55 
 
 chin, but for an added youthful tenderness, was al- 
 most a replica of Madame Duse's; a long round throat 
 carried nobly a gallant round head, upon which the 
 hair was of three distinct colors. The brown in the 
 Master's workshop had not, it seemed, held out; she 
 had been finished with tones of amber and deep red. 
 The brown was straight, the red waved, the amber 
 rioted in curls and tendrils. Below this exquisite 
 massing of line and color, against a low broad fore- 
 head, were set, crookedly, short narrow eyebrows of 
 an intense black; her eyelashes were of the same 
 divine inkiness, very warm and long; a mouth level 
 to the world, resolute, at the corners a little smiling, 
 was scarlet against a smooth field of golden-brown. 
 
 If she had a certain admiration of her own beauty 
 it was the admiration of an artist for the beauty of a 
 stranger. Since she had had neither hand nor say in 
 her own making, the results were neither to her credit 
 nor against it. For success in her chosen line she 
 would have exchanged her beauty very willingly for 
 a plain mask, her glorious youth for a sedate middle 
 age. She would have given perhaps an eye, an ear, 
 or so at least she thought in this ardent and generous 
 period of early beginnings and insatiable ambition. 
 In her thoughts nothing seemed to matter to her but 
 art. 
 
 There was no sustaining pleasure in the fact that 
 her father had given in to her. Opposition un- 
 spoken, it is true, but not to be mistaken remained 
 in his attitude toward her. He found indirect means
 
 56 THE PENALTY 
 
 for conveying his idea and that of her friends that 
 she was wasting herself upon a folly, and was destined, 
 if she persisted in it, to only the most mediocre suc- 
 cess. An exhibition of her works, undertaken with 
 the avowed wish to know "just where she stood," 
 had been discouraging in its results. The art critics 
 either refused to take her seriously or expressed the 
 opinion that there were already in the world too 
 many sculptors of distinguished technique and no 
 imagination whatsoever. Her friends told her that 
 she was a "wonder." And there were little incidents 
 of the farce which caused her to bite her lips in 
 humiliation. 
 
 That the critics should be at the pains of telling 
 her that she was without imagination angered her, 
 since it was a fact already better known to herself. 
 And in one moment she would determine at all costs 
 to prove herself an imaginative artist, and in the 
 next "to chuck the whole business." But she could 
 not make up her mind whether it is worse for a cap- 
 tain to wait for actual defeat or, having perceived its 
 inevitability, to surrender. To go down with colors 
 flying appeals perhaps to noble sides of man; but it 
 is a waste of ships, lives, and treasure. 
 
 Passing swiftly down the avenue, she did not know 
 whether, upon arriving at her studio in McBurney 
 Place, she should get into her working-apron or make 
 an end, once and for all, of artistic pursuits. But 
 with the lifting of the legless beggar's face to hers, 
 all doubts vanished from her mind like smoke from
 
 THE PENALTY 57 
 
 a room when the windows and doors are opened. 
 Whatever his face might have revealed to another, 
 to her it was Satan's, newly fallen, and she read into 
 it a whole wonder of sin, tragedy, desolation, and 
 courage; and knew well that if she could reproduce 
 what she seemed to see, the world would be grateful 
 to her. She would give it a face which it would 
 never make an end of discussing, which should be 
 in sculpture what the face of Mona Lisa is in paint- 
 ing. It would be the face of a man whom one jury 
 would hang upon the merest suspicion; for whom 
 another would return a verdict of "not guilty" no 
 matter what the nature of his proved crimes; and 
 whether the face was beautiful or hideous would be a 
 matter of dispute for the ages. 
 
 Upon arriving at No. 17 McBurney Place, and 
 having climbed two flights of stairs, the door of her 
 studio was opened before she could lay hand to the 
 knob, and a very small boy with very big eyes, and 
 no more flesh upon his bones than served to distin- 
 guish him from a living skeleton, appeared on the 
 threshold, smiling, you may say, from head to foot. 
 He was dressed in a blue suit with bobbed tails and 
 a double row of bright brass buttons down the front, 
 and when she had gathered him from the gutter in 
 which he had reached to his present stunted stature, 
 a child half gone in pneumonia, he had told her that 
 his name, his whole name, was "Bubbles" and noth- 
 ing but "Bubbles." 
 
 "Good morning, Miss Barbara," he said; "the
 
 58 THE PENALTY 
 
 plumber's bin and gone, and the feller from the hard- 
 ware store has swore he'll be around before noon to 
 fix the new knobs in the doors." 
 
 "Good!" said Barbara. "Well done, Bubbles." 
 
 And she passed into the studio, wondering why a 
 little face all knotting with smiles, affection, and the 
 pleasure of commands lovingly received and well 
 obeyed, should remind her of that other face, massive, 
 sardonic, lost, satanic, which had looked up into hers 
 across the battered tin cup on the top of a battered 
 street-organ. She turned to a little clay head that 
 she had made recently and for which Bubbles had 
 sat; touched it here and there, stepped back from 
 it, turned her own head to the left, to the right, and 
 even, such was the concentration of her mood, 
 showed between her red lips the tip of a still redder 
 tongue. But no matter what she did to test and 
 undo her first impression there persisted between the 
 two faces a certain likeness, though in just what this 
 resemblance consisted she was unable to say. 
 
 "Bubbles," she said, "you were telling me about 
 beggars the other day and how much they make, and 
 how rich some of them are. Did you ever run across 
 one that sells shoe-laces, plays a hand-organ, and 
 hasn't got any legs?" 
 
 "Sure," said he; "there's half a dozen in the city." 
 And he named them. "Burbage: he's the real 
 thing, got his legs took off by a cannon-ball in the 
 wars. Prior: he ain't no 'count. Drunk and fell 
 under a elevated train. He ain't saved nothing
 
 THE PENALTY 59 
 
 neither. He drinks his. Echmeyer: he's some Jew; 
 worth every cent of fifty thousand dollars. They 
 calls him congeneyetul, 'cause he was born with his 
 legs lef off him. Fun Barnheim: he's German, went 
 asleep in the shade of a steam-roller, and never woke 
 up till his legs was rolled out flat as a pair of pants 
 that's just bin ironed. Then o' course there's Bliz- 
 zard." 
 
 Barbara was smiling. "What became of his legs, 
 Bubbles?" 
 
 "God knows," returned the boy. "Blizzard don't 
 boast about it like the others. But he ain't no com- 
 mon beggar. He's a man." 
 
 "A good man?" 
 
 "Good? He ain't got a kinder thought in his 
 block than settin' fire to houses and killin' people. 
 But when he says 'step,' it steps." 
 
 "It?" 
 
 "The East Side, Miss Barbara. He's the whole 
 show." 
 
 "What does he look like?" 
 
 The boy at first thought in vain for a simile, and 
 then, having found one to his liking, emitted with 
 great earnestness that the beggar, Blizzard, looked 
 exactly like "the wrath of God." Whatever the 
 boy's simile may convey to the reader, to Barbara, 
 fresh from seeing the man himself, it had a wonder- 
 ful aptness. 
 
 "That's my man," she exclaimed. "Blizzard! 
 He's got a wonderful face, Bubbles, and you said just
 
 60 THE PENALTY 
 
 what it looks like. I'm going to make a bust of 
 him." 
 
 "He's coming here?" 
 
 "Yes. Why not?" 
 
 The boy was troubled. "Miss Barbara," he said 
 earnestly, "I wouldn't go for to touch that man 
 with a ten-foot pole." 
 
 "I sha'n't touch him, except with compasses to 
 take measurements. He's civil-spoken enough." 
 
 "He's bad," said Bubbles, "bad. And when I 
 say bad, I mean millions of things that you never 
 heard tell of, and never will. If he comes in here 
 and, and raises hell, don't blame me." 
 
 Barbara laughed. "He will come here, and sit per- 
 fectly still," she said, "until he wishes he was dead. 
 And then he will receive money, and an invitation 
 to come to-morrow. And then he will go away." 
 
 Bubbles looked unnaturally solemn and dejected. 
 
 "Besides," said Barbara, "I have you to protect 
 me." 
 
 Though Bubbles made no boast, a world of resolu- 
 tion swept into his great eyes, and you knew by the 
 simultaneous rising toward his chin of all the buttons 
 upon the front of his jacket that he had drawn the 
 long breath of courage, and stiffened the articulations 
 of his spine. 
 
 Barbara's studio was a large, high-ceilinged room, 
 whose north wall was almost entirely composed of 
 glass. It was singularly bare of those hangings, 
 lanterns, antique cabinets, carved chairs, scraps of
 
 THE PENALTY 61 
 
 brocade, brass candle-sticks six or seven feet high, 
 samovars, pewter porringers, spinning-wheels, etc., 
 etc., upon which so many artists appear to depend 
 for comfort and inspiration. Nor were there any 
 notable collections of dust, or fragments of meals, or 
 dirty plates. There was neither a Winged Victory, 
 a Venus de Milo, nor a Hermes after Praxiteles. And 
 except for the bust of Bubbles there was no example 
 of Barbara's own work by which to fish for stray 
 compliments from the casual visitor. Of the amen- 
 ities the studio had but a thick carpet, an open fire- 
 place, and a pair of plain but easy chairs. Upon a 
 strong tremorless table placed near the one great 
 window, a huge lump of clay, swathed in damp cloths, 
 alone served to denote the occupant's avocation. 
 
 Off the studio, however, Barbara had a pleasantly 
 furnished room in which she might loaf, make tea, or 
 serve a meal, and this in turn was separated from the 
 tiny room in which Bubbles slept, by a small but 
 practical kitchen. 
 
 Barbara having withdrawn to roll up her sleeves 
 and put on her work-apron, the legless beggar arrived 
 in silence at the outer door of the studio, and having 
 drawn a long breath, knocked, and Bubbles, not with- 
 out an uncomfortable fluttering of the heart, pulled 
 it open. The boy and the beggar, being about the 
 same height, looked each other in the face with level 
 eyes. 
 
 "So" said Blizzard, "this is what has become of 
 you. You were reported dead."
 
 62 THE PENALTY 
 
 "No, sir," said Bubbles, "I wasn't dead, only sick. 
 She brought me here, and had her own father and a 
 nurse to take care of me. And now I'm Buttons." 
 And he went on glibly: "Come right in; Miss Ferris 
 is expecting you. I guess she wants you to sit on 
 the platform over in the window." 
 
 Blizzard, having unslung his hand-organ and slid 
 it with a show of petulance into a corner, crossed 
 the room, swinging strongly and easily between his 
 crutches, like a fine piece of machinery, climbed upon 
 the model's platform, and seated himself in the plain 
 deal chair which already occupied it. From this point 
 of vantage he turned and looked down at the boy. 
 
 "So," he said, "her father is Dr. Ferris." 
 
 "He's the Dr. Ferris," Bubbles returned loyally. 
 
 "So so so," said the legless one slowly, and he 
 closed his eyes for a moment as if he was tired. Then, 
 opening them, and in abrupt tones: "Pay you well?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Many people come here?" 
 
 Bubbles, who had gone to school not in the 
 schools, but in the city of New York itself could lie 
 without the least tremor or change of feature, and 
 with remarkable suddenness. ' ' Lots and lots of 'em, ' ' 
 he said. "She's well known." 
 
 Blizzard merely grunted. "Tell her I've come." 
 
 But it was not necessary for Bubbles to give the 
 message at the door of the inner room, since at that 
 moment Barbara entered, her round arms bare to 
 the elbow and her street dress completely hidden by
 
 THE PENALTY 63 
 
 a sort of blue gingham overall. Bubbles, whose pres- 
 ence was not required during working hours, at once 
 withdrew to his bedroom. 
 
 Here he changed his tunic of brass buttons for a 
 plain gray jacket, snatched his cap from its hook, 
 gained the street by a back stair, and set off at the 
 tireless street-boy trot that eats up the blocks. Half 
 an hour later he returned, his face no longer wear- 
 ing a look of anxiety, changed back into his many- 
 buttoned jacket of dependence, and sitting upon his 
 bed, his back against the pillows, proceeded with 
 astonishing deftness and precision to figure with the 
 stump of a pencil, upon the leaves of a small dog- 
 eared note-book. Then, appearing to have achieved 
 a satisfactory solution of whatever problem he had 
 had occasion to attack, he began to go through a 
 series of restless fidgetings, which ended with a sigh 
 of relief and a guilty look, and producing from a 
 hiding-place a cigarette, he smoked it out of the 
 window, so that his room might not carry forward 
 the faintest trace of its telltale odor.
 
 IX 
 
 WHEN Barbara at length told the legless man that he 
 might rest, he appeared to think that she had in- 
 vited him to converse. He leaned back as far as 
 he could in the deal chair. His expression was no 
 longer that which had struck Barbara so hard in the 
 imagination, but one of easy and alert affability. 
 He looked at her when he spoke, or when she spoke, 
 but casually and without offence. Whatever feelings 
 surged in him were for the moment carefully con- 
 trolled and put aside. In his manner was neither 
 obtrusiveness nor servility, only a kind of well- 
 schooled ease and directness. In short, he behaved 
 and spoke like a gentleman. 
 
 "You're the first person I ever sat for," he said, 
 "who hasn't asked me how I lost my legs." 
 
 Barbara, regarding the rough blocking of his head 
 which she had made, smiled amiably. That first 
 impression of him, still vivid and lucid in her mind, 
 appeared already, almost of its own accord, to have 
 registered itself in the lump of clay. And she could 
 not but feel that she had laid the groundwork of a 
 masterpiece. If the beggar wished to converse, she 
 would converse anything to keep him in the mood 
 for returning to pose as often as she should have need 
 of him. And so, though entirely absorbed by the 
 face which she had found, and at the moment almost 
 
 64
 
 THE PENALTY 65 
 
 uncharitably indifferent to the legs which he had 
 lost, she raised her eyes to him, still smiling, and said: 
 
 "It wasn't from want of interest, I assure you. 
 I'm sorry you lost them, and I should like to know 
 how it happened." 
 
 "Bravely spoken," said the beggar. 
 
 "I have been told," said Barbara, "that you are a 
 great power in the East Side, a sort of overlord." 
 
 "Even a beggar has flatterers. They overrate me." 
 The accompanying shrug of his great shoulders had 
 an affectation of humility. "Now, if I had a pair of 
 legs but I haven't. And if I had I shouldn't be an 
 East-Sider. For the maimed, the crippled, the dis- 
 eased, it is pleasantest to be in residence on the East 
 Side. You have company. You may forget your 
 own misfortunes in contemplating the greater mis- 
 fortunes of others." 
 
 "Do you mind telling me," she asked, "where you 
 learned your English?" 
 
 "My father," Blizzard explained, "was rather a 
 distinguished man Massachusetts Institute of Tech- 
 nology man, University of Berlin, degree from Har- 
 vard and Oxford. He had a prim way of putting 
 things. I suppose I caught it." 
 
 The usual whine about better days was missing 
 from the beggar's voice. If he seemed a little proud 
 of his high beginnings, he did not seem in the least 
 perturbed by the contemplation of his fallen estate. 
 Barbara was by now frankly interested, and proceeded 
 with characteristic directness to ask questions.
 
 66 THE PENALTY 
 
 "Is your father living?" 
 
 "No. But it would hardly matter. We became 
 thoroughly incompatible after my accident. He had 
 very high ambitions for me, and a chronic disgust 
 for anything abnormal such as little boys who had 
 had their legs snipped off. I didn't like it either. I 
 suspect it made an unusually vicious child of me, a 
 wicked, vengeful child." 
 
 Buzzard's candid expression implied that he had, 
 however, soon seen the evil of his youthful ways, and 
 turned over a whole volume of new leaves. 
 
 "What happened?" Barbara asked. 
 
 Buzzard laughed. "I cannot be said to have run 
 away," he answered, "but I got away as best I could, 
 and stayed away. My father settled money upon me. 
 And that was the end of our relations." 
 
 "And then," said Barbara, "you, being young and 
 foolish, lost your money." 
 
 "Oh, no!" he exclaimed. "I was a very bad little 
 boy, but much too ambitious to be foolish. And you 
 know you can't get very far in this world without 
 money." 
 
 "Still," said Barbara, "a hand-organ and a tin 
 cup?" 
 
 "A loiterer in the streets of New York," the beggar 
 explained, "picks up knowledge not to be had in any 
 other way. Knowledge is power." 
 
 "Then you don't have to beg, don't have to pose, 
 don't have to do anything you don't want to do?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I do. I have to crawl while others walk.
 
 THE PENALTY 67 
 
 I have to wait and procrastinate, where another 
 might rush in and dare." 
 
 Again that first expression of Satan fallen over- 
 powered the casual ease and even levity of his face. 
 But he shifted his eyes lest Barbara see into them 
 and be frightened by that which smouldered in their 
 stony depths. 
 
 Without a word, Barbara stepped eagerly forward to 
 the rough model that she had made of his head, and 
 once more attacked her inspiration with eager hands. 
 The beggar held himself motionless like a thing of 
 stone, only his eyes roved a little, drinking in, you 
 may say, that white loveliness which was Barbara at 
 such moments as her own eyes were upon her work, 
 and turning swiftly away when she lifted them in 
 scrutiny of him. Now and then she made measure- 
 ments of him with a pair of compasses. At such 
 times it seemed to him that her nearness was more 
 than his unschooled passions could bear with any ap- 
 pearance of apathy. Though a child of the nine- 
 teenth century, he had been enabled for many years 
 to give way, almost whenever he pleased, to the in- 
 stincts of primitive man, which, except for the greater 
 frequency of their occurrence, differ in no essential 
 way from the instincts of wild beasts. 
 
 Had she been a girl of the East Side he would not 
 have hesitated upon the present occasion or in the 
 present surroundings. But she was a girl of wealth 
 and high position. It was not enough that his hands 
 could stifle an outcry, or that the policeman upon 
 the nearest beat was more in his own employ than
 
 68 THE PENALTY 
 
 in that of the city. Cold reason showed him that 
 in the present case impunity was for once doubtful. 
 
 Her hands dropped from their work to her sides. 
 
 "How goes it?" asked the beggar. 
 
 "If it goes as it's gone," she said "if it only does ! " 
 
 "It witt" said the beggar, and there was a strong 
 vibration of faith and encouragement in his voice. 
 "May I look?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 He came down from the platform, and she could 
 not but admire the almost superhuman facility with 
 which he moved upon his crutches. Halting at ease, 
 before the beginning which she had made, he re- 
 mained for a long time silent. Then, turning to her, 
 he freed his right hand from the cross-piece of his 
 crutch, and lifted it to his forehead in a sort of salute. 
 
 "Master! "he said. 
 
 The blood in Barbara's veins tingled with pleasure. 
 He had thrown into his strong, rich voice an added 
 wealth of sincerity, and she knew, or thought she 
 knew, that at last the work of her hands had moved 
 another, who, whatever else he might have been, 
 was by his own showing no fool, but a man having in 
 him much that was extraordinary. And she felt a 
 sudden friendliness for the legless beggar. 
 
 His eyes still upon the day knowing, considering, 
 measuring, appraising eyes he said shortly and with 
 decision: "We must go on with this." 
 
 "To-morrow could you come to-morrow at the 
 same time?"
 
 THE PENALTY 69 
 
 " Good. Are you hungry? " 
 
 But the legless man did not appear to have heard 
 her. A sound in the adjoining room had arrested 
 his attention. He listened to it critically and then 
 smiled. 
 
 "A good workman," he said, "is turning a screw 
 into wood." 
 
 "How clever of you," said Barbara. "There was 
 a man coming from Schlemmer's to put on some glass 
 knobs for me. Bubbles has brought him in by the 
 back stairs." 
 
 The faint crunching sound of the screw going into 
 the wood ceased. There was a knock on the door. 
 
 " Come in," said Barbara. 
 
 Bubbles appeared in the opening. "We're all 
 through in here." 
 
 It did not at once strike Barbara that to have fin- 
 ished his work in the next room the man from Schlem- 
 mer's must have arrived upon the scene very much 
 earlier than he had promised. And she could not by 
 any possibility have guessed that Bubbles, in a state 
 of nervous alarm, had slipped down the back stairs 
 and run all the way to the hardware store to fetch 
 him. 
 
 "He may as well begin in here, then," she said; 
 "I'm through for this morning." And she turned to 
 the beggar. "To-morrow at the same time?" 
 
 He nodded briefly, but did not at once turn to go. 
 He wished, it seemed, to have a good look at the 
 young workman who now followed Bubbles into the
 
 70 THE PENALTY 
 
 studio. And so did Barbara, the moment she saw 
 him. 
 
 To her critical eye he was quite the best-looking 
 young man she had ever seen "in the world or out of 
 it." He was tall, broad, round-necked, narrow in the 
 hips, and of a fine brown coloring. He carried with 
 easy grace a strong, well-massed head, to which the 
 close adherence of the ears, and the shortness of the 
 dark-brown shiny hair, gave an effect of high civiliza- 
 tion and finish. Brown, level eyes, neither hard nor 
 soft, but of a twinkling habit, a nose straight, thick, 
 finely chiselled, an emphatic chin, and a large mouth 
 of extraordinary sweetness, were not lost upon Bar- 
 bara, but that which served most to arrest her atten- 
 tion was that resemblance which she at once per- 
 ceived to exist between the young workman and the 
 legless beggar. Yet between Bubbles, who also re- 
 sembled Blizzard in her eyes or in her imagination, 
 and the youth from the hardware store, she was 
 unable, swiftly comparing them, to find anything in 
 common. To the one nature had denied even full 
 growth and development; upon the other she had 
 lavished muscle, blood, and bone. The small boy 
 had a ragged, peaked, pathetic face, hair that sprouted 
 every which way, the eyes of an invalid, ears of un- 
 equal size and different shapes, that stuck straight 
 out from his head all the stampings, in short, of 
 street-birth and gutter-raising. The workman had 
 an efficient, commanding look, the easy, strong mo- 
 tions of an athlete trained and proved. Neither in
 
 THE PENALTY 71 
 
 the least resembled the other, yet both resembled the 
 legless beggar, who in turn resembled Satan after the 
 fall and Barbara was inclined to laugh. 
 
 "I am so obsessed with one man's face," she 
 thought, "that I see something of it in all other 
 faces." 
 
 " Good-morning, Harry." It was the beggar's voice, 
 cool, and perhaps a little insolent. 
 
 "Good-morning, Blizzard." The young man nod- 
 ded curtly and turned to Barbara. "Do you wish 
 all the knobs changed? " 
 
 "Please." 
 
 Without another word, the young man knelt at the 
 door by which he had entered and began with the aid 
 of a long screw-driver to remove its ancient lock of 
 japanned iron and coarse white china. 
 
 "What's the best news with you, Harry?" 
 
 The young man did not look up from his work. 
 "That the water '11 soon be warm enough for swim- 
 ming," he said. 
 
 To Barbara that answer seemed pleasantly indica- 
 tive of a healthy nature and a healthy mind. 
 
 "It's a curious thing," observed the beggar, "how 
 many more people drown themselves when the water 
 is nice and warm than when it is cold and inhospitable. 
 And yet it's in the cold months that the most people 
 receive visits from despair." 
 
 Bubbles looked up, wondering. In his experience 
 the legless beggar had no manner of language different 
 from that of the streets to which he belonged. But
 
 72 THE PENALTY 
 
 now he spoke as Miss Barbara spoke, only, perhaps 
 we may be permitted so to express it, very much 
 more so. 
 
 Barbara turned to the beggar. "I haven't paid 
 you." 
 
 But he retreated in smiling protest, picked up his 
 hand-organ, and slung it across his shoulders. "The 
 door, Bubbles." 
 
 Bubbles sprang to let the beggar out. 
 
 " To-morrow," said Barbara, "at the same time. 
 Good-by, and thank you." 
 
 " Good-by, and thank you" said Blizzard. 
 
 Bubbles followed him to the head of the stairs and 
 watched, not without admiration, the astounding ease 
 of the legless one's rapid descent. 
 
 Harry, the workman, having disengaged the old 
 japanned lock from the door, rose to his feet, and 
 turned to Barbara with a certain quiet eagerness. 
 "Look here," he said, "it's none of my business, but 
 I know, and you don't. That man," he waved the 
 screw-driver toward the door by which Blizzard had 
 departed, "is poison. There's nothing he'd stop at. 
 Nothing." 
 
 "Quite so," said Barbara coldly; "and, as you say, 
 it's hardly anybody's affair but mine." 
 
 The workman was good-nature personified. "If 
 you must go on with him," he said, "haven't you a 
 big brother or somebody with nothing better to do 
 than drop in, and," his eyes sought the clay head of 
 Blizzard, "watch the good work go on? " He stepped
 
 
 The young man knelt at the door by 
 which he had entered and began to 
 remove its ancient lock
 
 THE PENALTY 73 
 
 closer to the head, and examined it with real interest. 
 "It is good work," he said; "it's splendid." 
 
 Barbara was mollified. "What," she said, "is so 
 very wrong about poor Mr. Blizzard? " 
 
 "Oh," said the young man, "we know a great deal 
 about him, and we are trying very hard to gather 
 the proofs." 
 
 "We?" 
 
 "I'm a very little wheel in the machinery of the 
 secret service." 
 
 "I knew" said Barbara, "the moment I saw you 
 that you weren't only a locksmith or a carpenter. 
 Does Mr. Blizzard know what you are? " 
 
 "He can't prove it, unless you tell him." 
 
 "I sha'n't do that." 
 
 "How often will he have to pose for you?" 
 
 "Heaven only knows. But I think" and she 
 looked the young man in the face, and smiled, for his 
 face had charmed her "I think that if ever I finish 
 with Mr. Blizzard, I shall ask you to be my next 
 model." 
 
 The admiration with which the young man regarded 
 Barbara was no less frankly and openly expressed 
 than was hers for him. "Until this moment," he 
 said, "I have never understood the eager desire which 
 some people have to sit for their portraits. When- 
 ever you say." 
 
 She laughed. "And the new door-knobs?" 
 
 "Just because a man belongs to the secret service," 
 returned the youth, "is no reason why he shouldn't
 
 74 THE PENALTY 
 
 attempt once in a while to do something really use- 
 ful." 
 
 And he knelt once more and took up his work 
 where he had left off. Barbara stood by and watched 
 him at it. "I would like to do his hands, too," she 
 thought, "when I can get round to it." They were 
 very strong, square, able hands. She found herself 
 wishing to touch them. And since this was a wish 
 that she had never experienced for any other pair of 
 hands, she wondered at herself with a frank and child- 
 ish wonder. 
 
 "Your taxi, Miss Barbara." 
 
 "Thank you, Bubbles." 
 
 She slipped out of her overall, and with swift touches 
 adjusted her hat at a small mirror. The secret-service 
 agent once more rose from his knees. 
 
 "Good-by," said Barbara, "and thank you, and 
 don't forget." 
 
 "Never," said he. 
 
 She shook hands with him, and his firm strong clasp, 
 literally swallowing her own little hand, was immensely 
 pleasant to her and of a fine friendliness. 
 
 " Good-by, Bubbles. See you in the morning." 
 
 "Good-by, Miss Barbara." 
 
 She was gone. The man resumed his work. The 
 boy watched. 
 
 "Harry." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Was I right?" 
 
 "Right."
 
 Harry, the workman, . . . rose to 
 his feet, and turned to Barbara with 
 a certain quiet eagerness
 
 THE PENALTY 75 
 
 "A wonder or not?" 
 
 "A wonder." 
 
 "Harry.".. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "You won't leave Blizzard up to me all alone, will 
 you? Not now, you won't?" 
 
 "No, Bubbles, not now. Whenever he's posing in 
 this room, you and I won't be far off." 
 
 "Because," said Bubbles, smiling with relief, "I'd 
 do my best, but if it came to a show-down with him 
 there ain't a thing I could do." 
 
 "One time or another," said Harry, "we'll get him. 
 You and I will." 
 
 "I betcher," said Bubbles. 
 
 And in his little peaked face there was much that 
 was threatening to the ultimate welfare of the legless 
 beggar.
 
 X 
 
 BARBARA, ordinarily clear-minded and single-minded, 
 drove uptown with her thoughts in a state of chaos. 
 She wished to think only about her newly begun head 
 of Satan fallen, since nothing else seemed to her at 
 the moment of any importance, but the face, hands, 
 and voice of the young secret-service agent refused to 
 be banished, and kept suing for kindly notice. 
 
 In almost the exact degree in which the legless 
 beggar was repulsive to her sense of perfection the 
 secret-service agent was attractive. She had never 
 seen a man so agreeable to her eyes. And yet, as a 
 marine artist might see fame in painting a wreck upon 
 a sea-shore, rather than a fine new ship under full sail, 
 so she felt that, artistically considered, there was no 
 comparison whatever between the two men. The 
 face of the elder compelled attention and study, and 
 loosed in the observer's mind a whole stream of con- 
 jecture and unanswerable questions. The face of the 
 younger began and ended perhaps in the attractions 
 of youth and high spirits. It was a face of which, 
 should the mind back of it prove wanting, you might 
 tire, and learn to look upon as commonplace. 
 
 In the midst of unguided thinking Barbara laughed 
 aloud; that small boy whom she had lifted from the 
 cold gutter to comparative affluence and incompara- 
 
 76
 
 THE PENALTY 77 
 
 ble affection for his rescuer came unbidden into the 
 flurry-scurry of her thoughts, and remained for some 
 time. And she knew that if all her friends should 
 fail her, if the beggar returned no more to be modelled, 
 if the secret-service agent proved but a handsome 
 empty shell, Bubbles would always show up at the 
 appointed time and place while life remained in him. 
 Then, again, as she tried to concentrate upon her 
 bust of Blizzard, the secret-service agent stepped for- 
 ward, you may say, and smiled into her eyes. And 
 she smiled back. Again she seemed to feel the strong 
 clasp of his hand, and to hear the agreeable and even 
 musical intonation of his strong voice. Odd, she 
 thought, that he should come to put on door-knobs, 
 turn out to be a secret-service agent, and have at the 
 same time, if not the characteristics of a fine gentle- 
 man, those at least of a man of education and sensi- 
 bility infinitely superior to the highest type of day- 
 laborer or detective. One of her new acquaintances 
 talked like a gentleman and claimed to be the son of 
 a distinguished man; the other, claiming nothing, was 
 infinitely more presentable; and there was only the 
 small boy who remained frankly representative of his 
 class. In spite of his coat of bright buttons, he was 
 of the streets streety; a valiant little ragamuffin, in 
 all but the actual rags. He had the morals of his 
 class and the point of view, and differed only in the 
 excellence of his heart. This was a heart made for 
 loving, devotion, and sacrifice. Yet it was crammed 
 to the brim with knowledge of evil, and even toler-
 
 78 THE PENALTY 
 
 ance therefor. That certain men in certain circum- 
 stances would act in such and such a way was not a 
 horrible idea to Bubbles, but merely a fact. In the 
 boy's code stealing from a friend was stealing, but 
 stealing from an enemy was merely one way of making 
 a living. 
 
 Upon arriving at her father's house, Barbara met 
 Wilmot Allen just turning away from the door. His 
 handsome face brightened at the sight of her, and he 
 sprang forward hatless to furnish her with quite un- 
 necessary aid in stepping out of the taxi. 
 
 "Oh, there you are!" he said. "Sparker said you 
 might be home for lunch and again you might not. 
 Please may I graft a meal? " 
 
 "Of course," said Barbara, "but unless somebody 
 else drops out of the skies we'll be all alone." 
 
 "Your father off on a case?" 
 
 "Yes," said Barbara, as they went in, "he is oper- 
 ating, but in Wall Street. And what's the best news 
 with you?" 
 
 "That spring's come and summer's coming. When 
 do your holidays begin? " 
 
 "That" said Barbara, with a certain air of triumph, 
 "is a secret of the workshop. Let's sit in the dining- 
 room. It's the only way to hurry lunch." 
 
 To persons used to humbler ways of life Dr. Ferris's 
 dining-room would have proved too large and stately 
 a place for purposes of intimate conversation. War- 
 riors and ladies looked down from the tapestried walls 
 upon a small round table set with heavy silver and
 
 THE PENALTY 79 
 
 light glass for two, and having the effect, in the midst 
 of an immense deep-blue rug, of a little island in a 
 lake. But Barbara and Wilmot Allen, well used to 
 even larger and more stately rooms, faced each other 
 across the white linen with its pattern of lotus-plants 
 and swans, and chatted as comfortably and uncon- 
 cernedly as two children in their nursery. 
 
 "As for holidays," said Barbara, "I have a new 
 model, Wilmot; a wonderful person, and that means 
 work. I may stay in town right through the summer." 
 
 Allen sighed loudly, and on purpose. "You make 
 me tired," he said. "Bring a lump of clay down to 
 Newport, and /'// sit for you." 
 
 Barbara affected to study his face critically. Then 
 she shook her head. "My new model," she explained, 
 "has got the face of a fallen angel. I think I can do 
 it. And if I can do it, why, I see all the good things 
 of sculping coming my way." 
 
 "An ordinary every-day angel face wouldn't do?" 
 her guest insinuated. "I could go out and fall." 
 
 "I don't doubt it!" she returned somewhat crisply. 
 "I feel very sure that you could disgrace yourself 
 without trouble and even with relish. But it wouldn't 
 show in your face. You see, you couldn't really be 
 wicked." 
 
 "Couldn't I though!" exclaimed the young man. 
 "A lot you know about it. I could eat you up for 
 one thing without turning a hair, and that would be 
 wicked." 
 
 "It wouldn't," Barbara laughed. "It would be
 
 8o THE PENALTY 
 
 greedy. My new model has the face of a man who 
 has never stopped at anything that has stood in his 
 way. I fancy that he has murders up his sleeve and 
 every other crime in the calendar. And sometimes 
 memory of them brings the most wonderful look of 
 sorrow and remorse into his face, and at the same 
 time he looks resolved to go on murdering and burn- 
 ing and sinning because he can't get back to where 
 he was when he began to fall, and must go on falling 
 or perish. Don't you think that if I can cram that 
 into a lump of clay I'll make a reputation for myself? " 
 
 "I think," said Wilmot, "that if you've got that 
 kind of a man sitting for you, you'll need all the repu- 
 tation you can get. You talk of him with the same 
 sort of enthusiasm that a bird would show in describ- 
 ing being fascinated by a snake." 
 
 Barbara considered this judicially. "Do you 
 know," she agreed, "it is rather like that. He fas- 
 cinates me, and at the same time I never saw a brute 
 I hated so. He must be wicked to deserve such pain." 
 
 "Oh, he suffers, does he?" 
 
 "Of course. Wouldn't you suffer every minute of 
 your life if you had no legs?" 
 
 Barbara, intent upon what was on her plate, did 
 not perceive the sudden astonished darkening of Wil- 
 mot Allen's face, nor that the interest which he had 
 hitherto only feigned in her new model had become 
 genuine. 
 
 "What is he?" 
 
 "I was going to say 'just a beggar,'" said Barbara.
 
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 THE PENALTY 81 
 
 "But he isn't just a beggar. I've gathered that he's 
 rather well off, and that he's one of the powers on the 
 East Side. And he looks money and power, even if 
 he doesn't talk them." 
 
 "Is his name by any chance Blizzard?" 
 
 She looked up in astonishment. "How did you 
 know?" 
 
 "Oh," he said cheerfully, "I've knocked about the 
 city and known all sorts of curious people, and heard 
 about others. So Blizzard's your new model. Now 
 look here, Barbara, are we old friends, or aren't we? " 
 
 "Very old friends," she said. 
 
 "Then let me tell you that you're a little fool to 
 have anything to do with a man like that. You can't 
 touch pitch, you know, and " 
 
 "I only touch him with a pair of compasses," she 
 interrupted sweetly. 
 
 "Don't quibble," said Allen with energy; "it's not 
 like you. That man is so bad, so unsavory, so vile, 
 that you simply mustn't have him about. He's dan- 
 gerous." 
 
 "So is a volcano," said Barbara, "but there's no 
 reason why the most innocent bread-and-butter miss 
 shouldn't paint a picture of a volcano if she felt 
 inspired." 
 
 "I see that there's only one thing to do. I shall 
 tell your father." 
 
 Wilmot Allen was genuinely troubled. And Bar- 
 bara laughed at him. 
 
 "I'm not a child," she said.
 
 82 THE PENALTY 
 
 "That's just it," said he; "that's why you ought 
 to be ashamed of yourself. And anyway you are a 
 child. All girls say they aren't until they get into a 
 mess of some sort, and then they excuse themselves 
 to themselves and everybody else by protesting that 
 they were. 'I was so young. I didn't know,' and 
 all that rot." 
 
 "Blizzard," said Barbara, "is quiet, polite, and a 
 good talker. He comes, he sits for me, and he goes 
 away." 
 
 The butler having left the room, Wilmot fixed his 
 rather tired eyes on Barbara's face, and spoke with a 
 certain earnest tenderness. "Barbs," he said, "take 
 it from me, happiness doesn't lie where you think it 
 does. I think the very highest achievements of the 
 very greatest artists haven't brought happiness. 
 Look here, old dear; put a limit to your ambition. 
 Say that by a certain date you'll either succeed and 
 quit, or fail and quit, and then see if you can't take a 
 little more interest in your own people, in your own 
 heart even in me." 
 
 "Wilmot," she said seriously, "if I fail with my 
 head of Blizzard, I think I shall give up." 
 
 "Wouldn't it be better," he pleaded, "to give up 
 now? And then, you know, you could always say if 
 only you'd kept on you would have made a master- 
 piece." 
 
 "And who would believe that?" 
 
 "//" said Wilmot. "It's easy for me to believe 
 anything wonderful of you. It always has been."
 
 THE PENALTY 83 
 
 "And a moment ago," she smiled, "you called me 
 a little fool and said you'd tell my father on me." 
 
 She rose, still smiling, and he followed her into the 
 library. 
 
 "Are all the studios in your building occupied?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "They are," said Barbara, "and they aren't. 
 Kelting, who has the ground floor, has gone abroad. 
 And Updyke, who has the third floor, has been in 
 Bermuda all winter." She sank into a deep leather 
 chair that half swallowed her. 
 
 "There's a janitor?" 
 
 "No. There's a janitress, a friendly old lady, 
 quite deaf. She has seen infinitely better days." 
 
 "To all intents and purposes, then," said Wilmot, 
 and the trouble that he felt showed in his face, "it's 
 an empty house, and you shut yourself up in it with 
 some model or other that you happen to pick up hi 
 the streets, and you don't know enough to be afraid. 
 You'll get yourself murdered one of these bright 
 mornings." 
 
 "Oh, I think not!" said Barbara. "There's Bub- 
 bles, you know." 
 
 "Oh, Bubbles!" exclaimed Wilmot. "He doesn't 
 weigh eighty pounds. This Blizzard look here, get 
 rid of him. I can't tell you what the man is." He 
 laughed. "I don't know you well enough. But take 
 my word for it, if a crime appeals to him, he commits 
 it. And the police can't touch him, Barbs." 
 
 "Why can't they?"
 
 84 THE PENALTY 
 
 "He knows too much about them individually and 
 collectively. They're afraid of him. Get rid of him, 
 Barbs." 
 
 Wilmot Allen's voice was strongly appealing. The 
 fact that he sat forward in his chair, instead of yield- 
 ing to its deep and enjoyable embrace, proved that 
 he was very much in earnest. But Barbara shook 
 her lovely head. 
 
 "You ask too much, Wilmot. My heart's in the 
 beginning I've made. I've got to go on. It's a test 
 case. If I've got anything in me, now is the chance 
 for it to show. You see, when I made up my mind 
 seriously to try to do worth-while things with my 
 own hands, everybody was against me. And the 
 sympathy that I am going to receive if I fail to 
 make good is of a kind that's almost impossible to 
 face." 
 
 "Then do me a favor. It won't interfere with 
 your work, and it may be very useful at a pinch." 
 He drew from his hip pocket a small automatic pistol. 
 "Accept this," he went on, "and keep it somewhere 
 handy as a sort of guardian. It's much stronger than 
 the strongest man." 
 
 "How absurd!" she said. "And what are you 
 doing carrying concealed weapons? I'm beginning to 
 think that you're a desperado yourself." 
 
 He rose, smiling imperturbably, and laid the pistol 
 in her lap 
 
 "At least," she said, "show me how it works." 
 
 He explained the mechanism clearly and with pa-
 
 THE PENALTY 85 
 
 tience, not once, but several times. "Point it," he 
 said, "as you would point your finger, and keep pull- 
 ing the trigger until the enemy drops." 
 
 "One every two hours," Barbara commented, "un- 
 til relieved." 
 
 "May you never need it," said Wilmot, earnestly. 
 
 "I never shall," said Barbara. "Must I really 
 keep it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But you," she exclaimed, "you will be quite un- 
 protected all the way from here to the nearest shop 
 where such things are sold." 
 
 "I shall be armed again," he smiled, "before I am 
 threatened. Indeed, to know that you are armed has 
 heartened me immensely. What are you doing this 
 afternoon? " 
 
 "I don't know," she answered with provoking sub- 
 missiveness; "you haven't told me." 
 
 "It's just possible," he said, "that the turf courts 
 at the Westchester Country Club have been opened. 
 I might telephone and find out. Then we could col- 
 lect some clothes, jump into a taxi, and go out and 
 open the season." 
 
 "You can't afford taxis, Wilmot. And you never 
 let anybody else pay for anything." 
 
 "Oh," he pleaded, "I can afford a taxi this once, 
 believe me." 
 
 "In that case," said Barbara, "I surrender." 
 
 "If you only would, Barbs." 
 
 "'Phone if you are going to, and don't be always
 
 86 THE PENALTY 
 
 slipping sentiment into a business proposition." She 
 affected to look very stern and business-like. 
 
 "I shall engage the magic taxi," he affirmed. 
 
 "The what?" 
 
 "Don't you know? There's a magic taxi in the 
 city just one. You get in, you give your order, and 
 lo and behold, rivers and seas are crossed, countries 
 and continents, until finally you fetch up in the place 
 where you would be, and when you look at the meter 
 you find that it hasn't registered as much as a penny." 
 
 "Time," said Barbara, "flies even faster than a 
 magic taxicab. So if you are going to 'phone " 
 
 "Is there no drop of sentiment in that exquisite 
 shell which the world knows as Barbara Ferris? 
 Didn't any man ever mean anything to you, Barbs?" 
 
 She flushed slightly, for there had come into her 
 thoughts quite unbidden the image of a certain young 
 man in workman's clothes, kneeling at a door, and 
 removing an old japanned iron lock. She shook her 
 head firmly, and smiled up at him insultingly. 
 
 "Men, Wilmot," she said, "are nothing to me but 
 planes, angles, curves, masses, lights, and shadows. 
 They are either suited to sculpture or they aren't." 
 
 Wilmot laughed, and while he was busy with the 
 telephone, Barbara tried to think of the secret-service 
 agent in cold terms of planes, curves, masses, etc., and 
 found that she couldn't. Which discovery annoyed 
 and perplexed her.
 
 XI 
 
 THE girls who plaited hats for Blizzard had just fin- 
 ished luncheon and were taking their places at the 
 long work-table. The entrance door having clanged 
 its bell, twenty heads bent earnestly over twenty hats 
 in various stages of construction, and twenty pairs of 
 hands leaped into skilful activity. 
 
 The master passed up and down on his crutches, 
 observing progress and despatch with slow-moving, 
 introspective eyes. Presently he came to a halt and 
 dapped his hands sharply together. Twenty pairs 
 of eyes, some cringing, some with vestiges of boldness, 
 some favor-currying, sought his, and twenty pairs of 
 hands ceased work as when power is shut off from as 
 many machines. Blizzard's eyes passed slowly over 
 the girls in a sort of appraising review, once, and a 
 second time. 
 
 "Miss Rose." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 The speaker was one of those flowers of girlhood 
 which bloom here and there in the slums. She might 
 have been a princess in exile and disguise. Even her 
 hands and feet were fine and delicate. And if in her 
 expression there was a certain nervousness, there was 
 none of fear. 
 
 "Stand up." 
 
 87
 
 88 THE PENALTY 
 
 She rose in her place; the corners of her mouth 
 trembled a little, but curled steadily upward. 
 
 "Stand out where I can see you." 
 
 She did so, with a certain defiant grace. 
 
 "Turn around, slowly." 
 
 She might have been one of those young ladies at a 
 fashionable dressmaker's upon whom the effect of the 
 latest Parisian models is continually tried. While she 
 slowly gyrated, the legless man, looking up at her, 
 spoke aloud. 
 
 "Muck! Muck!" he said. "And yet she's the 
 pick of the bunch." 
 
 The girl kept on turning. 
 
 "Standstill." 
 
 She did as ordered, but it so happened that her 
 back was squarely turned upon the master. 
 
 "No monkey business," he shouted. "Face me! 
 Face me!" 
 
 She faced him, still scornful, but white now, and 
 biting her lips. 
 
 "The rest of you," he said, "will have the rest of 
 the day off. Get out." 
 
 Seventy-six chair-legs squeaked, and Miss Rose's 
 nineteen companions, with murmurs and occasional 
 nervous giggles, hurried off to the coat-room. A few 
 minutes later the bell of the outer door clanged once 
 they were going; clanged a second time they were 
 gone. 
 
 Meanwhile the legless man had not taken his hard, 
 calculating eyes off the girl who remained. Presently
 
 She faced him, still scornful, but white 
 now, and biting her lips
 
 THE PENALTY 89 
 
 he spoke. "We're alone," he said. "I'm between 
 you and the door." He spread his great arms, as if 
 to emphasize the impassability of the barrier which 
 confronted her. "Are you afraid?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The legless man laughed. "Well said," he re- 
 marked, "and truthfully said. And why are you 
 afraid?" 
 
 "Everybody's afraid of you." 
 
 He regarded her for some moments in silence. 
 "You needn't be. Have I ever hurt you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "How long have you worked for me?" 
 
 "Five months." 
 
 "And you are the cleverest worker I have. You 
 admit that?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 Again he laughed. "Once," he said, "I thought 
 you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. But I've 
 seen a prettier." 
 
 "I believe you." 
 
 "But you've got a certain spirit. You don't 
 cringe." 
 
 "Don't I?" 
 
 "No!" he bellowed, "you don't." And when he 
 saw that she didn't cringe, he laughed once more. 
 
 "You live with Minnie Bauer?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "You have no father no mother?" 
 
 "No, sir."
 
 90 THE PENALTY 
 
 "Burnt alive in a tenement fire, weren't they?" 
 
 She answered with a great effort, and seemed upon 
 the verge of tears. "Yes, sir." 
 
 "You will leave Minnie, and come here to live." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because I make it my business to reward the 
 skilful, the laborious, and the deserving." 
 
 She shook her head. "That's not good enough," 
 she said. 
 
 "You will keep my house in order," he said; "you 
 will learn to help me with the piano. You will have 
 fine clothes to wear, and the spending of plenty of 
 money." 
 
 "Not good enough," she repeated. 
 
 "I have read you these five months as if you were 
 a book. You are loyal to your friends. You can 
 keep secrets. I admire you. There are many things 
 that I wish to talk about. But I cannot talk about 
 them except to some one that I can trust. Will you 
 stay?" 
 
 She shook her head, but the legless man smiled, as 
 he might have smiled if she had nodded it. 
 
 "I am suffering," he said, "the tortures of the 
 damned. I ask you for help and for comfort, and you 
 refuse them." 
 
 A look curiously like tenderness swam into the girl's 
 eyes. The beggar moved sideways upon his crutches. 
 
 "If you want to go," he said, "the way's open." 
 
 "Can I really go if I want to, and not come back?" 
 
 "You really can," he said. "Most things that I
 
 THE PENALTY 91 
 
 want I take, but a man can't take help and comfort 
 unless they are freely given." 
 
 She moved slowly forward as if to discover the 
 truth of his statement that the way was open. He 
 made not the least gesture of interference. When 
 she was between him and the outer door and rather 
 nearer the latter, she turned about sharply. 
 
 "What's troubling you?" she asked. 
 
 "The fact," he said, and there was a something 
 really charming in the expression of his mouth and 
 eyes, "that though I can give orders to very many 
 people, and be obeyed as a general is obeyed by his 
 soldiers in war times, I have no friend. Fear attracts 
 this person to me, self-interest attracts that per- 
 son, but there's no one that's held to me by friend- 
 ship." 
 
 "You're only asking me to be your friend?" 
 
 "You will be as safe in my house as in the rooms 
 of the Gerry Society." 
 
 "If you want me for a friend why did you call me 
 muck just now?" 
 
 "I don't want the others to know that we are 
 friends. I want them to think what they always 
 think." 
 
 "How do I know you trust me?" 
 
 "Lock the street door," he said; "you're younger 
 than I. It's easier for you to move about." 
 
 She locked the door and returned. 
 
 "Are you staying," he asked, "through curiosity 
 or friendship?"
 
 92 THE PENALTY 
 
 "Look here," she said, "it's neither. Can't you 
 guess what ails me? " 
 
 "Tell me." 
 
 She took his strong, wicked face between her young 
 hands, and bending over kissed him on the forehead. 
 Then she drew back, flaming. 
 
 The legless man was touched. "Why?" he asked. 
 
 "I don't know. It just came to me," she said. 
 "God knows I didn't want it to. I guess that's all." 
 
 Rose found it hard to control her jumping nerves. 
 A curious thing had happened to her. Having at last 
 wormed her way into the master's confidence, and 
 brought a long piece of play-acting to a successful 
 conclusion, a certain candor and frankness which were 
 natural to her made the thought of divulging what 
 she had already found out, and whatever he might 
 confide to her in the future, exceedingly repugnant. 
 And she acknowledged with a shiver of revolt that 
 the creature's fascination for her was not altogether 
 a matter of make-believe. She was going to find it 
 very hard to keep a proper perspective and point of 
 view; to continue to regard him as just another 
 "case" and all in the day's work. 
 
 "In my house," he said, "you shall do as you 
 please. You're a dear girl, Rose." 
 
 "I feel at home in your house," she said, "and 
 happy." 
 
 A cloud gathered in Blizzard's face. "Happiness ! " 
 he exclaimed. "There is no such thing neither for 
 you, nor for me. The world is a torture-chamber,
 
 THE PENALTY 93 
 
 and remember, Rose, we are to be allies; we are to 
 have no secrets from each other." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. "That was what you 
 said," she complained. "But have you really shown 
 me any confidence?" 
 
 He smiled as upon a wayward child. "You shall 
 know everything that there is to know when the 
 time comes." 
 
 She pouted. 
 
 "And what, by the way," he went on, "have you 
 told me?" 
 
 "I have told you," she answered with dignity, 
 "my one secret." 
 
 "The way you feel about me?" 
 
 She nodded and blushed. It was going to be a 
 hard lie to keep telling. 
 
 "And you've no other secret? Nothing else that 
 you ought to tell me?" 
 
 There was more meaning in his voice than in his 
 words, so that for a moment Rose was startled. Was 
 it possible that the man suspected her, and was play- 
 ing with her as a cat plays with a mouse? 
 
 "What else could I possibly have to tell you of any 
 importance?" 
 
 "I was joking," said the beggar. 
 
 Rose sat at the window of her room looking up- 
 ward into a night of stars. She could not sleep. 
 Twice she had heard the legless man pass her door 
 upon his crutches. Each time he had hesitated, and
 
 94 THE PENALTY 
 
 once, or so she thought, he had laid his hand upon 
 the door-knob. She wondered how much of her 
 wakefulness was due to fright, and how much to the 
 excitement of being well launched upon a case of 
 tremendous importance, for the secret service knew 
 that Blizzard was engaged upon a colossal plot of 
 some sort, and just what that was Rose had volun- 
 teered, at the risk of her life, and of her honor, to 
 find out.
 
 XII 
 
 THE next morning, at the appointed hour, Blizzard 
 climbed the stairs to Barbara's studio, knocked, and 
 was admitted. That he was welcome, if only for his 
 head's sake, was at once evident. 
 
 "Something told me that you wouldn't fail me," 
 said Barbara. 
 
 "You can be quite easy about that," said Blizzard. 
 "I am in the habit of keeping my word." 
 
 He climbed to the model's platform and seated 
 himself as upon the previous morning, with a kind 
 of business-like directness. 
 
 "Ready when you are," he said. 
 
 Barbara withdrew the damp cloths from the day, 
 looked critically from the bust to the original and 
 back again. "My work," she said, "still looks right 
 to me. But you don't." 
 
 Blizzard smiled. 
 
 "Yesterday," she said, "you looked as if you were 
 suffering like," she laughed, "like the very devil. 
 To-day you look well fed and contented. Now that 
 won't do. Try to remember what you were thinking 
 about when I first saw you." 
 
 At once, as a fresh slide is placed in a magic-lantern, 
 the legless man's expression of well-being vanished, 
 and that dark tortured look of Satan fallen which had 
 
 95
 
 96 THE PENALTY 
 
 so fired Barbara's imagination, once more possessed 
 his features. Barbara's eyes flashed with satisfaction. 
 
 "It wasn't hard for you to remember what you 
 were thinking about, was it? " she said. 
 
 "It was not," said Blizzard, and his voice was cold 
 as a well-curb. "When I first saw you, I was think- 
 ing thoughts that can never be forgotten." 
 
 "Lift your chin, please," she said, "just a fraction. 
 So. Turn your head a fraction more toward me. 
 Good. And please don't think of anything pleasant 
 until I tell you. Anybody can make an exact copy 
 of a head. Expressions are the things that only 
 lucky people can catch." 
 
 "I believe you are one of them," said Blizzard. 
 "I believe you will catch mine if you keep on want- 
 ing to." 
 
 "I must," she said simply. 
 
 And then for half an hour there was no sound in 
 the studio but the long-drawn breathing of the leg- 
 less man. Barbara worked in a kind of grim, exalted 
 silence. 
 
 Meanwhile Bubbles was climbing the back stair to 
 his bedroom, where he had left Harry, the secret- 
 service agent, on guard over Barbara. The boy, all 
 out of breath with haste, opened his right fist and 
 disclosed a narrow slip of paper with writing on it. 
 
 "The minute he came out of his burrow and started 
 uptown," said Bubbles, "and was out o' sight, I 
 begun to spin my top up and down Marrow Lane. 
 Rose she's moved upstairs, like she said she would."
 
 THE PENALTY 97 
 
 Harry's eyes sparkled with interest and approba- 
 tion. "Good girl!" he said. 
 
 "I seen her," Bubbles went on, "at an upper win- 
 dow, and when she seed me, she winked both eyes, 
 like as if the sun was too bright for 'em. I winked 
 the same way, and then she lets the paper drop." 
 
 Harry took the paper out of the boy's hand, and 
 read: "Nothing done, much doing." 
 
 "She's a grand one," said Bubbles. "If he ever 
 gets wise to her, he'll tear her to pieces." 
 
 "I'm not worrying about Rose yet," said Harry. 
 "She knows what she's up against, and she can pull 
 a gun quicker than I can. We used to play getting 
 the drop on each other by the hour." 
 
 "What for?" asked Bubbles, always interested in 
 the smallest details of sporting propositions. 
 
 "Poker-chips," said Harry, and Bubbles looked his 
 disgust. There was a minute's silence, then: 
 
 "Harry," said Bubbles, "what do you think he's 
 up to?" 
 
 "By George," said Harry, "I can't make out. 
 What do you think?" 
 
 Bubbles's sensitive mouth quivered eagerly. "You 
 tell me," he said, "what he's making hats for he 
 don't sell 'em and I'll tell you what he's up to." 
 
 "Some of the labor leaders in the West are mixed 
 up in it," said Harry; "we know that." 
 
 "Labor leaders, Harry ! " The small boy's face was 
 comic with scorn and facetiousness. 
 
 "You know the ones I mean, Bub. Not the men
 
 98 THE PENALTY 
 
 who lead labor that's only what they call them- 
 selves; but the men who betray labor for their own 
 pockets, the men who find dynamite for half-witted 
 fanatics to set off. The men " He broke short off, 
 and listened. "Better butt in to the studio, Bub, 
 and see what's doing." 
 
 "Did you think you heard something?" 
 
 "I know that I haven't heard anything for half an 
 hour." 
 
 In a few minutes Bubbles returned. "He's just 
 sitting there with a hell of a face on him," he said, 
 "and she's working like a dynamo." 
 
 And although Barbara actually was working with 
 great speed and gratitude, the entrance of the small 
 boy had seemed to disturb the train of her inspira- 
 tion. Somewhere in the back of her head appeared 
 to be some brain-cells quite detached from the impor- 
 tant matter in hand, and to these was conveyed the 
 fact that a door-knob had been turned, and at once 
 they began to busy themselves upon the suggestion. 
 Something like this: door-knobs old door-knobs 
 new glass door-knobs man to put on new glass door- 
 knobs wonderfully prepossessing man name Harry 
 charming name. Harry charming smile wonder 
 if anybody'll ever see him again. 
 
 Gradually other cells in Barbara's brain took up 
 the business, until presently she was entirely occupied 
 with unasked, and unwelcome, and altogether pleas- 
 ant thoughts of the young secret-service agent. It 
 was almost as if he laid his hand on her shoulder, and
 
 
 In a few minutes Bubbles returned. 
 "He's just sitting there with a hell 
 of a face on him," he said, "and 
 she's working like a dynamo "
 
 THE PENALTY 99 
 
 said: "You've worked long enough on this dreadful 
 beggar come with me for a holiday." 
 
 Twice, sternly, she endeavored to go on with her 
 work, and could not. Something of the May-weather 
 message, that all is futile except life, had filtered into 
 her blood. Her hands dropped to her sides, and her 
 face, very rosy, became so wonderfully beautiful that 
 Blizzard almost groaned aloud. Something told him 
 that his morning was over, his morning filled with the 
 happiness of propinquity and stolen looks, with the 
 happiness that is half spiritual and half gloating. 
 
 "Thank you," said Barbara, "ever so much. I 
 sha'n't do any more to-day. I'm not fit. But we 
 have gotten on. Want to look?" 
 
 She turned the revolving-table so that Blizzard 
 could look upon his likeness. And you may be sure 
 that he did not lose the opportunity thus presented. 
 He regarded the clay steadily, for a long time, with- 
 out speaking. Then he drew one very long breath, 
 and the expression upon his face softened. 
 
 "That man," he said, "has had a hard life, Miss 
 Ferris. It is all written in his face. When he was a 
 little boy, he was the victim of a mistake so atrocious, 
 so wicked, that the blood in his body turned to gall, 
 and all his powers of loving turned to hatred. In- 
 stead of facing disaster like a man, he turned from 
 it, and fled down down down, and fell down 
 down grappling with all that he could reach that 
 was good or beautiful, and dragging it down with him 
 to destruction to the pit to hell on earth. And
 
 ioo THE PENALTY 
 
 then he lived a long time, pampering all that was 
 base in him, prospering materially, recognizing no 
 moral law. He was contented with his choice happy 
 as a well-fed dog is happy in a warm corner. And 
 then the inevitable happened. An idea came to him, 
 a dream of peace and beauty, of well-doing and hap- 
 piness. But that chance was torture, since, if he was 
 to live it, he must undo the evil that he had done, 
 unthink the thoughts that had been meat and drink 
 to him, and he must get back to where he was before 
 he fell." 
 
 He paused, and extending his right forefinger 
 pointed at the bust of himself and exclaimed: 
 
 "That man there that you've made in my im- 
 age line for line torture for torture, must go on liv- 
 ing in the hell which he has prepared with his own 
 perverted mind. He can never get back. It is too 
 late too late too late!" 
 
 His voice rose to a kind of restrained fury. The 
 room shook with its strong vibrations. 
 
 Then he turned to Barbara, smiled, all of a sudden, 
 gayly, almost genuinely, and said in a voice of humble 
 gallantry: 
 
 "But I've done you a good turn. If you never 
 proved it before, you're proving these days that you 
 are a heaven-born genius." 
 
 A harder-headed girl than Barbara must have been 
 pleased and beguiled. She blushed, and laughed. 
 "I've only one thing to wish for," she said. 
 
 "What is that?"
 
 THE PENALTY 101 
 
 "I wish," she said, "that you were the greatest art 
 critic in the world." 
 
 He leaned forward, and in a confidential whisper: 
 "A secret," said he, "between us two. I am." 
 
 Then they both laughed, and the beggar, not with- 
 out reluctance, climbed down from the platform. 
 Swift and easy as were his motions, he appeared to 
 terrible disadvantage, and he knew it. So did Bar- 
 bara, who a moment before had been on the point of 
 really liking him. She steeled herself against the 
 sudden disgust which she could not help feeling, and 
 smiled at him in a steady, friendly way. 
 
 "To-morrow?" she said. 
 
 "To-morrow." 
 
 "At the same time, please. Good-by, and good 
 luck to you." 
 
 " Good luck to you, Miss Ferris." And he was gone. 
 
 Barbara, opening the door into the next room, sur- 
 prised a sound of voices. They ceased instantly. 
 "Bubbles," she called. 
 
 He came, looking a trifle guilty. 
 
 "Who's that with you?" 
 
 "Harry," he said simply. 
 
 "The man who was here before?" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Barbara." 
 
 "What's he doing in my rooms?" 
 
 "He was just sitting, and chinning," said Bubbles. 
 
 Miss Ferris was displeased. "Tell him," she said, 
 "that I can't have my apartment turned into a Young 
 Men's Club."
 
 102 THE PENALTY 
 
 "Yes, miss." 
 
 Bubbles retired, reluctantly, with the message, 
 only to return in a moment. 
 
 "He says will you let him speak to you a moment, 
 please." 
 
 She hesitated. And then, "Yes," she said. "I 
 suppose he wishes to apologize." 
 
 He was even more charming-looking than the 
 memory of him. She made an effort to look a little 
 displeased, and a little unfriendly. She failed, be- 
 cause the May-weather message had gotten into her 
 blood, and because certain forces of which as yet she 
 knew little had established connecting links between 
 herself and the young secret-service agent. 
 
 "I am going to scold you," said Barbara. "Bub- 
 bles has his work to do." 
 
 "But I was helping him with it." 
 
 "He said you were just sitting and and chinning." 
 
 "When we had finished working." 
 
 "Have you been here long?" 
 
 The young man looked her steadily in the face, 
 and said gravely: "Ever since Blizzard came." 
 
 Barbara lifted her chin a little. "I am quite able 
 to take care of myself," she said. 
 
 He shook his head sadly. 
 
 "Do you make it your business" she had suc- 
 ceeded in making herself angry "to keep an eye on 
 all young women whom you fancy unable to take 
 care of themselves? " 
 
 "I only wish to God I could," he said earnestly.
 
 THE PENALTY 103 
 
 "But of course it's impossible. So I just do the best 
 I can." 
 
 "And why have you chosen me? Surely others 
 are even more helpless than I am." She managed to 
 convey a good deal of scorn. "Why," she continued, 
 "must I be the particular creature singled out for 
 your chivalrous notice?" 
 
 "I don't know," he said simply. 
 
 All the anger went out of Barbara, and a delicious 
 little thrill passed through her from head to foot, 
 leaving in its wake a clear rosy coloring. 
 
 "Bubbles," said the young man, "would die for 
 you; but he is only a little boy. I am very strong." 
 
 Barbara refused to rise at the implication that the 
 strong young man was also ready and even eager to 
 die for her. "Tell me more about Blizzard," she said. 
 
 "He's one of the half-dozen men in the city that 
 we would like to have an eye on night and day. We 
 want him." 
 
 "Oh," she said, "then you are not here entirely on 
 my account? It is also your business to be here?" 
 
 He nodded, not altogether pleased with the turn 
 the matter had taken. 
 
 "In that case," she said, "I have no wish to stand 
 in your way. But I don't propose to be a cat's- 
 paw. You may sit in Bubbles's room if you like, but 
 I won't have you on your hands and knees at the 
 studio door listening at the key-hole. That must be 
 understood." 
 
 The young man flushed with righteous anger.
 
 104 THE PENALTY 
 
 "You don't look" he said, "as if you could say a 
 thing like that to a fellow." 
 
 Instantly, and almost humbly, she begged his par- 
 don. 
 
 "Then I may come to-morrow?" he asked. 
 
 "And the next day," said Barbara. "And, by the 
 way, what is your name? " 
 
 "Harry," he said. 
 
 "Harry what?" 
 
 A look very much like pathos came into his hand- 
 some eyes. "I want to be honest with you," he said. 
 "I don't own any other name. I call myself West. 
 But I've no right to it. I don't know who my father 
 was or what he was." 
 
 "You don't have to explain," said Barbara. "I 
 think you would have been quite within your rights 
 in saying that your name was West and letting it go 
 at that." 
 
 It was not her intention to receive Mr. West's con- 
 fidences either at this time or any other. And so, of 
 course, ten minutes later, as she drove uptown, she 
 was "dying" to know all that there was to be known 
 about him. He had gone downstairs with her, and 
 put her into her cab. He might have been a prince 
 with a passion for good manners. He seemed to her 
 wonderfully graceful and at ease, in all that he did.
 
 XIII 
 
 DR. FERRIS smiled tolerantly, and said to the foot- 
 man who had brought the card: "I shall be very glad 
 to see Mr. Allen." And he kept on smiling after the 
 footman had gone. The interview which he foresaw 
 was of that kind which not only did him honor but 
 amused him. Wilmot Allen would not be the first 
 young man to whom the rich surgeon had had the 
 pleasure of putting embarrassing questions: "What 
 can you tell me of your past life and habits?" "Can 
 you support my daughter in the way to which she 
 has always been accustomed?" etc., etc. 
 
 But Wilmot Allen did not at once ask permission 
 to address Barbara. He entered with that good- 
 natured air of easy laziness which was rather attrac- 
 tive in him, and without looking in the least troubled 
 announced that what he had come to say embarrassed 
 him greatly. 
 
 "And furthermore," he said, "if Barbara hears of 
 it, she'll be furious. She would take the natural and 
 even correct point of view that it's none of my busi- 
 ness, and she would select one of the thousand ruth- 
 less and brutal methods which young women have at 
 their disposition for the disciplining of young men. 
 So, please, will you consider my visit professional 
 and, if you like," he grinned mischievously, "charge 
 me the regular fee for consultation?" 
 
 105
 
 io6 THE PENALTY 
 
 Dr. Ferris laughed. "I shall be delighted to play 
 father confessor," he said, "if you'll sit down, and 
 smoke a cigar." 
 
 Mr. Allen would. He lighted one of Dr. Ferris's 
 cigars with the care due to a thing of value, settled 
 himself in a deep chair, and appeared by slightly paus- 
 ing to be gathering scattered thoughts into a focus. 
 
 "Yes," he said at last, "there's no doubt about it. 
 I am about to be very impertinent. If you like you 
 shall turn me out of your house, with or without 
 kicks, as seems best to you. Barbara needs a nurse, 
 and it seems to me you ought to know it; because in 
 a way it's a reflection on you." 
 
 "Quite so," said Dr. Ferris. "I am not at all 
 pleased with Barbara. What has she done?" 
 
 "Do you suppose it would be possible to get her 
 interested in anything besides this sculpture business 
 before it's too late? " 
 
 "Too late?" 
 
 "Before she gets a taste of success." 
 
 " But wiU she ever?" 
 
 Wilmot Allen nodded eagerly. "She will," he said. 
 "She is doing a head. It's far from finished; but 
 even now, in the rough state, it's quite the most 
 exceptional inspired thing you ever saw. She will 
 exhibit it and become famous overnight. I can't bet 
 much as you may perhaps suspect but I'll bet all 
 I've got. And of course, once she gets recognition 
 and everybody begins to kow-tow to her why, good- 
 by, Barbara."
 
 THE PENALTY 107 
 
 "Still," said Dr. Ferris, "if she's developing a real 
 talent, I don't know that I ought to stand in her way. 
 And, besides, we've fought that all out, and," he 
 laughed grimly, "I took my licking like a man." 
 
 "Of course," said Allen. "When a girl that ought 
 to go in for marriage and that sort of thing takes to 
 being talented I call it a tragedy. But, passing that, 
 the model for the head she's doing isn't a proper per- 
 son. That's what I'm driving at. He's one of the 
 wickedest and most unscrupulous persons in the world. 
 Barbara ought not to speak to him, let alone give him 
 the run of her studio and hobnob with him same as 
 with one of her friends. He's a man too busy with 
 villainy to sit as a model for the fun of sitting. The 
 pay doesn't interest him. And if he shows up every 
 morning at nine and stays all morning, it's only be- 
 cause he's got an axe to grind. He talks. He lays 
 down the law. He appeals to Barbara's mind and 
 imagination; and it's all rather horrible one of those 
 poison snakes that look like an old rubber boot, and 
 a bird all prettiness, bright colors, innocence, and 
 admiration of how the world is made. Look at it in 
 this way. She makes a great hit with the bust. 
 Who's responsible? Well, the creature that supplied 
 the inspiration, largely. She'll feel gratitude. He'll 
 take advantage of anything that comes his way. And 
 frankly, Dr. Ferris, I may be making a mountain out 
 of a mole-hill, but I'm worried to death. Suppose I 
 told you that, say, Duane Carter spent hours every 
 day in Barbara's studio?"
 
 io8' THE PENALTY 
 
 Dr. Ferris jumped to his feet, white with anger. 
 "Do you mean to tell me that my daughter is friendly 
 with that person? " 
 
 "Oh, no," said Allen calmly. "I think Barbara's 
 new friend is a very much more dangerous person for 
 her to know. Whatever Duane Carter is he wouldn't 
 dare. This other man 
 
 "Look here, Wilmot" Dr. Ferris began to pace 
 the room in considerable agitation "you're an old 
 friend of Barbara's. Is friendliness at the root of 
 your worry, or is it some other feeling, not so disin- 
 terested as friendship? " 
 
 Wilmot Allen rose to his full height, and Dr. Ferris 
 paused in his pacings. They faced each other. 
 
 "If I was any good," said the young man slowly, 
 "if I had any money, if Barbara would have me, I'd 
 marry her to-morrow. But I'm not any good never 
 was. I haven't any money, hardly ever have had, 
 and Barbara would no more have me of her own free 
 will than she'd take a hammer and smash the bust 
 she's making. So much for motives. Have I dis- 
 posed of jealousy? " 
 
 Dr. Ferris nodded. 
 
 "The man," said Allen, "isn't a man. He's a 
 gutter-dog, a gargoyle, half a man. And his position 
 in the city in the whole country, I think is so forti- 
 fied that with the best will in the world the law cannot 
 touch him. Duane Carter well, he's been a gay boy 
 with the ladies a bad man if you like but at least 
 he is not accused by gossip of murder, arson, abduc-
 
 THE PENALTY 109 
 
 tion, and crimes infinitely worse than these. He may 
 have beguiled women, but at least his worst enemy 
 would never suppose that he had trafficked in them. 
 Barbara's model is all the things that you can imag- 
 ine. And all of them are written in his horrible face. 
 To see them together, friendly, reparteeing, chummy, 
 would turn your stomach Barbara so exquisite and 
 high-born, and the man, his eyes full of evil fires, 
 sitting like a great toad on the model's chair. And 
 at that good God, you might stand it, if he was 
 a whole man! But he isn't. It's horrible! He has 
 no legs and you want to stamp on him till he's 
 dead." 
 
 Dr. Ferris had turned white as a sheet. "To me," 
 he said quietly, "that is the most horrible form of 
 mutilation. I can't tell you why. It is so. And you 
 will believe that in my practice I have encountered 
 all sorts. But who is he?" 
 
 "He's a man named Blizzard he passes for a 
 beggar, grinds an organ, sells shoe-laces and that 
 sort of thing. As a matter of fact, he's very well off, 
 if not rich. Why don't you visit Barbara's studio 
 to-morrow, look things over, and put a stop to it? 
 You can say things to Barbara that I can't, that no 
 young man can say to a girl. Go as far as you like. 
 Whatever you tell her about him will be true even if 
 you can't prove it. You can make her see what thin 
 ice she's skating on. Or if you can't nobody can." 
 
 "I'll go to the studio to-morrow," said the surgeon. 
 "I am very much disturbed by what you have told
 
 no THE PENALTY 
 
 me: the more so because as a physician I have learned 
 how many impossible things are true. Have you told 
 me all you wish to? Or is there more? Do you 
 think," he spoke very steadily, "that Barbara cares 
 for this beast? Such things happen in the world, I 
 know." 
 
 "God forbid," said Allen, "but I think he has a sort 
 of fascination for her, and that she doesn't realize it. 
 You'll let your visit appear casual and accidental, 
 won't you? You won't let Barbara suspect that I 
 had anything to do with it?" 
 
 Dr. Ferris promised, and the two parted with 
 mutual good- will; but neither the next morning, nor 
 the morning after that, was Dr. Ferris at liberty to 
 pay a visit to Barbara in her studio. Nominally re- 
 tired from active practice, and devoting whatever of 
 life should remain to surgical experimentation and 
 theory, the sudden and acute jeopardy of an old friend 
 caused him to put all other considerations aside for 
 the time being, and once more to don the white harness 
 of his profession. For two days Dr. Ferris hardly left 
 his friend's side; on the morning of the third day, 
 quite worn out, his jumping nerves soothed by a small 
 dose of morphine, be called a taxicab, gave Barbara's 
 number in McBurney Place, leaned back against the 
 leather cushions, relaxed his muscles, and fell asleep. 
 
 The taxicab and the legless man reached the curb 
 in front of Barbara's studio at the same moment. 
 The driver of the cab lifted one ringer to his hat. 
 The legless man nodded, and peering into the cab
 
 THE PENALTY in 
 
 recognized the handsome features of the sleeping 
 doctor. He smiled, and said to the driver: 
 
 "Take him back to his house." 
 
 The driver said: "If I do he'll enter a complaint." 
 
 "No," said the legless man; "you will tell him 
 when he wakes that he gave you the order himself. 
 He won't know whether he did or not. So-long." 
 
 The driver once more lifted one finger to his hat 
 and obediently drove off. 
 
 It was very silent in McBurney Place; the double 
 row of ancient stables made over into studio-build- 
 ings appeared deserted. The legless man could not 
 but flatter himself that his actions had been unob- 
 served. He chuckled, and with even more than his 
 usual deft alacrity climbed the stairs to Barbara's 
 studio. 
 
 Meanwhile, however, a young man and a small boy, 
 looking through the curtains of the latter's bedroom 
 window, had been witnesses of all that passed. 
 
 "That was Miss Barbara's father in the taxi," said 
 Harry West. 
 
 "Looks like he'd been out all night," said Bubbles. 
 
 "He may have been drugged." 
 
 "Doubt it. The taxi turned north at the corner. 
 If the ole 'un had had the doctor drugged o' purpose 
 he'd V sent him south where he could use him. I 
 guess he's sent him home." 
 
 "He doesn't want his morning with Miss Barbara 
 interrupted." 
 
 Harry West sighed and said: "I don't smoke, Bub. 
 Give me a cigarette."
 
 ii2 THE PENALTY 
 
 Bubbles accommodated his friend with eagerness. 
 
 "And now," said West, "the road's clear to Mar- 
 row Lane; better slip down and see if Rose has any 
 word for us. I'll keep a good ear on Blizzard." 
 
 Bubbles changed from his buttons to his street- 
 jacket, and departed by the back stairs. Harry 
 West took a small automatic pistol from his breast 
 pocket and played with it, but hi the expression of the 
 young man's face was nothing bellicose or threaten- 
 ing; only a kind of gentle, patient misery. 
 
 He passed fifteen minutes in taking quick aims 
 with the little automatic pistol at the roses on the 
 wall-paper. Short of actual target-practice, he knew 
 by experience that this was the best way to keep the 
 hand and eye in touch with each other. He let his 
 thoughts run as they would. And presently he heard 
 the sound of Bubbles's feet upon the back stairs. 
 
 "All serene here," said West. 
 
 "All serene there," said Bubbles, and he produced 
 a slip of paper upon which Rose had written: 
 
 "Don't come so often. You've been noticed. 
 He'll tell me things before long or wring my neck." 
 
 "She worked her hands some," said Bubbles, and 
 he made letters of the deaf and dumb alphabet upon 
 his fingers. "She said O'Hagan's in the city. They 
 had him to eat with them last night. He's growed a 
 beard, and trained off twenty pounds, so's not to be 
 knowed." 
 
 The air of revery had left Harry West. "O'Hagan 
 in the East!" he exclaimed, rather with exhilaration 
 than excitement. "Things are coming to a head."
 
 THE PENALTY 113 
 
 "Yep," said Bubbles, "and we don't know what 
 things is " 
 
 "Bubbles! Oh, Bubbles!" 
 
 The boy disappeared in the direction of the studio. 
 
 "Mr. Blizzard has gone," said Barbara. "Ask Mr. 
 West if he will speak to me a moment." 
 
 Mr. West would; and he, the athlete, the man of 
 trained poise, actually overturned a chair in his will- 
 ingness. 
 
 "Mr. West," she said, "you know all sorts of things 
 about people, don't you? And if you don't know 
 them, you can find them out, can't you?" 
 
 "Sometimes, Miss Barbara." 
 
 "I want to know about the man who comes here to 
 pose not vague things, but facts; who his people 
 were, what turned him against the world." 
 
 "You're troubled, Miss Barbara?" 
 
 "I am terribly troubled. He has told me a ter- 
 rible story. But how do I know if it's true or not? 
 If it's true, he ought not to be hounded and hunted, 
 Mr. West; he ought to be pitied." 
 
 "Then I'm sure it's not true," West smiled quietly. 
 "What did he tell you?" 
 
 "No matter. But will you find out what you can 
 about him? " 
 
 "Why, yes, of course. But believe me, it's not his 
 beginnings that are of importance. It's his subse- 
 quent achievements and his schemes for the future." 
 
 "Another thing," she said, "I'm sure he means no 
 harm where I'm concerned. He has never known
 
 n 4 THE PENALTY 
 
 that I have a protector within call, and yet his whole 
 attitude toward me has been gentle, humorous, and 
 even chivalrous. I think," and the color came into 
 her cheeks, "that he feels a fatherly sort of affection 
 for me. So thank you for all the trouble you've 
 taken." 
 
 "I, too, have reason to think that he means no 
 harm," said West, "and if that is true, I am wasting 
 my tune." 
 
 There was a look of bitterness in his eyes that was 
 not lost upon Barbara. And she was troubled. 
 
 "Of course," she said, "if you like to waste your 
 time- 
 He looked her straight in the eyes. "I do," he 
 said, "I love to. No man's life would ever be com- 
 plete if he didn't waste the best part of it throw it 
 away on something or other on an ambition on an 
 ideal on a woman." 
 
 Barbara returned his glance. "Just what, Mr. 
 West," she said, "is the idea?" 
 
 And here, Mr. Harry West might have found the 
 sudden courage to speak out what was in his heart, 
 had he not remembered that to all intents and pur- 
 poses he had no father, and consequently in the eyes 
 of the great world to which Barbara belonged could 
 not be considered to have any existence. 
 
 "Oh," he said, "I was just talking through my 
 hat." 
 
 Barbara, who, you may say, had been unconsciously 
 putting out tentacles of affection toward Harry West,
 
 THE PENALTY 115 
 
 at once withdrew them, and said coolly: "So I sup- 
 posed." 
 
 "May I look at the bust?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 She removed the damp cloths from her work, and 
 Harry found himself looking into the legless man's 
 face. The features at once attracted and repelled 
 him, and these sensations mingled with them feelings 
 of wonder. Some subconscious knowledge told the 
 young man authoritatively that he was looking on 
 a master work. Barbara noticed this, and her heart 
 warmed, and her pride was gratified. 
 
 "I'm going to hurt your feelings," she said. 
 
 "Mine? Don't. Please don't." 
 
 "If you," she said, "devoted the next twenty years 
 of your life to wickedness and vengeful thoughts you 
 would get to look like my friend, Mr. Blizzard." 
 
 Now that same thought had occurred, and not for 
 the first time, to Harry West, but he did not care to 
 admit it. So he laughed gently, and said: 
 
 "In that case I shall devote the next twenty years 
 of my life to philanthropy and loving thoughts." 
 
 He turned toward her, all smiling. And she 
 avoided his eyes without appearing to do so.
 
 XIV 
 
 THE next morning Blizzard was fifteen minutes late 
 to his appointment with Barbara. He had sat up all 
 night with O'Hagan, talking energetically, and for once 
 in his life he felt tired. To this feeling was added 
 the fear almost ridiculous under the circumstances 
 that Barbara would scold him for being late. Un- 
 scrupulous brute that he was, his infatuation for her 
 was humanizing him. And in the whole world he 
 dreaded nothing so much, at this time, as a look of 
 displeasure in a girl's face. 
 
 He had left off the threadbare clothes in which he 
 usually went begging, and had attired himself in 
 clean linen and immaculate gray broadcloth. His 
 face was exquisitely shaved; his nails trimmed and 
 clean. And there hung about him a faint odor of 
 violets. In short, the male of the species had begun 
 to change his plumage, as is customary in the spring 
 of the year. 
 
 His mouth full of apology, he hurried up the stairs 
 to the studio, only to find that Barbara herself had 
 not yet arrived. Upon the seat of the chair in which 
 he always posed, the legless man perceived an en- 
 velope addressed to himself. This contained a short 
 note: 
 
 116
 
 THE PENALTY 117 
 
 DEAR MR. BLIZZARD: 
 
 I can't be at the studio till eleven. Please find some- 
 where about you the kindness to wait, or at least to come 
 again at that time. You will greatly oblige, 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 BARBARA FERRIS. 
 
 Blizzard read his note three times; it was very 
 friendly. The "Yours sincerely" touched his imagi- 
 nation. Especially the "Yours." 
 
 "Yours," he said, "mine," and with a sudden idiocy 
 of passion he crushed the note to his lips. And then, 
 as if with remorse at having been rough with a help- 
 less thing, he smoothed out the crumpled sheet, and 
 placed it, together with its envelope, in that pocket 
 which was nearest to his heart. Then he seated him- 
 self on the edge of the model's platform, laid his 
 crutches aside, closed his eyes, and for perhaps five 
 minutes slept, motionless as a statue, except that 
 now and then his ears twitched. At the end of five 
 minutes, he waked, greatly refreshed, and ready, if 
 the need should arise, to sit up the whole of the 
 following night. 
 
 There was a sound of a man's steps mounting 
 the stairs. And then a brisk knocking on the studio 
 door. 
 
 "Come in," said Blizzard. 
 
 Dr. Ferris entered, hesitated, and then closed the 
 door behind him. 
 
 "You'll pardon me," said Blizzard coolly, "if I 
 don't get up?"
 
 n8 THE PENALTY 
 
 "Yes yes," said Dr. Ferris, and in his handsome 
 eyes was a look of pain and pity. 
 
 "It isn't easy for me to get up," Blizzard continued 
 in the same cool, emotionless voice, "you can see for 
 yourself. I can't spring to my feet like other men. 
 Do you know who I am? " 
 
 "Yes," said Dr. Ferris, "I'm afraid I do. But 
 they told me the name of the man who has been pos- 
 ing for Miss Ferris was Blizzard. Your name 
 
 "My name," said Blizzard, "is forgotten." 
 
 Dr. Ferris bowed gravely. "Quite so, Mr. Bliz- 
 zard," he said. 
 
 "Miss Barbara," said Blizzard, watching closely 
 the effect upon the older man of the familiarity, "will 
 not be here till eleven. And as you and I cannot pos- 
 sibly have anything pleasant to say to each other, and 
 as you, although the older man, are far better off than 
 I am for means of locomotion, and as even thinking of 
 you has something the effect upon my stomach that 
 mustard and warm water would have 
 
 "If you have any mercy in your heart," said Dr. 
 Ferris, his mouth distorted with emotion, "don't talk 
 to me that way. What made a hell of your life has 
 made a hell of mine." 
 
 The look of cold hatred hi Blizzard's face changed 
 at once to curiosity. "Really?" he said; "you mean 
 that?" 
 
 "It is the truth." 
 
 Blizzard considered, and then shook his head. 
 "No," he said, "it couldn't be the same. It may
 
 THE PENALTY 119 
 
 have stretched you on the hot grid now and then, 
 but between times of remorse you've had long, long 
 stretches of success and happiness. I haven't. I 
 have burned in hell fires from that day to this." 
 
 "I told you on that day," said the surgeon, "that 
 if there was ever anything under heaven that I 
 could do for you, I would do it. You've never called 
 upon me for anything money or service." 
 
 "I've not forgotten," said Blizzard, "and some 
 day I may hold you to your word. Right here and 
 now I will ask something of you an absolutely truth- 
 ful answer to a question. Do you hate me?" 
 
 Dr. Ferris turned the question over in his conscience, 
 and presently said: "I am sorry. Yes." 
 
 "Thank you," said Blizzard, who was not in the 
 least disturbed. "I've often wondered, and even, 
 putting a hypothetical case, thrashed the matter out 
 with my friends. You would hate me. It's thor- 
 oughly human. With me, for instance I feel non- 
 committal about a man. I decide to injure him. I 
 do so. And then I hate him. Now, if you have any 
 message for Miss Barbara or perhaps you came to 
 see the bust. I will call Bubbles. He and Miss 
 Barbara are the only persons allowed to touch the 
 cloths. I think she'd let me uncover the thing, but, 
 as you and I know so well, I am not tall enough." 
 
 "My business with my daughter," said Dr. Ferris, 
 "concerned you." 
 
 Blizzard chuckled. "Her friends," said he, "have 
 been at you to interfere. They have persuaded you 
 that her model should be persona non grata in the
 
 120 THE PENALTY 
 
 best studios. They have, in short, begged you to 
 take me by the scruff of the neck and kick me out 
 into the gutter where I belong. Well, kick me. 
 You know as well as I do, that I can't kick back." 
 
 "You hurt me very much," said Dr. Ferris simply, 
 "if that is any pleasure to you." 
 
 "It is," said Blizzard. 
 
 "What your intuition has told you," continued 
 Barbara's father, "is the truth. I had made up my 
 mind to interfere." 
 
 "Well, why should you?" 
 
 "I have heard terrible things about you, Mr. 
 Blizzard." 
 
 "That I have done things which the world regards 
 as terrible is true," returned the legless man imper- 
 turbably. "What of it? Haven't you?" 
 
 Dr. Ferris turned away and slowly paced the length 
 of the studio and back. "I owe you," he then said, 
 "anything you choose to ask. But that is not the 
 whole of my obligation to this world as I see it." 
 
 "You will oblige me," said Blizzard, "by spitting 
 out the moral homily into which you are trying to 
 get your teeth. It is very simple. I do not wish to 
 be sent away. I ask you not to send me. If your 
 statement that you owe me anything I choose to ask 
 amounts to two pins' worth, I think that I shall con- 
 tinue to pose for your daughter as long as she needs 
 me." 
 
 "Oh, I'm quite helpless," said Dr. Ferris; "I 
 realize that." 
 
 "Spoken like a man," said Blizzard. "And to
 
 THE PENALTY 121 
 
 show that my nature isn't entirely cruel, I'll tell you 
 for your comfort that in Miss Barbara's presence the 
 bad man is a very decent sort. We are almost 
 friends, Doctor, she and I. She talks to me as if I 
 were her equal. As for me, in this studio I have 
 learned the habit of innocent thought. Only yester- 
 day I took pleasure in the idea that in the world there 
 are birds, and flowers, and green fields." 
 
 The beggar's eyes glittered with a sardonic look. 
 He watched the surgeon as a tiger might watch a 
 stag. There was quite a long silence. Dr. Ferris 
 broke it. 
 
 "For God's sake," he said with great energy, "tell 
 me one truth. Is it part of your scheme of life to 
 revenge yourself on me through my daughter?" 
 
 Blizzard raised a soothing hand. "Dr. Ferris," he 
 said, "what would cause you suffering would cause 
 her suffering. So, you see, I am tied hand and 
 Pardon me! I shouldn't now think of hurting you 
 through her unless it might be for her own happiness." 
 
 "I don't understand." 
 
 "Then you don't understand the hearts of women. 
 Then you know nothing of the heights to which even 
 fallen men can raise their eyes." 
 
 "What are you telling me?" 
 
 "Very little very much. Perhaps I love your 
 daughter." 
 
 Horror and loathing swept into the surgeon's eyes, 
 but he controlled himself. "Mr. Blizzard," said he 
 presently, "I find it hard to take you seriously. Are
 
 122 THE PENALTY 
 
 you joking? Whether you are or not, the thing is a 
 joke. If you really care for my daughter, I am very, 
 very sorry for you. I can't say more. If nothing 
 worse threatens her than the possibility of her heart 
 being touched by you, there is no need for me to be 
 anxious about her. As for telling her the truth about 
 you and me, why not?" 
 
 "Fow tell her." 
 
 "I will. To-night." 
 
 "Won't you be playing into my hands?" 
 
 "No," said the surgeon curtly, "she has too much 
 common-sense." 
 
 "But you won't tell her what I've said?" The 
 beggar was suddenly anxious. 
 
 "No," and Dr. Ferris smiled, "I may safely leave 
 that to you." 
 
 "Damnation," cried Blizzard, "you are laughing 
 at me." 
 
 Dr. Ferris's face became serious at once. "God 
 forbid that!" he said. "If you have spoken sin- 
 cerely I feel only sorrow for you and pity more 
 sorrow and pity for you even than I ever felt before." 
 
 "S-s-s-s-t," exclaimed the beggar, and his ears 
 twitched. "She's coming." 
 
 "I shall wait," said Dr. Ferris, "and take her up- 
 town, when she has finished working." 
 
 "Well," said Blizzard, with a kind of humorous 
 resignation, "I'd kick you out if I could; but I can't." 
 And he added: "You haven't got an extra pair of 
 legs about you, have you? "
 
 THE PENALTY 123 
 
 "Why!" said Barbara when she saw her father. 
 ' ' Art is looking up. You in a studio ! ' ' 
 
 Secretly his presence pleased her immensely. She 
 had always hoped that some day he would take 
 enough interest in her work to come to see it unin- 
 vited. And she now felt that this had happened. 
 And she thanked Blizzard with sincerity for having 
 waited. 
 
 "Mr. Blizzard and I," she told her father, "are 
 doing a bust. And whatever anybody else thinks, 
 we think it's an affair of great importance. Mr. 
 Blizzard even gives me his time and his judgment 
 for nothing." 
 
 "Well," Dr. Ferris smiled, "I am willing to give 
 you the latter, on the same terms. May I see what 
 you've done? " 
 
 Barbara removed the cloths from the bust, and so 
 life-like and tragic was the face which suddenly con- 
 fronted him that Dr. Ferris, instead of stepping for- 
 ward to examine it closely, stepped backward as if 
 he had been struck. And then: 
 
 "My dear," he said gravely, "the thing's alive." 
 
 He looked from the bust to his daughter, and felt 
 as if he was meeting some very gifted and important 
 person for the first time. Barbara laughed for sheer 
 pleasure. 
 
 "What do you think of it?" 
 
 "I will buy it as it stands," said her father, "on 
 your own terms." 
 
 "If you think it's good now," said Blizzard quietly, 
 " wait till it's finished."
 
 i2 4 THE PENALTY 
 
 "If I had done it," said Dr. Ferris, "I wouldn't 
 dare touch it." 
 
 "Yes, you would," said Barbara, "if you knew that 
 you could make it better. It's still a beginning." 
 
 "When do you expect to finish?" 
 
 "I'm going to keep on working until I know that 
 I've done the best I can. We may be months on it." 
 
 Blizzard smiled secretly, and Dr. Ferris managed 
 to conceal his annoyance. 
 
 "I wish, my dear," he said, "that I had taken you 
 more seriously in the beginning. But it is not too 
 late to get some advantage by studying in Paris and 
 Rome." 
 
 "I don't believe it's ever too late for that," said 
 Barbara, "and of course I've always been crazy for 
 the chance, but knowing how you felt " 
 
 "Say the word," said her father, "and you shall go 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Blizzard's face was like stone; he felt that his high 
 hopes were on a more precarious footing than ever. 
 If she had the whim, Barbara would go abroad, far 
 beyond the reach of even his long arms. 
 
 "You could finish your bust any time," said Dr. 
 Ferris persuasively. 
 
 But Barbara shook her head with complete de- 
 cision. "A bird in the hand," she said, "is worth 
 two in the bush. And I hope I'm wrong but I 
 have the conviction that this head is going to be the 
 best thing I shall ever do. I can look at it quite im- 
 personally, because half the time it seems to model 
 itself. 7 think it's going to be good. If it is good, it
 
 THE PENALTY 125 
 
 will be one of those lucky series of accidents that 
 sometimes happen to undeserving but lucky people." 
 
 Dr. Ferris sighed inwardly, but the expression of 
 his face did not change. "Do you mind if I stay?" 
 he asked. "I think it's time I knew what you look 
 like when you are at work, don't you?" 
 
 "High tune!" exclaimed Barbara. "I'll just get 
 into my apron." She went into the next room and 
 closed the door. 
 
 "Your innocents abroad," said the legless man, 
 "wasn't a success." His face was a jeer.
 
 XV 
 
 "BARBARA," said her father when they had finished 
 dinner, "I made a threat this morning, and I'm going 
 to keep it. If you have no especial objection, will 
 you come into the library?" 
 
 Her face was radiant; he had been praising her 
 work for the tenth time. "It sounds," she said, "as 
 if I was going to be whipped. That wasn't what you 
 threatened to do, was it?" 
 
 "No," said he. "I'm to be punished. I'm going 
 to tell you about a mistake of judgment I once made. 
 But not as a warning, or a moral lesson merely, my 
 dear, that you and I may learn to know each other 
 better. First, though, I want to talk to you about 
 your model." 
 
 "He's rather fascinating, don't you think?" 
 
 "He is very clever," said her father, "and when he 
 chooses he can talk very well. He proved that this 
 morning. To me, personally, he is most repugnant, 
 but I admit that when he once launched out, I listened 
 as a school-boy listens to stories of treasure and pirates. 
 He's lived and observed and suffered. There is no 
 doubt about that. But I shall be greatly relieved to 
 hear that your bust is finished. I don't like the idea 
 of such a man being in the same block with you. I 
 hope that you will not feel inspired to do another 
 head of him." 
 
 126
 
 THE PENALTY 127 
 
 "He's a splendid model," said Barbara. " Of course 
 this morning he didn't keep still and he did talk. 
 But then I wasn't really working. When I wish he 
 keeps almost as still as the clay I work with." 
 
 "Doesn't looking at him ever give you oh, a dis- 
 agreeable creepy feeling?" 
 
 "Not any more. I'm so used to him now. No, I 
 feel a genuine friendliness for him." 
 
 "I thought," said her father, "that to you artists, 
 models were absolutely impersonal just planes and 
 angles and what was it you used to say? " 
 
 Barbara flushed slightly, remembering a former and 
 very disagreeable conversation. "Your memory is 
 much too good," she said. 
 
 Dr. Ferris frowned. "I'm not trying to interfere," 
 he said; "you're old enough to know what's best for 
 you, but if I could instil in you a proper distaste for 
 your friend, Mr. Blizzard, I should be delighted. 
 Beauty and the beast do not go well together." 
 
 "Please" said Barbara, "don't bother your head 
 about me. When the bust is finished, you and I go 
 abroad for to look, for to see, for to learn. That's 
 agreed. We shall not invite Mr. Blizzard to go with 
 us, and all will be well. There's my hand on it!" 
 
 She laughed rosily, and they shook hands. 
 
 "Until recently," said Dr. Ferris, "I have taken, 
 as you know, very little interest in your career as a 
 sculptor. Haven't you thought that rather an un- 
 natural attitude?" 
 
 "Why, yes," said Barbara, "I have."
 
 128 THE PENALTY 
 
 She took a box of safety matches from a cigar-table, 
 and kneeling, lighted the fire in the big chimney-piece. 
 
 "I hope you don't mind," she said; "I'm shivery." 
 
 She knelt on, watching the little flames grow into 
 big flames, and spreading her hands to the warmth. 
 Her face, arms, throat, and the front of her white 
 dress became golden. She looked more like some 
 lovely vestal of fire-worship than an ambitious Ameri- 
 can girl, determined to achieve fame in the battle- 
 ground of the world. 
 
 "Why, yes," she repeated, "it has seemed strange 
 to me. When I've thought that I wanted to do things, 
 you always took a lot of interest and trouble, but 
 when I knew that I wanted to do one thing, you gave 
 me a dreadfully cold shoulder." She smiled whimsi- 
 cally. "I shall do an allegory in bluish- white marble 
 The Cold Shoulder." 
 
 She retreated a little from the fire, and sat at her 
 father's feet. He laid his hand on her many-colored 
 hair. 
 
 From childhood Barbara had resented parental ca- 
 resses. On the present occasion, she felt a sudden 
 tenderness for her father, and leaned a little against 
 him, in answer to the touch of his hand. 
 
 "Did it ever," said he, "strike you as strange that 
 you never took any interest in my career? " 
 
 "I've always been tremendously proud of you," 
 she said. "You know that." 
 
 "You liked my results," he said, "the show pieces 
 newspaper notoriety speech-making the races in
 
 Dr. Ferris frowned. "I'm not trying 
 to interfere," he said. "You're old 
 enough to know what's best for 
 you"
 
 THE PENALTY 129 
 
 special trains against death. But you don't even 
 know what has chiefly interested me during the last 
 thirty years; nor the goal which I have felt I must 
 reach before I could be resigned to parting with this 
 life." 
 
 "No," she said gently, "I don't. Tell me. I want 
 to be interested." 
 
 "You know, of course, that I experiment with 
 animals." 
 
 "Yes. I have seen crates of guinea-pigs and mon- 
 keys at the laboratory door. I'm afraid it always 
 made me a little unhappy. But I suppose it's the 
 only way to get certain results. And you always give 
 them something, don't you? " 
 
 "Always. They don't suffer more than a man 
 would while healing a deep clean cut. In other 
 words, they don't suffer at all. And they're not un- 
 happy, and they don't bear malice. And still I 
 wouldn't do it, if I could help myself. I think, my 
 dear, that I have been chosen for my sins to introduce 
 a great benefit to mankind. It seems now only a 
 question of perfecting the technique. I've already 
 had extraordinary results." 
 
 "What's the idea?" 
 
 "You know, of course, that a piece of skin from 
 one man can be successfully grafted on another man. 
 Well, so can a liver, a ringer, a hand, a foot, an arm, 
 a leg. I have two monkeys now: a black and a 
 gray. The black monkey has the gray hands and 
 forearms, the gray monkey has the black. I made
 
 i 3 o THE PENALTY 
 
 the exchange eighteen months ago. And they have 
 developed the same strength and skill with the 
 grafted members that they had with their own. I 
 have a monkey who had only one eye when he came. 
 Now he has two they aren't a good color match, 
 but he sees as well with one as the other. When these 
 ideas are perfected it will be possible, perhaps, to 
 make old people young. The secret is absolute clean- 
 liness and the accuracy in joining of a Chippendale or 
 an Adams. So you see," he smiled, "that in a way 
 you and I are chasing the same ambition how to 
 express the thing imagined through perfection of 
 technique." 
 
 "Are you the only man working along these lines?" 
 
 "Heavens, no! Aristotle probably believed in an- 
 imal grafting. But I think that, owing to a natural 
 talent for doing close and accurate work with my 
 hands, I have gone farther than anybody else. What 
 gave you the impulse to be a sculptor, Barbs?" 
 
 She laughed gayly. "The statues in the Metro- 
 politan that have lost their arms and heads and legs. 
 I felt very sorry for them. I was very young and 
 foolish, and I invented a game to play. I'd select a 
 statue that needed an arm, say, and then I'd hunt 
 among the other statues for an arm that would fit, 
 or for a head or whatever else was missing. Through 
 playing that game I got the idea of making whole 
 statues from the beginning and not bothering with 
 fragments." 
 
 "And to think," said Dr. Ferris, "that we have
 
 THE PENALTY 131 
 
 failed to understand each other. Why, Barbs, your 
 ambition is a direct lineal descendant of mine. It 
 was a maimed marble that showed you your life's 
 work. It was a maimed child that showed me mine. 
 It seems that at heart we are both menders." 
 
 "I began on dolls," said Barbara. 
 
 "And I began on guinea-pigs." 
 
 A footman entered with whiskey and soda on a 
 tray. Barbara rose. 
 
 "Shall I pour you a drink?" 
 
 "A very little one, please." 
 
 She poured him his drink, and once more seated 
 herself at his feet. 
 
 "After I graduated from the P. & S.," said Dr. 
 Ferris, "I did ambulance work for two years, acci- 
 dents, births, fires. I was ambitious to learn, and 
 worked myself sick. One morning, after I'd been all 
 night bringing a most reluctant young Polack into 
 the world, I was called to the house of a world-famous 
 man in East Thirty-fourth Street. The house was 
 full of servants mad with grief and fright. The man 
 and his wife had gone out of town, and their son, a 
 beautiful boy about ten years old, had got himself 
 run over by a truck. His governess, I gathered, a 
 German fool, had been in some way directly respon- 
 sible. But that is the small end of the matter. The 
 boy's legs were horribly crushed and mangled. It 
 seemed to me that if his life was to be saved, they 
 must come off at once. The family's physician was 
 the famous old Doctor Watson Bell. I sent for him.
 
 i 3 2 THE PENALTY 
 
 He didn't come at once, and when I had waited as 
 long as I dared, I took upon my own shoulders the 
 very heavy responsibility of operating. I put the 
 child under ether, and with the help of one assistant 
 took his legs off just below the hip- joints. Then Dr. 
 Bell came. He was a very old friend of my father's, 
 and he had always been very good to me. First he 
 looked to see that what had been done had been well 
 done. Then he examined the legs that I had taken 
 off. Then he sent the nurse out of the room. Then 
 he turned and looked at me, and his face was gray and 
 cold as a stone. He said: 'You fool! You imbecile!' 
 And he showed me, clear as a flash of lightning, that 
 the legs never should have been amputated. Then he 
 said, more gently: 'For your father's sake I will save 
 your face, young man. I shall set my approval to this 
 catastrophe. For your father's sake, and for your 
 mother's. I have always looked on you as an adopted 
 son. Are you drunk? ' I told him that I had been 
 up all night, and had had no sleep since five o'clock 
 the morning before. He shrugged his shoulders, and 
 said: 'In your right mind, you couldn't have done 
 it,' and I knew that I couldn't. 'Horrible!' he said, 
 'horrible! This poor baby to be a wreck of a thing 
 all his life, because a healthy and hearty young man 
 cannot get along on a little sleep. But, thank God, 
 the child will never know that the operation wasn't 
 necessary.' 
 
 "By common accord, we turned to look at the 
 little boy. His eyes were open. He had come out
 
 THE PENALTY 133 
 
 of the ether with miraculous suddenness. And we 
 saw by the expression of his face that he had heard 
 and that he had understood." 
 
 Barbara took her father's hand in both hers and 
 pressed it hard. "Poor old dad," she said. 
 
 "Of course," Dr. Ferris went on, "the child told 
 his parents. But Dr. Bell lied up and down to save 
 my face. He said that what the child thought he had 
 heard was part of an ether dream. And I lied. And 
 nobody believed the little boy. I had told him, be- 
 fore Dr. Bell could stop me I was hysterical and 
 crazy that if there was ever anything under heaven 
 that I could do for him, I would do it no matter 
 what it was. And the boy told his parents that I 
 had said that, but it was only taken by them as evi- 
 dence that I felt terribly sorry for what I had had to 
 do, and that I had a tender heart." 
 
 "Poor old dad!" said Barbara. "And what be- 
 came of the little boy? " 
 
 "He grew vicious," said Dr. Ferris. "I don't 
 blame him. Quarrelled fearfully with his father, 
 dropped into all sorts of evil ways and companion- 
 ship all my fault, every bit of it and finally dis- 
 appeared completely out of the station to which he 
 had been born. I had reason until the other day to 
 believe that he was dead. Then I saw him." 
 
 There was quite a long silence. The fire burned 
 brightly. Dr. Ferris, greatly agitated by tragic mem- 
 ories, closed his eyes very tightly, as if to shut them 
 out.
 
 i 3 4 THE PENALTY 
 
 "And of course," said Barbara at last, "the small 
 boy is my Mr. Blizzard. Well, what can we do for 
 him?" 
 
 " You owe him nothing," said her father sharply. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Barbara gently, "oh, yes. Your 
 obligations are mine. I shall tell him. It's like 
 owing a frightful sum of money. We can't be happy 
 till we've paid up, can we? You and I? " 
 
 "It seems," said Dr. Ferris, "that I have made two 
 terrible mistakes. And the second is having told you 
 about the first. My God, but this life is hard to 
 bear!" 
 
 "But why what have I said? If there is any- 
 thing we can do for him, we ought to do it." 
 
 "Are you going to say that to him?" 
 
 "Of course," she said. 
 
 "Suppose," said her father, "that in all this world 
 he wanted only one thing you?" 
 
 This suggestion was most unexpected to Barbara 
 and odious. And she said coldly: "I hope he is not 
 quite such a fool." 
 
 "But if he is?" 
 
 " My dear father," said Barbara, " I have been told 
 that somewhere along the Milky Way there is a bridge 
 between stars. Let's cross that when we come to it." 
 
 A footman entered carrying a large pasteboard 
 box on which, in gilt letters, was the name of a Third 
 Avenue florist. But the jonquils in the box were very 
 fresh and lovely. They were, however, unaccompa- 
 nied by a card.
 
 'Some unknown person," said Bar- 
 bara, "has formed the habit of 
 sending me flowers"
 
 THE PENALTY 135 
 
 "Some unknown person," said Barbara, "has 
 formed the habit of sending me flowers." She smiled. 
 "I shall ask my friend, Mr. Harry West," she said, 
 "to find out who it is." 
 
 And then, suddenly, she turned away, so that her 
 father should not see that she was blushing. The 
 thought, not in the least disagreeable, had occurred 
 to her for the first time, that perhaps Mr. Harry 
 West himself was anonymously going down into his 
 pocket for her sweet sake.
 
 XVI 
 
 THE legless man was not in the habit of waiting for 
 things that he wanted, when the chance to take them 
 had come. And he did not propose to endure the 
 torture of sitting perfectly still hour after hour, morn- 
 ing after morning, while any young woman made a 
 bust of him. Yet he allowed a number of mornings 
 to pass without taking any definite steps toward the 
 vengeance which he felt to be so dear to him. 
 
 That Barbara was a high-born lady was the chief 
 obstacle in his plans. If she were to disappear sud- 
 denly out of the world which knew and loved her, 
 there would be raised a hue and outcry greater, per- 
 haps, than his utmost powers and resources could 
 check. He would be run to earth without much 
 doubt and put where even the sweet memory of ven- 
 geance would taste bitter in his mouth. It is perhaps 
 pleasant to pluck the fruits of vengeance, but a man 
 requires time in which to eat and digest them. If 
 they are snatched from his hand the moment they 
 are picked, his vengeance fails of all sweetness and 
 justification. 
 
 On the other hand, Blizzard, in order to revenge 
 himself on the man who had maimed him, was willing 
 to give, if not his liberty, his life. 
 
 136
 
 THE PENALTY 137 
 
 If he could not abduct Barbara and go free, he 
 would kill himself when they came to take him. But 
 he did not wish to kill himself. He wished to live a 
 long time after, gloating on his memories. He had 
 also on foot a scheme which, starting almost as a 
 pleasantry, had developed in his mind, and was still 
 developing, until its latent possibilities staggered his 
 own imagination. 
 
 A certain Jew, proprietor of a pawnshop, was in 
 reality a receiver of stolen goods. It was common 
 knowledge among certain crooks in the city, that the 
 recently stolen Bland diamonds had come into this 
 man's hands. Blizzard thought that it would be 
 funny to take these diamonds away from the Jew, 
 hold them for a while, and then, since the fellow was 
 after all a friend, return them. To break into Reich- 
 man's store at night would be dangerous. Reichman 
 himself was no coward, and he employed a savage 
 night-watchman, just out of Sing Sing. So Blizzard 
 planned a robbery in a spirit of farce, and in the 
 broad and crowded light of day. 
 
 Six stalwart young fellows entered Reichman's 
 pawnshop at eleven-thirty in the morning. Each one 
 had a watch or an overcoat to pawn. They crowded 
 about Reichman, all talking at once. They were 
 strangers to him. At exactly the same time the atten- 
 tion of the six policemen on the six nearest beats was 
 attracted by the drunken and disorderly behavior of 
 six more stalwart young fellows one to each police- 
 man. In the end six arrests were made, the six
 
 138 THE PENALTY 
 
 young drunkards were marched off to the station 
 house, and the beats of the six policemen were for 
 the time being deserted. 
 
 Sharp at eleven-thirty-seven, five of the six young 
 men in Reichman's shop flung an overcoat over his 
 head and rushed him into a dark corner, choking 
 him so that he could not scream. A person in the 
 street, however, saw the struggle, and rushed off to 
 find the nearest policeman, who of course could not 
 be found. Meanwhile the sixth young man ran 
 lightly upstairs, looked under the mattress of the 
 palatial Reichman bed, where he had been told to 
 look, and secured the stolen diamonds. The farce 
 came to a proper conclusion. Reichman could not 
 complain to the police that he had been robbed of 
 stolen goods. And he went about for many days 
 with a sour face. 
 
 Blizzard came every day to condole with him, and 
 finally to return the diamonds. Then he told Reich- 
 man, a man he could trust, how the robbery had been 
 worked, and the two put their heads together. 
 
 If six policemen could be so easily put out of com- 
 mission at a given moment, why not many? If a 
 pawnshop could be so easily looted, why not Tiffany's, 
 or one of the great wholesale jewellers in Maiden 
 Lane? Why not the Sub-Treasury? 
 
 In Blizzard's mind the idea became an obsession; 
 and he worked out schemes, in all their details; only 
 to think of something bigger and more engaging. 
 One or two details were present in all his plans: a
 
 THE PENALTY 139 
 
 hiding-place for the treasure when he should get it, 
 and a large number of lieutenants whom he could 
 trust. He could, he believed, at the least throw the 
 whole city into a state of chaos for a few hours for 
 half a day for a whole day. And during that period 
 of lawless confusion anything might happen to any- 
 body to Barbara for instance. But his plans were 
 not ripe, nor his trusted lieutenants as yet sufficient 
 in number. He must therefore either put off his 
 vengeance indefinitely, or run the risk of having his 
 own career as a criminal come to a very sudden 
 end. For once in his life he vacillated. But it was 
 something more than the desire for vengeance 
 which decided him to risk everything on immediate 
 action. 
 
 His plan was very simple. Sometimes a messenger- 
 boy brought a note to her studio. And Blizzard had 
 observed that Barbara's invariable habit with notes 
 was first to read them, and then to burn them. She 
 never tore them into pieces and threw them into the 
 fireplace. She struck a match, lighted them at one 
 corner, and saw to it that they were entirely con- 
 sumed. When Barbara had finished with a note, or 
 a circular, or a letter, Sherlock Holmes himself could 
 not have recovered the contents or the name of the 
 sender. Banking on this habit, Blizzard wrote Bar- 
 bara a note and sent it to her father's house by a man 
 he could trust. She received the note at six o'clock, 
 while she was resting prior to dressing and dining out. 
 It read as follows:
 
 140 THE PENALTY 
 
 8 1 Marrow Lane. 
 DEAR Miss FERRIS: 
 
 My affairs don't seem to be prospering here, so I am 
 going away. I am sorry the Bust isn't finished. You will 
 be disappointed. I am leaving at 8 o'clock for the West. 
 I have enjoyed sitting for you. I wish you all the success 
 and happiness you deserve. 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 BLIZZARD. 
 
 Her mind working very rapidly, Barbara rose at 
 once, and quite unconsciously, so strong was habit 
 in her, struck a match, set the beggar's note on fire, 
 threw it into the fireplace, and watched it burn to 
 ashes. On the way to the fireplace she pressed a 
 button to summon her maid. When this one came, 
 Barbara, already out of her dressing-gown, spoke 
 imperatively: 
 
 "I am going out. I want a taxi called at once. 
 Then come back and help me dress." 
 
 But when the maid returned there was little for 
 her to do. Barbara was in a hurry. 
 
 She found a taxi waiting at the door. She glanced 
 at the driver he was not one of those who usually 
 drove her. 
 
 "Do you know where Marrow Lane is?" 
 
 "Is it near the Brooklyn Bridge, miss?" 
 
 "I think so. Marrow Lane, No. 81. You can 
 make inquiries. Hurry." 
 
 The strange driver drove skilfully and swiftly down 
 the avenue. Two thoughts occupied him: the beauty
 
 THE PENALTY 141 
 
 of his fare, and the docility with which she came to 
 the master's hand when he called. 
 
 In Barbara's mind there was but one thought: not 
 that she was going to visit a disreputable man in a 
 disreputable part of the city, but that she was going 
 to keep that man hi the city and finish her bust of 
 him, or know the reason why. Fame was in her 
 grasp. She felt astonishingly sure of that. She was 
 not going to let it escape for a mere matter of conven- 
 tion. It had been her first idea to send Blizzard a 
 note by messenger. But she had more confidence in 
 her personal powers of persuasion. If her model 
 needed money or was in some scrape that could be 
 righted by money and influence, she believed that 
 she could keep him in New York. 
 
 It was not yet dark, but all the city lamps were 
 lighted, and the East Side had that atmosphere of 
 care-free gayety habitual to it after business hours 
 when the weather is rainless and warm. The taxi- 
 cab moved slowly, because the children had over- 
 flowed the sidewalks and played games which kept 
 them in blissful danger of their lives. Twice the taxi 
 stopped. Instantly a crowd gathered about it, and 
 Barbara became an embarrassed but amused centre 
 of criticism and admiration. 
 
 It became dark. The streets were less crowded. 
 There were fewer lights. There was an unpleasant 
 smell of old fish and garbage. The people Barbara 
 now observed seemed each and all intent upon some- 
 thing or other. They were not merely loafing in the
 
 i 4 2 THE PENALTY 
 
 pure evening air, but hurrying. There were no more 
 children. The taxi passed slowly (because of the un- 
 even pavement) through a short, narrow street. The 
 few lights in this street were nearly all red. 
 
 Save for the light in Blizzard's manufactory, Mar- 
 row Lane was dark and deserted. For some reason 
 or other the city lights had gone out, or had been 
 passed over by the lamplighter. 
 
 Through the glazed door Barbara saw the vast 
 black shadow of Blizzard's profile on the white wall 
 of his office. There was no bell. She turned the 
 knob and pushed open the door. A bell clanged al- 
 most in her ear with fierce suddenness. It was like 
 an alarm. Her heart beat the quicker for it; the 
 number of her respirations increased. She was sorry 
 that she had come. She was frightened; still she 
 stepped through the door- way, and called in her clear, 
 resolute voice: 
 
 "Mr. Blizzard! It's Miss Ferris." 
 
 His vast shadow remained motionless like a stain 
 on the wall. And for a moment he did not answer. 
 Could she have seen his face itself, instead of only its 
 shadow, she must have turned with a cry of fear and 
 found that the door which had closed behind her, 
 clanging its bell, was locked, and that there was no 
 escape that way. 
 
 If she had turned her head she must have seen that 
 her taxi had gone quietly away. 
 
 In the dim light she looked wonderfully young 
 and beautiful. The parted opera-cloak disclosed her
 
 
 In the dim light she looked wonder- 
 fully young and beautiful
 
 THE PENALTY 143 
 
 round straight throat and the broad smooth modelling 
 of the neck from which it rose. She seemed taller 
 and more stately than in street-dress, and at once 
 younger, more defenceless, more virginal. There was 
 not enough light in the place to bring out the con- 
 trasting colors of her hair. She looked like a black- 
 haired beauty with ivory-white skin, instead of an 
 amber, red, and brown beauty, with rosy, brown skin. 
 Her head, small, round, and carried very high, lent 
 her an air of extraordinary breeding and distinction. 
 She had no thought for the short rose-brocade train 
 of her dinner-dress, and let it trail over the dirty 
 floor. 
 
 "Mr. Blizzard!" 
 
 This time he answered. It sounded less like a 
 voice than the hoarse bass croak of a very enormous 
 bull-frog. 
 
 "Please step this way." 
 
 Her head, if anything, a little higher than ever, she 
 walked swiftly forward right into the legless man's 
 office. 
 
 His face was very white, swollen, it looked, and 
 blotched with purple. The veins in his forehead 
 looked like mountain ranges on a topographical map. 
 
 "I've only a minute," said Barbara. 
 
 He lowered his head now over his ledger, but said 
 nothing. Then he looked up and into her face 
 steadily, and one by one the purple blotches in his 
 own face paled, and vanished, like the extinguishing 
 of as many hellish lights. And then to Barbara's hor-
 
 i 4 4 THE PENALTY 
 
 ror a low groan, more like a dog's than a man's, 
 passed his tightly pressed lips, came out, and was 
 cut short off, as if with a keen knife. 
 
 "Are you sick?" she asked, not kindly, but im- 
 peratively and with a tone, perhaps, of disgust. 
 
 "Yes," said the legless man briefly, but without 
 going into any explanation of his ailment. "You 
 came to tell me that I mustn't go away till the bust 
 is finished. Is that it?" 
 
 Barbara felt more at her ease. "Yes," she said, 
 "I am selfish about it. It means so much to me." 
 
 "Well, you needn't have come," said Blizzard, and 
 it was almost as if he was angry with her for having 
 done so. "I've changed my plans. I've had to 
 change them. I stay." 
 
 Barbara was immensely pleased. "I wish I could 
 tell you how glad I am," she said. 
 
 "The thing now," said Blizzard, "is to get you 
 back to your house. You shouldn't have come to 
 this part of the city at all; and especially not dressed 
 like that. But you didn't stop to think. You had 
 an idea in your head. And you came. Did anybody 
 know where you were going when you left home?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "Something dreadful might have happened to you," 
 he said, and a curious smile played about his mouth 
 for a moment, "and no one the wiser. Suppose you 
 hadn't found me here to look after you? Suppose 
 you'd found some drunken crook just out of Sing 
 Sing, or something worse? "
 
 THE PENALTY 145 
 
 "But I did find you," said Barbara, "and all is 
 well." 
 
 "Yes yes," he said, "all is well. And you may 
 thank your stars for that. Why didn't you tell your 
 taxi to wait?" 
 
 "But I did." 
 
 Again the curious smile flickered about the legless 
 man's mouth. "Well, he's gone." 
 
 Barbara followed the lead of Blizzard's eyes, and 
 saw that the street in front of his manufactory was 
 empty. He reached for his crutches, and swung him- 
 self down from his chair. 
 
 "Perhaps he's dropped down to Jake's saloon. 
 Wait here. I'll see." 
 
 The bell of the outer door clanged with horrid sud- 
 denness. And then she heard a piercing loud whistle 
 twice repeated. And a few moments later the sound 
 of a motor. 
 
 "All right, Miss Ferris, I've got him." 
 
 She drew her cloak together, and joined the legless 
 man on the sidewalk. 
 
 "Thank you very much," she said, "and good-by 
 till to-morrow." 
 
 The taxicab driver's face had no expression what- 
 ever. He who understood driving so well could not 
 make out what the master was driving at. 
 
 Blizzard held open the door of the taxi, and Bar- 
 bara got in. But he did not at once close the door. 
 Instead he turned his head and looked up the street. 
 Then he called out sharply:
 
 i 4 6 THE PENALTY 
 
 "Hurry up! Can't you see the lady's waiting." 
 
 One came, running; a tall well-built youth, with an 
 expression on his face of cool, cynical courage and 
 good humor. 
 
 "Miss Ferris," said Blizzard, "this young fellow will 
 ride in with you if you don't mind. You can drop 
 him when you get out of the East Side, and reach your 
 own part of the city. He will see that no harm comes 
 to you. If you ask him questions he will answer 
 them. Otherwise he will not speak unless you wish." 
 
 The youth grinned a little sheepishly, and Barbara 
 made room for him on the seat beside her. 
 
 "He will answer for your safety," continued the 
 legless man, "with his ears. Where to?" 
 
 She gave the number of the house at which she was 
 to dine, and the legless man repeated it to the driver. 
 
 "Good-night, Mr. Blizzard, and thank you." 
 
 " Good-night, Miss Ferris, and welcome." 
 
 The legless man watched the taxicab until it had 
 rounded the corner of Marrow Lane. Then he looked 
 upward at the stars for a while. Then he swung 
 slowly and wearily back into his rookery, and having 
 extinguished the light, sat for a long time in the dark. 
 
 What was it that had come over the man to let his 
 victim escape when she was so mercilessly in his 
 power? Ask the stars to which he turned. Ask the 
 darkness in which he sits, alone, thinking. Better, 
 perhaps, ask the man's warped and tormented soul. 
 
 It seems that while he sat in his office waiting for 
 her, a champion rose up to defend her, a champion in
 
 He turned with one foot on the side- 
 walk, and one in the cab. . . . 
 "Here I wishes you salutations . . ."
 
 THE PENALTY 147 
 
 his own heart. A champion who made such head- 
 way against the brute's lawless and beastly intention 
 as to overthrow it. 
 
 Blizzard was in the power of that which all his 
 mature life he had feared more than hanging or the 
 electric chair, more even than prisons. He had fallen 
 quietly, even gently, in love. 
 
 "I'm not going to ask you any questions," said 
 Barbara, "because I don't think of any. But if you 
 like to talk, please do." 
 
 Without comment or preamble the youth who was 
 to answer for her safety with his ears, began to 
 talk. 
 
 "Might have knocked me over with a feather," he 
 said, " to find a lady like you sitting in a cab in front 
 o' Blizzard's place. At first look I says to myself: 
 'One o' these high-fliers I've heard talk about that 
 likes to fly low.' Then I flings your eyes one pene- 
 trating peep, and says to myself: "Spect she ain't 
 one o' that kind.' And I make out just this about 
 you that you're 0. K. from A to Xylophone, and I 
 takes this opportunity to remark aloud to myself that 
 I don't know what your game is, and it's none o' my 
 haterogeneous business, but if I was you I'd cut 
 Marrow Lane out o' my itenerary, and stay home 
 nights playin' a quiet rubber o' tiddle winks-the- 
 barber." 
 
 Barbara laughed gayly. "Everybody," she said, 
 "thinks that my friend, Mr. Blizzard, is a very bad
 
 148 THE PENALTY 
 
 man. But he does nothing to prove it. He has 
 been very considerate of me in every way." 
 
 "Did I say anything against Blizzard? You'll tell 
 him I did? Not you. And I did not. If it wasn't 
 for him, I says, Marrow Lane would be hell's kitchen, 
 and on the chanct that he ain't always going to be 
 on the spot, nor me, cut it out, I says. But," con- 
 tinued the talkative youth, "in case you don't cut it 
 out, in case you're ever in trouble down our way you 
 take this," bluntly he handed her a small, dark metal 
 whistle, "and blow her good. I knows the note, and 
 if my ears is on the job, you gets help. You gets it 
 sudden. You gets it good. And here, without fear 
 or comment, I leaves you." 
 
 He signalled to the driver to stop. They had 
 reached the southern boundary of Washington Square. 
 Barbara held out her hand. She was greatly taken 
 with her escort. 
 
 "And whom," she said, "am I thanking for the 
 whistle?" 
 
 "Kid Shannon." 
 
 "Don't tell me," said Barbara, "that you're the 
 man who put Hook Hammersley out in the third!" 
 
 "A right to the solar plexus," said Kid Shannon 
 simply, "to bring him in range and a left to the jaw. 
 Even his friends admits that he begun to take his 
 gloves off while he was still in the air. But I'm in the 
 saloon business now, if it's all the same to you, having 
 been light-weight champion, and spoke a monologue 
 over three circuits nice-behaved ladies and gentle-
 
 D 
 
 Wilmot Allen took her into dinner, 
 and looked much love at her, and 
 talked much nonsense
 
 THE PENALTY 149 
 
 men o' both sexes always welcome, pay as you con- 
 sume; but for you or any friends o' yours the drinks 
 will be on the house." 
 
 He turned with one foot on the sidewalk, and one 
 in the cab. 
 
 "Lady," he said, "what I've poured in jest, drink 
 in earnest. All that's yellow isn't butter. But if 
 anybody was to ask you say, a man who shall be as 
 nameless as he is legless what I says to you during 
 our discursive promenaid, you answer back and say, 
 'Kid Shannon, whenever I speaks to him, merely says, 
 "Ha! Hum!" or words to that effect. 9 Here I wishes 
 you salutations, and may your life contain nothing 
 but times when you looks and feels your best." 
 
 Barbara shook hands with him again. "Come to 
 17 McBurney Place," she said, "some morning. Ask 
 for Miss Ferris, and see what you think of the bust 
 she's making of Mr. Blizzard." She smiled mis- 
 chievously. "He's supposed to represent the devil 
 just after falling into hell." 
 
 Shannon nodded with complete understanding. 
 "Then," said he, "I bet he looks a ringer for Hook 
 Hammersley that time he hit the resin." 
 
 "Thank you for protecting me," said Barbara, 
 "and for the whistle. Will you tell the man to 
 hurry, please? Thank you! Good-by." 
 
 She was very late to her dinner, but much too 
 amused with recent events to care. And nobody 
 could have made her believe that her going to Bliz- 
 zard's place had been fraught with terrible peril.
 
 150 THE PENALTY 
 
 She prized the whistle that Kid Shannon had given 
 her, and resolved that some time she would advent- 
 ure again into his part of the city, and see if she 
 could bring him running to her side. 
 
 "I am sorry I am late," said Barbara, "but I 
 couldn't help it." She vouchsafed no further ex- 
 planation, and because she was so young and beauti- 
 ful all those who had been kept waiting forgave her. 
 
 Wilmot Allen took her in to dinner, and looked 
 much love at her, and talked much nonsense. He 
 was, indeed, so gay and foolish that she imagined that 
 he must have got himself into trouble again.
 
 XVII 
 
 BLIZZARD was an acute student of human nature. 
 And a certain softening in Barbara's manner toward 
 him was proof that she had learned his story from 
 her father, and no longer regarded him as a stranger 
 off the streets, but as a human being definitely con- 
 nected with her outlook upon life. Still, the sugges- 
 tion that their relations had changed did not come 
 from him, for he knew that pity or sympathy given 
 by request lacks the potency of that which is spon- 
 taneously offered. So he held his peace in order that 
 Barbara might be the first to speak, and during those 
 days his heart became filled with mad hopes for the 
 future. 
 
 - Upon one thing he was determined, that when in 
 the course of events Barbara should touch upon her 
 father's criminal mistake, he would conceal, as some- 
 thing precious from a thief, the hatred and vengeful- 
 ness that were in him, and unroll for her benefit a 
 character noble and forgiving. He was content, or 
 appeared content, day after day, for a number of 
 hours, to be with her, and to play the hypocrite so 
 ably as to defy detection. 
 
 And Barbara, knowing how the man had been 
 abused, guessing how he must have suffered, and still
 
 152 THE PENALTY 
 
 suffered, came to look upon him, not indeed as upon 
 a person wholly noble, but as upon one who, with an 
 impulse in the right direction, had in him possibilities 
 of great nobility. 
 
 Just as a fine motor-car, perfect in mechanism, 
 punctures a tire and is stalled by the side of the road, 
 so works of genius like Barbara's head of Blizzard do 
 not progress in one swift rush from start to finish. 
 There were whole mornings during which it seemed 
 that things went backward instead of forward, and 
 when she was so discouraged that, had it not been for 
 the legless man's almost fiery confidence in her ability 
 to overcome all obstacles, she must have taken a 
 hammer and pounded her fine sketch back into the 
 lump of clay from which it had been evolved. 
 
 Blizzard's eyes had undergone a most thorough 
 schooling. They had learned, to the flicker of an 
 eyelid, when Barbara was going to look their way, 
 and at such times were careful not to meet her eyes. 
 When, however, they knew her to be intent for a 
 period upon the work and not the model, they studied 
 her always with zest, and always with more and more 
 understanding. 
 
 Suddenly, one day, after he had been sitting mo- 
 tionless for half an hour, the beggar broke his pose. 
 
 "Please don't," she said. "I'm not through." 
 
 In his eyes, soft and full of understanding, there 
 was a gentle, if masterful, smiling. "Yes, you are," 
 he said, "for now. I haven't watched you at work 
 all these mornings without learning something about
 
 THE PENALTY 153 
 
 the way you go at it. Do you know what a blind 
 alley is?" 
 
 "Yes," she said petulantly, "and I'm in one." 
 
 "Quite so," said Blizzard. "And you're not taking 
 the right way out. First you tried to climb up the 
 house on the right, then the house on the left, and 
 when I interrupted you, you were making a sixth 
 effort to shin up the lightning-rod of the house that 
 blocks the alley." 
 
 Barbara laughed. "But," she objected, "I've got 
 to get out somehow or fake or call the thing a 
 fiasco, and give it up." 
 
 "Of course you've got to get out," said Blizzard, 
 "and it's very simple." 
 
 "Simple!" she exclaimed; "a lot you know about 
 it." 
 
 "Quite simple," he repeated; "you merely face 
 about and walk out. In other words, remove that 
 lump of mud which one day is going to be more like 
 my ear than my ear itself, and begin over." 
 
 And it came home to Barbara that the man was 
 right. "Thank you," she said simply. "You're a 
 great help. That is precisely what I shall do." 
 
 "But don't do it now." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because you've wasted the freshness of your 
 early-morning zeal with vain efforts. Destroy what 
 you've done there's always satisfaction in that; but 
 either leave the re-doing alone for to-day, or try some- 
 thing else."
 
 154 THE PENALTY 
 
 "When," said Barbara, beginning to feel soothed 
 and confident again, "did I put myself in your hands 
 for guidance?" 
 
 "The moment you lost your presence of mind," 
 said the beggar; "that's when a woman always puts 
 herself in a man's hands. Put a cloth over his satanic 
 majesty's portrait, and sit down and relax your mus- 
 cles, and talk to the devil himself." 
 
 Barbara did as he commanded with the expression 
 of a biddable child. She flung herself into a deep 
 chair, and drew a long, care-free breath. 
 
 "There," she said, "I knew I wasn't fit." 
 
 "You can't spend the night at a Country Club, 
 dance till 4 A. M., catch the 7 A. M. for town, and 
 do good work not always." 
 
 "How did you know all that?" 
 
 Blizzard laughed. "From a man," said he, "who 
 had planned to rob the Meadowbrook Club last night. 
 There is a fine haul of scarf-pins, and sleeve-links, and 
 watches and money in the bachelors' quarters. He 
 came to me in great dejection and explained what 
 very hard luck he had had. He said the whole place 
 was lit up and full of people and music, and no chance 
 for an honest man to earn a cent. I happened to ask 
 if you were there, and he said you were. The train 
 was a guess, and so of course was the 4 A. M. Will 
 you take a piece of well-meant advice? Either be a 
 society girl or a sculptor. But don't burn the candle 
 at both ends. You even look tired, and that's non- 
 sense at your age."
 
 THE PENALTY 155 
 
 He laughed like a boy. 
 
 "They tell me," he said, "that I could do the new 
 dances. They tell me they are just like clinches in a 
 prize-fight, and that only the novices move their feet." 
 
 Barbara's brows contracted. "I'm going to ask 
 you a favor," she said. "If you want to talk about 
 your misfortune, God knows I'm ready to listen. I 
 feel some of the responsibility. But please don't joke 
 about it. We're friends, I think. And I like to for- 
 get that you're not exactly like other people. And 
 sometimes I do." 
 
 "Truly?" His eyes were full of suppressed eager- 
 ness and elation. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "when you talk high-mindedly 
 and generously, as you can, when you want to, I 
 enjoy being with you, in touch with a mind so much 
 more knowing and able than my own. But, now 
 we've made a beginning, I'd really like to talk about 
 all this dreadful mess that's been made of your life, 
 and how things can be made easier for you, and for 
 my father." 
 
 Figuratively, Buzzard's tongue went into his cheek 
 at the mention of Dr. Ferris, but the expression of his 
 face underwent no change. "Of course," he said 
 simply, as if it was the most natural thing in the 
 world, "I have forgiven your father. He was very 
 young very excitable inexperienced." 
 
 " Actually," she said, "in your heart, you've for- 
 given him? And you're not saying things just to 
 make me comfortable?"
 
 156 THE PENALTY 
 
 "I am afraid," he confessed, "that I am too selfish 
 to say or do things just to make other people com- 
 fortable. Did you ever hate anybody?" 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 "Did you like it?" 
 
 "For a while it was rather fun to think up things to 
 do to the person, and then it got to be disagreeable, 
 and feverish, like a cut that's festered, and then I 
 made a strong effort, and found that hating was very 
 poor company and led nowhere." 
 
 "Exactly," said the beggar. "Do you mind if I 
 talk frankly? My hatred for your father persisted 
 a great many years, until I found that going to bed 
 with it every night and getting up with it every morn- 
 ing was a slow poison that was affecting all the rest 
 of me my power to think out a line of action, my 
 power to stick to it, even my power to like people 
 that were good to me and faithful to my interests. 
 I found that I was beginning to hate everybody and 
 everything in the world and the world itself. Mean- 
 while, Miss Barbara, I did things that can never be 
 undone." 
 
 He was silent, and appeared to be turning over the 
 leaves in the books of his memory. Suddenly he 
 spoke again. 
 
 "And it was all so silly," he said, "so futile. The 
 cure was in my head all the time just longing to be 
 used. And fool that I was, I didn't know it." 
 
 "What was the cure?" 
 
 "It was the sovereign cure for all our troubles,
 
 THE PENALTY 157 
 
 Miss Barbara reason, and crowds. Stand morning 
 or evening at the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge 
 stand there with your trouble, and consider that 
 among the passers, better carried than yours, are 
 troubles, far, far greater than yours, more poignant, 
 lives lived in dungeons deeper and more dark. Your 
 father has lived a life of most admirable utility: should 
 he be hated for one mistake? Suppose that it had 
 been some other small boy's legs that he wasted, 
 instead of mine? Would I hate him for it? Why, 
 no. I'd say it's too bad. But since it was I that lost 
 the legs I lost all sense of proportion and justice and 
 was a long time a long time coming back to it." 
 "May I know what brought you round?" 
 The beggar felt that he might dare a little. He 
 smiled. "Of course. What brought me around was 
 the discovery that he had created something far, far 
 more important than what he had destroyed. At 
 first I thought you were like so many other girls of 
 your class well dressed, and good to look at. Then 
 that you had a very genuine talent, and were going 
 to count in the world. Then, and this is best, it came 
 over me that you were one girl in a million that you 
 would do whatever seemed right to you, not without 
 fear of criticism, and pain and sacrifice, but regard- 
 less of them. And so, you see, the reparation is made. 
 The father hurt, and the daughter cured." 
 
 Barbara's face had become very grave. "However 
 wrong you are about my character," she said, "the 
 reparation is not yet made. And you may be sure of
 
 i 5 8 THE PENALTY 
 
 this that, whatever the criticism, I owe you friend- 
 ship and you shall have it." 
 
 The beggar trembled inwardly, but he shook his 
 head. "You could hardly pull me up to a level," he 
 said, "upon which friendship between us would be 
 possible. Imagine that I have sunk to the chin in 
 mud, and that at the last time of calling I have been 
 pulled out. Still the mud clings to me." 
 
 "Nonsense," said Barbara, "you can be washed." 
 
 They both laughed, and at once became grave 
 again. 
 
 "You don't know," he said, "what I've been or 
 what I've done. You can't even imagine." 
 
 "That is not the point," said Barbara, "and this 
 is: Are you sorry? If you really have been rotten, 
 do you want to be sound and fine? If you do I'm 
 your friend, and whatever help I can give you, you 
 shall have." 
 
 "If you knew," he said humbly, "how I dread the 
 bust being finished! I'll be like a child stealing a ride 
 by the strength of his arms, I'll have to drop off 
 then won't I? back into the mud. " 
 
 "I'm not offering you friendship," she said, "merely 
 while you are useful to me. Do well, Mr. Blizzard, 
 and do good, and I will always be your friend." 
 
 "Do you believe that I want to do well, that I 
 want to do good? That I want to wipe the past from 
 the slate?" 
 
 "You have only to tell me," she said loyally, "and 
 I shall believe."
 
 THE PENALTY 159 
 
 "Then I tell you," he said, and Barbara jumped 
 impulsively to her feet and shook hands with him. 
 
 "And I may come to you," he pleaded, "for advice, 
 and help? Old habits are hard to shake. My friends 
 are thieves, crooks, and grafters. My sources of in- 
 come are not clean. Even now I have dishonest irons 
 in the fire. Shall I pull them out? " 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "But people who have trusted me will be hurt." 
 
 "You must work those problems out in your own 
 conscience." 
 
 To Blizzard, believing that he was actually making 
 progress into the fastnesses of her heart, and that he 
 might in time gain his ends by propinquity and his 
 own undeniable force and personality, a sudden, 
 cheeky knocking upon the door proved intensely irri- 
 tating. It was a very small messenger-boy with a 
 box of jonquils. Blizzard watched very closely the 
 expression of Barbara's face while she opened the 
 box. She held up the flowers for him to see. 
 
 "Aren't they pretty?" she said. 
 
 "They are very pretty," said Blizzard, and he 
 found it difficult to control his voice. "And it was 
 very sweet of him to send them. Isn't that the rest 
 of the speech?" 
 
 "Of course," said Barbara gayly. 
 
 She lifted the flowers until the lower half of her 
 face was hidden. 
 
 "Mr. Allen, I suppose," said the beggar. 
 
 "Why should you suppose that?" said Barbara, a 
 little coldly. "There is no card."
 
 160 THE PENALTY 
 
 Blizzard felt his mistake. And Barbara felt that 
 he felt it. She went into the next room for a vase of 
 water, and returned presently with heightened color. 
 She had heard Harry West's slow grave voice ex- 
 plaining something to Bubbles. Her heart told her 
 that West had sent the flowers, and she meant to get 
 rid of Blizzard and find out. So, the vase of flowers 
 in one hand, she held out the other to him, and said: 
 
 "To-morrow." 
 
 Blizzard was loath to go, but he felt that there was 
 a certain finality in her voice, and he swung out of 
 the studio, his heart gnawed with jealousy.
 
 XVIII 
 
 THROUGH Bubbles, Harry West received the happy 
 news that Miss Ferris wished to speak with him. 
 But when he saw her with the vase of jonquils in 
 her hand, and the empty box in which they had come 
 at her feet, his stout heart failed him a little. 
 
 "Mr. West," said Barbara, "some person is annoy- 
 ing me." 
 
 "Annoying you?" 
 
 "I am continually receiving flowers without card or 
 comment." 
 
 "Is it the flowers which annoy you or the lack of 
 comment?" 
 
 "I love the flowers, but anything in the shape of 
 anonymity is unfair, and I resent it." 
 
 "I can think of cases," said West, "in which a 
 man might properly send flowers without disclosing 
 his identity just as I may pass a fine statue and 
 praise it, without telling the statue who I am." He 
 smiled. 
 
 "Flowers don't resemble statues in the least, and 
 your comparison is unnaturally far-fetched. Another 
 thing, and this annoys me even more: my secretive 
 friend sends flowers from the cheapest florist he can 
 find. I argue from this that he is poor, and cannot 
 afford to send me flowers at all." 
 
 161
 
 162 THE PENALTY 
 
 "Perhaps his home and business in the city are too 
 far from the Fifth Avenue shops." 
 
 "You are not saying gallant things, Mr. West. I 
 an unprotected young woman tell you that I am 
 being annoyed by a strange man. Instead of flying 
 into a chivalrous rage and threatening to wring his 
 neck when you catch him, you stand up for him. 
 Very well. I shall set Bubbles to find out who the 
 man is, and take my own steps in the matter." 
 
 Her expression was grave and unruffled, though a 
 certain look of amusement might have been detected 
 in her eyes, by a youth less embarrassed than Mr. 
 West was. 
 
 "Don't do that," he said; "Bubbles could never 
 find out. You wish to know who is sending you 
 flowers?" 
 
 "Very much. Can you find out? " 
 
 "I think so. I mean, I'm sure I can." 
 
 "And when you have found him will you point out 
 to him that in the future he must be open and above- 
 board, or something disagreeable will be done to 
 him?" 
 
 Mr. West bowed humbly. 
 
 "How long," she asked, "will it take you to run 
 the creature down? " 
 
 "Well," said Mr. West, "I could go to the florist 
 whose name is on the box, show my badge, and exact 
 a description of the man who bought the flowers. 
 Then I could give you the description, and if you 
 knew any such man "
 
 He saw her with the vase of jonquils 
 in her hand . . . and his stout 
 heart failed him a little
 
 THE PENALTY 163 
 
 "The florist," said Barbara, her expression Sphinx- 
 like, "is just 'round the corner." 
 
 "I hear," said Mr. West, "and I obey." 
 
 "I will read a book till you come back," said Bar- 
 bara. 
 
 But she didn't read a book; she leaned instead 
 from a window and watched for Mr. West to come 
 out of the studio-building. He came presently, but 
 did not turn east in search of the florist. Neither 
 did he descend the steps. Instead, he took out his 
 watch and sat down, and waited. Barbara in great 
 glee watched him for ten minutes. She was possessed 
 of a devilish longing to fashion out of paper a small 
 water-bomb and drop it on his head. Memories of 
 water-bombs brought up memories of Wilmot Allen 
 and old days. She drew back from the window and 
 was no longer gleeful. Why should men trouble her 
 heart, since she wished and had elected to live, not a 
 woman's life but a man's? She paced the studio, 
 her soul at odds with the rest of her. 
 
 Had she ever encouraged Wilmot? Yes. West? 
 Yes. And about a dozen others. And here she 
 struck her left palm with her right fist. She had even 
 encouraged a man who had committed all the crimes 
 in the calendar and was only half a man at that! 
 Half a man? She was not sure. There was a cer- 
 tain compelling force about him which at times made 
 him seem more of a man to her than all the rest of 
 them put together. "I can't imagine him in love," 
 she thought. "It's really too revolting. But if he
 
 164 THE PENALTY 
 
 was, I can imagine nothing that he would let stand 
 in his way. I wonder if he is married. And if he is 
 I pity her. And yet she could say to other women, 
 'My husband is a man,' and most of the women I 
 know can't say that." 
 
 And she remembered her father's perfectly ridic- 
 ulous suggestion that perhaps the man so wronged by 
 him had lifted his eyes to herself. The idea no longer 
 seemed ridiculous; but quite possible and equally 
 dreadful. She made up her mind that she would 
 sacrifice her immediate chances of recognition and 
 fame and tell the beggar to discontinue his visits. 
 Then she withdrew the cloth from her work, and it 
 seemed to her that what she had made was alive and 
 had about it a certain sublimity, and that to surrender 
 now was beyond her strength. She had a moment of 
 exultation, and she thought: "In a hundred years my 
 body will be dust. It doesn't matter what becomes 
 of it now or hereafter; but people will gather in front 
 of this head, and artists will come from all over the 
 world to see it. And there will be plaster casts of it 
 in city museums and village libraries. And I suppose 
 I'm the most conceited idiot in the world, but but 
 it's good. I know it's good!" 
 
 She had forgotten West, and Allen, and Blizzard, 
 so that when the first-named knocked, she had some 
 ado to come out of the clouds and recall what they 
 had been talking about. Then, not wishing to drive 
 West into a lie, she said only: 
 
 "Have you the man's description?"
 
 THE PENALTY 165 
 
 "He is not," said West gravely, "a man in your 
 station in life. He is, I imagine, some young fellow 
 to whom, in passing, you have been carelessly gra- 
 cious." 
 
 "Is he handsome?" Mischief had returned to her 
 mind. 
 
 "He is only bigger and stronger than usual." 
 
 "Dark or light?" 
 
 "Medium." 
 
 "And how long did it take you to find out all these 
 interesting items?" 
 
 "Twelve minutes," said West gravely. 
 
 "By the clock?" 
 
 "By a dollar watch. . . . Miss Ferris, I haven't 
 done right. I'm not doing right." 
 
 This came very suddenly. He had lowered his fine 
 head and was frowning. 
 
 "I'm the man who's been sending you flowers. I 
 didn't know it was wrong. I'm not a gentleman. 
 But once I'd seen you, I could never see flowers with- 
 out thinking of you, so I kept sending them, hoping 
 that they would give you pleasure for their own sake. 
 I had no business even to look at you. To win the 
 kind of race I'm up against, a man ought to keep his 
 eyes in the boat, and not look right or left till his race 
 is won or lost. And even then it ought to be right 
 or left that he looks, and not up, and certainly not 
 down. I didn't keep my eyes in the boat. I looked 
 up, 'way up, and saw you, and caught a crab that 
 threw the whole boat out of trim. I've no excuse,
 
 166 THE PENALTY 
 
 only this that I haven't ever before even looked 
 right or left or down. But it's all right now. No- 
 body's hurt. I won't come any more to watch over 
 you. The lines are closing round Blizzard, and he 
 knows it. His claws are pulled. He's got to toe a 
 chalk-line, and you're as safe with him as with the 
 Bishop of London." 
 
 Barbara said nothing. She felt very unhappy. 
 
 "One thing more. As long as I did forget the 
 work in hand, as long as I did look up, why, I'd like 
 to thank God, in your presence, that it was you I 
 saw. Because in all the whole world there is nobody 
 so beautiful or so blind." 
 
 He thrust out his hand almost roughly, caught hers, 
 said good-by, and turned to go. 
 
 "Please wait," said Barbara. And she said it quite 
 contrary to reason, which told her that it would be 
 kinder to let the young man go without comments. 
 
 "You've done nothing wrong," she went on, "and 
 I can't help being pleased by the flowers and knowing 
 that you think I am all sorts of things that I'm not. 
 If you really like me a good deal, don't go away look- 
 ing as if the world had come to an end. I think you 
 are a fine person, and I shall always be glad to be 
 your friend." 
 
 There was agony in West's eyes. ' ' My friendship, ' ' 
 he said, "can never be any special pleasure to you. 
 And seeing you even once a year would keep alive 
 things that hurt me, and that never ought to have 
 been born, and that were better dead."
 
 THE PENALTY 167 
 
 "' Faint heart " Barbara began, and could have 
 bitten out her tongue, since she had so often promised 
 herself that she would never again encourage anybody. 
 
 The agony died in Harry West's eyes, and there 
 came instead a look of great gentleness, compassion, 
 and understanding. 
 
 "May I say things to you that are none of my busi- 
 ness?" he asked. She nodded briefly, and he went 
 on: "You mustn't say things like that. You have a 
 race to row, too, but your beautiful eyes are all over 
 the place!" 
 
 "I knew I was a rotter," said Barbara, "but I 
 didn't know it was obvious to everybody." 
 
 "To eyes," said West gently, "in a certain condi- 
 tion lots of things are obvious that other people 
 wouldn't see. May I still say things? " 
 
 "Don't spare me." 
 
 "You love to attract men. And if you happen to 
 hurt them, you think you are a rotter. That isn't 
 true. You're being pulled two ways. Art pulls you 
 one the way you think you want to go and nature 
 pulls you the way you really want to go. Men at- 
 tract you to a certain extent. I can almost feel that 
 and you tire of them, and think it's because you 
 haven't got the capacity for really caring. That isn't 
 true either. You have infinite capacities for caring, 
 but as yet you haven't been attracted to the man 
 you are really going to care for." 
 
 Barbara looked him straight in the eyes. "How 
 do you know I haven't?"
 
 168 THE PENALTY 
 
 He returned the look, as if doubting what he should 
 say or do. Then he drew a deep breath to steady 
 himself. 
 
 "Perhaps you have. But I know very well that 
 it is not the man you think, at this moment. You 
 are in the hunting stage, and you didn't know it. 
 Now that you do know unless I am greatly mistaken 
 I think you will try very hard not to hurt people, 
 not to let them have wild dreams of something doing 
 in the future." 
 
 "But if I really think " 
 
 "Then be secret until you know." 
 
 "And if everything that is me seems to be going 
 out to a certain man 
 
 "Then be secret until it has really gone out to him." 
 
 "I don't know why I let you talk to me like this." 
 
 "There you go again," he said, and she bit her lips. 
 "It is very awful for me," he said, "to think that I 
 have raised my voice in any criticism or disparage- 
 ment of you." 
 
 "Oh, it's all true, and it's all deserved." 
 
 "But you are like that. And all at the same time 
 it's your greatest strength and your greatest weakness, 
 and for the right man, when he comes along, it will 
 be his greatest treasure. ... I don't like to say 
 good-by. It comes hard." 
 
 "If I said, 'Don't say good-by/ would I be break- 
 ing the rules?" 
 
 "Yes," he said, "for I could never be the right 
 man."
 
 When Bubbles had trotted off, she 
 dropped into her chair and cried
 
 THE PENALTY 169 
 
 'Not even if- 
 
 "Not even if and you will have forgotten any 
 kindness that you felt for me, while I am still wondering 
 why the city is so empty, that once seemed so full." 
 
 The tears sprang into Barbara's eyes. "Is there 
 anything about me that you don't know?" she asked 
 bitterly. 
 
 "Oh, yes," he said. 
 
 "Do you know that if you asked me to marry you, 
 I should say yes? " 
 
 "And I know that I am not going to ask you. 
 There are two reasons. You don't love me. And I 
 do love you." 
 
 Her arms dropped limply to her sides. 
 
 "And it shall never be said of me," he said proudly, 
 " that I dragged any one down. . . . Will you promise 
 me something?" 
 
 "If you care to trust me to keep promises or to do 
 anything that's right and honest." 
 
 "Only promise to keep your eyes in the boat. 
 Don't help a poor dog of a man into love with you. 
 And don't help yourself into love with him. When 
 the right man comes along, he will make you love him, 
 and then you will be sure." 
 
 "I will promise," said Barbara simply, "and I never 
 knew how rotten I was. And I'm glad you've told 
 me. If it's any comfort to you you've helped. 
 And nobody ever helped before. I shall always be 
 proud to remember that you loved me. And I'll 
 keep my eyes in the boat."
 
 THE PENALTY 
 
 "And that," said Mr. West, "is where I'll keep 
 mine, only, if it's nothing to you, I'll remember some- 
 times how the moon looked that time I looked up." 
 
 She stood uncertain. 
 
 "It's kind of awkward," he said, "sometimes to 
 make a clean break. Good luck to you. And don't 
 feel sorry about me. And be true to yourself. And 
 if you ever really need me for anything tell Bubbles. 
 He knows where to find me, when anybody does." 
 
 A few minutes later Barbara was asking Bubbles if 
 he happened to know Mr. Harry West's address. 
 
 "He won't be coming back here," she said, "and I 
 want to send him a book." 
 
 "I'll deliver it," said Bubbles. "He don't keep 
 no regular address. You have to catch him on the 
 run." 
 
 "Very well," she said, "take him this, with my 
 very best thanks and my very best wishes." 
 
 And she gave Bubbles a charmingly bound copy of 
 Rostand's "Far-Away Princess," and when Bubbles 
 had trotted off, she dropped into her chair and cried 
 because she thought she had broken poor West's 
 heart. But there was stern stuff in his heart, and 
 exultation, for he knew that in the supreme test of 
 his life, he had thought only of her.
 
 XIX 
 
 "THERE, everything is understood," said Blizzard; 
 "we are agreed upon the i$th of next January. And 
 you can bring enough men on from the West to do 
 the work?" 
 
 O'Hagan, thick-set, black, bristling, nodded across 
 the table. "You have guaranteed the money and 
 the hats," he said; "I will guarantee the men. 
 What's behind that door?" 
 
 "Nothing but a junk-closet," said Blizzard. 
 "Drink something." 
 
 O'Hagan poured three fingers of dark whiskey into 
 a short glass and drank it at one gulp. "After that 
 one," he said, "the wagon until the i5th." 
 
 "Yes," said Blizzard with some grimness. "There 
 must be no frolicking. And mind this, Jimmie: the 
 more good American citizens who don't speak Eng- 
 lish that you can corral the better. We don't want 
 intelligence. We want blind obedience with a hope 
 of gain. And they mustn't know what they are to 
 do till it's time to do it. They should begin to come 
 into the city by the middle of December, a few at a 
 time. Let 'em come to me half a dozen at once for 
 money, weapons, and orders." 
 
 Again O'Hagan nodded. This time he rose, and 
 the two shook hands across the table. O'Hagan 
 
 171
 
 i 7 2 THE PENALTY 
 
 seemed to labor under a certain emotion; but Bliz- 
 zard was calm. 
 
 "Keep me posted," he said, "and for God's sake, 
 Jimmie, cut out the little things. You're in big now. 
 Forget your troubles and your wrongs. Leave liquor 
 alone and dynamite. Remember that on the i5th 
 of next January you and I'll be square at last with 
 law and order and oppression. Good luck to you!" 
 
 When O'Hagan had gone Blizzard moved his chair 
 so that it faced the door of the junk-closet. And he 
 smiled occasionally as if he were one of an audience 
 at some diverting play. From time to time he took 
 a drink of whiskey and licked his lips. An hour 
 passed, two hours, and always the legless man kept 
 his agate eyes upon the closet door. 
 
 When two hours and fifteen minutes had gone, he 
 drew an automatic pistol from his pocket, and held 
 it ready for instant use. A few minutes later, find- 
 ing his original plan of humor a little tedious in the 
 working out, he spoke in a clear, incisive voice: 
 
 "Better come out of that now or I shall begin to 
 shoot." 
 
 The door opened, and Rose staggered into the 
 room. After a short pause, during which she swayed 
 and gasped for breath, an automatic pistol fell with 
 a clatter from her nerveless fingers. She sank to the 
 floor all in a heap and began to cry hysterically. 
 
 Blizzard slid from his chair and secured her pistol. 
 His face wore an expression of amused tolerance. 
 "Tell me all about it," he said. "Crying can't do
 
 The door opened, and Rose staggered 
 into the room
 
 THE PENALTY 173 
 
 any good, and talking may. You hid in the closet 
 to listen. It's not the first time. I found one of 
 your combs, and saw where you'd brushed away the 
 dirt so's not to spoil your dress. Now I'd like to 
 know how much you know, and whom you've told it 
 to?" 
 
 "What's the use?" said Rose with sudden despera- 
 tion. "You've got me nobody '11 ever know from 
 me what I've heard to-night. You're going to kill 
 me." 
 
 "I doubt it," said Blizzard. "Now look up and 
 tell me all about everything." 
 
 "Well," she said, "I've been spying on you." 
 
 "I know that. I knew that the day you came. 
 When you said you loved me I knew you were lying." 
 
 "At first," she said, "I passed over everything I 
 could find out about you. It wasn't much." 
 
 "I took care of that." 
 
 "Then I made up things just to keep the others 
 from knowing I wasn't playing fair. I wanted to put 
 that off as long as I could. Anything I really found 
 out like your first talk with O'Hagan I just kept 
 to myself. I know I lied to you the first day. But 
 I'm not lying now." 
 
 The legless man smiled tolerantly. "Why did you 
 keep on trying to find out things if you didn't mean 
 to use them? " 
 
 "Because I wanted to know all about you, what 
 you were doing, what your interests were. I thought 
 I could be more useful to you that way."
 
 i 7 4 THE PENALTY 
 
 "It's a good thing for you, Rose," said Blizzard, 
 "that I guessed all this. If I hadn't you wouldn't be 
 alive now. And so, now that you've gotten to know 
 me pretty well, there's something about me, is there, 
 that's knocked your ambitions galley- west? " 
 
 "I had friends that trusted me," she said, "and 
 I've played double with them. And now I've got 
 only you." 
 
 "Tell me one thing," and Blizzard asked the ques- 
 tion with some eagerness, "what particular quality of 
 mine got you to feeling this way about me?" 
 
 "I guess it's every quality now," said Rose, "but 
 it started with me the first time I heard you play, 
 and knew that, whatever you'd been and done, and 
 were planning to do, you had a soul above it all. 
 And I knew that if your soul had ever had a fair 
 chance you'd have been more like a god than a man." 
 
 "Well, well," said Blizzard after a long silence, 
 "perhaps. Who knows! And so it was the music 
 that changed your heart? Well, why not? Nobody 
 makes better music unless it's Hofman." 
 
 The idea of appealing to the heart of quite another 
 girl through his music filled the legless man with a 
 wild hoping. Why not? If he could play himself 
 clean out of hell whenever he pleased, why not an- 
 other? He would not tell her the possibilities of no- 
 bility that yet remained in him. He would play them 
 to her. 
 
 "Rose," he said, "you're the best pedaller I ever 
 had. You've got music in you. We'll practise up
 
 THE PENALTY 175 
 
 and give a concert. I'll ask some nobs in. We'll turn 
 the piano so that seeing how the pedalling is done 
 won't distract their attention from the music. But 
 they won't hear our music, Rose. It will be better 
 than that. They shall roll in it, bathe in it, see 
 heaven!" 
 
 "That's what I saw." 
 
 Blizzard's agate eyes glinted with a strange light. 
 It was as if the beast in him was fighting with the 
 God. But gradually all mercifulness, all pity, went 
 out, and the fires which remained were not good to see. 
 
 He kissed her and she kissed him back.
 
 XX 
 
 FEELING that she had been working too hard, being 
 in much distress about Harry West, and in some for 
 herself, and learning that Wilmot Allen was to be of 
 the party, Barbara told Blizzard, at the end of his 
 sitting on Friday, that he need not come Saturday, 
 as she was going to spend the week-end with the 
 Bruces at Meadowbrook. 
 
 "I'm dog-tired," she said, "and that's the same as 
 being discouraged. We both need a rest. Things 
 have been at a stand-still nearly all the week." 
 
 "I think you are right about yourself," said Bliz- 
 zard, "but won't your gay friends keep you up till 
 all hours?" 
 
 "They will not" said Barbara, " and it won't be 
 gay. During a falling market there are never more 
 than two happy people at the largest Long Island 
 house-party. The men will sit by themselves and 
 drink very solemnly. The women will sit by them- 
 selves and yawn till ten o'clock. It will be very bor- 
 ing and very restful." 
 
 "Speaking of falling markets, is my friend Mr. 
 Allen to be among those present? I understand that 
 he has been very hard hit." 
 
 "I don't know about that," said Barbara. "He 
 often is. Yes, he is to be among those present, and 
 
 176
 
 THE PENALTY 177 
 
 I'm really going just to have a chance to talk to him." 
 
 11 With him or to him?" asked Blizzard with one of 
 his sudden, dazzling smiles. 
 
 "To him," said Barbara, also smiling. "I, too, 
 have listened to tales out of school, and since he is 
 my oldest friend, and probably my best, he must be 
 straightened out." 
 
 "A little absence from New York, perhaps," sug- 
 gested Blizzard, and watched her face closely. 
 
 "Do you think so? It doesn't seem to me neces- 
 sary to run away in order to straighten out." 
 
 "Mr. Allen," said Blizzard, "should swear off 
 stock-gambling, and marry a rich girl." 
 
 "He's not that kind," said Barbara simply. And 
 this swift, loyal statement did not please the beggar, 
 since it argued more to his mind of the faith that goes 
 with love than of that appertaining to friendship. 
 He felt a sharp stab of jealousy, and had some ado 
 to keep the pain of it from showing in his face. 
 
 "Well," he said, "if anybody can help him, you 
 can. And if you can't, send him to me. Oh, we've 
 had dealings before now. I was even of real service 
 to him once." 
 
 "If that is true," Barbara thought, "it's rather 
 rotten of Wilmot to keep running this poor soul 
 down." 
 
 Blizzard left with obvious reluctance. Two whole 
 days without a sight of Miss Ferris seemed a very 
 long time to him. "I shall miss these morning loaf- 
 ings."
 
 178 THE PENALTY 
 
 "Is that what you call posing?" 
 
 "What else? You loaf now. Good luck to the 
 tired eye and hand." 
 
 "Thank you," said Barbara. "Next week we'll 
 see if we can't really get somewhere." 
 
 "We shall try," said Blizzard. He turned at the 
 door. "I want to play for you some time," he said. 
 "May I?" 
 
 "Why, yes of course." 
 
 "At my place," he said. "I have a new piano in; 
 it's very good. You see, I pound four or five of them 
 to pieces in the course of a year. I thought perhaps 
 you'd bring two or three or more of your friends who 
 like music. I know you do. I'll give you supper. 
 Your friends might think it was a good slumming 
 spree to come to a concert at my house. And I 
 particularly want to play for you. I go for weeks 
 without playing, and then the wish comes." 
 
 She longed to ask him how he worked the pedals, 
 and had to bite the question back. 
 
 He laughed, reading her mind. "If you come," 
 he said, "I will try to make you forget what I am 
 even what I look like. I should like you to know 
 what I might have been what I still might be." 
 He went out abruptly and closed the door after him. 
 
 Barbara mused for a minute and then rang for 
 Bubbles. "I'm going out of town for over Sunday," 
 she said. "What will you do? " 
 
 "Me and Harry," said he, "is going down to the 
 sea swimming."
 
 THE PENALTY 179 
 
 "Please give Harry my best wishes, Bubbles." 
 
 The great eyes held hers for a minute and were 
 turned away. He was sharp enough to know that 
 through one of his idols the other had been hurt. 
 And he found the knowledge sorrowful and heavy. 
 
 "I'll do that," he said solemnly. 
 
 That afternoon Wilmot Allen drove Barbara down 
 to Meadowbrook. He had borrowed a sixty-horse- 
 power runabout for the occasion, but displayed no 
 anxiety to put the machine through its higher paces. 
 "I've had a rough week," he said, "and my nerves 
 are shaky. Do you mind if we take our time?" 
 
 "No," said Barbara, "my nerves are shaky, too. 
 And I want to talk to you without having the words 
 blown out of my mouth and scattered all over Long 
 Island." 
 
 He bowed over the steering-wheel, and said: "It's 
 good to know that you want to talk to me. Is it to 
 be about you, about me or us? " 
 
 Barbara leaned luxuriously against the scientifi- 
 cally placed cushion, all her muscles relaxed. "You," 
 she said, "are to play several parts, Wilmot." 
 
 "And always one," he answered softly. 
 
 "Not now," she said, "please. First you are to 
 play priest, and listen to confession. Then you are 
 to confess, or I am to do it for you, and receive 
 penance." 
 
 "While I'm priest," he said, "do I impose any 
 penance on you? " 
 
 "I'll listen to suggestions," said she, "that point 
 toward absolution."
 
 i8o THE PENALTY 
 
 "I am now clothed in my priestly outfit," said 
 Wilmot; "you have entered the confessional. I 
 listen." 
 
 Very simply, without preamble, she plunged into 
 her affair with Harry West. And Wilmot listened, 
 his head bent forward over the steering-wheel. It 
 was not pleasant for him to learn that she had thought 
 herself seriously in love with another man, and was 
 not now in the least sure of her feelings toward him. 
 
 "I cried almost all night," she said; "it didn't 
 seem as if I could bear it." 
 
 "How about the next night, Barbs?" 
 
 "Oh, I slept," she said, "or thought about work." 
 
 "And he told you that you mustn't see each other 
 any more?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I think he was right, Barbs. I don't believe you 
 really love him, dear. If you did you would have 
 cried for many nights and days felt like it, I mean, 
 all the time. Men attract you they drop out for 
 some reason or other and so on. I know pretty 
 well." 
 
 "That's just what he said," said Barbara, "and it's 
 true, Wilmot. I'm almost sure now that I don't 
 really love him. And that's ugly enough. But it's 
 worse to think that he really loves me, and that it's 
 my fault." 
 
 Wilmot Allen did not make the mistake of saying 
 that it was not her fault. "It just shows, Barbs 
 dear," he said, "that it's time to pull up. You've 
 got more darned temperament than anybody I ever
 
 THE PENALTY 181 
 
 saw. It's a great weapon, but you've got to learn to 
 control it, and not swing it wild and hurt people." 
 
 "That's what he said." 
 
 "Well, he seems to be a sensible fellow, and a fine 
 fellow, and to have thought of you rather than him- 
 self. You told him you'd marry him if he asked 
 you? Now, Barbs, listen to me. That was a fool 
 thing to say." 
 
 "I know it." 
 
 "Do you realize how lucky you are to have said it 
 to West instead of to some other fellow who happened 
 to be on the make? You've come through your 
 young life almost entirely by good luck, not by good 
 management. You've run up against honorable men, 
 instead of rotters. That's the answer." 
 
 "I should think, feeling this way, you'd hate and 
 despise me." 
 
 His hand left the steering-wheel and gave hers a 
 swift pat. 
 
 "Well, it's over," she said, "and I wanted you to 
 know. I'm going to pull back in my shell and be 
 very dignified and honorable. If anybody wants to 
 get hurt through me, they've got to hurt themselves." 
 
 "You'll not try to see West any more?" 
 
 "No," she said rather wearily, "that's over. And 
 it's for the best. I've had a good lesson. No man 
 ought ever to take me seriously until I've told him 
 every day for a year that I love him. Maybe two 
 years." 
 
 "Just tell me once " he began.
 
 182 THE PENALTY 
 
 "Don't," she said, "please. Now you confess." 
 
 "Well, Barbs," he said, "this week-end is a sort of 
 good-by. I'm in very deep, and I'm going to a new 
 place to live a new life." 
 
 "Well!" she exclaimed, "you're not running away?" 
 
 "Only from temptation," he said. "I have spoken 
 to all my creditors but one, and they have behaved 
 decently and kindly. Wherever I go I take my obli- 
 gations with me, and, God willing, they shall all be 
 paid." 
 
 "Oh," she said, "I think a man ought to make 
 good in the midst of his temptations." 
 
 "Might just as well say that you ought to finish 
 your bust of Blizzard with one hand tied behind your 
 back, since it's a constant temptation to you to use 
 both. You ought also to be blindfolded and to work 
 in the dark, since you are constantly tempted to look 
 at your model and see what you are doing." 
 
 "I shall miss you," she said simply, "like every- 
 thing. Why " 
 
 "Why what?" 
 
 "It fills the future with blanks that can't be filled 
 in." 
 
 "That may or may not be, Barbs. If they can't 
 be filled in, you will write to me, and I will come 
 back." 
 
 "But I don't mean " 
 
 "I don't believe you know what you mean. But 
 you aren't Barbs now; you are my confessor. I con- 
 fess to you, then, that I am in pretty much the same
 
 THE PENALTY 183 
 
 boat with Harry West. I am going away, partly, to 
 get over you if I can. Love is a fire. Feed it, and 
 it grows. Let it alone, and it dies. Confessor, there 
 is a certain girl one Barbara Ferris. I love her with 
 all my heart and soul and have so done for many 
 years. Since this leads to happiness for neither of 
 us, I am going to cut her out of my life." 
 
 "Wilmot! Are you speaking seriously? You're 
 not going to write to me? I'll have no news of you? 
 Not know how you are getting on? Not know if you 
 are sick or well? " 
 
 "The first night," said Wilmot, "you cried. The 
 second you slept and thought about work." 
 
 " But you are my oldest friend and my best. What- 
 ever we are to each other, we are that best friends. 
 We have our roots so deep in the happenings of years 
 and years that we can't be moved and get away 
 with it." 
 
 "We shall see," said Wilmot almost solemnly. "It 
 isn't going to be easy for me, either. But time will 
 soon show. If after a year we find that we cannot 
 do without each other's friendship why, then we 
 must see each other again. That's all there is to it." 
 
 "At least you'll write?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "But I will." 
 
 "No, Barbs. The sight of your writing would be 
 too much fuel for the fire." 
 
 She was silent for a quarter of a mile. She did not 
 enjoy the idea of being deliberately cut out of Wilmot
 
 184 THE PENALTY 
 
 Allen's life and heart. "Suppose," she said, "that at 
 the end of the year the fire is still burning bright?" 
 
 He slowed the car down so that he could turn and 
 look at her. His face looked very strong and stern. 
 "In that case," he said, "I will come back and marry 
 you." 
 
 "And supposing that meanwhile, in a fit of loneli- 
 ness and mistaken zeal, I shall have married some one 
 else?" 
 
 "If I feel about you as I do now," said Allen, "I 
 will take you away from him." 
 
 Once more the car began to run swiftly, so swiftly 
 that Wilmot could not take his eyes from the road to 
 look at Barbara's face. If he had, he would have 
 seen in her eyes an extraordinary look of trouble and 
 tenderness.
 
 XXI 
 
 DURING the week-end Barbara and Allen were much 
 together, to the amusement of the other guests, who 
 said: "It's on again." But it was not really. 
 
 If Wilmot was going away, Barbara wished him to 
 have good memories of last times together to carry 
 with him. And Wilmot, like a foolish fellow who is 
 going to swear off Monday, and in the meanwhile 
 drinks to excess, saw no reason why he should dress 
 his wounds in the present, since, in time to save his 
 life, he was going to give them every attention pos- 
 sible. That he was going to "get over" Barbara in 
 a year he did not believe. But observation and com- 
 mon-sense told him that life without her must become 
 easier and saner as time passed, and that to be for- 
 ever caught up or thrown down by her varying moods 
 toward him had ceased to be a self-respecting way of 
 life. This is what common-sense and experience told 
 him; but his heart told him that he would love her 
 always, and that if he could not have her he must 
 simply die. 
 
 Sunday night, after she had gone to bed, Barbara 
 lay in the darkness and asked herself questions. 
 Wilmot's life had not been fine, but his love had been 
 very fine, and for longer than she could remember. 
 Would it not be well to trust herself to such a love as 
 
 185
 
 186 THE PENALTY 
 
 that? Had she the right to send it away begging? 
 Would it not be better, since marriage is a lottery, to 
 grasp some things that in this case would be sure, in- 
 stead of leaving everything to chance? If he kept 
 away from her long enough, his love would probably 
 die, or at least reduce itself to a state of occasional 
 melancholy agitation. But if she belonged to him it 
 would never die. Of this their whole past seemed a 
 sure proof. If she married him he would always love 
 her and be faithful to her; for her part she was won- 
 derfully fond of him, and she believed that if she once 
 actually committed herself to his care, she would be 
 a good wife to him, and a loving. Then why not? 
 She tried the effect of pretending that she had prom- 
 ised to marry him and meant to keep her word, and 
 she found that the position, if only mentally, was 
 strategically strong and secure. She would make him 
 happy; she herself would cease from troubling him 
 and other men. For her sake he would turn over 
 new leaves and be everything that was fine. She 
 would be obedient and have no more difficult knots 
 to untangle for herself. Wilmot would simply cut 
 them for her with a sure word, one way or the other. 
 
 She had not for a long time enjoyed so peaceful a 
 night. Hours passed, and she found that, without 
 sleeping, she was becoming wonderfully rested. For 
 it is true that nothing so rests the thinker as unselfish 
 thinking. 
 
 She had breakfast in her room, but was down in 
 time to catch the business men's train for town, or
 
 THE PENALTY 187 
 
 to be driven in Wilmot's borrowed runabout, if he 
 should ask her. He did, and amid shouts of fare- 
 well and invitations to come again soon, they drove 
 away together into the cool bright morning. 
 
 "Wilmot," Barbara said, when they had passed 
 the last outpost of the Bruces' shrubbery and whirled 
 into the turnpike, "I spent most of last night think- 
 ing." 
 
 "You look fresh as a rosebud." 
 
 She shook her head as if to shake off the dew, and 
 said: "I feel more rested than if I had slept soundly. 
 If you will marry me, Wilmot, I will make you a good 
 wife." 
 
 Wilmot's heart leaped into his throat with joy, and 
 then dropped as if into a deep abyss of doubt. For 
 all her confessions to him, and for all her promises of 
 amendment, here was his darling Barbs unable to 
 resist the temptation of hurting him again. "One 
 of her impulses," he thought, and at once he was 
 angry with her, and his heart yearned over her. 
 
 "Are you going to be able to say that, Barbs," he 
 said gently, "a year from now, after we've been out 
 of sight and hearing of each other all that time?" 
 
 "Wilmot," she said, "I'm not up to my old bad 
 tricks. I am ready to give you my word this time, 
 and to keep faith. Only I'd like everything to be 
 done as soon as possible. I've been a very foolish 
 girl, and perplexed and tired, and I want to lean on 
 you, if you'll let me. We'll have a good life together, 
 and I will keep my eyes in the boat."
 
 i88 THE PENALTY 
 
 "A few days ago, Barbs," he said, "you thought 
 that you were seriously in love with another man." 
 
 "I know," she said, "but I wasn't." 
 
 "Are you in love with me now?" he asked wist- 
 fully. 
 
 "I know that you will always be good to me, and 
 love me. And that is what I know that I want." 
 
 "Poor little Barbs," he said. 
 
 "It seems to me rather," she said, "that I am now 
 rich with chances of happiness for us both. I want 
 to make my oldest and most deserving friend happy, 
 and I trust him to make me happy." 
 
 "It isn't love, dear?" 
 
 "It's so much affection and friendship that per- 
 haps it's better." She turned her face away a little. 
 "The best that marriage can end hi is affectionate 
 companionship; why not begin with that, and so be 
 sure of it for always?" 
 
 "If I had ever dreamed," said Wilmot unsteadily, 
 "that you were going to say things like this to me, 
 I'd have dreamed that I went wild with happiness, 
 and drove you to the nearest clergyman. But now 
 that you have actually said what you have said, in 
 real life, I find that I love you more than ever, and 
 that it is not compatible with so much love to take 
 you on a basis of friendship. You feel that you have 
 hurt me more than is possible for your conscience to 
 bear, and you wish to make up for it. Is that right? " 
 
 "That's not all there is to it, Wilmot, by any 
 means. But for heaven's sake believe that I'm
 
 THE PENALTY 189 
 
 being altogether unselfish : but you know me too well 
 to believe anything so ridiculous." 
 
 "I know you well enough," said Wilmot, "to wor- 
 ship the ground you walk on. Not because my heart 
 urges me, but my understanding. And I know you 
 would play the game, once you had given your word, 
 and make me a splendid wife. But what I have for 
 you cannot be given to mere friendship and submis- 
 sion. I should feel that I had sinned against my love 
 for you too greatly to be forgiven. You are closer to 
 me than you have ever been, my dear and yet so 
 far away that I can only look upward as to a star, 
 and despair of the distance. If there has been any- 
 thing fine in my life, it has been my love for you. 
 And behold, you, with every opposite intention, are 
 tempting me to let that go rotten, too. But, my 
 Barbs, if you could only love me!" 
 
 Barbara drew a long breath. "I thought I was 
 doing right." 
 
 "You have done right. It is for me to do right." 
 
 "Well," she said, "I'm bitterly disappointed, and 
 that's all there is to it. Ought I to thank you for 
 letting me off?" 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 "Then I thank you." 
 
 Neither spoke for a long time. At last Barbara said : 
 
 "When do you go West?" 
 
 "In a very few days." 
 
 "Then you will be able to go to Mr, Blizzard's 
 party and hear him play."
 
 THE PENALTY 
 
 "Are you still determined on that?" 
 
 "Why, yes. It will be fun. And besides, I haven't 
 any husband to forbid me." 
 
 Wilmot's temper rose a little. "I'll go," he said 
 shortly. "When will the bust be finished? And the 
 whole Blizzard episode? " 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know," said Barbara patiently. 
 "But I think the Blizzard episode as you call it 
 is rather a permanent friendship. I find reasons to 
 like him, and to admire him." 
 
 Wilmot made no comment. He longed to speak 
 evil of Blizzard, but the fact of his financial obliga- 
 tion to the man kept him silent. He contented him- 
 self with saying: "I'm glad that I haven't your artis- 
 tic judgment of character. One of these days you 
 will learn, to your cost, that men's judgment of a 
 man is usually correct." 
 
 "I wish he had legs," said Barbara. "I'd like to 
 do Prometheus bound to the rock." 
 
 Wilmot's disgust was intense. "Do you mean to 
 say " he began, and then checked himself. "Why 
 not have your father graft a pair on him? He's suc- 
 ceeded, by all accounts, in doing so for all sorts of 
 beasts." 
 
 "Do you know," said Barbara sweetly, "that is 
 just what my father would try to do for Mr. Blizzard 
 if some interested person would only step forward and 
 supply the legs." 
 
 "I dare say Blizzard would find a pair quickly 
 enough, if he thought they could be attached."
 
 THE PENALTY 191 
 
 "But how could he?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm just joking, Miss Innocence. But, seri- 
 ously, he could buy a pair for a price. You can buy 
 anything hi this world except love." 
 
 Blizzard, sitting in the sun on the steps of 17 Mc- 
 Burney Place, watched the pair approaching in the 
 runabout, noted as they drew near the affectionate 
 seriousness of their attitude toward each other for 
 they had stopped talking of him and returned to 
 themselves and his whole being burned suddenly 
 with a rage of jealousy. Controlling the expression 
 of his face, he rose upon his crutches and descended 
 the steps to greet Barbara at the curb. 
 
 "Glad to see you!" said she. "And how about 
 Wednesday night for the party? Mr. Allen is coming, 
 and I have asked three or four other people." 
 
 The legless man bowed and said: "Thank you. 
 Wednesday at half -past nine." 
 
 He nodded affably to Allen, who returned the salute 
 with all his charming ease and courtesy. You might 
 have mistaken them for two men who really valued 
 each other. 
 
 "Miss Ferris," said Blizzard, "I shall be ready for 
 work as soon as you. I wish to ask Mr. Allen a 
 question." 
 
 Wilmot winced, since he noted a tone of com- 
 mand in Blizzard's voice, and it jarred on him, 
 and he said good-by to Barbara and watched 
 her disappear into the studio-building with a feel- 
 ing of strong resentment against the man who had
 
 I 9 2 THE PENALTY 
 
 to all intents and purposes dismissed her from the 
 scene. 
 
 "Well?" he said curtly. 
 
 But Blizzard, enjoying the childish satisfaction of 
 having separated the pair, was no longer in the mood 
 to take offence. "I wish to make a proposition to 
 you," he said, "but at some length. Will you come 
 to my place at three o'clock this afternoon? It is 
 easier for you to get about than for me." 
 
 "I am very busy," said Wilmot; "I am getting 
 ready to go West." 
 
 "So I have gathered. Have you anything definite 
 in view?" 
 
 "Not very," said Wilmot. "Nor any money to 
 put it through with. About the loan you were so 
 kind as to make me, I can only say that I am going 
 to turn over a new leaf, and to work very hard at 
 something or other. If I have any luck you shall be 
 paid." 
 
 The legless man dismissed the matter of the loan 
 with a backward toss of his head. "If you've noth- 
 ing definite in view," said he, "please come at three 
 o'clock. I have interests in the West legitimate in- 
 terests, and influence. Perhaps I can put you in a 
 way to clear up your debts." 
 
 "Well, by George," said Wilmot, his good nature 
 returning, "if that's the idea, I'll turn up at three 
 sharp. Sure thing."
 
 XXII 
 
 BLIZZARD had upon his desk a specimen of the straw 
 hats which the young ladies of his establishment were 
 kept so busy plaiting. At exactly three o'clock he 
 thrust it to one side, and at exactly the same moment 
 the bell of his street door clanged, and Wilmot Allen 
 came in out of the sunlight. 
 
 "On time," said Blizzard, "thank you. Are you 
 a judge of hats? Try that one." 
 
 Obediently Wilmot removed his own heavy yellow- 
 ish straw, and substituted the soft and pliant article 
 indicated. It fitted him to perfection, and the leg- 
 less man smiled. 
 
 "It's yours," he said; "fold it up, and put it in 
 your pocket." 
 
 "It'll break it." 
 
 "Here. Let me show you." And Blizzard folded 
 the hat as if it had been a linen handkerchief. "Very 
 handy thing," he said, "and only to be obtained as a 
 gift. Sit down." Wilmot thrust the hat into his 
 inside pocket and sat down on the beggar's left, fac- 
 ing the light. The faint hum of girls talking at their 
 work came from the back of the establishment. A 
 whirling fan buzzed and bumped. The weather had 
 turned very hot. 
 
 "Young man," the beggar began abruptly, "if I 
 193
 
 i 9 4 THE PENALTY 
 
 had your legs I'd engage in something more active 
 and adventurous than the manufacture of straw hats. 
 Have you ever had the wish to be a soldier of fortune? 
 To go about the world redressing wrong, righting upon 
 the side of the oppressed?" 
 
 "Of course," said Wilmot simply. 
 
 "You are heavily in debt?" 
 
 "Very." 
 
 "Whatever I may say to you will go no further?" 
 
 "No further." 
 
 The legless man stroked his chin strongly with his 
 thick fingers. "I am engineering a little revolution," 
 he said. "My own morals are negligible. Any revo- 
 lution that offered a profit would look good to me. 
 But in this case the revolutionary party is oppressed, 
 down-trodden, robbed, starved, and murdered by con- 
 ditions created by the party in power. I am not yet 
 at liberty to name you the part of the world in which 
 this state of affairs exists, that will be for later. 
 Meanwhile, if my proposition interests you, will you 
 take my word for the place and for the abuse of 
 power? Indeed, the latter smells to heaven." 
 
 "South America," said Wilmot, "is full of just such 
 rottenness as you describe. I suppose you're speak- 
 ing of some South American republic?" 
 
 "Maybe I am," said Blizzard, "and maybe I'm 
 not. That will be for later for January i5th. On 
 that date my soldiers of fortune will be gathered in 
 New York and told their destiny. I am hoping that 
 you will be one of the leaders."
 
 THE PENALTY 195 
 
 "I know nothing of soldiering." 
 
 "Your record proves that you are a great hand 
 with a rifle. It stands to reason that you can teach 
 the trick to others." 
 
 "Possibly," said Wilmot, "to a certain extent." 
 
 "I have," said Blizzard, "a number of scattered 
 mining interests in Utah. I wish you to travel among 
 them teaching the men in relays to shoot accurately 
 and fast. This can be done without greatly inter- 
 fering with the working of the mines. You would 
 be nominally under the command of a man named 
 O'Hagan, to whom I have written a letter introduc- 
 ing you, on the chance that you might care to use it." 
 
 "Where," said Wilmot smiling, "does the business 
 end of the affair begin? I'm rotten with debts." 
 
 "For teaching my men to shoot," said Blizzard, 
 "I will pay you the money that you owe me. That's 
 one debt written off." 
 
 "And how shall I live in the meanwhile?" 
 
 "I have empowered O'Hagan to pay you five hun- 
 dred dollars a month." 
 
 "And the rest of my debts? How about them?" 
 
 "You will fight for down-trodden people," said 
 Blizzard gravely. "If you win, you will find them 
 grateful possibly beyond the dreams of avarice. In 
 the republic of which we are speaking there is wealth 
 enough for all. It is one of the richest little corners 
 of God's footstool gold, diamonds, silver. If you 
 succeed you will be on Easy Street. If you fail, you 
 will very likely get a bullet through your head."
 
 xg6 THE PENALTY 
 
 Wilmot's face brightened. "If I got killed trying 
 to pay 'em," said he, "my creditors couldn't feel very 
 nasty toward me, could they?" 
 
 A look of strong admiration came into Blizzard's 
 hard eyes. "I like the way your mind works," said 
 he. "If you get killed in my service, I'll pay your 
 debts myself." 
 
 "I owe nearly a hundred thousand," said Wilmot. 
 
 "I've been worse stung," said Blizzard. 
 
 "Where the devil do you get all your money, Bliz- 
 zard?" 
 
 "I've lived for money and power. I've been lucky, 
 clever and unscrupulous." 
 
 "I like your frankness. But you are not letting 
 me in for anything rotten?" 
 
 11 Your Revolutionary ancestors fought against just 
 such forces as you are to fight against unjust taxa- 
 tion, abuse of power, and corruption in high places. 
 Are you going to serve? " 
 
 "I'm going it pretty blind, but I think so. I like 
 the idea of fighting. I like the idea of paying my 
 debts. And at times I think a bullet in the head 
 would be a matter for self-congratulation." 
 
 "That," said Blizzard, "is the feeling of two classes 
 of young men those who are tangled up with women 
 and those who aren't." 
 
 Wilmot laughed, though the legless man's words 
 brought the ache into his heart. 
 
 "You will return to New York," Blizzard went on, 
 "during the first half of January."
 
 THE PENALTY 197 
 
 "I had rather promised myself to keep out of New 
 York for a year." 
 
 "It will be for only a few days. If you don't wish 
 your presence in the city known, I'll put you up in 
 my house. Parts of it are as secret as the grave." 
 
 "All right. But supposing the revolution falls 
 through before it ever gets started? " 
 
 "I'll make you a bet," said Blizzard, smiling. 
 "Please reach me that black check-book." He wrote 
 a check, blotted it, and showed it to Wilmot. "This," 
 he said, "against a penny! It will pay your debts. 
 It's payable at the City Bank on January i6th. Put 
 it in your pocket." 
 
 "When do I start for Utah?" 
 
 "Wednesday afternoon." 
 
 "I hoped to come to your concert that night." 
 
 Blizzard shook his head. "You will hear better 
 music," he said, "in the West rifles on the ranges. 
 And by the way, don't lose that hat I gave you. It 
 must be where you can get it on the 1 5th of January." 
 
 To Wilmot a straw hat suggested the palm-groves 
 of a South American republic rather than the streets 
 of New York in midwinter, and he said so; but the 
 legless man only smiled.
 
 XXIII 
 
 DURING those last days Barbara and Wilmot were to- 
 gether a great deal. Tuesday morning, by invitation, 
 he watched her at work upon her bust of Blizzard; 
 afterward he took her to lunch and for a long drive 
 through Westchester County. That night they dined 
 with Mr. Ferris, who, immediately after dinner, ex- 
 cused himself, and withdrew to his laboratory. 
 Wednesday morning Barbara did no work, but drove 
 about in a taxicab with Wilmot and helped him shop. 
 They lunched together, and she went to the Grand 
 Central to see him off. Where Wilmot found the time 
 to pack the things which they had bought in the 
 morning was always something of a mystery to them 
 both. 
 
 As train-time approached the hearts of both these 
 young people began to beat very fast. Each felt that 
 the good-bys presently to be said might be forever. 
 In his resolution not even to write to Barbara, Wilmot 
 was weakening pitiably. He wished that he had taken 
 her at her word and married her Monday when she was 
 in the mood. Better Barbara unloving, he thought, 
 than this terrible emptiness and aching. His heart 
 was proving stronger than his mind. Short, more or 
 less conventional phrases were torn from him. Bar- 
 
 198
 
 THE PENALTY 199 
 
 bara, her heart beating faster and faster, said very 
 little. 
 
 The attention of her wonderful eyes was divided 
 between the crowds and the station clock. She could 
 see the minute-hand move. Once in a while she 
 snatched, as it were, a look at Wilmot. His eyes were 
 never lifted from her face. 
 
 The gate for Wilmot' s train was suddenly slid wide 
 open with a horrid, rasping noise, and people began 
 to press upon the man who examined the tickets. It 
 was then that Barbara's roving and troubled eyes 
 came to rest, you may say, hi Wilmot's, with a look 
 so sweet, so confiding, so trusting, that it seemed to 
 the young man that the pain of separation was going 
 to be greater than he could bear. He lifted his hands 
 as if to take her in his arms, and stood there like a 
 study in arrested motion. 
 
 "Best friend in the world," she said, the great eyes 
 still in his, "most charming companion in the world 
 man I've hurt so much and so often only say the 
 word." 
 
 "What word? That I love you love you love 
 you?" 
 
 They spoke in whispers. 
 
 "Stay with me," she said, "and for me or take 
 me with you. I can't bear this. I can't bear it." 
 
 "You'd come now just as you are?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Do you love me?" 
 
 Slowly, like two things in anguish, her eyes turned
 
 200 THE PENALTY 
 
 from their steady gazing into his. And, "I dare not 
 say it," she said, "but I will go with you and try." 
 
 They were aware of something pressing toward 
 them, and turning with a common resentment against 
 interruption, they found themselves looking down 
 upon the legless man. 
 
 "Just dropped in to say good-by and wish you 
 good luck," he said. His face wore a good-natured 
 smile, and, quite innocent of self-consciousness, 
 brought confusion upon their last moments together. 
 The tentacles of unreasoning passion that each had 
 been putting forth were beaten down by it and aside. 
 
 "Better get a move on time's up." 
 
 " Good-by, Wilmot," said Barbara swiftly. " Every- 
 thing's all right. Good luck to you and God bless 
 you." 
 
 She turned, her lovely head drooping, and walked 
 swiftly away. 
 
 A young man took off his hat and held it in his 
 hands until she had passed. He had been watching 
 her and Wilmot, and incidentally the legless man, for 
 the last ten minutes. He hoped that she would look 
 up and speak to him, but her mind was given singly 
 to sorrow. And she went through the station to the 
 street without knowing if it was crowded or deserted. 
 Harry West's sad eyes followed her until she was out 
 of sight. Then with a sort of wrench he turned once 
 more to observe the actions of the legless man. This 
 one, however, having said cheerful good-bys to the 
 sulky and heartsick Wilmot, and having at the same
 
 THE PENALTY 201 
 
 time noted the obtrusive nearness of the secret-service 
 agent, had made swift use of his crutches and stumps 
 and was at the moment climbing into a waiting 
 taxicab. 
 
 Whatever West's opinion may have been, Blizzard 
 was making a sufficiently innocent disposition of time. 
 He had prevented an elopement, perhaps. And he 
 was on his way to a prominent florist to fill his cab 
 with flowers for the evening's entertainment. 
 
 He was in a curiously shy and nervous state of 
 mind. There was perhaps no man living whose hands 
 were more nearly at home upon the key-board of a 
 piano, or whose mind was more disdainful of other 
 people's opinions. But of the fact that he was suf- 
 fering from incipient stage fright there could be no 
 doubt whatever. Would this inoculate his playing, 
 keep the soul out of it? Or worse, would it cause 
 him to strike wrong notes, and even to forget whole 
 passages, so that his guests, and of course Barbara, 
 would go away in the impression that they had heard 
 a boastful person make an ass of himself? He was 
 almost minded to begin his concert with an imitation 
 of a virtuoso suffering from stage fright. If there 
 was going to be laughter, let it be thought that he 
 was not the irresponsible cause of it, but the deliber- 
 ate and responsible. What should he play? Violent 
 things to get his hands in and his courage up, and then 
 Chopin? Let Chopin speak up on his behalf to Bar- 
 bara; tell her how he had suffered; how you must 
 not judge him until you understood the suffering;
 
 202 THE PENALTY 
 
 how there was still in him a soul that looked up from 
 the depths, and aspired to beautiful things? Yes, 
 let Chopin speak to her, plead with her, reason with 
 her, show her, lead her. 
 He descended from the cab, and entered the florist's.
 
 XXIV 
 
 BARBARA paid Blizzard the compliment of inviting 
 only people who were really fond of music to hear 
 him play. The Bruces, Adrian Savage, Blythe the 
 architect, young Morton Haddon, and Barbara her- 
 self, composed the party. They dined on a roof, and 
 then, occupying two taxicabs, started for Marrow 
 Lane in the highest spirits. But the East Side had 
 its way with them, and they reached their destina- 
 tion in a serious mood, ashamed, perhaps, of being 
 rich and fortunate, unhappy at feeling themselves 
 envied and hated. Bruce, Adrian Savage, and Bar- 
 bara were in the leading cab, a brand-new one smell- 
 ing of leather, and of the gardenia which Barbara was 
 wearing. The filth of the East Side came no nearer 
 to them than the tires of the cab. They were, you 
 may say, insulated, enfortressed against squalor, pov- 
 erty, crime, and discontent. They were almost free 
 to do as they pleased, as indeed their expedition 
 proved, and yet, such is the natural charity of the 
 human heart, they could not look from the windows 
 of the cab and remain untroubled, or fail to under- 
 stand a little of those motives which turn the minds 
 of the unfortunate to thoughts of anarchy. There 
 was no whole tragedy unrolled before their eyes, not 
 even a completed episode in one. It so happened 
 
 203
 
 204 THE PENALTY 
 
 that they saw no one in tears or in liquor; on the 
 contrary, they saw many who laughed, many chil- 
 dren playing games with and tricks upon one another. 
 Yet in its mirth the region was mirthless; its energy 
 was not physical, but nervous. It had an air of 
 living intensely in the present, for fear of remember- 
 ing, for fear of looking ahead. And it needed but a 
 misunderstanding or a catchword to turn in a moment 
 from recreation to violence. Indeed, the mere fact 
 of their own passing in the highly polished cab with 
 its wake of burned gas and Havana tobacco turned 
 many a smile into a scowl or a jeer. 
 
 Often the driver throttled his car to a snail's pace 
 or brought it to a full stop to avoid running over one 
 of those children who, so far as self-preservation goes, 
 appear to be deaf, dumb, blind, and without powers 
 of locomotion; and during one of these halts a little 
 girl, walking slowly backward, her eyes upon another 
 little girl who for no apparent cause was making a 
 series of malevolent faces at her, collided with one of 
 the tires and fell on her back directly in front of the 
 stationary car. Instantly she began to screech, and 
 the street, hitherto but scatteringly occupied, filled 
 with raging people. 
 
 The driver from his seat, Bruce from one window, 
 Savage from the other, attempted to explain to deaf 
 ears. Their voices were drowned in a torrent of 
 abuse. 
 
 Barbara, at first only exasperated by the stupidity 
 of the crowd, sitting very still and erect, had upon
 
 THE PENALTY 205 
 
 her face that expression of bored contempt with which 
 aristocrats in the French Revolution are said to have 
 gone to the guillotine. Then that was shouted in her 
 ear which, though but half understood, turned her 
 scarlet with anger. Unfortunately Savage, hitherto 
 patiently self-controlled, had heard the compounded 
 epithet hurled at Barbara, and in a moment his fight- 
 ing blood was beyond control, and he was out of the 
 cab raining heavy blows upon a bloated chalky-white 
 face, and receiving worse than he gave from a dozen 
 fists and feet. Strong as a bull, always in training, his 
 strength was beaten and kicked from him in twenty 
 seconds, and with Bruce and the driver who, bravely 
 enough, if reluctantly, had leaped to his assistance 
 things were no better. 
 
 A whistling, shrill and metallic, brought the fight 
 to a sudden end. The crowd drew back sullen and 
 reluctant, no longer shouting and cursing, but mutter- 
 ing, explaining, and discreet. 
 
 Barbara took from her lips the whistle which Kid 
 Shannon had given her. She was very white, but 
 her eyes blazed with the light of success and power. 
 The bringing of the whistle had been an accident, the 
 blowing it an act of desperation; but perceiving the 
 sudden effect of that blowing she could not but feel 
 that she had done something strategically good and 
 in the nick of time. Savage began to straighten his 
 collar and necktie, Bruce to nurse a sprained thumb. 
 The second cab came up. Blythe and Morton Had- 
 don got out and, full of perplexity but not unamused,
 
 206 THE PENALTY 
 
 fell to asking questions of their dishevelled friends. 
 These, winded and bruised, could give but an ejacu- 
 latory explanation, mostly of what they would do to 
 such and such a one if they could isolate him from 
 his fellow cutthroats for five minutes; and Ely the 
 and Haddon, not bruised and winded, told them to 
 pull themselves together. Meanwhile the crowd had 
 disintegrated before the possible arrival of Kid Shan- 
 non; had vanished like a lump of sugar in a cup of 
 tea. Even the little child who had been the cause 
 of the uproar had disappeared. So a colony of prairie- 
 dogs vanishes into its burrows at the shadow of a 
 hawk. 
 
 The short street was deserted save for the figure of 
 a rapidly approaching policeman. Why this guardian 
 of the peace had not been upon his beat during the 
 fracas could have been best explained perhaps by the 
 proprietor of a disorderly house, from whom at the 
 time he had been levying a weekly stipend of lust 
 money and a glass of beer. For his lapse of duty, 
 however, he made such amends as were possible. In 
 short, he took the numbers of both taxicabs, the 
 names of their occupants, and told them, with stern 
 condescension, that they were now at liberty to pur- 
 sue their interrupted way. 
 
 But first Barbara received praise for having blown 
 the whistle, and Bruce and Savage were made to say 
 repeatedly that they insisted on going on with the 
 evening's entertainment; that they were not really 
 hurt, and that they wouldn't think of being driven
 
 THE PENALTY 207 
 
 to a doctor. Everybody wanted to know more about 
 Kid Shannon, and in just what consisted the terror 
 and efficacy of his name. But Barbara could only say 
 that he was a friend of hers, and a sort of henchman of 
 their host for the evening. Then she said, smiling: 
 
 "I'm sorry he didn't come himself, but anyway his 
 whistle is a perfectly good whistle, and another time 
 I'll know enough to blow it before anybody gets hurt." 
 
 Mrs. Bruce insisted on having her husband ride 
 with her, so Blythe took his place in Barbara's cab, 
 and they reached Marrow Lane without further mo- 
 lestation. Indeed, it seemed as if rumor had gone 
 ahead of them, saying that they were not as other 
 swells, but East-Siders in disguise, integral parts of 
 the master's organization, armed with the whistle of 
 his lieutenant. They were stared at, it is true, and 
 commented upon, but with awe now and childish 
 admiration. 
 
 The door of Blizzard's house was opened for them 
 by Kid Shannon. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Shannon," exclaimed Barbara, "I 
 blew your whistle, and you never came." 
 
 "And wasn't the whistling enough?" 
 
 "Why, yes." 
 
 He smiled the smile of a general who knows that 
 his troops are in a state of perfect discipline. "The 
 boss is expecting you," he said. "Please step right 
 in." 
 
 A faint odor of roses greeted them.
 
 XXV 
 
 ONE light, not strong, illuminated the legless man's 
 face. Barbara and her friends sat in half-darkness. 
 Kid Shannon went out of the room on tiptoe, closing 
 the door softly behind him. Of Rose, crouched under 
 the key-board of the grand piano, her hands on the 
 pedals, nothing could be seen, owing to a grouping of 
 small palms and flowers in pots. The stump of Bliz- 
 zard's right leg touched her shoulder. She was 
 trembling. So was Blizzard. He was trembling 
 with stage fright; she with Blizzard fright. His 
 hands, thick with agile muscles and heavy as hams, 
 though he had just been soaking them in hot water, 
 seemed powerless to him, and stiff. 
 
 He struck a chord, and it sounded to him not like 
 the voices of a musical instrument, but like a clatter- 
 ing together of tin dishes. This enraged him. His 
 self-consciousness vanished. Those ivory keys and 
 well-tempered wires had fooled him. He hated his 
 piano. And he began to punish it. The heavy hands, 
 rising and falling with the speed and strength of light- 
 ning strokes, produced a volume of tone which per- 
 haps no other player in the world could have equalled. 
 
 Blythe, a great amateur of music, had come in a 
 sceptical mood. He now sat more erect, his face, eye- 
 brows raised, turned to Blizzard, his ears recalling to 
 him certain moments of Rubinstein's playing. 
 
 208
 
 THE PENALTY 209 
 
 But Blizzard no longer hated his piano. It had 
 stood up nobly to his assault. It was a brave instru- 
 ment, well-bred, a friend full of rare qualities for a 
 friend to show off. And, the swollen veins in his 
 forehead flattening, he began to make his peace with 
 his piano. It could do more than shout and rage. It 
 could sing like an angel in all languages; it could be 
 witty, humorous, heart-rending, heart-healing, chaste, 
 passionate, helpful, mischievous. And it could be 
 wise and eloquent. It could stand up for a friend, 
 and explain his sins away, and get him forgiven in 
 high places. 
 
 And even as Blizzard thought, so he played. He 
 was no longer conscious of himself or his guests, not 
 even of Barbara. As for Rose, she was merely a 
 set of pedals in perfect mechanical adjustment. He 
 was not even conscious of his thoughts. They came 
 and went without deliberation, and were expressed 
 as they came and dismissed as they went in the terms 
 of his extraordinary improvisation. 
 
 But it came to this at last, that he thought only of 
 beautiful things, so that even his face was stripped of 
 wickedness, and his ringers loosed one by one the 
 voices of angels, until it seemed as if the whole room 
 was full of them all singing. And the singing died 
 away to silence. 
 
 The legless man looked straight ahead of him into 
 the dim room. Then, smiling, his head a little on one 
 side, he caressed his piano so that it gave out Chopin's 
 7th Prelude, which, as all the world knows, is a little
 
 210 THE PENALTY 
 
 girl who smiles because she is happy; and she is happy 
 because so many of the flowers in the garden are blue. 
 It is not known why this makes her happy, only that 
 it does. 
 
 And forthwith he played Chopin and only Chopin: 
 brooks and pools of sound to which you did not listen, 
 but in which you bathed. And in his soul the legless 
 man was playing only for Barbara, and only to Bar- 
 bara. And so powerful was this obsession that it 
 stole out of him like some hypnotic influence, affected 
 the others, and gave him away. First Blythe looked 
 toward Barbara, not realizing why, then Haddon 
 looked, then Mrs. Bruce. 
 
 Barbara felt the warm blood in her cheeks. She 
 was troubled, unhappy, touched. A man, his face 
 full of unhappy yearning, his soul quick with genius, 
 was making love to her; asking her to forget his 
 shortcomings, to forgive his sins, to give him a hand 
 upward out of the dark places into the light. He 
 followed her, always pleading, by brooks, into valleys, 
 through flowery meadows in the early morning, into 
 solemn churches, into groves of cypress flooded with 
 moonlight. 
 
 Blythe could have sworn that a woman sobbed, but 
 his eyes, used by now to the obscurity, told him that 
 it was neither Mrs. Bruce nor Barbara. The piano 
 burst into a storm of sound, under cover of which 
 Rose, still at her post, torn with jealousy, continued 
 to pedal at the direction of her lord and master, and 
 sobbed as if her heart would break. Devils filled the
 
 And in his soul the legless man was 
 playing only for Barbara
 
 THE PENALTY 211 
 
 room, whirling in mad dances; they screamed and 
 yelled; the souls of the damned screeched in torment; 
 and the face of him who invoked the inferno, swollen, 
 streaming with sweat, the eyes glazed, protruding, 
 was the face of a madman. 
 
 Rose, for whom her master's playing had the elo- 
 quence and precision of speech, forgot her jealousy in 
 fear of those consequences which her ill-timed sob- 
 bing must bring upon her. Her tears dried as in a 
 desert wind; her sobs ceased, and in a moment or 
 two the madness was going out of Blizzard's music 
 and out of his face. He rested, preluded, and then 
 began to play Beethoven, quietly, with a pure sing- 
 ing tone, music^of a heavenly sanity. 
 
 The jarred feelings of his audience were soothed. 
 Into his own face there stole a high-priest look. And 
 when he had finished playing, this look remained for 
 a few moments. Then he laughed quietly and, speak- 
 ing for the first time, expressed the hope that he had 
 not made them listen too long. 
 
 He reached for the wall behind him, and turned a 
 switch so that the room became brightly lighted. 
 Then, reluctantly, he came out from behind the 
 piano, swinging between his crutches, and leaving 
 Rose to escape at the first favorable opportunity. 
 His descent from colossus to cripple had an unpleas- 
 ant effect. And the question, "How the deuce do 
 you work the pedals?" was jerked from Blythe, 
 usually a most tactful person. 
 
 '"Why," said Blizzard simply, "I have an assistant."
 
 212 THE PENALTY 
 
 He caught Barbara's eye and reddened a little. "A 
 young man who is musical and intelligent. We have 
 a system of signals, and but I think there is a sort 
 of thought communication that comes of much re- 
 hearsing together. And in our best moments we do 
 pretty well. But sometimes when our minds are not 
 tuned together we make a dreadful hash of things." 
 
 He might have added: "At such times I drag her 
 about by the hair and beat her." But he didn't. 
 He looked instead the picture of a very patient man 
 who makes the best of things. 
 
 "Whatever you do at times," said Barbara gently, 
 "you have done wonders to-night. But you know 
 better than we do how good your playing is. So 
 what is the use of praising it to you?" 
 
 She felt that he was her own private discovery 
 almost her property. And knowing that her friends 
 were still profoundly affected by his playing, she was 
 rilled with honest pride. Her eyes flashed, her cheeks 
 glowed. 
 
 "What did I tell you?" she exclaimed. "Was I 
 right? Didn't I promise that he would make good? 
 Did he?" 
 
 She was delighted with Blizzard, delighted with her- 
 self, delighted with the whole party. She had for- 
 gotten the madman face that he had showed. She 
 forgot that he was a cripple, a thing soured and 
 wicked. She thought of him only as a great genius, 
 which she herself had discovered. 
 
 The childlike pleasure which she felt communicated
 
 THE PENALTY 213 
 
 itself to the others, and Blizzard, escaping an ovation 
 of honest praise, led them into the next room, where, 
 among palms and roses, such a supper was spread as 
 gamblers, the big men of the profession, spread for 
 their victims. 
 
 The mere sight of the champagne-glasses loosened 
 the men's tongues. Talk flowed. Mrs. Bruce and 
 Barbara, seated right and left of their host, made 
 much of his music and his hospitality. For once in 
 his life he was genuinely happy. He looked very 
 handsome, very high-minded, very modest, a man's 
 man. Sitting, he was much taller than the others. 
 You forgot /that, standing, he was but a dwarf. He 
 towered at the head of his table, his mind working in 
 swift, good-natured, hospitable flashes. It was ob- 
 vious that he had been born a gentleman, and that 
 he had never "forgotten how." It was obvious, too, 
 that he was a man of power and position, who when 
 he wished could spend money like a great lord, and 
 who was accustomed to give orders. 
 
 In his manner to Barbara there was (perhaps no- 
 ticeable only to herself) an air of long-proved friend- 
 ship and a kind of guardianly tenderness, and he 
 managed somehow to convey to her that she had an 
 immense influence over him; that he looked to her 
 for help for inspiration. 
 
 The desire to make a great man of him invaded her 
 mind. Her heart warmed toward him. 
 
 "I wonder," said Bruce suddenly, "where our wan- 
 dering Wilmot is to-night?"
 
 2i 4 THE PENALTY 
 
 "I drink to him," said the beggar quickly, "wher- 
 ever he is, and wish him luck." 
 
 But the poison had been spilled on Barbara's even- 
 ing. For three hours she had not once thought of 
 the man whom twelve hours ago she had really wanted 
 to marry. And her heart meanwhile had warmed and 
 expanded toward one who at best was a prodigiously 
 successful crook and rascal, and she was ashamed. 
 But for all that neither the warmth nor the triumphant 
 sense of influence and conquest went out of her heart. 
 And later, when Mrs. Bruce said: "I really think we 
 ought to go," Barbara, outwardly all sweetness and 
 agreement, was inwardly annoyed. She wanted very 
 much to stay, for she knew that the moment she was 
 alone her conscience would give her no peace, and that 
 she would make resolutions which she would not, 
 judging from past experiences, be able to keep. She 
 would resolve to abandon her bust of Blizzard, re- 
 solve never to see the creature again, since it seemed 
 that he had in him power upon her emotions dan- 
 gerous power. 
 
 "Do we work to-morrow, Miss Ferris?" 
 
 The words, "No, I'm afraid not to-morrow," rose 
 to her lips. The words, "Please, at the usual time," 
 came out. 
 
 And she felt as if his will, not her own, had caused 
 her to say those words. Her heart gave a sudden 
 leap of fear.
 
 XXVI 
 
 BARBARA knew very well that she was doing wrong. 
 Summer had descended, blazing, upon the city. 
 Without exception her friends had gone to the coun- 
 try. Her father had gone to Colorado upon an 
 errand of which for the present he chose to make a 
 mystery. She made a habit of lunching at the 
 Colony Club, and occasionally saw some friend or 
 other who riad run into town for a face massage, a 
 hair wave, a gown, or a hat. But the afternoons and 
 evenings hung very heavily upon her hands. So that 
 she got to living in and for her mornings at the studio. 
 With the appearance of Blizzard, clean, thoughtful, 
 and forceful, her feelings of loneliness and depression 
 vanished. If her vitality was at low ebb, his was not. 
 The heat appeared to brace him, and he had the 
 faculty of communicating something of his own en- 
 ergy, so that it was not until she had finished working 
 and dismissed him that she was sensible of fatigue 
 and discouragement. 
 
 The man was on his best behavior. He could not 
 but realize that he had established an influence over 
 her; that she was beginning to take him at his own 
 estimate of himself, and to believe in his pretended 
 aspirations. And while he credited her with no affec- 
 tion for himself, he had the presumption to imagine 
 
 21$
 
 216 THE PENALTY 
 
 that his maimed condition and his low station in life 
 no longer made the slightest difference to her, and 
 that finally her friendliness would turn into a warmer 
 feeling. But if not, he had but to wait until the 
 maturity of his plans should throw the city into 
 chaos, when she would be at his mercy. 
 
 The hand which he had dealt himself was so full of 
 high cards that the occasional losing of a trick did not 
 disturb him in the slightest. He had through her 
 father's hideous mistake a hold on Barbara's con- 
 science. As a personage whose power over certain 
 sections of the city was stronger than the law, he had 
 a hold upon her imagination. As the inspirer of her 
 best work, he had a hold upon her gratitude. He had, 
 or thought he had, a chance to win her affection in 
 open and equal competition. And, highest card of 
 all ace of trumps he had persuaded her that her 
 influence upon him was such that with all the strength 
 of remorse he was shaping his life toward high ideals. 
 
 In his heart she was usually, but not always, the 
 first consideration. Sometimes the passion of ambi- 
 tion overlapped the passion of love. And sometimes 
 he felt that he would forego the fruition of all his 
 plans if only by some miracle his legs could be re- 
 stored to him. 
 
 But on the whole, he had reached a high-water 
 mark of self-satisfaction. He had found it easy to 
 carry corruption into high places. A list of those 
 who were in his power willing or unwilling would 
 have horrified the whole nation. From O'Hagan in
 
 THE PENALTY 217 
 
 the West came reports that all went well with the 
 organization, and that Wilmot Allen was displaying 
 genius in teaching inexperienced Polacks to shoot. 
 
 On his walks through the city the legless man car- 
 ried a high head, and looked about him with the eye 
 of a landlord. His imagination was so strong that 
 he had already the feelings of a genuine conqueror, 
 and not of a man confronted by the awful possibilities 
 of failure. And by some subtlety of mental com- 
 munication Barbara was coming more and more into 
 this same opinion of him. And in realizing this, and 
 in allowing their relations to continue, she knew that 
 she was doing wrong. 
 
 She compared her model with all the men she had 
 known, always to conclude that there was in him a 
 sort of greatness utterly wanting in the others. If 
 he had revealed his plans to her, she would have be- 
 lieved him not only capable of carrying them out, but 
 sure to do so if he wished. He might be Satan 
 fallen, but he was still a god. In the early days of 
 their association she had felt herself the important 
 person of the two, and her bust of him the most im- 
 portant thing in the world. He and she would surely 
 die, but the bust had a chance to live. But now she 
 had the feeling that the work was of less importance 
 than the man; and that she herself was an insig- 
 nificant spoiled person of no importance whatever. 
 When Blizzard entered the studio she had the feeling 
 that a great and busy man was, out of pure good 
 nature, wasting his time upon an unknown artist.
 
 2i8 THE PENALTY 
 
 But she knew very well that such was not the case. 
 She knew that he came to the studio because she at- 
 tracted him, and for no other reason. And at times 
 she felt keenly curious to know just how much she 
 attracted him, and the morbid wish, for which she 
 hated herself; of leading him into some sort of a 
 declaration.
 
 XXVII 
 
 HOWEVER unnecessary the hot waves of the New 
 York summer may appear to some people, they were 
 never wasted on Bubbles. He had a passion for the 
 water, and to his love of swimming was added a pas- 
 sion for the underworld gossip with which the piers 
 of the East River reek in bathing weather. For just 
 as mice are more intimate with the details of houses 
 than landlords are, so the small boys of a city have 
 the best opportunities for being acquainted with its 
 workings, and with the intimate lives of its inhabi- 
 tants. The street-boy's mind matures while his body 
 is still that of a child. Births and deaths are familiar 
 spectacles to him. He knows and holds of high im- 
 port hundreds of things which men have forgotten. 
 He can see in the dark. He can hide in a handful of 
 shadow. And when he isn't overhearing on his own 
 hook, he is listening to what somebody else has over- 
 heard. Second-story men fear him, lovers loathe 
 him, and nature, who has been thwarted in her in- 
 tention that he should run in sweet meadows, sleep 
 in fresh air, and bathe in clean water, sighs over him. 
 It was so hot that the policeman whose duty and 
 privilege it was to see that no small boy cooled him- 
 self from Pier 31 A, disappeared tactfully into the 
 
 219
 
 220 THE PENALTY 
 
 family entrance of a water-front saloon. The city 
 had many laws which to this particular officer ap- 
 peared unreasonable and which he enforced only 
 when he couldn't help himself. In men there is the 
 need of gambling and some other things. As for 
 small boys, they must play baseball and they must 
 swim. 
 
 Bubbles went overboard at about three o'clock. 
 There were twenty or thirty boys of all sizes already 
 in the water, and the addition of one to the struggling 
 group of wet heads was not to be noticed. Nor was 
 the disappearance of that head noticed, nor the fact 
 that it appeared to remain under water for nearly 
 three-quarters of an hour, nor that when it finally 
 did emerge it looked on the whole as if it had seen a 
 ghost. 
 
 Bubbles, it seems, was less interested in the waters 
 around Pier 31 A than in the waters underneath. And 
 for this reason: on the previous night, while stripping 
 for a swim, he had heard a muffled sound of voices 
 coming from directly under the pier, followed by a 
 long subdued roaring as of a load of earth being emp- 
 tied into the water. Now, under Harry West's tu- 
 ition Bubbles had formed the habit of investigating 
 whatever he did not understand. And he wished 
 very much to find out why people should talk under 
 piers at night, how they could get under Pier 31 A 
 except by swimming, and if they were throwing earth 
 overboard why they were doing so, and where they 
 got the earth.
 
 THE PENALTY 221 
 
 His head filled with vague and highly colored no- 
 tions of a smugglers' cave, his narrow lungs rilled 
 with air, Bubbles dove, swam between two slimy bar- 
 nacled piles, and came up presently in a dark, dank, 
 stale, gurgling region, wonderfully cool after the blaz- 
 ing sunlight which he had just left. 
 
 Toward the shore the light that filtered between 
 the supporting piles of Pier 3iA became less and less, 
 until completely shut off by walls of solid masonry. 
 Into this darkness Bubbles swam with great caution, 
 accustoming his eyes to the obscurity and holding 
 himself ready to dive in retreat at the first alarm. 
 
 The shore end of Pier 31 A had originally been a 
 clean wall of solid masonry. The removal of half a 
 dozen great blocks of stone had made a jagged open- 
 ing in the midst of this, and into this opening, pulling 
 himself a little out of the water, Bubbles strained and 
 strained his eyes and saw nothing but the beginning 
 of a passageway and then pitch darkness. 
 
 His heart beat very hard and fast like the heart of 
 a caught bird. Here, leading into the city from the 
 shore of the East River, was a mysterious passage- 
 way. Who had made it and why? There were two 
 ways of finding out. One was to wait patiently until 
 some one entered the passage or emerged from it. 
 The other way, and the better, was to forget how 
 very much the idea of so doing frightened you, climb 
 into the opening, and follow the passage to its other 
 end. Bubbles compromised. He waited patiently for 
 half an hour. Nothing happened. Then he pulled
 
 222 THE PENALTY 
 
 himself into the opening and crawled through the 
 darkness for perhaps the length of a city block. 
 
 "What," he then said to himself, "is the use of 
 me going any further? I can't see in the dark. I've 
 got no matches, and if anything happens to me, 
 there'll be nobody to tell Harry about this place. 
 Better make a get-away now, find Harry, and bring 
 him here to-night. Then if we find anybody there'll 
 be something doing." 
 
 He had turned and was crawling rather rapidly 
 toward the entrance of the passage.
 
 XXVIII 
 
 BUBBLES'S problem was to locate Harry West. And 
 he wrestled with it, if trying to cover the whole of a 
 scorching hot city on a pair of insufficient legs and a 
 very limited amount of carfare may be called wres- 
 tling. His search took him into many odd places 
 where you could not have expected to cross the trail 
 of an honest man. He even made inquiries of a 
 master-plumber, of a Fourth Avenue vender of an- 
 tiques, of a hairy woman with one eye who ran a 
 news-stand, of a bar-tender, of saloon-keepers and 
 bootblacks. He drifted through a department store, 
 and whispered to a pretty girl who sold "art pictures." 
 She shook her head. He spoke a word to the negro 
 sentinel of a house in the West Forties, and was ad- 
 mitted to quiet, padded rooms, containing everything 
 which is necessary to separate hopeful persons from 
 their money. In one room a number of book-makers 
 were whiling away the hot afternoon with poker for 
 small stakes. In another room, played upon by an 
 electric fan, sat Mr. Lichtenstein, the proprietor. He 
 was bent over a table on which he had assembled 
 fifteen or twenty of the component parts of a very 
 large picture-puzzle. He was small, plump and ear- 
 nest. He may have been a Jew, but he had bright 
 red hair and a pug nose. His eyes, bright, quick, 
 
 223
 
 224 THE PENALTY 
 
 small, brown, and kind, were very busy hunting among 
 the brightly colored pieces of the puzzle. 
 
 " 'Daf ternoon, Mr. Lichtenstein," said Bubbles. 
 
 " 'Daf ternoon, Bubbles," said Mr. Lichtenstein, 
 without looking up. 
 
 "How d'je know it was me?" 
 
 "I saw you in the looking-glass. What's the 
 news?" 
 
 "It's for Harry." 
 
 "And Harry is where?" 
 
 "Don't you know where Harry is?" 
 
 "I do. But you can't get to him." Mr. Lichten- 
 stein lowered his voice. "He's gone West, Bub, on 
 the trail of O'Hagan. The plant the old one is grow- 
 ing hasn't put its head above ground yet, and the 
 roots are in the West. Out in Utah they're teaching 
 all kinds of Polacks to shoot rifles. Why? O'Hagan 
 is travelling from one mine to another as a common 
 laborer. Why? While here in little New York, the 
 old one is sitting for his portrait and getting a per- 
 fectly innocent young girl talked about. No use to 
 watch the old one till later." 
 
 "But," said Bubbles, "suppose some one was to 
 find a secret passage leading from the East River 
 to to " 
 
 "To where?" 
 
 "He doesn't know where. He wanted to get 
 Harry to go with him to find out." 
 
 "Where does the passage begin, Bubbles?" 
 
 "Under Pier 3iA."
 
 " 'D afternoon, Mr. Lichtenstein," said 
 Bubbles
 
 THE PENALTY 225 
 
 "Come over here, Bub," said Mr. Lichtenstein and 
 led the way to a mahogany table covered with green 
 baize. Upon this he spread a folding-map of New 
 York City that he took from his inside pocket. With 
 the rapidity of thought his stubby forefinger found 
 Pier 31 A and passed from it to the crook in Marrow 
 Lane. And he said : 
 
 "Hum! The bee-line of it leads straight to Bliz- 
 zard's place. There are two things to find out, Bub. 
 Is the passage straight? And how long is it? A 
 light in the entrance to sight by will answer question 
 No. i, and a ball of twine to be unwound at leisure 
 will answer No. 2." 
 
 "You'd ought to have a compass," Bubbles sug- 
 gested, " to know just how she runs." 
 
 "True," said Mr. Lichtenstein. "Happy thought. 
 And you could borrow one mounted in tiger's eye 
 from a friend." 
 
 He laughed, took the little compass in question 
 from its watch chain, and gave it to Bubbles. Then, 
 his voice losing its bantering tone and taking on a 
 kind of faltering sincerity, he asked : 
 
 "Do you want to play this hand, Bubbles, or do 
 you want me to delegate some one else? " 
 
 "It's my graft," said Bubbles, "I'd like to see it 
 through." 
 
 Mr. Lichtenstein looked upon the boy with a cer- 
 tain pride and tenderness. "I'd like to go with you," 
 he said, "but I can't run any risks. There's the 
 strings of too many things in my head. In every
 
 226 THE PENALTY 
 
 battle there has to be a general who sits on a hill out 
 of danger and orders other people to do brave things. 
 Remember that you've worked for us ever since 
 Harry came in and said, laughing, 'Governor, I've 
 made friends with a bright baby that knows how to 
 keep his mouth shut.' You've only to step up to 
 Blizzard and say, 'Abe Lichtenstein is the head/ to 
 bring the gun-men down on me. But you'd die first." 
 
 The boy's breast swelled with pride and martial 
 ardor. "Betcher life," he said, and then: "If I get 
 the news will I bring it here?" 
 
 Mr. Lichtenstein considered for a minute. Then 
 shook his head. "I'll be in Blicker's drug-store be- 
 tween 'leven and midnight," he said. 
 
 "If I don't show up it'll be because I can't." 
 
 Mr. Lichtenstein smiled encouragingly. "Don't 
 look on the dark side of the future," he said, "but 
 don't take any chances, and don't show a light till 
 you have to."
 
 XXIX 
 
 THE night was hot, but the rising tide had brought 
 in cold water from the ocean, and what with his ex- 
 citement and trepidation it was a very shivery small 
 boy that began to investigate the passage under Pier 
 3 1 A. Mindful of Mr. Lichtenstein's advice not to 
 show a light till he had to, Bubbles felt his way for- 
 ward very slowly in the inky darkness, unrolling, as 
 he went, a huge ball of twine. It would be time to 
 take the bearings of the place by compass when he 
 had ascertained its general extent and whether it was 
 free from human occupants. On this score he felt 
 comparatively safe, since it seemed likely that the 
 passage had been constructed with a view to emer- 
 gency rather than daily use. 
 
 Having advanced a distance of about three short 
 city blocks, it seemed to Bubbles as if the passage 
 had opened suddenly into a room. If so, he had to 
 thank instinct for the knowledge, since he could see 
 but an inch in the blackness. He had the feeling that 
 walls were no longer passing near him, and, groping 
 cautiously this way and that, he found it to be fact 
 and not fancy. During these gropings he lost his 
 sense of direction, and, after considering the matter 
 at some length, he concluded that the time had come 
 to flash his torch. But first he listened for a long 
 
 227
 
 228 THE PENALTY 
 
 time. At last, satisfied that he was alone, his thumb 
 began to press against the switch of his torch. A 
 shaft of light bored into the darkness, and he saw two 
 wildly bearded men, who sat with their backs against 
 a wall of living rock and looked straight at him. 
 
 It was as if he had been suddenly frozen solid, so 
 dreadful was his surprise and horror, but the men 
 with the wild heads showed no emotion. They had 
 a pale, tired, hopeless look; and though one was dark 
 and one blond, this expression, common to both, gave 
 them an appearance of being twin brothers. They 
 had gentle soft eyes in which was no sign of surprise 
 or agitation. It seemed as if they were perfectly 
 accustomed to having light suddenly flashed into 
 them. One of the men leaned forward and began to 
 run his hand this way and that over the hard dirt 
 floor. 
 
 "Lost something?" said the other suddenly. 
 
 "Dropped my plug," said the first in a dull weary 
 voice, and he continued to feel for and repeatedly 
 just miss a half -cake of chewing- tobacco. Bubbles 
 could see it distinctly, and another thing was clear 
 to him: the men were both blind. 
 
 With this knowledge certain frayed and tattered 
 fragments of courage returned to him, and, what was 
 of much greater importance, his presence of mind. 
 
 The excavation in which he stood was nearly forty 
 feet square. His torch showed him the passage by 
 which he had entered, and opposite this a flight of 
 steps leading sharply upward. Here and there, lean-
 
 THE PENALTY 229 
 
 ing against the walls, were picks and shovels and 
 other tools used in excavating. Near the centre of 
 the passage was a tall pile of dirt and loose stones, to- 
 gether with two small wheelbarrows of sheet-iron. 
 
 Just as Bubbles had ascertained these facts and got 
 himself into a much calmer state of mind, he had a 
 fresh thrill of horror. The two blind men sighed, and 
 as if moved by a common impulse got up, and the 
 little boy saw that, like Blizzard, the beggar, they 
 had no legs. With perfect accuracy of direction they 
 turned to the great pile of dirt, and taking up two 
 shovels which leaned against it began to fill the two 
 little wheelbarrows. 
 
 They labored slowly as if time was of no moment, 
 as if the work in hand was a form of punishment in- 
 stead of something that it was intended to complete. 
 
 Bubbles had begun to wonder what they were 
 going to do with the dirt, when one of them, having 
 filled his barrow, trundled off with it into the passage- 
 way leading to the river. And to Bubbles, feverishly 
 listening, there came after what seemed a very long 
 interval a sound as of earth being dumped into water. 
 
 The second excavator, having filled his barrow, 
 waited the return of his companion, since the passage 
 was too narrow to admit of the two barrows meeting 
 and passing each other. 
 
 And that simple fact was very alarming to Bubbles, 
 since virtually it made a prisoner of him. One man 
 with his barrow full or empty was always in the 
 passage.
 
 230 THE PENALTY 
 
 Nor was there any possibility of escape by the flight 
 of stairs which he had noticed, for a hurried examina- 
 tion revealed a door of sheet-iron which did not give 
 to his most determined efforts. There was nothing 
 for it but to wait until the blind men should rest from 
 their labors. 
 
 He got used to them gradually; lost his fear of 
 them. Once in a while they spoke to each other, 
 always with a kind of lugubrious gentleness in their 
 voices. He began to feel sorry for them. He wished 
 to be of service to them in some way or other. Their 
 wild beards and shaggy, matted hair no longer ter- 
 rified him. They were two lambs made up to repre- 
 sent wolves, but the merest child must have seen 
 through the disguisement. 
 
 Upon the ball of twine which Bubbles still held in 
 his hand there was a sudden tug. It fell to the ground 
 with a thump and rolled toward the blind laborer 
 who had just filled his barrow. He was much startled 
 and turned his blind eyes this way and that; then 
 called to his mate, at that moment coming from the 
 passageway. 
 
 "I heard something drop," he said; "somebody 
 dropped something. I thought I heard steps on the 
 stairs, and now I know I did." 
 
 But the other had found the twine lying the length 
 of the passage. " Some one's come in from the river," 
 he said, "and dropped all this string." 
 
 He began to gather it in, hand over hand, paused 
 suddenly, and then, with a kind of bravado of terri-
 
 THE PENALTY 231 
 
 fied politeness, and with a bob of his wild, dark head, 
 exclaimed: 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Blizzard!" 
 
 Then the pair cowered as if they expected to be 
 struck, and after a long while the blond one said: 
 
 "It ain't him." 
 
 Then the dark one: 
 
 "Don't be scared of us. We couldn't hurt a fly if 
 we wanted to. Who is it?" 
 
 Now it seemed to Bubbles all of a sudden (though 
 the mention of Blizzard's name had once more given 
 him the horrors) that any risk run in revealing his 
 presence to the blind men was more than compen- 
 sated by the consequent possibility of "finding out 
 things" from them. So he said: 
 
 "It's only me just a boy. I found this hole swim- 
 min' and come in to see what it was for." 
 
 "It's only a boy," said the blond man. 
 
 "He wouldn't hurt us," said the dark one. 
 
 "Maybe you'll tell me what all this cellar work is 
 for," said Bubbles. 
 
 The dark man scratched his matted head. "We 
 don't know," he said; "we was just put in here to 
 dig. At first there was ten of us; but we was kep' 
 on to give the finishin' touches." 
 
 "What became of the others?" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Blizzard, he's got other work for them." 
 
 "Is this place under his house?" 
 
 "No, sir, it ain't. But the cellar at the head of 
 them steps is."
 
 232 THE PENALTY 
 
 "Maybe he's hollered this out to hide things in?" 
 
 The blind men turned toward each other and 
 nodded their heads. 
 
 "That's just presactly what we think," said the 
 blond one. 
 
 "What do you do when you aren't working?" 
 
 "Oh, we sleeps and eats in Blizzard's cellar." 
 
 "How long you been on the job?" 
 
 "We don't know. We lost track." 
 
 "See much of Blizzard?" 
 
 "Oh, he's in and out, just to keep things going." 
 
 "Is the passage to the river just to get rid of the 
 dirt?" 
 
 The dark man laughed sheepishly. "We don't 
 think so," he said "we gets lots of time to think. 
 And it ain't always dirt that goes into the river. 
 Twicet it's been men, and once it were a woman. 
 There was lead pipe wrapped round the bodies to 
 make 'em sink. And oncet Blizzard he tumbled a 
 girl down the stairs to us. But she weren't dead, 
 and me and Bill took the lead off her before we 
 throwed her in." 
 
 His comrade interrupted. "She said she could 
 swim. She said if we'd take the lead off and untie 
 her and give her a chanst, we could have a kiss apiece. 
 But we let her go fer nothin'." 
 
 "Did she get away?" Bubbles was tremendously 
 interested. 
 
 "No, sir. It was dark night, and she couldn't find 
 a way out from under the wharf. She just swam
 
 THE PENALTY 233 
 
 round and round, slower and slower, like a mouse in 
 a wash-tub. Then she calls out she'll come back 
 and we can hide her till daylight. But she don't 
 make it. We has to stand there and listen to her 
 drown." 
 
 "When she's dead she gets out into the open river, 
 and when Blizzard hears she's been found without 
 any lead on her he raises hell." 
 
 "When he gets through with us we was most 
 skinned alive." 
 
 "He wouldn't dig that hole to the river," said Bub- 
 bles, "just to get rid of people. What do you think 
 it's for?" 
 
 "You ain't goin' to tell Blizzard you been here, nor 
 get us in trouble?" 
 
 "I'll get you out of this some day, but you can't 
 get in no trouble through me." 
 
 "Then," said the blond man, "this is what we 
 thinks out and concludes: Blizzard he's calculatin' to 
 receive stolen goods wholesale. First he stores 'em in 
 here until this cellar is full, and then he takes 'em 
 down to the river and puts 'em aboard a ship bound 
 fur furrin' ports, and we thinks and concludes that 
 he'll make his get-away about the same time." 
 
 " Well," said Bubbles, " I'm obliged. I won't forget 
 your kindness. But it's time I was off." 
 
 " Come close first," said the blond man. 
 
 Bubbles was instantly alarmed. "Why?" 
 
 "Only so's we can feel your face, so's to know what 
 you look like."
 
 234 THE PENALTY 
 
 He stood impatient and embarrassed while they 
 pawed his face with hard, grimy hands. 
 
 At last they let him go, he whose barrow was full 
 accompanying him to the end of the passageway, and 
 speeding him on his way with this comfortable re- 
 mark: 
 
 "If you was to dive deep and feel around, you 
 might find those as is leaded to the bottom." 
 
 It took every ounce of nerve that Bubbles had at 
 command to let his legs and body slip down into the 
 cold and tragic current. It seemed certain that dead 
 hands were reaching for him. But he screwed his 
 courage up to the sticking point, and called to his 
 acquaintance in the passage-mouth a whispered but 
 nonchalant, "S'long!"
 
 XXX 
 
 WHEN Bubbles entered Blicker's drug-store, the city 
 clocks were striking a quarter to twelve, but the place 
 was still brightly lighted, and at the soda-counter a 
 young man was treating his flame to a glass of choc- 
 olate vanilla ice-cream. 
 
 Bubbles marched to the prescription counter, and 
 began to unwrap a bloody handkerchief from his left 
 hand. Then he began to clear his throat. This 
 brought Mr. Blicker from a region of mortar pestles, 
 empty pill-boxes, and glass retorts. 
 
 "What you want?" he asked aggressively. 
 
 "I want me thumb bandaged." 
 
 "You cut him eh?" 
 
 Bubbles lowered his voice. "On a barnacle." 
 
 "Come in back here," said Mr. Blicker roughly. 
 "I fix him." But once out of sight in the depths of 
 the store, his manner changed, and he patted Bubbles 
 enthusiastically on the back. "You have found out 
 some things? " 
 
 "Sure lots." 
 
 The chemist, without commenting, began to treat 
 the cut thumb, washing, disinfecting, and bandaging. 
 Then, very loud, for the benefit perhaps of the lovers 
 
 235
 
 236 THE PENALTY 
 
 at the soda-counter, "So," he said, "I let you out the 
 back door." 
 
 And he actually opened a door, slammed it shut, 
 and turned a key in the lock. But it was a closet 
 door. Then with a finger on his lips he pointed to a 
 narrow staircase and, his own feet making a great 
 tramping, led the way up it. Upon the top steps 
 they found Mr. Lichtenstein, nervously puffing clouds 
 of tobacco smoke. 
 
 "'Bout given you up," he said. "Good boy!" 
 
 "Better talk by the parlor," said Blicker; "here is 
 too exposed." 
 
 When the door of the stuffy little parlor had closed 
 behind them, the proprietor began to smile and beam. 
 But Mr. Lichtenstein looked grave and troubled. It 
 was not for pleasure that he sometimes found occa- 
 sion to put dangerous work in the hands of children. 
 
 "Hurt your thumb bad?" he asked. 
 
 Bubbles shook his head and plunged into his story. 
 Now and then the German laughed, but the red- 
 haired, pug-nosed Jew appeared to sink deeper and 
 deeper into his own thoughts, only showing by an 
 occasional question that he was following the boy's 
 narrative. Bubbles wished to dwell at length and 
 with comment upon the use of the passage for dis- 
 posing of dead bodies, but to Mr. Lichtenstein this 
 appeared to be merely a natural by-product of its 
 construction. 
 
 "It wasn't dug for that," he said. "How big is the 
 main excavation?"
 
 "I want me thumb bandaged"
 
 THE PENALTY 237 
 
 " 'Bout as big as a small East Side dance-hall." 
 
 Mr. Lichtenstein turned to the German. "Hold a 
 lot of loot what?" 
 
 "I bet me," said the German, and washed his hands 
 with air. 
 
 "Lot o' what?" asked Bubbles. 
 
 "Loot gold, silver, jewels, bullion." 
 
 "Your ideas," said the German, "is all idiot. No 
 mans is such a darn fool as to think he can get away 
 by such a business no mans, that is, but is crazy." 
 
 "Blizzard is crazy," said Mr. Lichtenstein simply. 
 "It wasn't until we hit on that hypothesis that we 
 made any progress. Bubbles, did you ever hear of 
 the Massacre of Saint Bartholomew?" 
 
 "Sure," said Bubbles, "they shot him full of ar- 
 rows." 
 
 "That was Saint Sebastian," corrected the Jew. 
 "Now listen, this is history. On the night of August 
 24, 1572, two thousand men, distinguished from other 
 men by white cockades in their hats, on the order of 
 a crazy man, at the tolling of a bell, drew their swords, 
 murdered everybody in a great city who opposed 
 their leaders, and made themselves absolute masters 
 of the place. What two thousand men did in Paris 
 during the Middle Ages, ten thousand men acting hi 
 concert could do in New York to-day. If a man rose 
 up with the power to command such a following, with 
 the ability to keep his plans absolutely secret, with 
 the genius to make plans in which there were no 
 flaws, he could loot Maiden Lane, the Sub-Treasury,
 
 238 THE PENALTY 
 
 Tiffany's, the Metropolitan Museum and gel away 
 with it." 
 
 Mr. Lichtenstein's small eyes glittered. He was 
 visibly excited. And so was Mr. Blicker. 
 
 "He will loot the Metropolitan Museum," said this 
 one, "but what will he do with the metropolitan 
 police? " 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Lichtenstein, "I am only sup- 
 posing. But suppose some fine night a building some- 
 where central was blown up with dynamite. Sup- 
 pose the sound was so big that it could be heard 
 in every part of greater New York. Suppose at the 
 sound every policeman in greater New York was shot 
 dead in his tracks 
 
 Bubbles's hair began to bristle. "Say," he cried 
 in his excitement, "the straw hats the soft straw 
 hats that Blizzard makes and don't sell they're the 
 white cockades!" 
 
 Mr. Blicker guffawed. Mr. Lichtenstein rose and 
 paced the room. 
 
 "And that proves," he exclaimed, "that nothing is 
 to happen when you and I are wearing straw hats 
 but in winter. Bubbles, you're a bright boy!" 
 
 "You are both so bright," said Mr. Blicker, "you 
 keep me all the time laughing." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Lichtenstein, "that may be, but 
 suppose you tell me why Blizzard makes straw hats 
 and don't sell 'em. Tell me why he's dug such a 
 great hole under his house with a passage leading to 
 the river, and ships. Tell me why O'Hagan is drill-
 
 THE PENALTY 239 
 
 ing men in the West. Tell me why Blizzard has gone 
 out of the white-slave business. It fetched him in a 
 pretty penny." 
 
 "I think I can answer the last question," said 
 Bubbles. 
 
 "Do then." 
 
 "I think," said the small boy, "that he's got some 
 good in hmi somewhere, and I know he's dead gone 
 on my Miss Ferris. I think he's ashamed o' some o' 
 the things he's done." 
 
 Mr. Lichtenstein considered this at some length. 
 Then he said: "Well, that's possible. But it's an ab- 
 solutely new idea to me. Blizzard ashamed ? Hum ! "
 
 XXXI 
 
 "TRUE that policemen take money in exchange for 
 protection? True that they practise blackmail and ex- 
 tortion? Of course it's true. Whenever a big temp- 
 tation appears loose in a city half the people who 
 get a look at it trip and fall. Oh, I'd like to re- 
 form this city, Miss Barbara and this country. I'd 
 like to be dictator for six months." 
 
 "Who wouldn't? " said Barbara. "But what would 
 you do? Where would you begin?" 
 
 "I should be drastic at first," said the legless man, 
 "and kind later. I'd begin," he went on, his eyes 
 smiling, "with a general massacre of incompetents 
 old men with too little money, young men with too 
 much old maids, aliens, incurables, the races that 
 are too clever to work, the races that are too stupid, 
 habitual drunkards, spreaders of disease, the women 
 who abolished the canteen, the women who wear 
 aigrettes. After that I should destroy all possibilities 
 of graft." 
 
 "How?" asked Barbara. 
 
 "Why," said he, "the simplest way in the world 
 legalize the business that now pays for protection. 
 There would be no more of them than there are now, 
 and they could be regulated and kept to confined 
 limits of cities. Don't blame the police for graft: 
 
 240
 
 THE PENALTY 241 
 
 blame all who believe that human nature can be 
 abolished by law. But," and this time his whole face 
 smiled, "I shall never be dictator. The thing to do 
 is to start a new country, and make no mistakes." 
 
 And he proceeded, sometimes seriously but for the 
 most part whimsically, to outline his model republic, 
 while Barbara worked and listened, sometimes with 
 amusement, sometimes with a sense of being uplifted 
 and thrilled by the man's plausible originality. 
 Since she had but the vaguest recollection of history, 
 and none whatever of economics, it was easy for the 
 man to play the constructive statesman. Nor were 
 his schemes always foolish and illogical, since the book 
 of human nature had been always in his library, and 
 of all its volumes had been most often read. 
 
 "Ah!" said the legless man at last, "if I were 
 younger, and whole!" 
 
 Whenever he referred to his maimed condition 
 Barbara, to whom it was no longer physically shock- 
 ing, was uncomfortable and distressed, changing the 
 subject as swiftly as might be. But now, stopping 
 her work short off, her hands hanging at her sides, 
 she began to speak of the matter. 
 
 "I suppose," she said, "it's almost life and death 
 to you sometimes, that you'd give almost anything, 
 take any chance to be the way you were meant to be. 
 My father believes that some day people can have 
 anything that they've lost restored a hand or an 
 arm. He's made experiments along those lines ever 
 since he made his mistake with you, and it all works
 
 242 THE PENALTY 
 
 out beautifully with monkeys and dogs and guinea- 
 pigs and rabbits. Just now he is in Colorado to try 
 it on a man. There's a man out there in jail for life, 
 who has a brother that lost his right hand in some 
 machinery. The well brother has offered to let father 
 cut off his hand, and graft it on the maimed brother's 
 wrist. I've just had a letter it's been done. He 
 thinks it's all right, but he can't be sure yet. Please 
 don't say anything about it because well, because 
 people are still queer about these things. In the old 
 days people burned the best doctors, and now they 
 want to lynch vivisectors and almost anybody who's 
 really trying to make health more or less contagious." 
 
 " Do you believe I could be made whole? " exclaimed 
 Blizzard, his eyes glittering as with a sudden hope. 
 "My God! Even if they weren't much use to me, 
 I'd give my soul to look like a real man my soul! 
 Do you know what I'd rather do than anything in 
 this whole world just once? I'd rather draw myself 
 to my full height just once than be Napoleon Bo- 
 naparte. If all the treasure in this city were mine to 
 give, I'd give it to walk the length of a city block on 
 my own feet, looking down at the people instead of 
 always up always up until the leverage of your 
 eyes twists the back of your brain in everlasting tor- 
 ment." 
 
 "When my father comes back," said Barbara 
 quietly, "talk to him. And if only it can be done 
 why, you'll forgive us, won't you, for all the suffer- 
 ing you've had and everything?"
 
 She said in a small, surprised voice, 
 "Why, it's finished"
 
 THE PENALTY 243 
 
 "Yes, yes," he said quickly. "But it isn't true 
 it isn't possible. It won't work. It's against ex- 
 perience." 
 
 "It is possible," said Barbara gently. "That's all 
 I know. And even if even if it can't be done yet 
 awhile, I thought it would comfort you to think that 
 some day almost surely " 
 
 "You are always thinking of my comfort," he cried. 
 "In this pit that we call life, you are an angel serene, 
 blessed and blessing. Oh," he cried, "what would 
 you say if I stood before you on my own feet, and 
 told you told you " He broke off short and hung 
 his head. 
 
 Barbara bit her lips and lifted her hands with a 
 weary gesture to resume work. But the bust of Bliz- 
 zard was a live thing, and seeing anew the strength 
 and hellish beauty of it, suddenly and as if with the 
 eyes of a stranger, her heart seemed to leap into her 
 throat, her whole body relaxed once more, and she 
 said in a small, surprised voice: 
 
 "Why, it's finished!"
 
 XXXII 
 
 UPON Blizzard, who had been looking forward to 
 many mornings during which he should unobtrusively 
 advance his cause, this quiet statement fell with dis- 
 turbing force. It meant that his opportunities for 
 intimate talks had come to a sudden and most un- 
 prepared-for end. He knew that Barbara was tired 
 out with the steady grind of creation, and that she 
 had been going through an equally steady grind of 
 discouragement and uncertainty. He believed that 
 she would make no delay in carrying her triumph and 
 her trouble out of the heat-ridden city, to cool places, 
 to her own people. He believed, not that she would 
 forget him, but that, free from his influence, she 
 would see with equal vision how wide the gulf be- 
 tween them really was. 
 
 He had made a slip in his calculation. He had 
 been spreading his arts thinly, you may say, to cover 
 what he supposed was to have been a much longer 
 period of time. And he should have come sooner 
 and with all his strength to the point There had 
 been moments of supreme discouragement, when, if 
 there was to be a miracle in his life, he should have 
 spoken. There were to be no more of those golden 
 moments. She would close the studio, go away, and 
 return by way of exercise and fresh air to a sane and
 
 THE PENALTY 245 
 
 normal state of mind a state ef mind in which such 
 a physical and moral cripple as himself could have no 
 place except among the curiosities. 
 
 She stood looking steadily at the head which had 
 come to life under her hands. Her eyelids drooped 
 heavily. She looked almost as if she was falling 
 asleep. 
 
 Buzzard watched her as a cat watches a mouse, 
 not knowing what was best for him to dare. Now 
 he was for pleading his cause with all the passion that 
 inspired it; now for boldly claiming her as the expia- 
 tion for her father's fault; and now he was for pass- 
 ing over all preliminaries and felling her with a blow 
 of his fist. 
 
 And then she suddenly turned to him, and smiled 
 like a very happy and very tired child. "You've 
 been very good to me," she said, "and so patient! I 
 don't know quite how to thank you. I owe you such 
 a lot." 
 
 "Do you?" he said, his hard eyes softening and 
 seeking hers. 
 
 She nodded slowly. "Such a lot. And there's no 
 way of paying, or making things up to you, is there? " 
 
 "Only one," he said. 
 
 There was quite a long silence; his eyes, flames in 
 them, held hers, which were troubled and childlike, 
 and imbued the two words that he had spoken with 
 an unmistakable intelligence. 
 
 "Don't let me go utterly," he said, "and slip back 
 into the pit. You have finished the bust. If you
 
 246 THE PENALTY 
 
 wished you could finish the man: put him back among 
 the good angels. ... If your father died owing 
 money, you couldn't rest until you had paid his 
 debts. ... I could be anything you wished. And 
 I could give you anything that you wanted in this 
 world. There is nothing I couldn't put over with 
 you at my side, wishing the good deed done, the 
 great deed or " 
 
 He began to tremble with the passion that was in 
 his voice, slipped from his chair, and began to move 
 slowly toward her with outstretched arms, upon his 
 stumps of legs. 
 
 It was no mirth or any sense of the ridiculous that 
 moved Barbara, but fear, disgust, and horror. She 
 backed away from him, laughing hysterically. But 
 he, whose self-consciousness in her sight bordered 
 upon mania, mistook the cause of her laughter, so 
 that a kind of hell-born fury shook him, and he rushed 
 at her, his mouth giving out horrible and inarticulate 
 sounds. And in those lightning moments she could 
 move neither hand nor foot; nor could she cry for 
 help. And yet she realized, as in some nightmare, 
 that if once those horrible hairy hands closed upon 
 her she was lost utterly. And in that same clear 
 flash of reason she realized that for whatever might 
 befall she had herself alone to blame. She had 
 touched pitch, and played with fire and all that 
 men might some day call her great. 
 
 The speed for which the fury of the legless man 
 called was more than the stumps of his legs could
 
 In that instant the legless man over- 
 reached himself and fell heavily
 
 ,, t yfoch 1 ,-.
 
 THE PENALTY 247 
 
 furnish. He was like a man, thigh-deep in water, 
 who attempts to run at top speed. Yet his hands 
 were within inches of her dress, when daring and 
 nerve at last thrilled through Barbara, and returned 
 her muscles into the keeping of her mind. She darted 
 backward and to one side. In that instant the 
 legless man overreached himself and fell heavily. 
 Here seemed an inestimable advantage for Barbara, 
 and yet the great body, shaken with curses and al- 
 ready rising to its stumps, was between her and the 
 door.
 
 XXXIII 
 
 FOR once the legless man had been deserted by the 
 power of cool reasoning. And his fury was of a kind 
 that could not wait for satisfaction. He was more 
 like a mad dog than a man. And this, although it 
 added to the horror of Barbara's situation, proved her 
 salvation. 
 
 Occupying a point from which he could head off 
 her escape by either of the studio doors, he abandoned 
 this, and attempted to match the stumps of his legs 
 against her swift young feet. And must have over- 
 come the disparity, but that in the lightning instinct 
 of self-preservation she overturned a table between 
 them, and during the moments thus gained dashed 
 into her dressing-room and locked the door behind her. 
 
 Blizzard vented his rage upon the locked door, 
 splintering its panels with bleeding fists; but in the 
 meanwhile his quarry had escaped him, and was al- 
 ready in the street walking swiftly toward Washing- 
 ton Square. He leaned at last from a window, and 
 saw her going. And in his heart shame gradually 
 took the place of fury. Why, when she laughed at 
 him, had he not been able to dissemble his emotions 
 for a few seconds? to mask his dreadfulness? For 
 then, surely, he must have got her in his power. He 
 should have hung his head when she laughed, begged 
 
 248
 
 Barbara . . . dashed into her dress- 
 ing-room and locked the door be- 
 hind her
 
 THE PENALTY 249 
 
 her to forgive him for daring to lift his thoughts to 
 her; and begged her as a token of forgiveness to 
 shake hands with him. Her hand once clasped in 
 his 
 
 Well, he had made a fool of himself. Perhaps he 
 had frightened her utterly beyond the reach even of 
 his long arm. Fear would carry her out of the city, 
 out of the State, out of the country, perhaps. To 
 prevent the least of these contingencies he must act 
 swiftly and with daring wisdom. 
 
 He passed into the studio, glanced upward at the 
 bust of himself, stopped, and looked about for some- 
 thing heavy with which to destroy it. Later he would 
 tell her that he had done so, and let that knowledge 
 be the beginning of her torment. 
 
 But the thing that he planned to destroy looked 
 him in the eye, smiling. The thing smiled in the full 
 knowledge of good and evil, the fact that it had 
 chosen evil, the fact that it was lost forever. It was 
 no contagious smile, but a smile aloof and dreadful. 
 So a man, impaled, may smile, when agony has passed 
 beyond the usual human passions and even so the 
 legless man smiled upward at the smiling bust of 
 himself. And he found that he could not destroy the 
 bust: for the act would have about it too ominous a 
 flavor of self-destruction. 
 
 He caught up his crutches, his little hand-organ, 
 and hurried from the studio. By now Barbara must 
 be well on her way up-town. He entered a public 
 telephone station and gave the number of her house.
 
 250 THE PENALTY 
 
 He asked to speak with Miss Marion O'Brien, and 
 when after an interval he heard the voice of Barbara's 
 maid in his ear, he said: "She's been frightened. Let 
 me know what she's going to do as soon as you know. 
 Don't use the house 'phone. Slip out to a pay station. 
 I must know when she's going and where, and if she 
 says for how long." He hung up the receiver, and 
 hurried off. 
 
 An hour later Barbara's maid telephoned him the 
 required news, but all of it that mattered was that 
 Barbara was not going out of town until the next day. 
 There was a whole afternoon and night in which to 
 act. 
 
 The legless man sank at once into deep and swift 
 thought. And ten minutes later he had abandoned 
 all idea of kidnapping Barbara for the present. Cer- 
 tain dangers of so doing seemed insurmountable. He 
 must possess his soul in patience, and in the mean- 
 while discount, if possible, the fright that he had 
 given her. To this end he wrote the following letter: 
 
 "It wasn't your fault that I lifted my eyes to you, 
 and hoped that you would lower yours to me. But 
 now I know what a fool I have been. I forgive you 
 for laughing at me, though at the time it made me 
 mad like a dog, and I only wanted to hurt the woman 
 I love. I won't trouble you any more, ever. Indeed 
 I am too ashamed and humbled ever to wish to see 
 you again. Only please don't hate me. If I had 
 any good sides, please remember them. Some time 
 you will hear of me again; but never again from me.
 
 THE PENALTY 251 
 
 I have work to do, but I have given my time to 
 dreaming. 
 
 "When your father comes back will you ask him 
 to let me know if he will see me? You thought he 
 could do something for me or hold out some hope. 
 I would risk my life itself to be whole, even if I could 
 never be very active. And science is so wonderful; 
 and I know your father would like to help me if he 
 could. 
 
 "If you don't think I am being punished for threat- 
 ening you, and going crazy, you don't know anything 
 about the unhappiest beast in this world. But it is 
 terrible for a cripple when the one person he looks up 
 to laughs at him. I have a thick skin; but that 
 burnt through it like acid." 
 
 The messenger who carried the letter to Barbara 
 brought him her answer: 
 
 "I will give your message to my father. You are 
 quite wrong about the laughing. I didn't laugh at 
 you or anything about you. I laughed because I 
 was nervous and frightened. But it can't matter 
 much one way or the other. I am sorry that you have 
 been hurt twice by my family. But the second hurt 
 is not our fault. And I do not see that there is any- 
 thing to be done about it. As for the first, my father 
 would end his days in peace if he could make you 
 whole. I shall hope to hear nothing but good of 
 you in the future." 
 
 The shame and remorse to which Blizzard pre- 
 tended, Barbara actually felt. All her friendships
 
 252 THE PENALTY 
 
 with men had been pursued by disasters of some sort 
 or other. But her most disastrous experiment in 
 friendship had been with Blizzard. She had been 
 bluntly told by truth-speaking persons that he was 
 not a fit acquaintance for her. His own face had 
 warned her. But she had persisted in meeting him 
 without precautions, in treating him like an equal, in 
 overcoming her natural and just repugnance to him, 
 and in calling him her friend. It was humiliating for 
 her to realize and acknowledge that she had made a 
 fool of herself. It was worse to remember the look 
 in his face, during those last awful moments in the 
 studio. Even if the bust she had made of him was a 
 great work of art, she had paid too high for the priv- 
 ilege of making it.
 
 XXXIV 
 
 DR. FERRIS was delighted to learn that Barbara had 
 left town. Her meetings with Blizzard had been hor- 
 ribly on his mind and conscience. He had dreaded 
 some vague calamity some intangible darkening of 
 his darling's soul. 
 
 A few days hi the country had worked wonders for 
 her. Her skin had browned a little, and her cheeks 
 were crimson. But dearer to the paternal heart than 
 these evidences of good health was the fact that she 
 seemed unusually glad to see him. She seemed to 
 him to have lost a world of independence and self- 
 reliance, to be inclined to accept his judgments with- 
 out dispute. She seemed more womanly and more 
 daughterly, more normal and more beautiful. 
 
 For a man with a heavy weight always upon his 
 conscience, the excellent surgeon found himself won- 
 derfully at peace with the world and its institutions. 
 There was no doubt that the hand which he had come 
 from grafting was going to live and be of some use to 
 its new owner. His mail was heavy with approba- 
 tion. And it seemed to him that the path which he 
 had discovered had no ending. 
 
 "In a hundred years, Barbara," he said, "it will 
 be possible to replace anything that the body has 
 lost, or that has become diseased and useless or a 
 
 253
 
 254 THE PENALTY 
 
 menace not the heart, perhaps, nor the brain but 
 anything else. What I have done clumsily others 
 will do to perfection." 
 
 "What are the chances for Blizzard?" 
 
 "Even," said the surgeon. "They would be more 
 favorable if he had not lost his legs so long ago. At 
 the worst the experiment wouldn't kill him. He 
 would merely have undergone a useless operation. 
 At the best he would be able to walk, run perhaps, 
 and look like a whole man. If anything is to be done 
 for hun, the time has come. He has only to tell me 
 to go ahead." 
 
 "I think he'll do that," said Barbara. "But 
 there's one thing I don't understand," and she smiled; 
 "who is to supply the spare legs?" 
 
 "That's the least of all the difficulties," said her 
 father, "now that ways of keeping tissues alive have 
 been discovered and proved. In time there will be 
 storages from which any part of the human body 
 may be obtained on short notice and in perfect con- 
 dition for grafting. Just now the idea is horrible to 
 ignorant people, but the faith will spread. Only 
 wait till we have made a few old people young for 
 that will come, too, with the new surgery." 
 
 "You will be glad," said Barbara, "to hear that I 
 have severed friendly relations with Mr. Blizzard. 
 He behaved in the end pretty much as you all feared 
 he would." 
 
 And she told her father, briefly, and somewhat 
 shamefacedly, all that had happened in the studio.
 
 THE PENALTY 255 
 
 "He thought I was laughing at him," she said. 
 "Of course I wasn't. And he came at me. Do you 
 remember when poor old Rose went mad, and tried 
 to get at us through the bars of the kennel? Bliz- 
 zard looked like that like a mad dog." She shud- 
 dered. 
 
 The surgeon's high spirits were dashed as with cold 
 water. 
 
 "He ought not to be helped," said Barbara; "he 
 ought to be shot, as Rose was." 
 
 But Dr. Ferris shook his head gravely. "If he is 
 that sort of a man," he said, "who made him so? 
 Who took the joy of life from him? Barbara, my 
 dear, there is nothing that man could do that I 
 couldn't forgive." 
 
 "And I think that your conscience is sick," said 
 Barbara. "I used to think as you think. But if you 
 had seen his face that day! . . . The one great mis- 
 take you have made has ruined not his life, but yours. 
 If he had had the right stuff in him, calamity would 
 not have broken him! It would have made him. 
 Give him a new pair of legs, if you can; and forget 
 about him, as I shall. When you first told me about 
 him, I thought we owed him anything he chose to 
 ask. At one time I thought that if he wished it, it 
 would be right for me to marry him." 
 
 "Barbara!" 
 
 "Yes, I did I thought it strongly. Shows what 
 a fool a girl who's naturally foolish can make of her- 
 self! Why, father, what if he has suffered through
 
 256 THE PENALTY 
 
 your mistake? That mistake turned your thoughts 
 to the new surgery and for the one miserable man 
 that you have hurt you will have given the wonder of 
 hope to the whole of mankind." 
 
 She slid her hand under her father's arm. 
 
 "Let's potter 'round the gardens," she said, "and 
 forget our troubles. It's bully to have you back. 
 There's not much doing in the floral line. The 
 summer sun in Westchester doesn't vary from year 
 to year. But there are lots of green things that smell 
 good, and the asters and dahlias are making the most 
 extraordinary promises of what they are going to do 
 by and by." 
 
 They passed out of the house and by marble steps 
 into the first and most formal of their many gardens, 
 and so down through the other gardens, terrace below 
 terrace, to the lake. 
 
 The water was so still as to suggest a solid rather 
 than a liquid; to Jthe west shadowy mountains of 
 cloud charged with thunder swelled toward the zenith. 
 The long midsummer drought was coming to an end, 
 and all birds and insects were silent, as if tired of 
 complaining. Across the lake one maple, turned pre- 
 maturely scarlet, brought out the soft greens of the 
 woods with an astounding accent. Directly in front 
 of this flaming tree, a snow-white heron stood motion- 
 less upon a gray rock. 
 
 To Barbara it seemed on that day that "Clovelly" 
 was the loveliest place in all the world, and her father, 
 who had fashioned it out of rough farm lands, one of
 
 k.% ^Hfc^ T^^. ^^ ^ 
 
 They passed out of the house and by 
 marble steps into the first and most 
 formal of their many gardens
 
 THE PENALTY 257 
 
 the world's most charming artists. "Why paint with 
 oils, when you can draw with trees and flowers and 
 grass and water? " she asked herself. 
 
 "In the time it took me to do Blizzard's bust," she 
 said, "I could have plantefl millions of flowers and 
 seen them bloom." 
 
 "At least," said her father, "you can finish a bust, 
 but a garden that is finished isn't a garden. What 
 are you going to do with it?" 
 
 "The bust? Why, sometimes I think I'll just leave 
 it in the studio, and let it survive or perish. Some- 
 times I want to take a hammer and smash it to 
 pieces." 
 
 "It didn't come out as well as you hoped?" 
 
 "Of course not. Does anything ever? But it's 
 the best that I can do. And I shall never do any- 
 thing better." 
 
 "Nonsense." 
 
 "I shall never even try. I want to recover all the 
 things I've thrown away, and put them back in my 
 head and heart where they belong, and just live." 
 
 "Well," said her father, smiling, "if you feel that 
 way, why that's a good way to feel. But I'm afraid 
 art is stronger in you than you think. Just now 
 you're tired and disillusionized. In a month you'll 
 be making sketches for some monumental opus." 
 
 "If I do," said Barbara, "it will be executed here 
 at Clovelly. I never want to leave Clovelly. I feel 
 safe here, safe from myself and other people. I 
 think," and she smiled whimsically, "that I should
 
 258 THE PENALTY 
 
 almost like to settle down and make you a good 
 daughter." 
 
 "A good daughter," said the surgeon, "marries; 
 and her father builds a beautiful house for her, just 
 over the hill from his own remember the little valley 
 where we found all the fringed gentian one year? 
 and the shortest cut between the two houses is worn 
 bare and packed hard by the feet of grandchildren. 
 Good Lord, my dear, what's the good of art, what's 
 the good of science? I would rather have watched 
 you grow up than have made the Winged Victory, or 
 discovered the circulation of the blood. Come now, 
 Barbs, tell me, who's the young man?" 
 
 For the first time in her life she told him of the 
 wild impulsiveness and the shocking brevity of her 
 affections for various members of his sex; naming no 
 names she explained to him with much self-abase- 
 ment (and a little amusement) that she was no good. 
 "A nice wife I'd make!" she concluded. 
 
 But her father only laughed. "The only abnormal 
 thing about you," he said, "is that you tell the truth. 
 The average girl shows men more attentions than men 
 show her. I don't mean that she demonstrates her 
 attentions; but that she feels them in her heart. To 
 be absolutely the first in a woman's heart a man must 
 catch her when she's about three months old." 
 
 "But a girl," said Barbara, "who thinks she's sure 
 and then finds she isn't, hurts the people she's fondest 
 of. In extreme cases she breaks hearts and spoils 
 lives."
 
 'What is Wilmot doing with himself 
 these days?" "He went away," 
 said Barbara, her eyes troubled.

 
 THE PENALTY 259 
 
 "Hearts," said her father, "that can be broken are 
 very weak. Lives that can be spoiled by disappoint- 
 ment and injured pride aren't worth preserving. If 
 you have nothing more serious on your conscience 
 than having, in all good faith, encouraged a few 
 young men, found that you were wrong, and sent 
 them away with bees in their bonnets, I'm sure I 
 envy you." 
 
 Barbara simply shook her head. 
 
 "When you do find the right man, Barbara, you'll 
 make up to him with showers of blessings for what- 
 ever cold rains you've shed on others. . . . What is 
 Wilmot doing with himself these days? " 
 
 "He went away," said Barbara, and she sat look- 
 ing steadily across the lake, her chin on her hand, 
 her eyes troubled.
 
 XXXV 
 
 IN many ways the life which Barbara led at Clovelly 
 was calculated to rest her mind. She developed a 
 passion for exercise, and when night came was too 
 full of tired good health to read or talk. Since the 
 estate was to be hers one day, she found the wish to 
 know her way intimately about it, and since there 
 were three thousand acres, for the most part thick 
 forests spread over rocky hills, she could contemplate 
 weeks of delightful explorations. To discover ponds, 
 brooks, and caves that belong to other people has its 
 delights, but to go daily up and down a lovely coun- 
 try discovering lovely things that belong to yourself 
 is perhaps the most delightful way of passing time 
 that has been vouchsafed to any one. 
 
 On these explorations Barbara's chosen companion 
 was Bubbles. He was no longer a mere Buttons: 
 her interest and belief in the child had passed beyond 
 the wish to see him develop into a good servant. She 
 wished to make something better of him or if there 
 is nothing better than a good servant, something 
 more showy and ornamental. 
 
 He was sharp as a needle; and he was honest. He 
 was not too old to be moulded by good influences, 
 schools, and associations into a man with proper 
 
 260
 
 THE PENALTY 261 
 
 manners, and an upper-class command of the Eng- 
 lish language. He should go to one of the New 
 England church schools, later to college, then he 
 should choose a career for himself and be helped into 
 harness. So she planned his future. In the mean- 
 while she wished to see the thin, spindly body catch 
 up with the big, intelligent head. Although his 
 muscles were tough and wiry he had a delicate look 
 which troubled her, and a cough which to her inex- 
 perienced and anxious ears suggested a consumptive 
 tendency. 
 
 Dr. Ferris laughed at this, but to satisfy her he 
 gave the boy a thorough questioning and a thorough 
 looking over. "Any of your family consumptives, 
 Bubbles?" 
 
 "Don't think so, sir." 
 
 "Well, you're not. Heart and lungs are sound." 
 
 "Miss Barbara says she doesn't like my cough." 
 
 "Yes," said the surgeon, "it worries her quite a 
 good deal. And I advise you to stop it." 
 
 "But my throat gets tickling, and " 
 
 "Your throat gets tickling because you are an 
 inveterate cigarette smoker. And that's the reason 
 why you are undersized and under-nourished. How 
 long have you smoked?" 
 
 "I don't remember when I didn't." 
 
 "Can't you stop?" 
 
 "I stopped once for two days, and then I took a 
 pack of smokers that wasn't mine. That was about 
 the only thing I ever stole."
 
 262 THE PENALTY 
 
 "But if you gave me your word not to smoke any 
 more till you're twenty-one, couldn't you keep that 
 promise?" 
 
 "I could try," said Bubbles, evincing very little 
 confidence. 
 
 "Will you try?" said the surgeon. "Hello, what's 
 this?" 
 
 The boy in lifting his left arm had disclosed a dark- 
 brown birthmark shaped like the new moon. All 
 amusement had gone out of Dr. Ferris's eyes; and he 
 had that look of tragic memories that so often put an 
 end to his smiling and optimistic moods. 
 
 "Do you remember your father?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Mother living?" 
 
 Bubbles hesitated. "She's in an asylum. She's 
 crazy." 
 
 "What was your father's name?" 
 
 Bubbles shook his head. 
 
 The surgeon considered for a moment. "Well," he 
 said, at length, and once more smiling, "put your 
 clothes on, and then go to Miss Ferris and promise 
 her that you won't smoke any more. What asylum 
 did you say your mother was in?" 
 
 "Ottawan." 
 
 "Do you ever see her?" 
 
 "No, sir. She don't like to see me." 
 
 "What is her name, Bubbles?" 
 
 "Jenny Ward." 
 
 Dr. Ferris ordered a car, and in less than two hours
 
 THE PENALTY 263 
 
 he was talking with the superintendent of Ottawan 
 about the patient, Jenny Ward. 
 
 "The boy," he was saying, "is a protege of my 
 daughter's. She means to educate him, and we are 
 naturally interested in his antecedents. I wonder if 
 she has any lucid recollection of the father?" 
 
 "When she first came she seemed to have lucid 
 moments. Even now she never makes trouble for 
 any one, except that sometimes she wakes in the 
 night screaming. She has been very pretty." 
 
 "H'm!" said Dr. Ferris. "You think she couldn't 
 tell me anything about the boy's father?" 
 
 "I know she couldn't. When she was examined 
 after being committed, it was found that her tongue 
 had been cut out." 
 
 The woman, upon being visited, proved a meek, 
 gentle, pathetic creature, eager to please. As the 
 superintendent reported, she had been very pretty. 
 She would have been pretty still, but for her utterly 
 vacant look. 
 
 The doctor questioned her, but she made no effort, 
 it seemed, even to understand the questions. Given 
 a pencil and paper she seemed to take pleasure in 
 making dots, dashes, and scrawls; but she made no 
 mark that hi any way represented a letter of the 
 alphabet. Confronted with a printed page, she 
 thrust it aside. 
 
 "Very likely she never could read or write," said the 
 superintendent; "usually when you give 'em a pencil 
 they make letters by an act of muscular memory."
 
 264 THE PENALTY 
 
 In the corridor outside the woman's room, they en- 
 countered one of those nurses who are used in man- 
 aging the violent insane. He was a huge fellow, with 
 a dark, strong, and somewhat forbidding face. He 
 nodded to the superintendent and passed. Dr. Fer- 
 ris looked after him down the corridor, had a sudden 
 thought, and communicated it to his host in a quick 
 undertone. 
 
 "I say, Gyles! Look here a moment." 
 
 The huge nurse turned on his heel, and came tower- 
 ing back to them. 
 
 "Have you ever assisted in looking after the 
 woman Jenny Ward?" and he pointed toward the 
 door of her room. 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Dr. Ferris wishes to try an experiment." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "He wishes you to throw open the door of her 
 room, and to enter quickly upon your knees." 
 
 "On my knees?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "All right, sir." The man shrugged his big shoul- 
 ders, and, his face sullen and annoyed, knelt at the 
 door of Jenny Ward's room, unlocked it, flung it 
 open, and entered quickly. 
 
 Over his head the doctors saw an expression of fear, 
 almost unearthly, come over the woman's face. And 
 she filled her room and the corridor without with a 
 hoarse and horrible screaming. 
 
 Instantly the big nurse rose to his feet, and came
 
 THE PENALTY 265 
 
 out of the room. His face was passionately angry. 
 
 And he said: 
 
 "It's a shame to frighten her like that." 
 
 The superintendent's eyes fell before the glare in 
 
 those of the employee, and he murmured something 
 
 about "necessary experiment had to be done."
 
 XXXVI 
 
 "THERE'S no room for doubt in my mind," said Dr. 
 Ferris. "The coincidence of the birthmarks, most 
 unusual in shape and texture, the poor woman's be- 
 havior at sight of a man who at first glance appeared 
 to be without legs " 
 
 "Yes," said Barbara, "but I go more on a cer- 
 tain expression that Bubbles sometimes has and that 
 makes him look like his father. You see, I've done 
 both their heads, and studied them closer than any- 
 body else." 
 
 "Do you suppose the boy knows?" 
 
 She shook her head. "I think not. He's too 
 too decent. If he thought that Blizzard was his 
 father, he wouldn't say the things that I have heard 
 him say about him. He's the most loyal child." 
 
 "Do you suppose Blizzard knows?" 
 
 "Why, of course. A man could hardly have a son 
 without knowing him especially a man who lives 
 with his ears to the ground and his mind in touch 
 with everything in the city." 
 
 Dr. Ferris smiled a little. "Well," he said, "shall 
 we tell Bubbles?" 
 
 "Why should we? I shouldn't like to be told out 
 of a clear sky that I had such and such a father. It 
 doesn't seem in the least necessary." 
 
 266
 
 THE PENALTY 267 
 
 But before the day was out Barbara thought best 
 to tell Bubbles. He came to her, with a slightly im- 
 portant air, which he did his best to conceal, and said 
 that he wished to go to the city for a few days, on 
 business. 
 
 "Sure the business isn't free untrammelled smok- 
 ing?" 
 
 Bubbles was offended. "If I hadn't given you my 
 word," he said, "you might think that. I told you 
 when we came that I might have to go back any time 
 on business. I got to go. Honest, Miss Barbara." 
 
 "Well, that settles it, Bubbles. But don't you 
 think as long as I'm trying to give you some of the 
 things you've missed, that you might take me a little 
 more into your confidence? " 
 
 She maintained a discreet and serious countenance, 
 although she wished very much to laugh. 
 
 The boy studied her face gravely with grave eyes. 
 "The ABC of my business," he said presently, "is 
 knowing who to trust. I know you won't blab, Miss 
 Barbara, 'r else I wouldn't tell you. There's a so- 
 ciety in New York City for putting down grafts and 
 crimes. There's a rich man back of it. And there's 
 more kinds o' people working for it than you'd guess 
 in a year. There's even policemen workin' for it " 
 
 "But it's their business to put down crime." 
 
 Bubbles shook his head sadly. "The chief busi- 
 ness of the society is to put down police graft in crime," 
 he said. " But there's heaps o' side businesses. Harry 
 West, he's one of us. He's way high up. I'm way
 
 268 THE PENALTY 
 
 low down. But when I'm called to do what I can, 
 I got to do it. There's one member younger'n me. 
 And there's Fifth Avenue swells belongs, and waiters, 
 and druggists, and bootblacks, and men in hardware 
 stores, and barkeepers " 
 
 "What sort of work do you have to do?" 
 
 "To go places and find out things." 
 
 "Why, then you're a detective, Bubbles." 
 
 A look of contempt swept into the child's face. 
 "Detectives is in business," he said, "for what they 
 can get out of it. We're in it because the house we 
 live in is dirty and full of rats, and we want to make 
 it clean." 
 
 The boy had raised his voice a little, and Barbara 
 found herself thrilling to it. 
 
 "But, Bubbles," she objected, "you can't go to 
 school and college and keep up this work at the same 
 time." 
 
 "If I get education," said Bubbles, "it's so's to be 
 fitter for the work when I come out. But I can't 
 give the work up till the job I'm on is finished. It 
 wouldn't be square." 
 
 "Can you tell me the job?" 
 
 "I'm one o' them that's helpin' to get the old un 
 where he's wanted." 
 
 "What old one?" 
 
 "Blizzard." 
 
 Barbara was very much taken aback. "The man 
 I made the bust of? " 
 
 "We can send him to the chair any time. But
 
 THE PENALTY 269 
 
 what's the use? He knows things that we got to 
 know before we pass him up." 
 
 "But, Bubbles, how can you help?" 
 
 " Oh, I'm little. I can get into little places. They 
 wouldn't want me if I weren't of use." 
 
 "But I don't like the idea of your running down 
 Buzzard, Bubbles." 
 
 "Why not, Miss Barbara? There's no one in the 
 city that's needed as much as him." 
 
 "Aside from that, Bubbles I'm willing to grant 
 that there's a reason why I think you should have 
 nothing to do with running him down." 
 
 "It's got to be an awful good one, Miss Barbara 
 not just good to you, and maybe to me, but to men 
 higher up." 
 
 "I think it would be good enough for the very 
 highest up, Bubbles. Will you take my word for it? " 
 
 "Yes, Miss Barbara. But they won't take my 
 word for your word." 
 
 "No," she said, "of course not." 
 
 She considered for a few moments. Then she said: 
 "Bubbles, I'm going to tell you my reason. I hope 
 I'm not doing wrong. It's a serious thing for me to 
 tell you and for you to know. There is very little 
 doubt but that Blizzard is your father." 
 
 "Say that again, please," said Bubbles. 
 
 "Blizzard is probably your father." 
 
 Bubbles took the news very coolly. His eyes 
 sparkled; but he made no exclamations of surprise 
 or chagrin. Instead he said: "That accounts for it."
 
 270 THE PENALTY 
 
 "Accounts for what?" 
 
 "Oncet he caught me in his house. He said the 
 next time he'd skin me alive. If I hadn't been his 
 son he'd a skun me that time. Do you get me, Miss 
 Barbara? He's my father, sure. But " Now cha- 
 grin, wonder, and perplexity were written in Bubbles's 
 face. "Why," he said, "it makes everything dif- 
 ferent. He never done anything for me; but if he's 
 my father " 
 
 "You can't very well spy on him, can you, Bub- 
 bles? You've got to stand aside and leave all that 
 to others." 
 
 "I got to see the Head, Miss Barbara. I got to 
 ask him." 
 
 "Who is the head, Bubbles?" 
 
 "I'd tell you in a minute, Miss Barbara, only we're 
 all swore to tell no one. But what he says goes with 
 me. It's got to be that way, else we'd never get 
 nowhere."
 
 XXXVII 
 
 MR. ABE LICHTENSTEIN looked up from a mass o! 
 writing. "So," he smiled, "you got your few days 
 off?" 
 
 "Mr. Lichtenstein," said Bubbles, his eyes big, his 
 voice trembling, "an awful thing has happened." 
 
 "You can tell me nothing bad but I can tell you 
 some thing worse. What has happened?" 
 
 "The old un is my father!" 
 
 "Yes," said Lichtenstein, "I have thought of that. 
 You are sure? " 
 
 "I'm sure enough not to want to have anything 
 more to do with huntin' him. But that's for you to 
 say. I do what you say." 
 
 "I won't ask you to go on," said Lichtenstein; 
 "but you're still with us, Bubbles? You're still for 
 cleaning up the dirty house and making it fit for 
 human beings to live in?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "As far as your father's concerned you'll be neu- 
 tral." 
 
 "Meaning I won't do nothing against him, nor for 
 him?" 
 
 The red-headed Jew nodded. "You won't do like 
 Rose?" 
 
 "Rose?" 
 
 271
 
 272 THE PENALTY 
 
 Lichtenstein's face became very cold and grim. 
 " She's gone over to him body and soul, Bubbles, and 
 heart and mind. For weeks she's fooled us with non- 
 sense stuff they've made up together. Worse, she's 
 broken every oath she ever swore. Our strength was 
 secrecy. Well, your father knows the name of every 
 agent in our society. Oh, he's got it all out of her! 
 Everything!" 
 
 "Does he know that you are " 
 
 "Yes, confound him, he does. And my life is 
 about as safe in this city as that of the average cat 
 in the Italian quarter. My life isn't the important 
 thing. It's what I've got in my head cold facts. 
 See all this stuff? That's what's in my head going 
 down on paper for the first time. It's to guide the 
 man that takes my place to help him over some of 
 the hard places three hundred sheets of it already, 
 and only a week since I began." 
 
 "Rose!" exclaimed Bubbles. 
 
 "There was none better none smarter till she 
 fell in love fell in love!" 
 
 "Does he know I'm one of us, Mr. Lichtenstein? " 
 
 "Why, yes. I suppose she'll have given even the 
 children away." Mr. Lichtenstein's eye roamed over 
 the suite of rich rooms with their elaborate gambling- 
 paraphernalia. " Not much doing," he smiled, " since 
 Rose went over. The tip's out that I'm wanted. 
 Nobody drops in for a quiet game. Bubbles, you tell 
 people when you're a man and I'm gone, that I wasn't 
 only a gambler. Tell 'em I took money from people
 
 THE PENALTY 273 
 
 who had plenty but wouldn't take the trouble to do 
 right with it, and tell 'em I used that money to do 
 right to help make dirty things clean." 
 
 He turned and regarded the face of the black marble 
 clock on the mantel-piece. As he looked the face of 
 the clock was violently shattered, and so, but on a 
 lower level, was a pane of glass in the window imme- 
 diately opposite. 
 
 Abe Lichtenstein fell face down upon his unfinished 
 manuscript.
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 THEN he began to speak in a quiet voice. "Never 
 touched me, Bubbles. Pull that cord at the right of 
 the window. That will close the curtains. Careful 
 not to show yourself. The man that fired that shot 
 thinks he got me. I fell over to make him think so 
 and to keep him from shooting again. Now then" 
 the curtain had been drawn over the window with the 
 broken pane "let's see what sort of a gun our 
 friend uses, and then perhaps we can spot our friend. 
 Did you hear the shot?" 
 
 "No, sir. There was a noise just when the clock 
 broke like when a steel girder falls on the sidewalk." 
 
 "That noise was just before the clock broke, Bub- 
 bles. And it was loud enough to drown the noise of 
 our friend's gun. Clever work, though, to have to 
 pull the trigger at a given moment, and to make such 
 a close shot. Probably had his gun screwed in a 
 vise." 
 
 Meanwhile Lichtenstein had extracted from the 
 ruined clock a 45-calibre bullet of nickel steel. A 
 glance at the grooves made by the rifling of the barrel 
 from which it had been expelled caused him to raise 
 his colorless eyebrows and smile cynically. 
 
 "New government automatic, Bubbles," he said, 
 "and the funny part of it is they've only been issued 
 
 274
 
 THE PENALTY 275 
 
 to officers so far, and the factory hasn't put 'em on 
 sale yet." 
 
 "Must have been stole from an officer, then," said 
 Bubbles. 
 
 "You steal her jewels from an actress," said Lich- 
 tenstein, "her mite from the widow, its romances 
 from the people, but you don't steal his side arms 
 from an American army officer. No. Somebody in 
 the factory has let the weapon that fired this slip out. 
 It doesn't matter it's just a little link in the long 
 chain." 
 
 He seated himself calmly at the table and set down 
 in black and white the fact that he had been very 
 nearly murdered by a bullet fired from the new army 
 pistol. Then he began to gather up the sheets of his 
 manuscript. 
 
 "Now I wonder," he said, "where I can go to finish 
 this document? I don't want them to 'get* me until 
 I've paved the way for the man that comes after me. 
 Now then the secret passage isn't only for the 
 wicked." 
 
 Kneeling on the clean hearth, Mr. Lichtenstein 
 caused the ornamental cast-iron back of the fire- 
 place to swing outward upon a hinge. Reaching a 
 long arm into the disclosed opening, he unfastened 
 and pushed ajar the iron back of a fireplace in the 
 next house. 
 
 Bubbles, crawling through first, found himself in a 
 somewhat overdressed pink and blue bedroom. The 
 lace curtains were too elaborate. The room was lux-
 
 276 THE PENALTY 
 
 urious and vulgar. Among the photographs on the 
 centre-table reposed a champagne-bottle, three parts 
 empty, and two glasses, in which a number of flies 
 were heavily crawling. 
 
 Lichtenstein, having carefully replaced the fire- 
 backs, rose smiling, and clapped a hand upon Bub- 
 bles's shoulder. 
 
 "Now then, Bubbles," he said, "push that bell- 
 button by the door four times, and we'll see what 
 Mrs. Popple can do to get us out of this. Never met 
 Mrs. Popple? She's one of us, and at heart a good 
 one." 
 
 The lady in question came swiftly in answer to the 
 four rings. At first sight she passed for a woman of 
 hard and forbidding aspect; filmy laces and a cling- 
 ing kimona of rose-pink silk neither softened nor 
 made feminine the alabaster-colored face with its thin, 
 straight mouth, heavy hairy eyebrows, and clean-cut 
 Greek nose. Only her costume and her hair, inde- 
 scribably fine, and indescribably yellow, betrayed that 
 there were follies in her nature. But the moment she 
 spoke you liked her. She had a slow, deep, beautiful 
 voice, and the slowness of her speech was offset by 
 the fewness of her words. 
 
 "What's wrong, Abe?" 
 
 Lichtenstein explained briefly, and added: "Now 
 how are we to get out of this without being spotted 
 and followed?" 
 
 "Easy," said Mrs. Popple. She went to a vast 
 wardrobe painted white, and pulled the creaking doors
 
 THE PENALTY 277 
 
 wide open. "Wedge the man into one dress," she 
 said, "pad the boy into another. Send 'em off in a 
 taxi. Now, boy. Is this Bubbles? Pleased to meet 
 you. I'm old enough to be your grandmother." 
 
 The words were a command, and the boy, much 
 embarrassed, began to take off his coat. 
 
 " Get busy, Abe. Can take your own things along 
 in a suit-case. I don't look, see? I'm looking out 
 duds for you. What's that? Razor? Find every- 
 thing hi medicine-closet over wash-basin in bath- 
 room." 
 
 Lichtenstein disappeared, and gave forth presently 
 the rasping sounds of a man shaving in a hurry. And 
 in the meanwhile, always swift and sure, Mrs. Popple 
 initiated Bubbles into the ABC's of female attire. 
 
 "No trouble about a straight front for you," she 
 chuckled, and gave a sudden strong tug at the laces 
 of Bubbles's corsets. He gasped, and the tears came 
 to his eyes. 
 
 "Mind to take little steps," she said, "and don't 
 swing your arms." She clasped a blond wig upon his 
 head, and drew back to see the effect. 
 
 "Abe," she called, "she's a pippin!" 
 
 A moment later she frowned, almost savagely, laid 
 her finger on her lips, knelt at the fireplace, thrust 
 her head far in and listened intently. 
 
 Lichtenstein, one side of his face in lather, appeared 
 at the bath-room door. His eyes on the crouching 
 figure of Mrs. Popple, he continued calmly and me- 
 thodically to shave himself.
 
 278 THE PENALTY 
 
 After an interval the woman rose, and shook her 
 head. 
 
 "Can't make out who's in there," she whispered. 
 "Have Lizzie watch front window see who goes out." 
 
 Lichtenstein nodded, washed the tag ends of lather 
 from his face, and proceeded in dead silence to dress 
 himself as a lady of somewhat doubtful age, looks, 
 and position. But Bubbles would have made a very 
 pretty girl, if Mrs. Popple had not insisted on powder- 
 ing his face till it was as white as that of a clown. 
 
 "Won't do to be conspicuous," she explained. 
 
 Lichtenstein packed the things which he and Bub- 
 bles had taken off into a suit-case marked "A, P." 
 (Amelia Popple), and led the way downstairs. A 
 little later a taxicab drew up at the curb, and the two 
 disguised secret-service agents sauntered down the 
 high steps of Mrs. Popple's brownstone house, look- 
 ing neither to the right nor to the left, and got in. 
 
 "Where to?" said the driver, with rather a bold 
 leer. The average lady who descended or ascended 
 Mrs. Popple's steps, was not considered respectable 
 even by taxi-drivers. 
 
 It had been agreed that Bubbles, having of the two 
 the more feminine adaptabilities of voice, should do 
 the talking. 
 
 "Grand Central," he said.
 
 XXXIX 
 
 BARBARA was reading "Smoke" and did not wish to 
 be interrupted by a "young person" (in the footman's 
 words) who refused to give her name. Nevertheless 
 she was weakly good-natured in such matters, and 
 closing her book said: "Very well in here, John." 
 
 A moment later the young person was shown into 
 the living-room. Barbara was still more annoyed, 
 for young faces covered with powder were odious to 
 her. But suddenly the young person's mouth curled 
 into a captivating grin, and the young person trotted 
 forward in a very un-young-personish way, and cried 
 triumphantly: 
 
 "It's me Bubbles." 
 
 And Bubbles followed Barbara's gratifying excla- 
 mations of surprise and inquiry with a syncopated 
 outburst of explanation, finishing with: "And Mr. 
 Lichtenstein said I was to throw us on your mercy, 
 and ask if he could stay to finish his writing, and he's 
 stepped into some bushes off the driveway to put on 
 his own clothes. And please, Miss Barbara, he's just 
 the finest and bravest ever, and don't care what hap- 
 pens to him, only he says they're bound to get him 
 now everything's found out, and he's just got to finish 
 writing down what he carries in his head." 
 
 279
 
 2 8o THE PENALTY 
 
 "Of course," said Barbara, "we'll have to tell my 
 father; but all will be well. Mr. Lichtenstein shall 
 stay. Bring him to me when he's finished changing, 
 and then you'd best change, and if you don't want 
 to have a sore face wash all that nasty stuff off it." 
 
 Lichtenstein had already changed, and was com- 
 ing up the driveway carrying a suit-case. Bubbles 
 brought him at once, and with great pride, to Bar- 
 bara. Mr. Lichtenstein had never seen her before. 
 In his bow there was a trace of Oriental elaboration. 
 And his curiously meagreish, pug-nosed sandy face 
 beamed with pleasure and admiration. 
 
 "I thought I knew my New York, Miss Ferris," 
 he said, "but it seems I was mistaken." 
 
 Since the compliment was obviously sincere, Bar- 
 bara took pleasure in it, and the pleasure showed in 
 her charming face. "And Bubbles says," said she, 
 "that you are the 'finest ever.' I'm glad if staying 
 here is going to help the cause. You can be as 
 private as you like ' But a sudden change had 
 come over Lichtenstein's face, the smile had vanished, 
 the eyes grown sharp, even stern. "What is your 
 maid's name?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 "My maid? Why, what about her?" 
 
 "She passed just now by that door. I saw her 
 in the mirror at the end of the room. What's her 
 name?" 
 
 "Marion " Barbara hesitated. 
 
 "O'Brien?" 
 
 "Yes, O'Brien."
 
 He caught her by the wrist, drew her 
 to her feet, and into the room
 
 THE PENALTY 281 
 
 "I thought so. She's in Blizzard's pay. If she 
 has recognized me Shut the door into the hall, 
 Bubbles." 
 
 The door being shut, Lichtenstein crossed the room 
 and stood near it, his hand on the knob. For nearly 
 a minute he neither moved nor changed expression. 
 Then a smile flickered about his mouth, and, sure of 
 his effect, with a sharp gesture he flung the door wide 
 open, and discovered Miss Marion O'Brien kneeling 
 in the opening. He caught her by the wrist, drew 
 her to her feet, and into the room. 
 
 "Marion!" exclaimed Miss Ferris.
 
 XL 
 
 THERE was a long silence during which Miss O'Brien 
 tried to look defiant, and succeeded only in shedding 
 a few tears. Barbara had always liked the girl, and 
 now felt profoundly sorry for her. Lichtenstein, too, 
 seemed sorry and at a loss for words. The position 
 was difficult. The O'Brien's eavesdropping war- 
 ranted her discharge, and nothing more. She would 
 go straight to Blizzard and disclose Lichtenstein's 
 whereabouts. But this in itself was merely an annoy- 
 ance, as hi the meanwhile the secret service head could 
 go elsewhere. There was nothing for it but to dis- 
 charge her and let her go. So Lichtenstein said pres- 
 ently, and then wrote with a pencil on a card. This 
 card he handed to the maid. 
 
 "Give that to your employer," he said. On the 
 card was written: "If anything happens to me you 
 will be indicted for the Kaparoff business, and there 
 is enough evidence in a safe place to make you pay 
 the penalty. Lichtenstein." 
 
 "And now, Miss Ferris," he said, "it will be as well 
 to let this girl first telephone to her master to say 
 that I am here, and second to pack her trunks and 
 go." 
 
 Barbara smiled, but not unkindly, at Marion, and 
 282
 
 THE PENALTY 283 
 
 nodded her brightly colored head. "I think that 
 will be best, Marion." 
 
 The maid turned without a word and started for 
 the hall-door, but was brought to a trembling stop by 
 sudden words from Bubbles. 
 
 "Miss Barbara," said he, "ask her where your 
 diamond bow-knot went!" 
 
 "Oh," exclaimed Lichtenstein, "an excuse for keep- 
 ing an eye on her, perhaps. That was what we 
 needed. How about this bow-knot, Marion?" 
 
 The guilt in the girl's face must have been obvious 
 to the dullest eye. 
 
 "Oh," said Barbara, "is it good enough? She'd 
 communicate with him somehow. This isn't the 
 Middle Ages. Marion, if by any chance any of my 
 things have gotten mixed with yours, please leave 
 them on my dressing-table." 
 
 Marion, very red in the face, lurched out of the 
 room. 
 
 "I can't very well give her a character," said Bar- 
 bara. 
 
 Lichtenstein laughed. "Plenty of worse girls," he 
 said, "receive excellent characters daily. And now I 
 suppose I ought to put distance between this house 
 and myself." 
 
 Barbara lifted her eyebrows. "Why?" 
 
 "Why? She's probably working the telephone 
 now." 
 
 "I know," said Barbara, "but if you pretend to go, 
 and then come back, this would be the last home in
 
 284 THE PENALTY 
 
 the world that Blizzard would suspect you of hiding 
 in. Marion will tell him her story. And he certainly 
 won't look for you here." 
 
 Lichtenstein's face was wreathed in smiles. "So 
 be it," he said, "and I shall sit at your feet to learn." 
 
 "Can you drive a car?" asked Barbara. 
 
 "What kind of a car?" 
 
 "A Stoughton? But if you can drive any kind you 
 can drive a Stoughton. We'll lend you a car and you 
 shall take a long run and come back when it's dark. 
 If you start at once, Marion will know of it. Mean- 
 while I'll tell my father all about everything. But 
 first of all I'm dying with curiosity to know what you 
 wrote on that card. That's all I can say. Of course 
 if I'm not to be told " 
 
 Had she asked for his dearest secret Lichtenstein 
 could not have refused it, and he told her what he 
 had written on the card. 
 
 "But why," said Barbara, "if you have a criminal, 
 so to speak, where you want him why let him be 
 free to make more mischief? I ask merely for in- 
 formation." 
 
 "If he were punished for an ordinary crime," said 
 Lichtenstein, "justice would be cheated. But if we 
 can really get him where we want him, why, not only 
 crime will be tried and found guilty, but the whole 
 fabric of the police yes, and the administration of 
 the law. Therefore," and his voice was cold as mar- 
 ble, "it would be inadvisable to run him in for such 
 picayune crimes as twisting lead pipe round young
 
 THE PENALTY 285 
 
 women and throwing them overboard, or otherwise 
 delicately quieting tongues that might be made to 
 wag against him. And now if you are going to lend 
 me a car "
 
 XLI 
 
 WILMOT ALLEN was surprised and annoyed at being 
 called back to New York by his employer. He had 
 not "gotten over" Barbara in the least, but the great 
 West had entered his blood. Thanks to financial 
 arrangements with Blizzard he had lived a life free 
 from care, and indeed had grown and developed in 
 many ways, just as a forest tree will, to which air and 
 sunlight has been admitted by removing its nearest 
 neighbors, together with all their claims upon the rain- 
 fall and the tree-food locked up hi the forest soil, 
 
 He had grown in body and mind. Wall Street, that 
 had seemed so broad and important to him, now 
 seemed narrow and insignificant. It was better for 
 a man, a good horse between his knees, to find out 
 what lay beyond the Ridges than whether steel was 
 going up or down. He looked back upon his past 
 life, not, it is true, with contempt and loathing, but 
 with amused tolerance, as a man wise and reliable 
 looks back upon the pranks of his boyhood. 
 
 He loved Barbara with all his heart, but no longer 
 with the feeling that the loss of her would put an end 
 to all the possibilities of life. Indeed he was coolly 
 resolved in the event of her marrying somebody else 
 to marry somebody else himself. The thought of 
 children and a home had grown very dear to him. 
 
 286
 
 THE PENALTY 287 
 
 In short, he had assimilated a characteristic of the 
 great unsettled West, where the ratio of the male 
 of the species to the female is often as great as ten 
 to one. 
 
 But if the year did not cure him of Barbara he 
 would get her if he could. 
 
 To the main line was a day's journey over a single- 
 track road abounding in undeveloped way stations, 
 at which an insatiable locomotive was forever stop- 
 ping to drink. At one of these stations a young man 
 taller and broader even than Wilmot himself , and like 
 him bearded and brown as autumn leaves, boarded 
 the train laboriously and came down the aisle occa- 
 sionally catching at the backs of seats for support. 
 
 A second look assured Wilmot that the stranger 
 was not drunk, but sick or hurt, and he was wonder- 
 ing whether or not to offer him assistance, when the 
 stranger suddenly stopped and smiled, steadied him- 
 self with one hand, and held out the other. 
 
 "I heard that you would be on this train," he said 
 simply, "so I managed to catch it, too. May I sit 
 with you?" 
 
 Wondering, Wilmot made room for the stranger and 
 waited developments. But as these were not at once 
 forthcoming he felt that he must break a silence which 
 seemed awkward to him. And he turned his head 
 and saw that the man had fainted. 
 
 A request for whiskey addressed to a car containing 
 a dozen men accustomed to wrest metals from the 
 earth was not in vain. Wilmot chose the nearest of
 
 288 THE PENALTY 
 
 twelve outstretched flasks, and was obliged to refuse 
 a thirteenth in the kindly hand of the conductor. 
 
 "Feel better?" 
 
 "Thanks, I'm all right." 
 
 The twelve miners withdrew tactfully to their seats. 
 
 "Sure?" 
 
 "Sure. Just let me sample that brand again. 
 Good. Now if you don't mind I'll say what I came 
 to say." 
 
 "But aren't you hurt isn't there something to 
 do?" 
 
 " I've been hurt. I'm just weak. Don't think about 
 it. But you're Mr. Wilmot Allen all right, aren't 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "It's hard to be sure of a man you never knew and 
 who's grown a beard since you saw him last." 
 
 "I assure you," Wilmot smiled, "that I'm only 
 waiting to reach a first-class barber-shop." 
 
 "Perhaps you will change your mind." 
 
 "Why should I?" 
 
 "You know a man named O'Hagan?" 
 
 Wilmot nodded. 
 
 "I had a talk with him up in the mountains 
 yesterday. He spoke truth for once. You know a 
 man in New York Blizzard?" 
 
 "He's been a good friend to me." 
 
 "Why?" asked the stranger. 
 
 "I don't know. I've asked myself that question a 
 thousand times."
 
 THE PENALTY 289 
 
 "He's helped you with your debts in return for 
 your services in teaching a lot of foreigners to shoot 
 straight?" 
 
 Wilmot frowned. 
 
 "Did it ever occur to you that he could have ob- 
 tained half a dozen teachers for a tenth of the 
 money?" 
 
 "That has occurred to me," said Wilmot stiffly. 
 
 "Obviously then he has some ulterior use for you." 
 
 "Very possibly." 
 
 "Please don't take offence. There are reasons why 
 you shouldn't. I am coming to them. Remember, 
 O'Hagan talked to me, and talked truth. Blizzard is 
 planning a revolution. You are to be one of the 
 leaders. You imagine that one of the hell-governed 
 Latin republics is to be the seat of operations, or you 
 wouldn't have gone into the thing. But Blizzard is 
 after bigger game than undeveloped wildernesses. 
 Mr. Allen, you are part of a conspiracy to overthrow 
 the government of New York City." 
 
 "Say that again." 
 
 The stranger smiled. "O'Hagan at the last made 
 a clean breast of everything. He had to. I came 
 West to make him." 
 
 "At the to? What does that mean?" 
 
 "When a man won't talk you have to make him 
 even if you fix him so that he can never talk again." 
 
 "Is O'Hagan dead?" 
 
 "He had his choice. But he had to talk. If I had 
 let him off afterward I couldn't have gotten away
 
 290 THE PENALTY 
 
 with the information. One of us had to go out, and 
 I had the power to decide which. I chose that 
 O'Hagan should be the one. He was a man steeped 
 in crime. I am not." 
 
 "You killed him?" 
 
 "I am a very poor talker if I have conveyed another 
 meaning. I tracked him into the mountains. He 
 shot me twice before I could get my hands on him. I 
 twisted the truth out of him, and then as I was about 
 to faint like a school-girl, and as my information was 
 precious, I flung him over a cliff. If I hadn't, you 
 see, he could have fixed me while I was unconscious." 
 
 The man's voice was very quiet, very matter-of-fact. 
 Wilmot stared at him with a sort of wondering horror, 
 for he knew that the man was telling the truth. 
 
 "He shot you twice. That was some time yester- 
 day. You've seen a doctor? " 
 
 "There was none, and I had to ride all night to get 
 here." 
 
 "Are you badly hit?" 
 
 The stranger drew back his coat and disclosed a 
 shirt twice perforated over the abdomen and dark 
 with dried and thickening blood. "Please don't try 
 to do anything. There's no help. The damage is 
 where it doesn't show. Only listen, please, and be- 
 lieve, and be frank with me." 
 
 Wilmot nodded gravely. "I don't know who you 
 are," he said, "but you are hurt, and if you'd rather 
 talk than try to do something about it, of course 
 I'll listen."
 
 "I twisted the truth out of him, and 
 then flung him over a cliff"
 
 THE PENALTY 291 
 
 "You are in wrong on the revolution," said the 
 stranger. "It is not to come off in South America, 
 but in the city of New York. If Blizzard's plans 
 carry, this will happen. On the i5th of January there 
 will be an explosion of dynamite loud enough to be 
 heard from the Battery to the Bronx. At that signal 
 two-thirds of the police force, at the moment on active 
 duty, will be shot dead in their tracks. The assassins, 
 distinguished from law-abiding citizens by straw hats 
 of a peculiar weave " 
 
 "I have such a hat in my trunk." 
 
 "Are to assemble together with that third of the 
 police force whom it was not necessary to annihilate, 
 at the Sub-Treasury hi Wall Street. Here they will 
 receive further orders some to loot the Sub-Treasury, 
 some to loot banks, some Tiffany's, some the great 
 wholesale jewellers of Maiden Lane. You, perhaps, as 
 a man of superior talk and breeding, would be sent 
 with a picked crew of Polacks, dagoes, and other high- 
 minded patriots to rifle the Metropolitan Museum of 
 Art " 
 
 "Look here, did O'Hagan " 
 
 "He did. Meanwhile all communication by tele- 
 phone, by telegraph, by cable between New York and 
 the outer world will be cut off. For at least twenty- 
 four hours the city will be in Blizzard's power, at his 
 disposition." 
 
 "How about communication by train?" 
 
 "Trains will come into the Grand Central and the 
 Pennsylvania, but they will not go out."
 
 2 9 2 THE PENALTY 
 
 "A man could jump into an automobile and carry 
 the news." 
 
 "Ferries will stop running. Bridges will be closed." 
 
 The idea of looting New York had fired Wilmot's 
 imagination. It was a possibility to which he had 
 never before given any thought. 
 
 "But," he objected, "there must be a flaw some- 
 where." 
 
 "Probably," admitted the stranger. "For there is 
 a flaw in Blizzard's mind. It is the only way to ac- 
 count for him. He stands on the verge of insanity." 
 
 "Suppose the plan carries. The city has been 
 looted. What next?" 
 
 "The stuff is hidden under Blizzard's house in 
 Marrow Lane in cellars that he has been preparing 
 for years. A passage leads from these cellars to a 
 pier on the East River. Either he gets away with 
 his loot in a stolen liner, or he finds that he may live 
 on in New York, or perhaps in Washington." 
 
 "I don't see that." 
 
 "What effect would a successful revolution in New 
 York have upon the discontented and the murderous 
 of other cities? Are the criminals of San Francisco, 
 Denver, Chicago to be outdone by the criminals of 
 the effete East? I tell you, Mr. Allen, that sometimes 
 in mad visions the legless beggar sees upon his brows 
 a kingly crown." 
 
 "But the rest of the police the garrison at Gov- 
 ernor's Island?" 
 
 "O'Hagan was Blizzard's right-hand man, his gen-
 
 THE PENALTY 293 
 
 eral in the West. For the honor of being his left- 
 hand man there are two aspirants the mayor of New 
 York City and the police commissioner nor will the 
 lieutenant-governor of our great State hold his hands 
 behind his back and shake his head when the loot is 
 being distributed." 
 
 "Are you joking?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Allen. I am dying. Now listen. I as- 
 sume that you are no longer with Blizzard." 
 
 "What an ass I've been!" 
 
 "You are to find Abe Lichtenstein and tell him 
 what I have told you. The boy Bubbles will put you 
 on his track. As for money which Blizzard has ad- 
 vanced to you " The stranger fumbled in his breast 
 pocket and brought forth a much-soiled sheet of paper. 
 "This locates outlying mining claims in Utah. They 
 will make you rich. One-third to you one-third to 
 Miss Barbara Ferris one-third to the boy Bubbles. 
 You will tell him that I was his brother different 
 mothers, but the same father." 
 
 "You are Harry West," and Wilmot looked with 
 compassionate interest upon the man who, if only for 
 a brief period of time, had once stood first in Barbara's 
 affections. 
 
 Under the strain of talking West's voice had grown 
 weaker. "Miss Barbara," he said quietly, "is in 
 great danger from my father " 
 
 "Your father?" 
 
 "Didn't I tell you? Oh, yes. He is my father 
 Blizzard. That is why I don't mind dying. When
 
 294 THE PENALTY 
 
 the city is in confusion, and without any laws save 
 of his own dictation, Miss Barbara will be in terrible 
 danger. Many years from now, when it can do no 
 harm with you, tell her, please, that in my life I had 
 the incomparable privilege " 
 
 Wilmot leaped to his feet. "Is there a doctor 
 here? This man is dying." 
 
 But the Spartan, the wolf Death gnawing at his 
 vitals, had said all that it was necessary for him to 
 say. Wilmot Allen's strong arm about him, his mouth 
 vaguely smiling, he fell heavily forward as if under 
 the weight of a new and overpowering wonder and 
 knowledge.
 
 XLII 
 
 NOTHING so makes for insomnia as a man's knowledge 
 that he has made a fool of himself. Between Chicago 
 and New York Wilmot Allen did not even have his 
 berth made up. He visited the dining-car at the 
 proper intervals, hardly conscious of what he ordered 
 or ate. He bought newspapers, books, magazines, 
 and opened none of them. For the most part he 
 looked out the window of his compartment into rush- 
 ing daylight or darkness. His mind kept travelling 
 the round of a great circle that began and ended in 
 humiliation. He had been as confiding in Blizzard's 
 hands as an undeveloped child of seven. He had 
 been teaching men whose creed was murder and an- 
 archy how to handle weapons. He had taken at their 
 face value words uttered by an emperor among scoun- 
 drels; had asked no material or leading questions, and 
 was in his conscience paying the penalty for having 
 snatched at tainted money with which to relieve him- 
 self of obligations that pressed till they hurt. 
 
 Beginning in humiliation, the circle of his thoughts 
 ascended time after time to Barbara, only to fall from 
 the high and tender lights which memories and antici- 
 pations of her brought into them, back to that dark- 
 ness in which he struggled to give himself "a little 
 the best of things" and could not. 
 
 295
 
 296 THE PENALTY 
 
 On arriving in New York a man of more complex 
 mental processes would have tried first of all to get 
 the precious information which he carried into the 
 possession of Lichtenstein, but Wilmot felt that he 
 could have no peace until he had seen Blizzard, 
 spoken his mind, and washed his hands of him. That 
 he would then put his own life in danger did not occur 
 to him, and would not have altered his determination 
 if it had. 
 
 The lure of Barbara, however, drew him aside from 
 the direct path to Marrow Lane. He had resolved 
 not to see her for a year, but thought it right to break 
 through that resolution in order to tell her at first 
 hand of Harry West's death. But the janitor told 
 him that Miss Ferris had not been coming to the 
 studio for a long time. She had had no word from 
 her. She had left one day by the back stair without 
 her hat; a little later the legless beggar had left by 
 the front door. His expression had been enough to 
 frighten a body to death. Yes, the boy had come 
 one day in a taxicab and gone away with her things. 
 He had refused to answer any questions. She had 
 never thought very highly of him as a boy. No, the 
 bust upon which Miss Ferris had been at work had 
 not been removed. No, the gentleman could not 
 see it. Orders were orders. . . . Yes, the gentleman 
 could see it. After all there had been no orders re- 
 cently. 
 
 She led the way upstairs, her hand tightly closed 
 upon a greenback. She unlocked and flung open the
 
 THE PENALTY 297 
 
 door of Barbara's studio, remarking that nothing in 
 it had been touched since that lady's departure. 
 
 Wilmot noticed much dust, an overturned chair, 
 and then his eyes rose to the bust of Blizzard as to a 
 living presence. The expression of that bestial fallen 
 face made his spine feel as if ants were crawling on it. 
 And he turned away with disgust and hatred. "Oh, 
 Barbs, Barbs, what a wrong-headed little darling you 
 are!" But he added: "And Lord, what a talent she's 
 got!" 
 
 Blizzard was not in his office. But he was up- 
 stairs and expected Mr. Allen. 
 
 A girl who had been wonderfully pretty told Wil- 
 mot these things. She would have been wonderfully 
 pretty still, for she was very young, if she had not 
 looked so tired, so unhappy, so broken-spirited. Did 
 Rose still love the man for whom she had betrayed 
 her friends and her own better nature? Yes. But 
 she had learned that she was no more to him than a 
 plaything to caress or to break as seemed most 
 amusing to him. At first until the novelty of her had 
 worn off he had shown her a sufficiency of brusque 
 tenderness. Latterly as his great plans matured he 
 had been all brute. Sometimes he made her feel that 
 he was so surfeited with her love that he considered 
 killing her. 
 
 Sideways, with eyes haunted by shame and tragedy, 
 she gave the handsome bearded youth a look of com- 
 passion. "In here, please," she said. 
 
 The door closed behind Wilmot with an ominous
 
 298 THE PENALTY 
 
 click, and he found himself face to face with the leg- 
 less beggar. In this one's eyes, seen above a table lit- 
 tered with pamphlets and writings, was none of that 
 mock affability to which he had formerly treated 
 Wilmot Allen. He looked angry, dangerous, poison- 
 ous. And he broke into a harsh, ugly laugh. 
 
 "It takes you," he said, "to rush in where angels 
 fear to tread. Welcome to my parlor! What a fool! 
 My God! You heard what Harry West had to say 
 before he died, and you came straight here." 
 
 "I don't know how you know it. But I did talk 
 to your son. I did hear what he said. And I came 
 here to tell you. And to tell you that there will be 
 no more dealings between us. I am going straight 
 from here to tell the proper authorities what I know." 
 
 "Aren't you going to punch my face first? That's 
 what you'd like to do. It's in your eyes. But you're 
 afraid." 
 
 "I am not afraid," said Wilmot, "and you know it." 
 
 For answer the legless man picked up a silver 
 dollar from among the papers in front of him, and 
 broke it savagely into four pieces. "Afraid!" he said. 
 "Afraid! Afraid!" 
 
 Wilmot took a step forward. "It would give me 
 the greatest pleasure," he said quietly, "to knock 
 your head off. Unfortunately you are a cripple." 
 
 Blizzard said nothing, and presently, white with 
 anger and contempt, Wilmot turned and tried the 
 handle of the door by which he had entered. Bliz- 
 zard laughed.
 
 "Climb out of that chair, and let me 
 out of this house"
 
 THE PENALTY 299 
 
 "This door is locked," said Wilmot. 
 
 "You are a prisoner in this house." 
 
 "lam, ami?" 
 
 Quick as lightning he had drawn and levelled at the 
 legless man an automatic pistol of the largest calibre. 
 The legless man did not move an inch, change expres- 
 sion, or take his eyes from Wilmot's. 
 
 Wilmot advanced till only the table separated 
 them. "You will," he said, "climb out of that chair, 
 and let me out of this house, walking in front of me." 
 
 The legless beggar appeared to consider the matter. 
 There was silence. Wilmot shifted the position of his 
 feet, and the floor boards under them creaked. 
 
 Blizzard appeared to have made up his mind. He 
 spread his hands on the table as if to help himself 
 out of his chair. The palm of his right hand, un- 
 known to Wilmot, covered an electric push-button. 
 
 "Perhaps," said Blizzard, "you won't be in such a 
 hurry to go after you hear that Miss Barbara Ferris 
 is also a prisoner in this house " 
 
 In horror and bewilderment Wilmot allowed the 
 muzzle of his automatic to swerve. In that moment 
 the palm of the legless man's right hand pressed upon 
 the button, and the square of the floor upon which 
 Wilmot stood dropped like the trap of a gallows, and 
 he fell through the opening into darkness. 
 
 He was neither stunned nor bruised, and he began 
 to grope about for the pistol which in the sudden de- 
 scent had been knocked from his hand. The only 
 light came from the open trap in the floor above.
 
 300 THE PENALTY 
 
 Something fell softly at his feet; he picked it up. It 
 was a cloth, saturated with chloroform. He flung it 
 from him, and began with a new haste to grope and 
 fumble for his pistol. 
 
 Another cloth fell, and another. Distant and ugly 
 laughter fell with them. More cloths, and already the 
 air in the place reeked with chloroform. 
 
 He no longer knew what he was looking for, and 
 when at last his hand closed upon the stock of the 
 automatic, he did not know what it was that he had 
 found. 
 
 Another cloth fell.
 
 XLII1 
 
 HE came to in a narrow iron bed, weak, nauseated, 
 and handcuffed. He could rub his feet together, but 
 he could not separate them. He had been dreaming 
 about Barbara horrible dreams. His first conscious 
 thought was that she, too, was a prisoner hi the house 
 of Blizzard, and that somehow or other he must save 
 her. Having tried hi vain to break the bright, deli- 
 cate-looking handcuffs, he tried in vain to think 
 calmly. Hours passed. Nobody came. He worked 
 himself gradually into a fever of impotent rage. Civ- 
 ilization slipped away from him. He was ready, if 
 necessary, to fight with his teeth, to gouge eyes, to 
 inflict any barbarous atrocity upon his enemy. 
 
 Gradually, for the air hi the room was fresh, the 
 feeling of sickness passed away, and was succeeded 
 by weakness and lassitude. As a matter of fact, 
 being a strong man, hi splendid health, he was faint 
 from hunger. But he did not know this. 
 
 An elderly woman came softly into the room. She 
 wore a blue dress, a white apron, a white kerchief, 
 white cuffs, a white cap. Her face was disfigured by 
 a great brown protruding mole from which a tuft of 
 hair sprouted; she had an expression of methodical 
 kindness, but small shifting eyes in which was no 
 honesty. 
 
 301
 
 302 THE PENALTY 
 
 She carried a cup that smoked. She put the cup 
 on a table, lifted Wilmot to a sitting position, as if he 
 had been a child, and asked him if he was hungry. 
 
 For a moment he did not answer; he was getting 
 used to the discovery that he had been undressed and 
 was wearing a linen night-gown. Then he nodded 
 toward the smoking cup. 
 
 "How do I know it isn't poisoned?" 
 
 "Come come," said the woman, "you'd have gone 
 out under the chloroform if that had been the inten- 
 tion. Better keep your strength up." 
 
 After a few spoonfuls of the soup, Wilmot suggested 
 that he should prefer something solid. 
 
 The woman shook her head. 
 
 "If I'm to be kept alive," he said petulantly, "why 
 not comfortably ? " 
 
 "Nothing solid. That's the doctor's orders." 
 
 "Blizzard's?" 
 
 "No. The doctor." 
 
 "What doctor?" 
 
 "Why, Dr. Ferris." 
 
 "Where is he? I want to speak to him." 
 
 "He isn't here. He's corning when everything's 
 ready." 
 
 "Everything ready?" A nameless fear began to 
 gnaw at Wilmot's vitals. And at that moment the 
 door swung open, and he saw, beyond the bulking 
 head and shoulders of the legless man, a narrow iron 
 table, white and shining, in a room all glass and white 
 paint
 
 THE PENALTY 303 
 
 On the entrance of Blizzard, the woman took up 
 the remains of the soup, and passed noiselessly out 
 of the room. 
 
 Blizzard climbed to the foot of Wilmot's bed, and 
 sat looking at him. In his eyes there was a glitter of 
 suppressed excitement. "When our last talk was in- 
 terrupted," he said, "I had just told you that Miss 
 Ferris is a prisoner in this house. You don't like the 
 idea?" 
 
 Wilmot shuddered and made a convulsive effort to 
 break the handcuffs. He struggled with them in des- 
 perate silence for nearly a minute. 
 
 "I might break them," said Blizzard, "but you 
 can't. Try to be as reasonable as you can. Miss 
 Ferris is in no immediate danger. I am going to let 
 her go, if you and I can agree." 
 
 "What do you want me to agree to?" 
 
 "I've had it in mind for a long time. It was why 
 I relieved you of money cares, and sent you West. 
 I wished to put you in a state of perfect health before 
 trying an experiment of the utmost interest and value 
 to science. Only your consent is now wanting. 
 Upon that consent depends Miss Ferris's fate. Refuse 
 and I leave your lover heart to imagine what that fate 
 may be. She is absolutely in my power absolutely. 
 Do you know her writing? " 
 
 He smiled a little and held before Wilmot's eyes a 
 sheet of note-paper. 
 
 "She has just written it," he said, "of her own free 
 will."
 
 304 THE PENALTY 
 
 Wilmot read: "I will marry you, as soon as I know 
 that Wilmot Allen is out of your power and safe in 
 life and limb." 
 
 A sort of ecstasy, half anguish and half delight, 
 thrilled through Wilmot. The writing was unmis- 
 takably Barbara's and she was ready to make that 
 sacrifice for him! 
 
 "She sha'n't do that," he said, "so help me God. 
 What must I do to save her? " 
 
 "Young man," said the legless man, "you must 
 give me your legs." 
 
 Wilmot was at first bewildered. 
 
 "My legs?" 
 
 "They are to be grafted on my poor old stumps," 
 said Blizzard. "You won't die. You'll just be as I 
 am now. And I I," his eyes shone with an unholy 
 light, "shall be as you are now a biped a real man 
 a giant of a man. You are going to consent? " 
 
 "How do I know that you will let Miss Ferris go?" 
 
 "You shall have news of her freedom and safety in 
 her own writing." 
 
 "When I have that assurance," said Wilmot, "I 
 will consent to anything. Any decent man would 
 give his life for a woman why not his legs ? Is Dr. 
 Ferris to operate?" 
 
 "He will be the chief of three surgeons." 
 
 "But he won't cut off my legs. We're old friends. 
 He " 
 
 "Won't know you in that beard. I have told him 
 that you are a murderer whom I have saved from the
 
 THE PENALTY 305 
 
 chair. That in gratitude for this and for the further 
 services of smuggling you out of the country and 
 giving you a large sum of money not forgetting the 
 crying interests of science you have consented to 
 give me your legs. He will ask you if you consent 
 to have your legs cut off, and you will nod your 
 head without speaking then when my old stumps 
 have been prepared you will be put under an anaes- 
 thetic " 
 
 "First I must know that Miss Ferris is safe." 
 
 " Give me your word of honor that when you know 
 that she is you will consent." 
 
 "I don't know what you have to do with honor," 
 said Wilmot, "but I give my word." 
 
 "Then," said Blizzard, sliding to the floor, "I go 
 to set Miss Ferris free."
 
 XLIV 
 
 Ax first Barbara could not bear to tell her father, but 
 at last her excitement and distress became so great 
 that she had to tell him. In a few hours she had 
 changed from a radiant person to one white, sick, and 
 shadowed. 
 
 "I've seen that man," she said. "I was writing 
 notes in the summer-house. He " 
 
 "What man Blizzard? Well? " 
 
 "I've promised to marry him. He has Wilmot 
 Allen in his house hi his power. He told me that 
 if I would marry him, he would let Wilmot go. If I 
 wouldn't, he would kill him with indescribable tort- 
 ures. I told him that I would marry him when I 
 learned that Wilmot was safe. And so I will, and 
 then I will kill myself. You've got to do something. 
 I never knew till he was in this awful danger that 
 in all the world there was never anybody for me but 
 Wilmot fool not to know it in time." 
 
 Dr. Ferris made her drink something that he mixed 
 in a glass. In a few minutes her jumping nerves be- 
 gan to come into control. 
 
 "Wilmot," said he, "will never consent to save 
 himself at your expense. And I think I can promise 
 you that Blizzard will do nothing in this matter for 
 some time. He is to undergo a very serious operation 
 
 306
 
 mm. 
 
 "I've seen that man. I was writing 
 notes in the summer house when he 
 came"
 
 THE PENALTY 307 
 
 to-night. It has all been arranged. A man under 
 obligation to Blizzard has consented to give his legs 
 I am to operate. Don't look at me like that, 
 daughter. I have given my word that if I thought 
 the thing could be done, I would do it. The man 
 consents. There is no reason why I shouldn't. I 
 would do more to undo what I have done, and in the 
 interests of science." 
 
 "You don't understand. The man who consents 
 is Wilmot." 
 
 "Did Blizzard tell you so?" 
 
 "Nobody has told me. I know it. He consents 
 so that I may go free." 
 
 "Of course if Wilmot is the man " 
 
 "You couldn't you wouldn't do it to him, father." 
 
 "And you so in love with him, my dear! We must 
 go to the police." 
 
 "No, we mustn't. He said that if we tried to play 
 any tricks, we might get him, but never Wilmot, 
 alive. Don't you see? Father, the man isn't fit to 
 live. He's insane." 
 
 "Answer wanted, Miss Barbara." Bubbles en- 
 tered hesitatingly, a note in his hand. 
 
 One glance at the superscription, and Barbara 
 ripped open the envelope. She read the note and her 
 brows contracted with pain. "Read that, father." 
 
 Dr. Ferris read: 
 
 DEAREST BARBS: 
 
 I can't help breaking my silence to say I love you with 
 my whole heart and soul. Only tell me that you are safe
 
 3 o8 THE PENALTY 
 
 and sound in your father's house. I want much to know 
 that, for I am on the brink of a great, a dangerous, and I 
 think a noble venture. WILMOT. 
 
 "What did I tell you!" she exclaimed. "Who 
 brought this, Bubbles?" 
 
 "Nobody a messenger-boy." 
 
 "Barbara," said her father, "write that you are 
 safe at home. I'll tell Lichtenstein what has hap- 
 pened. He's our best advice. Where is Mr. Lich- 
 tenstein, Bubbles?" 
 
 "In his room, sir, writing." 
 
 Dr. Ferris left hurriedly, and Bubbles, gnawed by 
 unsatisfied curiosity, stood first on one foot and then 
 on the other while Barbara wrote to Wilmot. Some- 
 how it was a very difficult note to write, for she felt 
 sure that it would not be read by Wilmot's eyes alone, 
 and she didn't wish by a syllable further to incite the 
 legless man against his prisoner. So at last she merely 
 wrote that she was with her father at Clovelly. 
 What she wanted to write was that her love for him 
 had grown and grown until she was sure of it. 
 
 After Bubbles had gone with the note she sat for a 
 long time without moving, silent and white. 
 
 When her father returned, bringing Lichtenstein, 
 he, too, was white. "I am going to town at once," 
 he said. "God willing, I shall have only good news 
 for you." 
 
 Barbara turned to Lichtenstein. "You've thought 
 out something? " 
 
 He nodded gravely.
 
 "Read that, father"
 
 XLV 
 
 ' ' MY treasure ! My ownest own ! " 
 
 Rose cowered from the cold malice in the legless 
 man's voice, and from the unearthly subdued excite- 
 ment in his eyes. 
 
 "Sit there opposite me. Don't be afraid. Things 
 are coming my way. To-morrow I shall have a pair 
 of legs. Think of that! Are you thinking of it?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 The legless man wiped his mouth with the palm of 
 his hand. "I told him," he said, "that she was a 
 prisoner in this house. He said he would give me 
 his legs if I would let her go free. He wrote a note 
 asking if she was safe and sound. I sent it out to her 
 place where she was all the time, and of course she 
 answered that she was safe and sound." 
 
 He chuckled, and his agate eyes appeared to give 
 off sparks. 
 
 "But she," he went on, "has promised to marry 
 me, if I will let him go free. They love each other, 
 Rose. They love each other! But I'm not jealous. 
 It won't come to anything. First I will get his legs. 
 Then, if he lives, I will make him write to her that he 
 is sound and free. I will tell her that he refused to 
 sacrifice himself. That will make her hate him, and 
 then we'll be married and live happily ever after, 
 
 309
 
 3 io THE PENALTY 
 
 But if she breaks her word, why on the i5th of Jan- 
 uary she will be taken, wherever she is, and brought 
 here, and we we won't be married!" He laughed a 
 long, ugly laugh. 
 
 "What are you going to do with me?" 
 
 The legless man considered. "I'm afraid you'll be 
 too jealous to have about, my pretty Rose. I'm 
 afraid your love for me will turn into a different feel- 
 ing in spite of the beautiful new legs that I shall 
 have. In short, my dear, knowing women as I do, 
 you are one of my greatest problems. If I could be 
 sure that you wouldn't give anything away before 
 the 1 5th after that it wouldn't matter." 
 
 "Are you leading up to the announcement that you 
 are going to kill me?" She looked him straight in 
 the eyes, and began to shiver as if she was very cold. 
 
 "Wouldn't that be best," he asked, "for everybody 
 concerned?" 
 
 "I swear to God I won't give anything away," she 
 said. 
 
 He continued to smile in her face. "I could do it 
 for you," he said, "so delicately so painlessly with 
 my hands and your troubles would be all over." 
 
 He took her slender white neck between the palms 
 of his great hairy hands and caressed it. She did not 
 shrink from his touch. 
 
 "Rose," he said presently and with the brutal and 
 tigerish quality gone from his voice, "you're brave. 
 But I know women too well. I don't trust you. If 
 you'd screamed then or shown fear in any way, you'd
 
 THE PENALTY 311 
 
 be dead now. After the i5th you shall do what you 
 please with your life. Meanwhile, my dear, lock and 
 key for yours." 
 
 "You'll come to see me sometimes?" 
 
 "After to-night, I shall be laid up for a while, grow- 
 ing a pair of legs. Later I'll look in, now and then. 
 How about a little music, before you retire to your 
 room for the next few months? I'll tell you a secret. 
 I'm nervous about to-night, and frightened. A little 
 Beethoven? to soothe our nerves? the Adagio from 
 thePathetique?" 
 
 He stumped beside her, holding her hand as a child 
 holds that of its nurse; but for a different reason. 
 
 That night, securely locked in her own room next 
 to his, she slept at last from sheer weariness. And 
 she dreamed that he was playing to her, for her the 
 Adagio, and then the "Funeral March of a Hero."
 
 XLVI 
 
 OCCASIONALLY now, for a long time, there had been 
 coming from the next room the clink of steel against 
 steel, a murmur of hushed voices, and a sound of 
 several pairs of feet moving softly. With the excep- 
 tion of two cups of soup, Wilmot, in preparation for 
 what he was to undergo, had had nothing to eat. 
 What with this and the natural commotion of revolt 
 in his whole nervous system, he was weak and faint. 
 
 The door opened, and Dr. Ferris came quietly into 
 the room and bent over him. He was in white linen 
 from head to foot, and wore upon his hands a pair of 
 thin rubber gloves, glistening with the water in which 
 they had been boiling. 
 
 Prepared to find Wilmot, he naturally recognized 
 him, hi spite of the beard which so changed the young 
 man's face for the worse; but of this recognition he 
 gave no sign. The legless man, alert for any possi- 
 bility of self-betrayal on Wilmot's part, had followed 
 him into the room. Dr. Ferris spoke very quickly: 
 
 "My man," he said, "is it true that of your own 
 free will, in exchange for immunity and other benefits 
 received, you consent to the amputation of both your 
 legs, as near the hip-joint as may be found necessary? " 
 
 Wilmot drew a long breath, focussed his mind upon 
 bright memories of Barbara, and slowly nodded.
 
 THE PENALTY 313 
 
 "You are quite sure? You are holding back noth- 
 ing? There has been no coercion? " 
 
 "It's all right," chirped in Blizzard. "Glad of the 
 chance to pay me back, aren't you, my boy?" 
 
 For a moment Wilmot's eyes rested with a cold 
 contempt on the beggar's. And he thought, " to save 
 her from that!" and once more nodded. 
 
 "Shall I tell them to bring the ether, doctor?" 
 
 Dr. Ferris turned his head slowly. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" he said, in his smiling 
 professional voice. "You ought to be undressed, 
 scrubbed, and ready for the anaesthetic yourself." 
 
 "But I thought I thought you'd make sure of the 
 legs first, before you did anything to me." 
 
 "The success of graftage," said the doctor, "lies in 
 the speed with which the parts to be grafted can be 
 transferred from one patient to the other. In this 
 case, the two operations will proceed at the same 
 time side by side. There are four of us, and two 
 nurses to do what is necessary now if you will go 
 and get ready." 
 
 "Frankly, doctor, do you think the chances of 
 success are good?" 
 
 Dr. Ferris's voice rang out heartily. "Splendid!" 
 he said, "splendid!" He turned once more to Wil- 
 mot. "I am sorry for you," he said kindly, "but 
 you are willing that we should go ahead, aren't you?" 
 
 Blizzard stood, hesitating. 
 
 "Not losing your nerve?" asked the surgeon, and 
 there was the least hint of mockery in his voice.
 
 3 i4 THE PENALTY 
 
 "Hope this is the last time I have to walk on 
 stumps," Blizzard answered, and he began to move 
 toward the door. 
 
 "I hope so, too, Blizzard," said Dr. Ferris, "with 
 all my heart." And with an encouraging nod to 
 Wilmot he followed the beggar out of the room, and 
 closed the door behind him. 
 
 In the operating quarter were two nurses on whom 
 Dr. Ferris had been able to rely for many years, and 
 three clean-cut young surgeons, in whom he had de- 
 tected more than ordinary talents. 
 
 "He said he'd send word when he was ready," said 
 one of the nurses. 
 
 "Good," said Dr. Ferris, "for I have a few words 
 to say to you all, knowing that, because of the etiquette 
 of our profession, these words will not go any further." 
 
 For five minutes he spoke quietly and gravely. He 
 told them his relations with Blizzard since the begin- 
 ning. And something of Blizzard's relations, subse- 
 quent to the loss of his legs, with the rest of the world. 
 Then he explained the operation which he was ex- 
 pected to perform, enlarging upon both its chances 
 for success and for failure. And then, much to the 
 astonishment of his audience, he brought his talk to 
 an end with these words: 
 
 "But in this instance the operation has no chance 
 whatever of success. The stump of a limb amputated 
 in childhood does not keep pace with the rest of the 
 body-growth. And we should be trying to graft the 
 legs of a grown man upon the hips of a child. It
 
 THE PENALTY 315 
 
 seems, therefore, that I have brought you here under 
 false pretenses. Technically I am going to commit a 
 crime I am going to perform an operation not thought 
 of or sanctioned by the patient. But my conscience 
 is clear. When I examined the child Blizzard after he 
 had been run over, I did not give the attention which 
 would be given nowadays to minor injuries, bruises, 
 and contusions which he had sustained. From all ac- 
 counts the boy was a good boy up to the time of his 
 accident. In taking off his legs I have blamed myself 
 for the whole of his subsequent downfall. I think I 
 have been wrong. The man was once arrested for a 
 crime, and freed on police perjury. During his n> 
 carceration, however, accurate measurements and a 
 description of him were made. Only to-day a copy 
 of this document has been shown to me, by a gentle- 
 man high in the secret service. And it seems that 
 Blizzard is differentiated from other legless men, by 
 a mole under one arm, and by a curious protuberance 
 on the back of his head and I believe that his moral 
 delinquency is not owing to the despair and humilia- 
 tion of being a cripple, but to skull-pressure upon the 
 brain." 
 
 The three young surgeons looked at each other. 
 One of them started to voice a protest. 
 
 "But, doctor it's you're asking a good deal of 
 us. I don't know that I personally " 
 
 Three knocks sounded quietly on a door of the 
 room. Dr. Ferris, breaking into a smile of relief, 
 sprang to open it.
 
 3 i6 THE PENALTY 
 
 In the rectangle appeared Lichtenstein; he was 
 dripping wet from head to foot and carried in one 
 hand a heavy blue automatic. 
 
 "'Fraid you couldn't make it," exclaimed the sur- 
 geon. 
 
 "Had to dynamite a safe down in the cellar hear 
 anything?" 
 
 Dr. Ferris shook his head, and turned to the others. 
 
 "Mr. Lichtenstein," he said, "of the secret ser- 
 vice. . . . Lichtenstein, some of these youngsters 
 don't want to mix up in this. Tell them things." 
 
 Lichtenstein smiled broadly. "Then I'll have to 
 operate," he said. And he lifted his pistol ostenta- 
 tiously. "Young men," he went on, "if you aren't 
 willing to make a decent citizen of Blizzard, why I 
 must arrest him, and send him to the chair, or if he 
 resists arrest, I must make a decent dead man of 
 him " 
 
 In the distance there rose suddenly the powerful 
 cries of the legless man. "All ready," he cried, 
 "bring on your ether." 
 
 "Who's going to help me?" asked Dr. Ferris. 
 
 The three young surgeons stepped quickly forward. 
 
 "Good," said Dr. Ferris. "He's strong as a bull. 
 You come with me, Jordyce, and you two wait within 
 hearing just outside the door." 
 
 "One moment," said Lichtenstein, "where's young 
 Allen?" 
 
 "In there," said Dr. Ferris. 
 
 "I'll just introduce myself," said the Jew, "and
 
 THE PENALTY 317 
 
 tell him what's up. He must be in a most unpleasant 
 state of mind." 
 
 To Wilmot there appeared the figure of a little 
 stout man with red hair and a pug nose, who was 
 dripping wet, and who smiled in an engaging fashion. 
 
 "You're safe as you'd be in your own house," said 
 the kindly Jew; "no ether no amputation no noth- 
 ing. And here's a note from Miss Barbara. I'm 
 dripping wet, but I guess the ink hasn't run so's you 
 can't read it." 
 
 Wilmot read his note, and a great light of happiness 
 came into his eyes. 
 
 "After a while," said Lichtenstein, "I'll hunt up 
 more clothes for you, and you can jump into a car 
 and run out to Clovelly. Don't let Miss Barbara see 
 you in that beard, though." 
 
 "I won't," said Wilmot. "Tell me what's hap- 
 pened. Has Blizzard been arrested? You're " 
 
 "I'm Abe Lichtenstein " 
 
 "Good Lord!" exclaimed Wilmot, "if I'd only gone 
 straight to you " 
 
 "If you had you might never have known that 
 Beauty would have married the Beast just to save 
 young Mr. Allen pain. But why come to me?" 
 
 "With information from Harry West. He had run 
 the whole conspiracy down. It seems " 
 
 "Names did he give names?" 
 
 "Yes unbelievable names." 
 
 Lichtenstein's eyes narrowed with excitement. 
 
 In the next room there arose suddenly the sound
 
 3 i8 THE PENALTY 
 
 of many feet shuffling, as if men were carrying a 
 heavy weight, and presently the smell of ether began 
 to come to them through the key-hole. And they 
 heard groans, and a dull, passionless voice that spoke 
 words of blasphemy and obscenity. '
 
 XLVII 
 
 IT was rare in Dr. Ferris's experience to see a man, 
 after an operation, come so quickly to his senses. It 
 was to be accounted for by perfect health and a 
 powerful mind. The patient lay on his side, because 
 of the wound on the back of his head, and into his 
 eyes, glazed and ether-blind, there came suddenly 
 light and understanding, and memory. Memory 
 brought the sweat to his forehead in great beads. 
 
 "Is it over?" he asked quickly. "Have you done 
 the trick?" 
 
 "It couldn't be done." 
 
 "When did you find that out?" 
 
 "I knew it before you went under ether." 
 
 "Then you haven't mutilated young Allen?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 The legless man's eyes closed, and he smiled, and 
 for perhaps a minute dozed. He awoke saying: 
 "Thank God for that." A moment later: "I'm all 
 knocked out of time what have you done to me?" 
 
 "I took the liberty of freeing your brain from press- 
 ure result of an old accident. It can only do you 
 good. It was hurting your mind more and more." 
 
 "I'd like to sleep, but I have the horrors." 
 
 "What sort of horrors?" 
 319
 
 320 THE PENALTY 
 
 "Remorse remorse," said the legless man in a 
 strong voice. 
 
 Dr. Ferris was trembling with excitement. 
 
 "But thank God my deal against Allen didn't go 
 through. That's something saved out of the burn- 
 ing. Where is Rose? I want Rose." 
 
 "Rose?" 
 
 "I remember. I locked her up in that room. 
 The key's in the bureau top drawer, left. I'd like 
 her to sit by me. I want to go to sleep. I want to 
 forget. Time enough to remember when I'm not 
 sick. . . . That you, Rose? Sit by me and hold my 
 hand, there's a dear. If I need anything she'll call 
 you, doctor. Just leave us alone, will you?" 
 
 He clung to the hand, as a child clings to its mother's 
 hand; and there was a tenderness and trust in the 
 clasp that thrilled the girl to her heart. 
 
 "Say you forgive me, Rose." His voice was 
 wheedling. 
 
 She leaned forward and kissed him. 
 
 "We got a lot to live down, Rose. Don't say we 
 can't do it. Wait till I'm up and around, and strong." 
 
 He fell asleep, breathing quietly. Two hours later 
 he woke. Rose had not moved. 
 
 "We'll begin," he said, "at once by getting mar- 
 ried. I've dreamed it all out. And we'll set up home 
 in a far place. That is, if they'll give me a chance. 
 But I've never asked you Rose, will you marry me? " 
 
 "Do you want me?" She leaned forward and 
 rested her cheek against his.
 
 THE PENALTY 321 
 
 "Do you understand?" he said. "We're begin- 
 ning all over. You can't undo things that you've 
 done; but you can start out and do the other kind of 
 things and strike some sort of a balance not before 
 man maybe but in your own conscience. That's 
 something. I want to talk to Ferris. Call him, will 
 you, and leave us." 
 
 "Doctor, was everything I was bone pressure? 
 Ever get drunk? " 
 
 Dr. Ferris nodded gravely. "In extreme youth," 
 he said. 
 
 "Well, you know how the next day you remember 
 some of the things you did, and half remember others, 
 and have the shakes and horrors all around, and make 
 up your mind you'll never do so and so again? That's 
 me at this moment. But the past I'm facing is a 
 million times harder to face than the average spree. 
 It covers years and years. It's black as pitch. I 
 don't recall any white places. Everything that the 
 law of man forbids I've done, and everything that the 
 law of God forbids. I won't detail. It's enough 
 that I know. Some wrongs I can put finger to and 
 right; others have gone their way out of reach, out 
 of recovery. Maybe I don't sound sorry enough? I 
 tell you it takes every ounce of courage I've got to 
 remember my past, and face it. Was it all bone 
 pressure? Am I really changed? Am I accountable 
 for what I did? Was it I that did wicked things right 
 and left, or was it somebody else that did 'em? An- 
 other thing, is the change permanent? Am I a good
 
 322 THE PENALTY 
 
 man now, or am I having some sort of a fit? Fetch 
 me a hand-glass off the bureau, will you?" 
 
 Blizzard looked at himself in the mirror. 
 
 "Seems to me," he said, "I've changed. Seems to 
 me I don't look so much like hell, as I did. What 
 do you think?" 
 
 "I think, Blizzard," said Dr. Ferris, "that when 
 you were run over as a child you hurt your head. I 
 think that even if I hadn't cut off your legs you would 
 have grown up an enemy of society. I think that up 
 to the time of your accident, and since you have come 
 out of ether just now, are the only two periods in 
 your life when you have been sane, and accountable 
 for your actions. Between these two periods, as I 
 see it, you were insane clever, shrewd all that 
 but insane nevertheless. I think this I know it. 
 Even the expression of your face has changed. You 
 look like an honest man, a man to be trusted, an able 
 man, a kind man, the kind of man you were meant 
 to be a good man." 
 
 "You really think that?" 
 
 "It isn't what I think, after all; it's what you feel. 
 Do you wish to be kind to people friends with them? 
 To do good?" 
 
 "That is the way I feel now. But, doctor will it 
 last?" 
 
 "It's got to last, Blizzard. And you've got to stop 
 talking." 
 
 "But will they give me a chance? Lichtenstein 
 could send me to the chair if he wanted to."
 
 THE PENALTY 323 
 
 "He won't do that. He will understand." 
 
 "I should like Miss Barbara to feel kindly toward 
 me." 
 
 "She will. I hope that your mind has changed 
 about her, too? " 
 
 "That," said Blizzard, "is between me and my 
 conscience. Whatever I feel toward her will never 
 trouble her again."
 
 XLVIII 
 
 WITH O'Hagan dead and Blizzard turned penitent, 
 the bottom of course fell clean out of the scheme to 
 loot Maiden Lane and the Sub-Treasury. But the 
 work of Lichtenstein and his agents had not been in 
 vain. Like the man in the opera Lichtenstein had 
 a little "list." The lieutenant-governor soon retired 
 into private life. He gave out that he wished to 
 devote the remainder of his life to philanthropic en- 
 terprises. The police commissioner resigned, owing 
 to ill health. Others who had counted too many 
 unhatched chicks went into bankruptcy. Some thou- 
 sands of discontents in the West who had been prom- 
 ised lucrative work in New York, about January i5th, 
 were advised to stick to their jobs, and to keep their 
 mouths shut. The two blind cripples who had delved 
 for so many years in Blizzard's cellars were brought 
 up into the light and cared for. Miss Marion O'Brien 
 went home to England with an unusually large pot 
 of savings, and married a man who spent these and 
 beat her until she had thoroughly paid the penalty 
 for all her little dishonesties and treacheries. It was 
 curious that all the little people in the plot received 
 tangible punishments, while the big people seemed to 
 go scot-free. Blizzard, for instance. 
 
 324
 
 THE PENALTY 325 
 
 No sooner recovered from the operation on the 
 back of his head than the creature was up and doing. 
 In straightening out his life and affairs he displayed 
 the energy of a steam-boiler under high pressure and 
 a colossal cheerfulness. 
 
 His first act was to marry Rose; his second to let 
 it be known throughout the East Side that he was 
 no longer marching in the forefront of crime. This 
 ultimatum started a procession of wrongdoers to 
 Marrow Lane. They came singly, in threes and fours, 
 humble and afraid; men of substance, gunmen, the 
 athletic, the diseased, fat crooks, thin crooks, saloon- 
 keepers and policemen, Italians and Slavs, short 
 noses and long (many many of them), two clergy- 
 men, two bankers, sharp-eyed children, married 
 women who were childless, unmarried women who 
 weren't and all these came trembling and with but 
 the one thought: "Is he going to tell what he knows 
 about us?" 
 
 He was not. Some he bullied a little, for habit is 
 strong; some he treated with laughter and irony, 
 some with wit, and some with kindness and deep 
 understanding. He might have been an able shep- 
 herd going to work on a hopelessly numerous black 
 and ramshackle flock of sheep. He couldn't expect 
 to make model citizens out of all his old heelers; 
 he couldn't expect to turn more than fifty per cent 
 of his two clergymen into the paths of righteousness. 
 But with the young criminals he took much pains, 
 giving money where it would do good, and advice
 
 326 THE PENALTY 
 
 whether it would do good or not. Among the first 
 to come to him was Kid Shannon. 
 
 "Now look a-here," said the Kid, "I bin good and 
 bad by turns till I don't know which side is top side. 
 But this minute I'm good d'you get me? If you 
 want to jail me you kin do it, nobody easier; but 
 don't do it! You was always a bigger man than me, 
 and when you led I followed for a real man had 
 rather follow a strong bad man than a good slob any 
 day. You out of the lead, I got nothing to follow 
 but me own wishes, and they're all to the good these 
 days." 
 
 "A woman?" said Blizzard sternly. 
 
 "She ain't a woman yet," said the Kid, "and she 
 ain't a kid she's about half-past girl o'clock, and 
 she thinks there's no better man in the United States 
 than always truly yours, Kid Shannon. I got a good 
 saloon business, and nothing crooked on hand but 
 what's 'past and done with, and I looks to you to 
 give a fellow a chance. Do I get it? Jail ain't goin' 
 to help me, and it would break her. Look here, sport: 
 I want to be good." 
 
 "Kid," said Blizzard, "no man that wants to be 
 good need be afraid of me. You'd have been a good 
 boy always if it hadn't been for me. 7 know that 
 as well as you. I've got the past all written down in 
 my head. I can't rub it out. But any man that's 
 got the nerve can put new writing across and across 
 the old, until the old can't be read, or if it could would 
 read like a joke. You can tell whomsoever it con-
 
 THE PENALTY 327 
 
 cerns to do well and fear nothing. At first I thought 
 to tell Lichtenstein every first and last thing that I 
 knew about this city, and he tried to make me tell. 
 We had a meeting, Old Abe and I did. I was always 
 afraid of the little Jew, Kid. Well, face to face, I 
 wasn't. He talked, and I talked. And I was the 
 stronger. He lets me go scot-free, and I don't tell 
 anything. If others get you for what you've done, it 
 can't be helped. But none of you'll be got through 
 me. The past is buried; but if in the future any of 
 you fellows start anything, and I hear of it look 
 out." 
 
 Kid Shannon wriggled uncomfortably. "Say," he 
 said, "what changed you?" 
 
 "I'm not changed," said Blizzard; "according to 
 Dr. Ferris I'm just acting natural. I was a good boy. 
 I had a fracture of the skull. The bone pressed on 
 my gray matter and made me a bad man. I'll tell 
 you a funny thing: I can't beat the box any morel I 
 had a go at it the other day, the missus all ready to 
 work the pedals, and Lord help me there was no more 
 music in my head or my fingers than there is in the 
 liver of a frog. It was the same when I was a two- 
 legged little kid no music." 
 
 "Are you going to close the old diggings?" 
 
 Blizzard shook his head. "Yes and no. I'm go- 
 ing to pull down the old rookery; and I'm going to 
 put up in its place a model factory." 
 
 "Hats?" 
 
 "Hats and maybe other things. I'm going to show
 
 328 THE PENALTY 
 
 New York how to run a sweatshop you wait and 
 see the most wages and the least sweat and the 
 girls happier and safer than in their own homes. The 
 missus and I were planning to bolt to a new place 
 and begin life all over. That was foolish. I'd always 
 feel like a coward. Don't forget that old friends 
 meditating new crimes will be welcome at the office 
 advice always given away, money sometimes and 
 sometimes help. Pass the word around and when 
 you and Miss Half-past Girl send out your cards 
 don't forget me and Mrs. Blizzard in Marrow 
 Lane." 
 
 He leaned forward, his eyes very bright and mis- 
 chievous. 
 
 "Kid," he said, "artistically and dramatically, it's 
 a pity." 
 
 "What's a pity?" 
 
 "That we didn't loot Maiden Lane before we got 
 religion. If there was any hitch in the plan, I don't 
 know what it was. And, Lord, I was so set on the 
 whole thing not because I wanted the loot, but to 
 see if it could be done. Some of you always said it 
 couldn't said there was a joker in the pack. Well, 
 we'll never know now. And here's Mrs. O'Farrall 
 come to pass the time of day Good-by, Kid, so- 
 long, pass the word around. Good luck love and 
 best wishes to Half -past! Mrs. O'Farrall, your 
 kitchen extends under the sidewalk; the more nego- 
 tiable of your delicatessen are cooked on city prop- 
 erty."
 
 THE PENALTY 329 
 
 "And 'twill be me ruin to have it found out. What 
 I came for " 
 
 "Was to find out what I'm going to do about it. 
 Well, the law that you're breaking isn't hurting the 
 city a bit, Mrs. O'Farrall I wish I could say the 
 same for your biscuits. If you're reported, come to 
 me and I'll see you through. How's Morgan the 
 day?" 
 
 "The same as to-morrow, thank ye kindly dhrunk 
 and philanderin'." 
 
 "I'll send him a pledge to sign with my compli- 
 ments, Mrs. O'Farrall, and a good job at the same 
 time." 
 
 "He'll never sign the pledge." 
 
 "Not if I ask him to, Mrs. O'Farrall, ask him on 
 bended knee?" 
 
 Mrs. O'Farrall looked frightened, apoplectic, and 
 confused. Blizzard lifted his heavy eyebrows, then 
 a smile began to brighten his face. 
 
 "Mrs. O'Farrall," said he, "blessings on your old 
 red face! For just this minute for the first time since 
 I lost them, the fact that I have no knees to bend 
 escaped me. Your religion teaches you that the 
 Lord is good to the repentant sinner. Madam, he 
 is!" And then he began to call in a loud voice: 
 
 "Rose Rose, run down a minute. I clean for- 
 got that I hadn't any legs." 
 
 She came, fresh, young, and lovely. What if she 
 had played the traitor thrown her cap over the 
 wind-mills? These things are not serious matters to
 
 330 THE PENALTY 
 
 her sex when the men they love are kind. And 
 then Lichtenstein had forgiven her, and pretended to 
 box her ears and then she had had enough tragedy 
 and jealousy crowded into a few months to atone for 
 greater crimes and lapses than hers.
 
 XLIX 
 
 "I UNDERSTAND," said Blizzard sternly, "that when 
 you learned I was your father, you refused to proceed 
 further against me." 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Bubbles. 
 
 "You did wrong! Always do your duty. It was 
 your duty to send me to the chair, if you could. A 
 fine father I'd been to you and to Harry and a 
 good honest man I was to your mother! My boy, 
 I'm face to face with the penalty that I have to pay 
 you. I know all about you, Bubbles, from Lich- 
 tenstein, from Dr. Ferris, from Wilmot Allen and 
 and others. And you're a good boy. I drove your 
 mother crazy, I let you drift into the streets to sink, 
 I thought, and perish; but you're a good boy. I gave 
 you no education, but you have picked up reading 
 and writing and God knows what else. Once I was 
 going to wring your neck. I didn't. That's the 
 only favor you ever had at my hands. You'll grow 
 up to be a good man a fine, clever, understanding 
 man. And it won't be because of me, it will be in 
 spite of me. This is the hardest thing I have to face. 
 You've come now to pay a duty call. Well, my boy, 
 I'm obliged. But I wish to Heaven I had some hold 
 on your affection, some way of getting a hold. Bub- 
 bles, what can I do to make you like me? " 
 
 331
 
 332 THE PENALTY 
 
 Bubbles wriggled with awful discomfort, but said 
 nothing. 
 
 "Is it because of your mother that you can't ever 
 like me?" 
 
 Bubbles drew a long breath as if for a deep dive. 
 His voice shook. "She lives in a bug-house," he 
 said; "you drove her into it. Dr. Ferris says you 
 were crazy yourself and nothing you ever done ought 
 to be held against you. He says, and Miss Barbara, 
 she says, that I ought to try to like you and feel kind 
 to you. And and I thought it was my duty to come 
 and tell you that I just can't." 
 
 He was only a little boy, and the delivery of these 
 plain truths to a man he had always held in deadly 
 dread unmanned him. He gave one short, wailing, 
 whimpering sob, and then bit his lips until he had 
 himself in a sort of control. 
 
 "That's all right, Bubbles," said the legless man 
 after a pause. "It hits hard, but it's all right. And 
 whether you said it or not, it was coming to me, and 
 I knew it. Do you mind if I send you books and 
 things now and then? There was a book I had when 
 I was a boy. I'd like you to have it. Don't know 
 what reminds me of it unless it's you. It's the story 
 of a Frenchman, Bayard they called him the cheva- 
 lier sans peur et sans reproche. That's French. The 
 book tells what it means. You better go now. I'm 
 talking against time. I haven't got the same con- 
 trol of my nerves I used to have. I'm all broken up, 
 my boy. But you're dead right dead right. I say
 
 THE PENALTY 333 
 
 so, and I think so. You're to go to boarding-school. 
 That's good. They won't teach you any evil." 
 
 He did not offer his hand, and the boy was glad. 
 
 "Well, good-by," he said uneasily, reached the door, 
 turned, and came back a little way. "Wish you good 
 luck," he said. 
 
 Blizzard lowered his formidable head almost rever- 
 ently, "Thank you," he said. 
 
 Poor Bubbles, he began to whistle before he was 
 out of the building; it wasn't from heartlessness, it 
 was from pure discomfort and remorse. Anyway, 
 bis father heard the shrill piping and he sat and 
 looked straight ahead of him, and his face was as that 
 of Satan fallen fallen, and hell fires licked into the 
 marrow of his bones. 
 
 So Rose found him, and flung herself upon his 
 breast with a cry of yearning, and his heavy sorrowed 
 head nestled closer and closer to hers, and he burst 
 suddenly into a great storm of weeping.
 
 BUT the legless man was not one who easily or often 
 gave way to grief. He retained all of that will-power 
 which had made him so potent for evil, and he used 
 it now to force cheerfulness out of discouragement 
 and sorrow. Just what he proposed to do with his 
 life is difficult to expose, for his plans kept changing, 
 as almost all plans do, in the working out. 
 
 His remodelled factory will serve for an example. 
 It began as a place in which the East Side maiden 
 could earn enough money to keep body and soul to- 
 gether without scotching either. Still keeping to this 
 idea, Blizzard kept brightening conditions, and let- 
 ting in light figuratively and actually. And he 
 proved that short hours, high pay, and worth-while 
 profits may be made to keep company. It all de- 
 pends on how much willingness and efficiency are 
 crowded into the short hours. Employment in Bliz- 
 zard's factory became a distinction, like membership 
 in an exclusive club, and carried with it so many priv- 
 ileges of comfort and self-respect that the employees 
 couldn't very well help being efficient. 
 
 Blizzard's office, where he held the threads of many 
 enterprises, became a sort of clearing-house for East 
 Side troubles. He kept free certain hours during 
 which, sitting for all the world like a judge, he listened 
 
 334
 
 THE PENALTY 335 
 
 to private affairs, and sympathizing, scolding, whee- 
 dling, and even bullying, he gave advice, gave money, 
 found work, brought about reconciliations, and turned 
 hundreds of erring feet into the straight and narrow 
 path. He preached, and very eloquently, the gospel 
 of common-sense. For every crisis in people's lives, 
 he seemed to remember a parallel. And his knowl- 
 edge, especially of criminalities and the workings of 
 crooked minds, seemed very marvellous to those who 
 sought him out. And he was an easy man to speak 
 truth to, for there were very few wicked things that 
 he had not done himself. It is easier to confess theft 
 to a thief than to a man of virtue, and the resulting 
 advice may very well be just the same. 
 
 His energy and activity were endless. "It's just 
 as hard work," he told Rose, "to do good in the world 
 as to do evil. I haven't changed my methods, only 
 my conditions and ideals. You've got to get the con- 
 fidence of the people you're working for, and to get 
 that you've got to know more about them than they 
 know about themselves. To know that a man has 
 murdered, gives you power over that man; to know 
 that another man has done something fine and manly, 
 gives you a hold on that man. Real men are ashamed 
 of having two things found out about them their 
 secret bad actions, and their secret good actions. 
 Men who do good for the sake of notoriety aren't real 
 
 men." 
 
 "I know who's a real man," said Rose. 
 
 He regarded her with much tenderness and amuse-
 
 336 THE PENALTY 
 
 ment. "Rose," he said, "there's one thing I'm keen 
 to know." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Will you give an honest answer?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "Well then, do you like me as much as you did 
 when I used to maltreat you and bully you and 
 threaten you? Or do you like me more, or do you 
 like me less?" 
 
 "It's just the same," she said, "only that then I 
 was unhappy all the time, and now all the time I'm 
 happy." 
 
 "Were you unhappy because I wasn't kind?" 
 
 She laughed that idea to scorn. "I was unhappy 
 because you liked somebody else more than me." 
 
 The amusement went out of Blizzard's face; the 
 tenderness remained. There was one thing that he 
 was determined to do with his life, and that was to 
 make Rose a good husband. And he was very fond 
 of her, and she could make him laugh, but it wasn't 
 going to be very easy, as long as the image of another 
 girl persisted in haunting him.
 
 LI 
 
 WHEN Wilmot Allen left Blizzard's house, he went 
 direct to a barber-shop, where he remained for three 
 hundred years. During this period, he lost his beard 
 and thereby regained his self-respect. It took him a 
 hundred years to reach the Grand Central, and a 
 thousand more to get from there to Clovelly. 
 
 "I got your telegram," said Barbara. 
 
 "When?" he asked anxiously. 
 
 She broke into a sudden smile. "Oh," she said, 
 "about fourteen hundred years ago." 
 
 "Barbara," he said, "that's a miracle! If you'd 
 said thirteen hundred or fifteen hundred it would 
 have been guessing, but fourteen hundred is the exact 
 tune that has passed since I telegraphed." 
 
 "Have you had breakfast?" 
 
 "No," he said, "I didn't have time." 
 
 They strolled through the familiar house, talking 
 nonsense. They were almost too glad to see each 
 other, for there was now no longer any question of 
 Barbara making up her mind. It had been made up 
 for her, and Wilmot knew this somehow without being 
 told. But when had the definite change come? 
 that change which made her caring for Wilmot differ- 
 ent from all her other carings? She could not say. 
 
 He had dreaded telling her about Harry West's 
 
 337
 
 33 8 THE PENALTY 
 
 death. And when he had done so he watched her 
 grave face with appealing eyes. Presently she smiled 
 a little. 
 
 "I'm not heartless," she said, "but I'm going to 
 keep on forgetting all the times when there was any- 
 body but you. I expect most girls do a lot of shilly- 
 shallying before they are sure of themselves." 
 
 "And you are really sure of yourself?" 
 
 "Yes, Wilmot, if I'm sure of you." 
 
 "The first thing," he sa ; i, "is to look into these 
 mining properties we've fallen heir to. West wasn't 
 the kind of man to be easily fooled; at the same time 
 I myself have learned something about mines." 
 
 "For instance?" Her face was very mischievous. 
 
 "Well," he said, "for instance, I have learned that 
 there are mines and mines. And you know, Barbs 
 dear, I'm not eligible yet. I owe money, I haven't 
 made good at anything, and I've got to first of all. 
 Haven't I?" 
 
 "Are you going to sit right there and tell me that 
 we're not to be married until you've paid your debts 
 and made a fortune? Where do I come in? What 
 life have I to lead except yours? If you are in debt, 
 so am I. If you've got to dig holes in the ground, so 
 have I. Whatever has got to be done, we've got to 
 do it together. So much is clear. Of course it would 
 be easier for you!" 
 
 "Barbs!" 
 
 A little later he asked her what she was going to 
 do with her head of Blizzard.
 
 THE PENALTY 339 
 
 "Nothing," she said. "If it is good enough, it 
 will survive these troubled times. If it isn't, some- 
 body will break it up." 
 
 "Are you through with art?" 
 
 "What have I to do with art?" she said. "I'm 
 in love. I used to think that women ought to have 
 professions and all. But there's only one thing that 
 a woman can do supremely well and that's to make 
 a home for a man. That will take all that she has in 
 her of art and heart and ambition and delicacy. Of 
 course if a girl is denied the opportunity of making 
 a home, she can paint and sculp and thump the piano 
 and get her name in the papers. What I want to 
 know is when do we start West?" 
 
 "You've offered to take me just as I am, with all 
 my encumbrances, and to help me fight things through 
 to a good finish. And I think that is pure folly on 
 your part. But there's going to be no more folly on 
 mine. I'm going to be a fool. Barbs come here!" 
 
 He held out his arms, and she threw herself into 
 them. 
 
 "Is to-morrow too soon, Barbs?" 
 
 "We could hardly arrange things sooner, but to 
 my mind to-morrow is not nearly soon enough." 
 
 "What will your father say?" 
 
 "Why, if he's the father I think he is he'll bless us 
 and wish us good luck. There'll be an awful lot to 
 do. Hadn't we better jump into a car, run over to 
 Greenwich, and get married? That will be just so 
 much off our minds."
 
 LII 
 
 THE young Aliens began their new life by plunging 
 themselves still deeper in debt. Their honeymoon 
 was very short. They spent it on Long Island Sound 
 in a yacht which Wilmot borrowed over the telephone, 
 just before they left Clovelly to be married. On the 
 sixth day they went West. In Salt Lake City they 
 foregathered with a mining engineer to whom Wilmot 
 had secured letters. This one fell in love with Bar- 
 bara, closed his office and went with them into the 
 hills for ten days. They came out of the hills with 
 brown faces and sparkling eyes. The engineer opened 
 his office and dictated his report of their mines to his 
 stenographer. During this work of enthusiasm he 
 occasionally sighed, and the stenographer knit her 
 brows. 
 
 "Now then," said the engineer to Wilmot and Bar- 
 bara, "if my name is any good in New York, you can 
 raise all the money you need on that document. If 
 you can't, telegraph, and I can raise it here." 
 
 "But," said Barbara, growing very practical, "if 
 the money can be raised here, why blow in two car- 
 fares and a drawing-room from here to New York and 
 back?" 
 
 * Why," the engineer stammered a little, "I thought 
 you'd have lots and lots of friends that you'd want 
 to let in on the ground floor. But if you haven't, 
 
 340
 
 The engineer made generous terms 
 across the dinner-table
 
 THE PENALTY 341 
 
 and if my money is as good as another's you see, 
 it's a grand property I'm not above longing for an 
 interest in it myself." 
 
 "I can't deny," said Wilmot, who had been worry- 
 ing himself dreadfully about finding the means, "that 
 this looks like easy money to me." 
 
 The engineer made generous terms across the 
 dinner-table, and the young Aliens borrowed his 
 money from him. 
 
 "I suppose," said the engineer hopefully, "that 
 you'll run out from time to time to see how things are 
 getting on?" 
 
 "Run out?" exclaimed Barbara; "we are going to 
 live with the proposition until it goes through or 
 under. Aren't we, Wilmot?" 
 
 "I hoped you'd feel that way about it, Barbs." 
 
 "You knew I would." 
 
 At first they lived in a tent, and then in a series of 
 large wooden boxes that they called first "The House" 
 and then "Home." Machinery began to come into 
 the camp in the wake of long strings of mules walking 
 two and two. Upon the report of their special con- 
 sulting engineer the nearest transcontinental railroad 
 began to lay metals across the desert, to the mines. 
 One day came strangers with picks and shovels, and 
 the next day came more. And these began to scratch 
 among the sage-brush and to explode sticks of dyna- 
 mite against the faces of hills. Claims were staked; 
 shanties built; a hotel with saloon attached, all of 
 shining tin and tar paper, arose in the night. The
 
 342 THE PENALTY 
 
 first thing Barbara knew Wilmot began to talk of a 
 stretch of sage-brush as Main Street. And the same 
 day she heard a man with red beard speak of the 
 little town as "Allen." 
 
 One night a man was shot dead among the sage- 
 bushes of Main Street. Six hours later Wilmot came 
 in on a horse covered with lather. There was a stern, 
 but not unhappy, look in his eyes. 
 
 "Well?" she asked. 
 
 "He showed fight," said Wilmot; "and we had to 
 pot him." 
 
 "Did you " 
 
 "Would you care? We shook hands on keeping 
 all details secret. I think the town of Allen will be 
 run orderly in the future. And by the way, have I 
 such a thing as a clean shirt?" 
 
 "You will have," said Barbara, "when the things 
 dry." 
 
 "Barbara!" 
 
 "Yes, it had to come to it. There are only two 
 women in town, and the other isn't fit to wash your 
 shirts, dear." 
 
 "Let me see your hands." 
 
 He examined them critically, then kissed them un- 
 critically. 
 
 "They don't look like a washer-woman's hands 
 yet," he said. 
 
 "No," she said, "not yet. But please say they 
 look less and less like a sculptor's," 
 
 "Barbara," he said, "they look more and more
 
 "You will," said Barbara, "when the 
 things dry"
 
 THE PENALTY 343 
 
 like a dear's. But tell me, aren't you getting bored 
 with it missing New York things and all and all?" 
 
 "No," she said stoutly, "I'm not. I'm useful here 
 in some ways. And I was about as useful there as 
 as all the other people. I'm not even worried 
 about the mines." 
 
 "Neither am I. But development's a great deal 
 slower than I thought. We've still plenty of money. 
 And the moment we begin to ship ore, we'll have 
 plenty of credit which is just as useful. No! I'm 
 not worried. We're going to be rich, and we're going 
 to live in a palace." 
 
 "And then what?" 
 
 "That is worrying me. What do people -do when 
 the striving's over, and the sixteen hours a day hard 
 work? What do they do? Oh, Barbs, we know lots 
 of such people, and we must find out exactly what 
 they do, and do something else. Living as we are 
 living has its drawbacks; but it's not a place to hurry 
 over." 
 
 "It's a good way to live," said Barbara. "If 
 you've got sense enough to know that it's good while 
 it's going on. People who speak of the good old days, 
 or who are always looking forward to better days, are 
 usually unhappy. All the time I've been washing 
 your clothes and mine this morning I kept saying, 
 'Now this is really good this is really worth while,' 
 and once when I got the better of an ink-spot, my 
 heart began to beat as if I'd just finished some im- 
 mortal work."
 
 344 THE PENALTY 
 
 They were much amused with Bubbles, who came 
 out to them for the Christmas vacation. The short 
 fall term had already stamped him with the better 
 ear-marks of the great New England boarding-schools. 
 He was quite a superior person, rather prone to quote, 
 just as if they had been facts out of the gospel, the 
 sayings of Mr. This and Mr, That. And he used 
 superior words, and spoke of various Kings of Eng- 
 land as if he had always known that such persons 
 existed. He had in addition a smattering of Latin, 
 his pride in which he strove in vain to conceal. And 
 most of all he considered the school-boy captain of 
 the foot-ball team a creature, on the whole, wiser and 
 more knowing even than Abe Lichtenstein. 
 
 But by the time he had been a week in camp he 
 was himself again. And by the time he returned to 
 school he had forgotten the ablative singular of Rosa. 
 
 They thought best to tell him that he would have 
 plenty of money some day. In view of this would 
 he persist in being a secret service agent? He thought 
 so. He wasn't sure. The service needed money 
 often and always service. Had he seen his father? 
 Yes, and he told them about the interview. 
 
 "And," said Bubbles, "he sent me a box Thanks- 
 giving. There was a cold turkey and caramels and 
 guava jelly and ginger-snaps, and walnut meats and 
 seedless raisins, and, and as Mr. Tompkins says, it 
 doesn't do to be too hard on a man."
 
 Xr-JK*- 
 
 P- 
 
 They were much amused with Bubbles, 
 who came out to them for Christ- 
 mas vacation
 
 "And when you think," said she, "that 
 some women spend the best years 
 of their lives making statues I"
 
 ff 
 if
 
 LIII 
 
 SPRING came. Their mine made its first shipments 
 of ore and was no longer a paper success. The bal- 
 ance-sheet for the first month after shipments had 
 begun made Wilmot whistle. He couldn't believe 
 the figures, and worked till late into the night, trying 
 to find some dreadful error. Finding none, finding 
 that with the help of others he had really made good 
 at last, the rough life began to lose its savor. If he 
 still owed money it could be but for a short time. He 
 was free as air free to do what he pleased almost 
 to spend what he pleased. 
 
 "Barbs," he said, the next morning, "the mine's 
 no good; we've got to tackle something else." 
 
 "What do you mean, no good? Why, you said " 
 
 "I know what I said. The mine is a success. 
 Aside from what your father has, you're a rich woman. 
 And I'm a rich man. And that's the difficulty. 
 There's no use working our hearts out over a thing 
 that's a definite success is there? No fun in it. 
 We've got to look round for something else. Now we 
 are always going to have money that's certain. 
 
 Tiat are we going to do with it? Think of some- 
 tlJng hard something worth while." 
 
 "Oh," she said, "I can't can you?" 
 
 : No," he said almost angrily, " I can't. And that's 
 
 345
 
 346 THE PENALTY 
 
 the rotten side of money. That's the stumbling- 
 block for everybody who succeeds in collecting a lot 
 of it. The distribution is infinitely harder than the 
 collecting. I think we'd better pull up stakes, go 
 back to New York, and think hard." 
 
 "Yes. Let's." 
 
 "I'd like to have a talk with Buzzard." 
 
 Barbara's eyebrows went high with surprise. 
 
 "Why not? Your father writes that the man is 
 doing more good right in New York City where it's 
 most needed than any six philanthropists the place 
 ever owned. Maybe he's got something really big 
 in view, and maybe he'll let us in on the ground floor." 
 
 "Well," said Barbara, "considering everything, I 
 shouldn't care to have much to do with him." 
 
 Wilmot put back his head and laughed aloud. 
 "That," said he, "is precisely the sort of advice that 
 I used to give you." 
 
 Barbara blushed. "I'd like to forget that such a 
 man ever came into my life in any way." 
 
 "You can't forget it, dear. You asked him in. 
 You would do it. And now you can never forget. 
 And that's one of the penalties you have to pay for 
 going against the people who love you most." 
 
 "Well," said she, "I'm willing to keep on paying 
 if the right people will keep on loving. Anyway, 
 philanthropy good works are none of my business. 
 My business, sir, is to make you a home. And with 
 the exception of one person that I know about posi- 
 tively, the rest of the world can go hang."
 
 THE PENALTY 347 
 
 "That statement," said Wilmot, "sounds very 
 pagan and profane to me and also very, very beauti- 
 ful. But, who, may I ask, is this other person? " His 
 brows gathered a little jealously. 
 
 "This other person," said Barbara quietly, "is at 
 the present moment a total stranger to us." 
 
 Then she leaned forward until her head was on his 
 breast. And she gave a little sigh which was fifty 
 per cent comfort, and fifty per cent courage. She 
 could hear his heart beating like a trip-hammer. Had 
 he burst into immortal eloquence, his words would 
 have been of less consequence in her ear. 
 
 "And when you think," said she, "that some 
 women spend the best years of their lives making 
 statues I" 
 
 THE END
 
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