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 'I DON'T LIKE THE WAT YOU SAY THAT, DICK." 
 
 Frontispiece. Page 183.
 
 THE 
 
 SPENDTHKIFT 
 
 BY 
 
 PORTER EMERSON BROWNE 
 A Story of American Life 
 
 NOVELIZED FROM THE PLAY BY 
 EDWARD MARSHALL 
 
 Illustrations from Scenes in the Play 
 
 G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
 
 Copyright, 1910, By 
 G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "I don't like the way you say that, Dick" 
 
 Frontispiece 183 
 
 "I hoped you would be ready to step in and 
 
 make that money" 82 
 
 "No, give it back to Frances. She didn't get 
 
 it from me" 290 
 
 "Tell him to come here at once, that you are 
 
 alone here" 304 
 
 2134351
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 In Washington Square, New York's extremes 
 meet. The most exclusively aristocratic portion of 
 Fifth Avenue where the newly-prosperous are 
 quite unknown debouches into it, and its North 
 side is bordered by the residences of the rich, and, 
 curiously enough, distinguished. New York does 
 not contain another row of equal length as notable. 
 The South side is held by artists, other anarchists, 
 and little business folk, like dealers in that vehicle 
 once popular, now obsolete, the bicycle. To the 
 East rise mighty business buildings where once the 
 University serenely gloomed. Only the West side 
 is miscellaneous. There have been erected flats in 
 which all classes and conditions doubtless live, as 
 elsewhere in flat buildings. 
 
 Oh, yes, another detail. There is a church, of 
 really progressive principles, among the anarchists 
 of the South side. It is a fine memorial to a great, 
 unselfish man, a missionary surnamed Judson, and 
 bearing the fine given name Adoniram. 
 
 Years ago a woman walked and wept upon the 
 center span of Brooklyn Bridge a poor, frail girl 
 who had gone wrong and much regretted it. An 
 author (this seems too fortuitous to be quite true 
 but is the fact) was also on the bridge that mid- 
 night, seeking either air or things to write about,
 
 io THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 I am not sure which. He noticed the unfortunate, 
 and, after hesitating, spoke to her and asked her if 
 there was not something he might do to mitigate 
 her sorrow. 
 
 She had gone there to the bridge, she told him, 
 for the purpose of committing suicide, but, looking 
 off across the lighted city (as one looks when one 
 is standing on the verge of death and knows it), a 
 flaming cross had caught and had compelled her 
 eye. This glowing signal had, she told him, 
 changed her trend of thought. It had roused in 
 her unhappy soul a thrill of hope. She had de- 
 cided not to kill herself. She was weeping at the 
 thought of the tremendous fight with life which 
 now, once more, loomed in her future. 
 
 What happened afterward to the poor girl I 
 have no means of knowing. The cross still flames 
 its message to the city from the great church on the 
 South square; but the measure of its influence is 
 curtailed, for skyscrapers fence it now; its glow is 
 hid to the whole city, save the Square itself, by cliffs 
 of brick. From the Brooklyn Bridge it is invisible 
 these nights. 
 
 Just as its light flashed up on a late autumn af- 
 ternoon some years bygone a bustling woman left 
 an elevated railway train at Bleecker Street, unob- 
 trusively but most effectually pushed her way 
 through the debarking crowd upon the station plat- 
 form, zigzagged down the stairway so cleverly 
 that without seeming to thrust anyone aside she 
 gained at least three stairs on the crowd's average 
 speed in the descent, stepped out upon the greasy 
 sidewalk of dingy South Fifth Avenue, and made
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT n 
 
 her way with steady step, not fast, not slow, carry- 
 ing her farther, straighter than the average, to- 
 ward the south entrance of the Square. Before she 
 reached the Square itself she saw the great arch 
 there erected to the memory of Washington loom 
 gloomily through the electric haze and smiled as 
 she caught sight of it. She knew that the commun- 
 ity which, spurred by New York's momentary love 
 for a dead hero, had erected it, had paid more for 
 the work or the material, or both, than it or they 
 were worth. 
 
 Had she had charge of the erection of the arch 
 this could not possibly have happened, for Gretchen 
 Jans would not be cheated. That was and is one 
 reason why she was and is the richest woman in 
 America, mistress of a mighty fortune built up by 
 her own unique intelligence. 
 
 She was not this evening impressive in appear- 
 ance, indeed, she never was or is. She does not 
 wear things on her sleeve not even lace. She had 
 not worn her heart there in her youth, she did not 
 wear her wealth there now, in her descending mid- 
 dle-age. 
 
 Her gown was of the fashion-before-last, or 
 even more archaic; her bonnet dated from a some- 
 what earlier period; her gloves were not gloves 
 really, but knitted mitts; her shoes were broad of 
 toe, substantial in their soles, flat-heeled. The boy 
 brother of Richard Ward (the latter was a rising 
 stockbroker and suitor of her niece, Frances Van 
 Zandt) looked down upon those shoes once, later, 
 and whispered to the richest woman's younger 
 niece, Clarice Van Zandt:
 
 12 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "My, my ! I'll bet Aunt Gretchen can kick hard 1" 
 
 The niece pouted. "Your slang is rather dread- 
 ful, Monty," she replied, "but it is expressive. 
 Kick I Well ! With all her money ! Frances and 
 myself have scarcely anything to wear!" 
 
 "You seem to have," he said, admiring her. 
 
 "Oh, well," said she, "you know precisely what 
 I mean. Imagine! and with all her money!" 
 
 As Gretchen Jans on the dim evening when this 
 story opens approached the Square, she saw Fran- 
 ces, the elder niece, very much excited, standing by 
 a dingy little pile of household goods which had 
 been thrust upon the sidewalk from the tenement 
 apartment of an evicted family. She was arguing, 
 angry-eyed, with the evictors. The family dis- 
 tressed consisted of a sad-faced father, his lack of 
 business sense stamped on his countenance as if 
 with type, an overworked, much underfed young 
 mother, and their trio of small children. Frances, 
 just budded into beautiful young womanhood, was 
 much incensed. 
 
 "But I tell you I will pay you, not later than to- 
 morrow afternoon," she was declaring. 
 
 "No good, miss," said the obdurate but not at 
 all discourteous fat man who had conducted the 
 eviction. "We got to have our money now." 
 
 Aunt Gretchen paused and watched. Her pause 
 was quite as full of energy as her progression had 
 been. An elevated railway pillar threw its dense, 
 black shadow near and she slipped partly into it. 
 Being thick, if short, she occupied the full width of 
 the shadow.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 13 
 
 The niece was now almost reduced to tears by 
 the misfortunes of the suffering paupers. 
 
 "Why can't you wait one day?" she demanded 
 of the plump, well-fed evictor. 
 
 "We've waited days an' days an' days an' days," 
 he answered, and then sharply shut his jaw. He 
 was so fat it did not even snap; it thudded. His 
 abundant flesh contrasted strikingly with the figures 
 of his victims, who happened to be thin by temper- 
 ament, and this added to the girl's hot wrath. 
 
 "But won't you wait just one day more? I I 
 haven't very much, to-day. This evening I can get 
 some of my aunt I guess and then I'll surely 
 let you have it." 
 
 "I'm sorry, miss," said the evictor, with a shak- 
 ing head. 
 
 She saw that he was firm, so very firm that not 
 her smiles, her pouts, even her tears, would 
 make him budge. She hated him intensely, al- 
 though she never in her life had seen the man be- 
 fore and would not, probably, see him again. He 
 was unreasonable very she declared within her 
 soul. He was insisting on the proper payment of 
 a debt or the provided penalty. Instinctively she 
 sided with the debtor class and loathed all cred- 
 itors. But, seeing that he would not yield, she 
 took the money from her purse it was within a 
 dollar of the last cent in that purse and handed it 
 to him with a fine scowl. 
 
 "Well, take it now then!" she said, angrily. 
 
 While, wrapped in the shadow of the elevated 
 railway pillar, Gretchen Jans stood watching, an 
 extremely handsome girl, the junior of the one who
 
 14 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 was preventing the eviction, came through the park, 
 along the street, and hurried to Frances. 
 
 "What in the world, Frances!" said the new- 
 comer. "I was getting worried about you. It's 
 dark." 
 
 "Yes," said her sister, with a vicious glance at 
 the short fat man, as if that were his fault, "but 
 this man here" (she had almost said "this 
 brute") "won't trust me till to-morrow for these 
 poor creatures' rent. As I came by I found that he 
 was actually putting them and all their things upon 
 the street." 
 
 There was some further talk, the short fat man, 
 who really was not especially a brute, himself sug- 
 gested a receipt and gave it, and then helped take 
 the things back up the tenement stairs, the sisters 
 crossed the Square together and, climbing the steps 
 before the comfortable, solid-looking, but not 
 showy, old Jans home, sat at their top and talked. 
 
 "I suppose I'll have to go without the collar," 
 said Frances, and sighed. "She would have paid 
 the rent, I think, if I had had a chance to tell her 
 all about it the little children and all that " 
 
 "She might have," Clarice answered, doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 "But now that I have paid it " 
 
 "Yes; you'll have to do without the collar. 
 You'll never get it back. She'll say that it can be a 
 lesson to you. She'll say, when you remark that it 
 was a most worthy deed, that she doesn't want to 
 rob you of the satisfaction of the sacrifice; 
 she'll" 
 
 "Stop, please! You do make me so nervous,
 
 Clarice. It's bad enough to have to go without the 
 collar without having you " 
 
 "They are not the sort of folk whom she calls 
 'worthy,' that is, 'thrifty,' " said her sister, and the 
 "thrifty" was accented. "And with all her 
 millions! Here's all I've got, I'll share your loss." 
 
 "She sometimes acts as if she feared that she 
 would be evicted," Frances granted. 
 
 The butler, a staid Irishman, of age, and, evi- 
 dently, very massive self-respect, came to the door. 
 
 "Mr. Ward came, miss, while you was out. 
 He's waiting in the library," he announced to 
 Frances. 
 
 The girl rose hurriedly, evidently pleased. Her 
 sister sprang up also, with pretty eagerness, and 
 put her hands upon the elder girl's fine shoulders, 
 looking smilingly inquisitive into her eyes. 
 
 "Has he yet?" she asked. "Please tell me!" 
 . . . "You never told me of the other one of 
 Suffern Thorne until weeks after you'd refused 
 him." 
 
 "Has he what, you silly?" said the elder girl, 
 blushing very sweetly. 
 
 The sisters, both, were most attractive, even 
 beautiful the flower and the bud of fine young 
 womanhood. Seeing them together thus, one 
 would not fail to guess that they were sisters, 
 although their coloring was different, Frances be- 
 ing light and Clarice dark. There was strong fel- 
 lowship between them, one could see that also. It 
 was easy to believe that they would always join 
 their forces against opposition offered to the one or
 
 1 6 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 to the other. Now, though, the elder sister played 
 at reticence. 
 
 "Has he?" begged Clarice. "I meant to ask 
 you if he did the other evening, but I've been so 
 worried over clothes Aunt Gretchen is so stingy." 
 
 Frances plainly would have been delighted to 
 prolong the situation tantalizingly, but also plainly 
 she was anxious to go in to greet the caller. 
 
 "No, he hasn't," she said, laughing. 
 
 "But he will, won't he?" her sister asked, with 
 some show of disappointment. 
 
 "How do /know?" 
 
 "Well, / know." 
 
 The butler stepped back to the door. 
 
 "Oh, I forgot," said he, with a queer smile that 
 showed that he had not forgotten, but was possibly 
 a bit malicious, "Master Monty Ward is halso 
 'ere." 
 
 Clarice blushed furiously, while Frances burst 
 into a peal of laughter. 
 
 "There, little girl," said she, "don't trouble 
 your big sister any more. The little boy has come 
 with his big brother, doubtless for the special pur- 
 pose of amusing you and keeping you from bother- 
 ing your elders and superiors." 
 
 "'Master'!" said Clarice, "I hate him!" 
 
 "You do?" Her sister was amused. As she 
 made haste to pat her hair a bit and rearrange a 
 lace or two she bent before a small, low mirror in 
 the comfortable, wide old hall into which they had 
 advanced, and asked in whispers, "Why, dear?" 
 The words were full of laughter, and her laugh was
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 17 
 
 very sweet. It was luxurious, as everything about 
 her was. 
 
 "Why why he's so young" her sister an- 
 swered. 
 
 "Oh, I thought you meant you hated the poor 
 butler. You mean Monty? Young? He'll get 
 over that. Now come along and take him out to 
 play with you." 
 
 "Frances, you seem to think I am a babe !" 
 
 "And aren't you?" 
 
 Frances disappeared, going to the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 Clarice stepped into the dim library. Presently 
 a youth went by the door and out to the front 
 steps. After a moment's waiting, she strolled out 
 with perfectly assumed indifference (in spite of her 
 short skirts) and also sought the broad, white mar- 
 ble steps before the door, which stood wide open, 
 because of the fine late spring weather. She went 
 as if by merest chance. 
 
 "What? You here?" she said to the em- 
 barrassed youth who crouched there, anxiously 
 awaiting her. 
 
 "Didn't Murphy tell you?" 
 
 "Perhaps so ; I have really forgotten." 
 
 "Oh, I say, now!" 
 
 "Isn't it too dreadful to have to call the butler 
 'Murphy' ? Auntie absolutely will not let us force 
 him to permit us to select a better name for him." 
 
 The subject of the butler's name did not very 
 deeply interest the youth a clean-cut boy of twenty 
 and, as he urged them, she accepted others. Ap- 
 parently they were engrossing, for presently the
 
 1 8 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 two were in quite confidential conversation on the 
 cushions while the darkness grew. 
 
 "We might go into the library," said Clarice, 
 "but it's so stuffy in there. And Frances and your 
 brother have the drawing-room." 
 
 "Pigs," said Monty, gravely. 
 
 "I don't suppose they'd care to have us join them 
 there," she tittered, wisely. 
 
 "No, I think not." He looked at her and tried 
 to smile a worldly smile, but blushed instead. She 
 saw his blush, tried not to laugh, and choked. 
 
 Presently she told him of the cruel individual 
 whom Frances had discovered, red-handed, in the 
 act of putting a poor family out of their cheap 
 home because they did not pay their rent. 
 
 "But perhaps the landlord needed it," he pro- 
 tested, somewhat weakly. 
 
 "Nonsense!" she replied. "He's probably as 
 rich as cheese." 
 
 He took his cue, as youths will take their cues 
 when maidens they adore present them to them 
 with such emphasis. He did not quite, young as 
 he was, agree with her in thinking that a landlord 
 should let tenants who do not pay rent remain the 
 occupants of buildings; but he would not have 
 been insistent with his theories for worlds. 
 
 "Yes, probably," he granted, sending his con- 
 victions flying to the four winds. "The brute !" 
 
 "That's what I shall tell auntie," said the girl. 
 "She we paid the rent, you know, and " 
 
 "You generous girl!" His voice was worship- 
 ful, even a little tremulous. 
 
 "Yes," said she, "I really am generous." His
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 19 
 
 praise of her delighted her as smoothing does a 
 kitten. It quite excused her own addition to it. 
 Then: "And I don't know if auntie'll give it back. 
 And I need so many things!" 
 
 He did not catch the little revelation; and did 
 not know that she had made one which would have 
 much impressed a shrewder and less partial pair 
 of ears. "Oh, surely she will give it back. She " 
 
 She leaned toward him confidentially. "Auntie 
 isn't very generous," she said in intimate whis- 
 pers. "She she sometimes almost acts as if she 
 might be stingy!" 
 
 The youth tried not to laugh. He was, of 
 course, despite his innocence, far more sophisti- 
 cated than the maiden was, and he had heard the 
 stories which the whole town told of Mrs. Gretchen 
 Jans amazing tales of business shrewdness. Still, 
 there were other stories told about her, too, and he 
 remembered them. He would be generous. The 
 fact that the good tales were scarcely credited he 
 would not mention. 
 
 "I've heard some awfully fine things about her," 
 he said, hesitantly. 
 
 "About Aunt Gretchen when it was a case of 
 money?" she inquired, incredulously. 
 
 "Yes, there was the Coolidge Company. They 
 would have gone to smash last summer if she 
 hadn't voluntarily hurried to their rescue, I am 
 told." 
 
 "Oh, business people," she said scornfully. 
 "Quite possible, she knew that she would get her 
 money back." 
 
 "Well, one expects to get one's money back, you
 
 20 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 know, or else, how in the world, could one afford 
 to-" 
 
 "Monty, I do hope you're not sordid!" 
 
 "Oh, no, no," he answered, hastily. "I'm not, a 
 bit. I'm the most generous everybody says I'm 
 easy." 
 
 "I'm glad to hear it," she replied with heavy 
 emphasis. "I do hate stinginess. I'm just sure 
 I'll never get my money back. Why, everyone but 
 we have been gone ages ago to the country. We've 
 stayed in town in spite of all the blazing heat." 
 
 "If you were not in town I wouldn't have the fun 
 of sitting here with you to-night, so " 
 
 The firm, staccato step of earnest and indus- 
 trious feet, not lightly shod, tap-tapped upon the 
 near-by pavement. A lull had stilled the noises of 
 the city for a second, as occurs at times, and Clarice 
 caught the rat-tat of the footsteps, recognizing 
 them upon the second. 
 
 "She's coming," she exclaimed in a stage whis- 
 per. 
 
 "Well, children," said Aunt Gretchen, as she 
 paused at the bottom of the short flight of steps. 
 "Pleasant, isn't it, to-night." 
 
 "Good evening, Mrs. Jans," said Monty, rising 
 hastily. He was exceedingly well-mannered, and 
 the shrewd eyes of the newcomer noted this ap- 
 provingly. 
 
 A fretwork of electric light fell on him through 
 the branches of a tree as he stood waiting for her 
 to come up, but the moving of the shadows did not 
 hide his manly carriage and alertness. She smiled 
 at him.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 21 
 
 "The night crowd in the Square," said she, u is 
 always interesting. All sorts." 
 
 "You're late," Clarice said, making room for 
 her, although the way her aunt lounged on the steps 
 annoyed her, vaguely, always. There are so many 
 ways of sitting down, and when Aunt Gretchen sat 
 down on those steps she sat on them to rest. The 
 young girl told herself that her aunt "slumped." 
 It was quite true and wholly characteristic. When 
 Gretchen Jans was resting she did it quite as thor- 
 oughly as, when she worked, she worked. 
 
 "Yes," was the reply, "a little late. Found 
 some things to 'tend to when I was almost home." 
 
 "Really?" said Clarice, disturbed a little, both 
 because her aunt was staying there and interrupting 
 her entirely insignificant but very pleasant tete-a 
 tete with Monty, and because she "slumped." It 
 made her feel a little bit ashamed of her, although 
 she did not think that Monty noticed it. She won- 
 dered if he did. 
 
 Her aunt looked shrewdly at her. "Yes," said 
 she. "As I was coming from the station I ran into 
 an eviction." 
 
 The girl looked at her amazed. 
 
 "What," said she, involuntarily, "another?" 
 
 "No, same one. I saw Frances pay that rent, 
 Clarice, and saw you take your part of the good 
 deed." 
 
 The girl was much disturbed. She felt that there 
 was disapproval in the voice, although it was not 
 definite. 
 
 "Ah did you?" She spoke almost timidly. 
 
 "Uh-huh. And he'll never pay you back. I
 
 22 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 know him shiftless and improvident. Never be 
 paid back." She rose. "Good-night, Monty. 
 Guess I'll go in. Haven't had my supper yet. 
 Everybody takes my time. People are such fools ! 
 And I'm a very busy woman. Your brother's in- 
 side, isn't he, with Frances?" 
 
 Monty nodded. 
 
 "Yes, I thought so; well, good-night." 
 
 "There!" said Clarice, breathlessly, unhappily, 
 when she had disappeared. "You see?" 
 
 Monty was uncomfortable. Being a mere man, 
 he was affected by the atmosphere of competence, 
 good sense, good humor and fair dealing which 
 Aunt Gretchen carried with her everywhere. He 
 wondered if, perhaps, she did not have the right of 
 it, and the most wonderful of maidens did not have 
 the wrong of it, about the tenant who had been un- 
 able or unwilling to pay rent. 
 
 "Er she says she knows the man," he timidly 
 suggested. 
 
 "Suppose she does!" Clarice said, angrily. 
 "Suppose he is too poor to pay! Why should we 
 lose?" 
 
 "You took the chance, you know," said Monty, 
 timidly. 
 
 Clarice tossed her head, as if this did not mat- 
 ter. 
 
 "I'm sorry to admit it," she said scornfully, "but 
 Aunt Gretchen's god is money." 
 
 After she had told the butler that she had ar- 
 rived, quite as a tired, hungry business man might 
 tell his butler, and suggested very definitely exact- 
 ly what she wished to eat in twenty minutes, Mrs.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 23 
 
 Jans went blandly to the drawing-room and entered 
 without ceremony. 
 
 "Well, Richard," she said genially to Ward, 
 "I'm glad to see you." Then to Frances: "Every- 
 thing all right, Frances? You look a little bit con- 
 fused." Then she turned again to Ward. "How 
 has the market used you lately, Richard?" 
 
 Ward was possibly at first a bit confused him- 
 self, but he was not a bashful youth as Monty was. 
 He had the self-possession of the able, cultivated, 
 highly educated, natty, financial district New York 
 business man. 
 
 "The market has been kind to me," he answered, 
 smiling. 
 
 "I'm glad to hear it. I don't know that I approve 
 of the Stock Market as a man's profession," she 
 said briskly, "but your crowd is straight, as the 
 crowds go down there. I'm glad you're doing 
 well. Tell me what your deals have been, of 
 late." 
 
 Her niece sank back into the sofa-pillows lan- 
 guidly. She felt almost as much aggrieved by 
 Gretchen Jans' intrusion on her tete-a-tete with 
 Richard Ward as her sister had when her aunt 
 had joined her and his brother on the steps out- 
 side. She did not even make an effort to seem 
 interested in the talk which followed. It obvious- 
 ly bored her. 
 
 Richard soon became absorbed, however, and it 
 was with a real start that he discovered, a few 
 moments later, that the girl had been, to all intents 
 and purposes, excluded from the conversation.
 
 24 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 She smiled at him very pleasantly as she rose, 
 however. 
 
 "I'm going, now," she said. "I'll leave you 
 with Aunt Gretchen. How you two do chatter 
 about dollars when you get together!" 
 
 "About how to get them, Frances," said her 
 aunt, without a smile. "It seems to me that I 
 have heard you chatter about how to spend them." 
 
 "I am afraid it interests me more," said Frances 
 languidly. 
 
 "Yes," her aunt replied, and there was, as she 
 finished, that little disapproving snap in her in- 
 flection, "I am afraid it does." 
 
 Her face grew grave. There were no plain 
 signs on it of utter disapproval of her niece, but 
 it was far from smiling warm approval, as the 
 delicious creature said good-night to Richard, nod- 
 ded gaily to her, and went out. 
 
 "I suppose," said she, then, turning to the man, 
 "that that's a put up job." She did not speak un- 
 pleasantly, but merely practically. 
 
 "What is a put up job?" 
 
 "Her going out, like that." 
 
 He threw his head back and laughed heartily. 
 He admired Aunt Gretchen and was not afraid 
 of her. Men rarely were unless they owed her 
 money; and those who owed her money did not 
 flinch from her sharp gaze if everything was right 
 and straight. They never feared that she would 
 take unfair advantage of them just because they 
 were her debtors. 
 
 "Well," he admitted, "yes; it was." 
 
 "I thought so."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 25 
 
 "We-" 
 
 "You think you are in love." Again she did 
 not speak unkindly; she did not even speak with 
 skeptical inflection. She merely spoke without the 
 ring of sympathetic sentiment. 
 
 "We are in love." 
 
 "Umph." 
 
 "Very much in love Aunt Gretchen." 
 
 He had hesitated over the familiar address. She 
 noted it with instant understanding, and replied 
 to it as if he had asked her permission. "Oh, 
 yes," said she, "I don't object to having you call 
 me your aunt. I like you, Richard." 
 
 "Thank you." . 
 
 "Don't thank me; you've earned it. You're a 
 good young man." 
 
 "Then I may hope that you will not refuse " 
 
 "Refuse to let you marry Frances? No; I 
 shan't refuse to let you marry Frances, Richard, 
 but I shall advise you not to." 
 
 Her tone was absolutely smooth and even; she 
 spoke as if they might be talking over some mere 
 business commonplace. "Yes; I shall advise you 
 not to, Richard." 
 
 "Why?" he asked, astonished. 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you. You knew her father, 
 didn't you?" 
 
 "Yes; as a child; not well, or understandingly, 
 of course. They all say, now, that he might have 
 ranked high among the nation's painters if " 
 
 "If he had had horse-sense in money matters. 
 Yes; he might. He had good points a number
 
 26 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 of them. But he didn't have horse-sense in 
 money matters, and " 
 
 "Died poor." 
 
 "Oh, more than that; a good deal more than 
 that. Don't think that I consider money all there 
 is. A lot of people think that of me, but it isn't 
 true. I like money, because I find it very useful. 
 You don't see me wasting it." 
 
 "No," he granted. 
 
 A grim smile played upon her face. She knew, 
 as well as anyone, exactly what her reputation was, 
 and did not fail to get enjoyment of it, perhaps. 
 
 "I'm not a waster, Richard, for I'm not a fool," 
 she went on, slowly. "But I'm not a miser, either, 
 and some foolish people think I am. Now the 
 father of those two girls was a waster, and, Rich- 
 ard, I'm afraid the girls are wasters too. You 
 want a waster for your wife, do you?" 
 
 "I want Frances for my wife." 
 
 "Well, you can have her, if you want her and 
 she wants to have you have her. You'll be good to 
 her. I'm sure of that. I'm not so sure that she'll 
 be good to you, although she means well, Frances 
 does. I should be glad to feel that she was marry- 
 ing so well if I was not so worried." 
 
 "About?" 
 
 "I've already told you. I'm very fond of 
 Frances, mind you. But I should hate to see you 
 miserable, and I'm afraid you're going to be. If 
 you want her, take her, but look out." 
 
 The butler came and stood, respectful but not 
 humble, in the door. He did not knock or even 
 clear his throat to warn them of his coming.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 27 
 
 Richard, who had started on a sentence cut it short 
 and looked at him a bit resentfully. She noticed 
 it. 
 
 "Don't mind Murphy," she said calmly. 
 "Murphy keeps his mouth shut. That's why he 
 keeps his place with me and why he kept his place 
 with Mr. Jans before he passed away." It was 
 quite clear that she had hesitated at the use of the 
 word "died." She was old-fashioned. 
 
 She rose. "Murphy means, by standing there 
 like that, that supper's waiting for me." 
 
 "Haven't you had supper?" Ward was sur- 
 prised. 
 
 "No; I had to stop, for something, on the 
 way uptown. There's a man whom I have known 
 for years on South Fifth Aveae^^Runs a little 
 fancy-goods store. Son went wronglioFTong ago. 
 He's spent almost every cent he has to keep him 
 out of jail. Looked like he was going to be dis- 
 possessed." 
 
 "That was the case that Frances spoke about?" 
 
 "No ; that man was dispossessed. The girls gave 
 him their money loaned it, they believe and he 
 got back into his rooms. My man wasn't dis- 
 possessed. They threatened it. That's all." 
 
 Ward smiled at her. "Well, you speak of 
 the girls scornfully because they gave their money 
 to save one, while, in the same breath you acknowl- 
 edge that you gave your own to save another." 
 
 "No ; they gav ; I lent : I'll get my money back. 
 They'll never see theirs any more. You see, I 
 helped my man by lending to him. I took a mort- 
 gage on his little stock. He is the kind of man who
 
 28 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 wouldn't have permitted me to help him if he 
 hadn't given me that mortgage. That's why I 
 helped him. The man they helped I know him, 
 too. He's been dispossessed from time to time, 
 from that and other tenements around here, for 
 ten years. That's the difference, you see. My 
 man will pay. I helped him when I lent to him. 
 He's got to pay. I've got security. Their man 
 won't pay. They hurt him when they lent to him. 
 They encouraged him to be a pauper." 
 
 "I think I get your point of view." 
 
 She had led the way into the heavy, sombre 
 dining-room. The chairs were good mahogany, 
 but were upholstered in haircloth. The pictures 
 on the walls showed fish with glassy eyes, and at 
 one end of the room was a large, dingy painting 
 of a stag with one foot lifted while the other three 
 were hidden in deep grass that looked like straw 
 from packing cases. This stag also had a glassy 
 eye, and apparently was badly worried about some- 
 thing. Every time Ward saw the picture he as- 
 sured himself that the stag doubtless was in pain 
 because the eye was such a miserable fit. 
 
 "No," she went on, after she was seated at the 
 table and had begun to eat her ample slice of cold 
 roast beef, "I'm not going to tell you that you 
 mustn't marry Frances, for I know you love her 
 and she loves you, Richard. It's a hard position 
 for me. I believe you're going to be unhappy and 
 yet there's nothing I can do, except to warn you 
 that she knows no more of money or of business 
 er er customs" (she had almost said integrity),
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 29 
 
 "than a stuffed poodle does. Understand me I 
 love Frances, but I see her faults." 
 
 He sat opposite her, smiling very happily. Her 
 criticism of her niece did not affect him much. He 
 knew that in some details they did not get on to- 
 gether very well ; but he thought she was probably 
 too severe. 
 
 "I think," said she, reflectively, "that she'll be 
 very glad to get away from me. She'll want to 
 marry very soon, I think. She isn't happy here. 
 I know it. She thinks I am too stingy. I've tried 
 to teach her things and she has not been able to 
 absorb the lessons. She hasn't wanted to absorb 
 the lessons. Yes, she thinks I'm stingy." 
 
 "She'll be glad to go and Clarice will be broken- 
 hearted. It will leave her all alomTwrth-tne, you 
 see alone with old Ma'am Stingy." She looked 
 up with a really bright smile. "That's what they'd 
 like to call me, I guess. Probably they do, behind 
 my back. They're just alike about these things." 
 
 He paid little heed to what she said. He was 
 too much in love and too inordinately happy. 
 
 "I've been very worried over things," he said. 
 
 "Worried over what things?" she asked cour- 
 teously. 
 
 "Well, first, I worried over Suffern Thorne." 
 
 "Bah!" She sniffed with real disgust. "They 
 say I worship money well, he's got money, and 
 I'd rather tie up Frances in an old salt bag, and 
 drown her as I would a crippled kitten than stand 
 by and see her marry Suffern Thorne." 
 
 Ward showed that he was pleased.
 
 30 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "He worried me. He is that sort of highly 
 polished person " 
 
 "Polished? He's as slippery as an eel." 
 "The sort of highly polished person that I was 
 afraid might really appeal to the imagination of 
 a girl." 
 
 "He hung around. I don't know whether he 
 was really in love with her. Maybe he believed 
 that he could marry her, maybe he didn't want to." 
 "Did she send him away?" 
 "I asked her, once: 'Frances, are you in love 
 with that dress-suited black-snake?' 'Not in the 
 least,' she answered, and I knew she meant it. 
 'That's the first real sign of sense I've seen in you 
 for years,' said I." 
 
 Ward laughed, relieved, amused, and happy. 
 "I am glad she doesn't like him," he exclaimed. 
 "Have you worried over anyone else?" 
 "Well, some Cartwright, you know- 
 She nodded. Evidently she did not think so ill 
 of Cartwright. 
 
 "Philip Cartwright," she commented, and in her 
 tone of brusque decisiveness it would have been 
 hard for him to find a compliment for himself 
 if he had searched for it, "is a desirable young 
 man. Frances attracted him. She attracts every 
 man who sees her. Oh, you've had a plenty and to 
 spare of rivals ! But Philip studied things out 
 carefully. He's got his way to make as a young 
 lawyer. The fight will be uphill and he knows 
 that. He doesn't want to tie a ton wrapped up in 
 lace and ruffles to his neck to hold him back." 
 "I don't believe you mean one-half of the hard
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 31 
 
 things you say about her," Richard answered, smil- 
 ing. 
 
 "Oh, no; I don't," she granted, "but she makes 
 me nervous and I feel that it's my duty to inform 
 you of my fears." 
 
 "You've not failed, then, in your duty." 
 
 "I've tried not to. Well, Philip talked the 
 matter over with me. In fact, he came to me 
 about as you did, only he had not asked Frances 
 first, so far as I know. No; I'm sure he hadn't. 
 He was very much in doubt. In love all right; oh, 
 yes; he was in love; but he had sense. He came 
 to me and talked things over with me and I told 
 him just exactly what I have told you a hundred 
 times. 
 
 "But she never would hav^frnarnet^him. The 
 girl loves you as much as she loves anyone but her- 
 self. And there are things about her mind and 
 soul that are as pretty as her face, and that is 
 speaking with some emphasis." 
 
 "It is," he fervently agreed. 
 
 "But she has no idea of the value of money, and 
 that makes her selfish; folks with no idea of the 
 value of money always are. She doesn't know it 
 is the hardest thing to get in all the world, the 
 hardest thing to keep in all the world, that it will 
 not buy happiness, but that a lack of it will almost 
 certainly bring misery, or, anyway, discomfort. I 
 warn you frankly, Richard, when the time comes 
 that she has the opportunity, if you should ever 
 let it come, she'll bankrupt you without a moment's 
 hesitation or without a moment's thought or 
 realization."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 He smiled. "She won't bankrupt me, I'm doing 
 pretty well." 
 
 "I hope you'll keep on -doing well," and no one 
 could doubt her absolute sincerity. Then, after a 
 long pause: "No; you hadn't any rival in Phil 
 Cartwright after I had told him a few things." 
 
 He did not feel that this left him much ground 
 for real conceit. 
 
 The door opened softly and admitted Frances. 
 Richard, who had been about to give a smiling 
 answer to his fiancee's aunt's warnings, quite for- 
 got it. The woman whom he loved was very 
 beautiful as she stood there, a-thrill with curiosity, 
 if not anxiety. Her eyes had in them a delightful 
 sparkle; her perfect girlish figure was as graceful 
 and as beautifully tense as the sad artist, no doubt, 
 had imagined his glass-eyed deer to be; her red, 
 delightful lips were parted temptingly. He looked 
 at her with adoring admiration. Aunt Gretchen 
 watched them keenly. 
 
 "He's forgotten every blessed word I've said to 
 him," she told herself, and shut her lips together 
 tightly. 
 
 "Richard?" Frances breathed. 
 
 "Yes, he's asked me," said her aunt, "and I have 
 given my consent, of course. It wouldn't stop you 
 if I didn't, and I don't want to stop you, anyway. 
 I hope, though, that he will be able to convince 
 you- 
 
 "That I am a foolish spendthrift," Frances 
 answered, smiling. The fact that she was soon to 
 marry gave her a certain bravery in speaking to 
 her aunt. She would soon have someone else to
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 33 
 
 ask when she wanted money. "I know just what 
 you've said to him. But he won't let that make 
 him stop loving me. Will you, Richard?" 
 
 "I am very happy, very lucky, very grateful," 
 he replied, and beamed on both of them.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Aunt Gretchen watched things during the period 
 of the engagement with a good deal of anxiety. 
 She wondered if her niece, having learned to love, 
 might not learn also to consider the best interests 
 of him she loved; but she did not find a thing which 
 satisfied her. 
 
 Summer came and there was quite the usual 
 wrangle with the girls as to their outfits for the 
 shore-resort to which she sent them for a few 
 weeks annually. She herself rarely left town. 
 Frances rose early, one day, to despairingly discuss 
 this matter while her aunt ate breakfast. 
 
 "But, Aunt Gretchen," she pouted, u we must 
 have something to wear." 
 
 "It needn't be made of hemstitched greenbacks, 
 need it?" 
 
 "But" 
 
 "I know what you are thinking of. You're 
 planning to give me a long list of all the silly 
 things the silly girls you know who happen to be 
 going there are having made to wear. Well, 
 you've got just as good." 
 
 "I've only got eight dresses to my name !" Clar- 
 ice pouted. 
 
 "Half the time you will be in your bathing-suit. 
 You always are. How you can " 
 
 "That's not a dress." 
 
 "No," said Aunt Gretchen, quite emphatically
 
 THE SPEND THRIFT 3 5 
 
 coinciding. "I should think it wasn't. It's about 
 one-tenth of one. But I see there is a bill of 
 thirty dollars for it from " 
 
 "And we haven't any hats, or shoes, or stock- 
 ings, or " 
 
 "I guess you won't be sun-struck or stone- 
 bruised. There's three trunks packed pretty full, 
 upstairs." 
 
 The clock struck eight, now, and she departed 
 most abruptly. There was almost always a deep, 
 worried frown upon her face when she went from 
 the house of mornings nowadays. Sometimes it 
 lasted till she reached the little glass-partitioned 
 office where her roll-top desk stood on the second 
 floor of a bank building in^TKe^-heart of the 
 financial district. There it always disappeared 
 though. When folk came to her for money, there, 
 they came with the collateral to borrow on. 
 
 "I almost feel as if I'd rather stay at home, this 
 summer," Frances sobbed, in conversation with 
 her sister. 
 
 "Everyone would guess just why we did if we 
 should do it," Clare replied. "I think the whole 
 world knows how she dislikes to spend her money. 
 One of the girls told me her father said she had 
 the reputation of being the best business woman 
 in New York!" 
 
 "The best business woman!" Frances sniffed, 
 scornfully. "It isn't business for young women to 
 go looking like plain frumps." 
 
 "What do you mean?" her younger sister asked. 
 "Not that they don't attract attention !" She pre- 
 tended to gaze at her aghast. "You don't want
 
 36 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 attention from anyone but Richard, do you? He'd 
 think you were lovely in a coffee-sack with corn- 
 husk trimmings. But with me it's different. I'm 
 not settled yet, as you are. I think it is too mean 
 for her to act the way she does about a few cheap 
 summer gowns." 
 
 "When I told her, late last night, that Richard 
 and myself had settled on the day," said Frances, 
 "she positively sniffed. 'I suppose you'll want a 
 lot of money for your outfit, won't you?' That 
 was nearly all she said." 
 
 "You said you would, didn't you?" asked Clare. 
 
 "I didn't say exactly that, but I said I didn't 
 think she'd want me to get married without any 
 clothes." 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 "She laughed and said she didn't. That I'd be 
 arrested if I tried it and she didn't think there 
 was a particle of danger that either you or I would 
 ever be arrested on such grounds as that." 
 
 "She'd be delighted, I believe," said Clare, who 
 really felt very bitter about her summer ward- 
 robe. 
 
 When four o'clock came and the business of the 
 day was over, the object of their criticism, deep 
 in thought, sat back in her swivel chair, down in 
 her little office. The girls had been especially 
 annoying in their importunities for what she 
 thought was much more money than was right for 
 them to spend. She felt a sense of stern responsi- 
 bility regarding them, which had increased, and 
 not diminished, since Frances and Richard Ward 
 had settled upon marriage. She reached for the
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 37 
 
 desk telephone, at length, and gave the operator 
 Richard's number. 
 
 "Hello, hello," said she, when his voice came on 
 the wire to her. "Stop in to see me at my office on 
 your way uptown." 
 
 "All right; I shall be glad to." 
 
 "You won't be glad to hear what I am going to 
 say to you," she thought, after she had hung up 
 the receiver. "You have never been and I have 
 said it half-a-dozen times. I'm worried about 
 you." 
 
 It was not long before he entered. 
 
 "You look worried," were her first words after 
 she had looked him over. 
 
 "No, but I'm a little fagge< 
 
 "Trying to crowd up the earnings as a pre- 
 paration?" she said, smiling grimly. "Well, you'll 
 need to. I wonder if I don't talk of this sort of 
 thing too much to you." 
 
 "You've, warned me more than once," he 
 granted. 
 
 "It worries me. You're certain, are you, that 
 you're going to be happy? You're sure you're 
 going to be satisfied? Wouldn't care to have a 
 wife who'd mend your clothes, if you went broke, 
 would you?'" 
 
 "You wrong her," he said, somewhat hotly. 
 "Frances would do all that anyone would do if 
 there was really reason for it." 
 
 "What could she do? She doesn't know how 
 in the world to do a thing. Do you think she could 
 cook a breakfast? Well, she might, for I tried 
 hard enough to make her learn before she got
 
 38 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 too old to make do things. But I really don't be- 
 lieve that after she had cooked it you would eat 
 it." 
 
 "I'd eat it, if she cooked it and used powdered 
 glass as flavoring," he answered. 
 
 She sniffed. "I ought to know it," she admitted. 
 "I don't know just why I asked you to come in 
 except that I am worried more than I can tell you 
 over the whole thing. I wish I could re-make the 
 girl." 
 
 "I dont want her re-made." 
 
 She took from her desk a paper she had brought 
 from home. "I want to have you go into the 
 thing, at least, with your eyes open," she said grim- 
 ly. "Here's a list of what the girls thought they 
 must have to carry with them to the seashore. 
 Read it carefully. I don't know that the figures at 
 the right are correct. I marked them in and I 
 don't always know about the cost of such things; 
 but I'll warrant they are not too high. I never 
 guess within a good fifteen per cent, of what their 
 things are going to cost." 
 
 He glanced at the paper casually, amused as 
 always, by the good rich woman's tense distress 
 about her nieces' taste for luxury. "It doesn't 
 scare me very much the figures do not. Some 
 of the things they stand for ought to, I suppose, 
 and would, if I knew what they were." 
 
 She threw back her head and laughed. "How 
 soon would they forgive me if they thought I had 
 shown you that list? But while it's silly, it's im- 
 portant, too. It shows you what to expect." 
 
 "I do expect it, and I glory in it," he replied.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 39 
 
 "I'm making money and each year I'm making 
 more." 
 
 "Suppose some year you shouldn't." 
 
 "Don't prophesy such things." 
 
 "I'm not making prophecies. But a good busi- 
 ness man or woman must suppose such things, so 
 as to be quite ready for them if they come." 
 
 "I hope they'll never come, in my case." 
 
 "So do I; but just suppose they should. Sup- 
 pose you went to Frances, one fine morning, after 
 you are married, and announced to her that you 
 would have to move to some little flat. Well!" 
 She laughed again, now at a mental picture of the 
 scene, but it was not a pleasant laugh this time. 
 
 "Oh," said he, "you see I absolutely_have un- 
 bounded faith in her. She'd rise, I know, to meet 
 the situation. You think she wouldn't. That is 
 where we differ." 
 
 "No; I'm not sure she wouldn't," said the 
 shrewd old woman. "There have been cases 
 where humanity has turned out better than I 
 thought it would; there have been. Few; but still 
 there have been cases. It may be that you're lucky. 
 She surely is." 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" 
 
 She chuckled. "Lucky to get you. Oh, yes; 
 I mean just that. I was afraid she mightn't be so 
 fortunate. That Thorne man, or Phil Cart- 
 wright" 
 
 "Phil is my closest friend and a fine fellow." 
 
 "Matrimony would have failed, with them, in 
 something under thirty days. He'd be too hard 
 on her. You'll be too easy."
 
 40 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "I'll do all I can to make her happy." 
 
 "Don't make yourself unhappy!" 
 
 "If I make her happy, that, alone, will make me 
 happy." 
 
 She looked at him steadily and thoughtfully. 
 "Well," she said at length, "it's you that's marry- 
 ing her. Don't let her make a fool of you. I was 
 worried about Thome." 
 
 "I can't believe that such a girl as Frances could 
 be tempted by a man like Suffern Thorne." 
 
 "Girls run after him until they're out of breath." 
 
 "Her kind doesn't run after him." 
 
 "Why not her kind ? He has plenty of the thing 
 she seems to care for most." 
 
 "Yes; his great-grandfather was a pirate, I am 
 told. He told me." 
 
 "Yes; he'd be the one to tell you." She smiled 
 grimly. "He don't realize that folks see through 
 him or don't care. I guess don't care. Heredity. 
 Sins of the fathers doubled in, not merely visited 
 upon the child." 
 
 He laughed again. "Oh, he's not a pirate. He 
 doesn't have to be. The pirate got the money, so 
 he doesn't need to rob." 
 
 "Pirate? Certainly he is," said she. "Worst 
 kind. Kidd was a Wanamaker alongside of him. 
 Kidd killed for money, and his victims stayed 
 dead. Suffern Thorne kills with it, and his victims 
 live, squirming, agonized by colic of the spirit." 
 
 "He is unspeakable. A cad." 
 
 "Other things than money can be got by piracy. 
 There is such a thing as making souls walk planks.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 41 
 
 That's his kind of piracy. I'm glad he didn't 
 capture Frances." 
 
 "Do you really think there ever was a chance 
 that" ' 
 
 She looked at him with a shrewd twinkle in her 
 eyes. She knew the talk already had made him 
 most uncomfortable, and she did not wish to make 
 him desperately so; but she was anxious that he 
 should be warned, prepared. She thought the 
 girl's, as well as his own happiness, might possibly 
 depend on it. 
 
 "Oh, no," she told him, therefore, although 
 she had believed, at one time, that Frances might 
 be fascinated by Thorne. "No, I don't suppose 
 she ever seriously thought of marr^ing^him. His 
 father's reputation was dead-black and he's dipped 
 it in jet dye for his own wear. He never made 
 the girl's heart flutter for a second, I am sure of 
 that ; but he has a great fortune, and money " 
 
 "You just said that she was not attracted by it." 
 
 "No, young man," she snapped back at him. 
 "I didn't say his money didn't make her mouth 
 water. What I said, or meant to say, was that 
 even that could not make her feel willing to be tied 
 to him. Don't you get a notion, Richard, that I 
 want to abuse Frances. I love Frances. But the 
 girl has faults that worry me, and I like you." 
 
 The announcement of the engagement came a 
 little before the departure for the seashore, and 
 in their immediate and small circle created a good 
 deal of talk. On 'Change the morning that the 
 news was printed Suffern Thorne was almost first 
 to go to Richard with congratulations.
 
 42 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "My dear Ward," he said, with his lack-lustre 
 drawl, "I wonder if you know what an extremely 
 lucky dog you are?" 
 
 Richard did not like the man; for quite a year 
 he had avoided him whenever possible. "Yes," 
 said he, "I know quite well." 
 
 On Thome's face was the crafty little smile 
 which always nagged the physically stronger and 
 more genuine man to wrath. "And you've hit 
 the market lately, regularly, too. What an envi- 
 able life yours is! May I congratulate you?" 
 
 "Thanks; certainly," said Richard, and, feeling 
 nettled, rather than pleased, at the episode, 
 strolled off toward the N. Y. C. post, where his 
 business was. He did not see Thorne as he stood 
 looking after him, but he was conscious that he 
 did stand looking after him, and the knowledge 
 filled him with a tendency toward fury which he 
 carefully suppressed. 
 
 A fellow broker, noting the man's attitude and 
 little smile, stepped up to him. 
 
 "Has the naughty, sharp young Thorne been 
 pricking Dicky boy upon the day when all thorns 
 should be hid and only roses show?" he asked. 
 "His face indicates that your congratulations I 
 suppose you did congratulate him were as sooth- 
 ing as a yellow-jacket up his sleeve." 
 
 Thorne did not change his smile but protested 
 with his hands. His hands were rarely wholly 
 quiet when he talked. "Yes; I congratulated him," 
 he said. "Lucky; don't you think he is? Hope 
 he won't come any croppers on the market." 
 
 "Ward," the friend said later, confidentially to
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 43 
 
 Dick, "Thome's got his knife out for you, sharp 
 and a yard long. If you feel a quick pain in your 
 bank-account you'll know he's stuck it into it. He's 
 going to try to stab your safe-deposit box. He's 
 got it in for you a good and plenty and that's 
 where he'll attack, of course. Keep your weather- 
 eye peeled, Dicky boy; don't let him catch you 
 taking forty winks." 
 
 Ward laughed. It filled his soul with real ela- 
 tion to be conscious that he had defeated Suffern 
 Thorne. And if he had defeated him in one thing 
 the biggest thing he felt that he had little 
 cause to fear that the strange, sallow, minutely 
 groomed young millionaire, half-worn out already 
 by the wild excesses of his youth, couTcTbe^a victor 
 in the other. He felt sure, however, that the man 
 would try to trick him on the market. 
 
 He was much amused when he saw Frances a 
 few days before she was to start for the seashore 
 with her sister. She looked positively doleful. 
 
 "You look as if you might be going to a ship- 
 wreck, not a shore hotel," said he. "You are 
 mistaken. It is not to be a funeral; it's to be a 
 * pleasure-trip." 
 
 "Pleasure-trip!" said Frances, with as near ap- 
 proach to bitterness as her somewhat indolent 
 nature could permit. 
 
 "What's the trouble?" he inquired, a bit im- 
 pressed. 
 
 But, although she evidently was tempted to con- 
 fide in him, she did not. 
 
 She talked the matter over that night with 
 Clarice, however, and between them, they planned
 
 44 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 out a course of action which they thought might 
 win with their Aunt Gretchen. 
 
 "He'd be perfectly delighted to give her back 
 the money," Clarice said, nodding with approval. 
 
 "And she might let us have it if she knew it to 
 be nothing but a loan if she knew she'd surely 
 have it back again," said Frances. 
 
 "It's too awful the way she clutches her old 
 money! One would think she feared the poor- 
 house." 
 
 "Aunt Gretchen," Frances said the next day 
 after dinner with that singularly innocent, wide- 
 eyed expression which always meant that she was 
 about to ask for money, "we're just too awfully 
 ashamed, Clarice and I, to go off looking as we 
 are. We haven't half things enough really we 
 haven't. But we've been worried about asking 
 you, because it didn't seem quite right, you know. 
 We've cost you so much money " 
 
 Aunt Gretchen sniffed. She saw that something 
 worse than usual was impending. She waited for 
 a moment with a calm face, though, for what it 
 might be. But as Frances hesitated, wondering how 
 best to word the interesting suggestion she had 
 figured out, she became impatient. 
 
 "Well," she said, at length, "don't stand there 
 trying to make it seem like reason. You can't do 
 it. Get it off your mind and mine." 
 
 "Well, Clarice and I we are so worried and 
 yet we don't feel that we ought to ask you for any 
 more; we " 
 
 'Who else, for heaven's sake, would you ask, 
 but me?"
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 45 
 
 "Well, there's Dick" 
 
 This came as an absolute surprise, even to Aunt 
 Gretchen. It had not once occurred to her that 
 Frances could be thinking of advance drafts on 
 her future husband. 
 
 "Yes," she snorted. "Do it. It'll warn him of 
 what's coming. Do it, Frances, do it." 
 
 Frances was nonplussed. 
 
 "That wasn't what I meant, Aunt Gretchen," 
 she said, on the defensive. "What I meant was 
 that, perhaps oh, we know how hard you've 
 worked to get together all your money and that we 
 have been a drain on you but still you do lend 
 money. I thought perhaps yoVcllerid~we some, 
 and then " 
 
 She smiled with a triumphant air, as if by acute 
 reasoning she had discovered a fine way out of a 
 difficulty. 
 
 "And then, after we are married, I'll tell Dick, 
 and he he'll pay you back again! You see it 
 wouldn't cost you anything whatever. Would it? 
 I'm sure he would be glad to do it, and be grateful 
 to you." 
 
 Aunt Gretchen threw her hands up in despair. 
 
 "For heaven's sake, Frances!" she exclaimed. 
 "Have you the least idea of what you are propos- 
 ing? Don't you see that you are actually trying 
 to induce me to steal Richard's money? Have 
 you no sense of honesty, at all? He's not planning 
 to marry debts as well as you !" 
 
 "He wouldn't mind, at all; I'm sure he 
 wouldn't." 
 
 "No; he wouldn't not at first," her aunt re-
 
 46 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 plied. "He'd laugh. He's easy going with you 
 too easy. And he'd pay me back the money. But 
 I'd be criminal to do it. I would be burdening him 
 with an indebtedness of which he would know 
 nothing until after it was made, and I would be 
 doing you great harm. Such things would spoil 
 your married life they'd spoil it from the start. 
 Why, Frances, can't you even see that it would 
 be dishonorable?" 
 
 The bosom of the lovely girl, whose cheeks al- 
 ready had flushed pink with the excitement, began 
 to heave beneath the lace of the light negligee 
 which covered it, and she burst into tears. And, as 
 she wept convulsively, she was lovelier than when 
 she smiled. 
 
 But if the strong appeal of her young beauty in 
 the least affected her aunt's heart, she did not show 
 a sign of it. She merely looked at her, without 
 comment on her grief, but with a queer expression 
 of puzzled disapproval on her face. 
 
 "Frances," she said at length, "if you don't 
 learn that money costs costs more than anything 
 else can, possibly and that, because it costs, it 
 must be valued, and very highly valued, you are 
 going to have a very miserable life. I know where 
 you got your silliness your father was just like 
 you, except not so selfish. He handled recklessly 
 the foolish little sums he earned by painting silly 
 pictures for your mother at the start, although 
 she did not like to have him do it, and then for 
 you and your sister. He borrowed money that he 
 had no right to borrow. But he did not spend it 
 on himself. He had no business to take other
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 47 
 
 people's money for any purpose whatsoever, but 
 he did it, thinking that by doing it he could make 
 you people happier. There was good in him, 
 though, for he never took it for himself. He 
 didn't care how hard his life might be, so long 
 as yours was easy. You're worse than he was, 
 for all your scheming is for Frances. You're 
 selfish, Frances utterly, and viciously. Try to 
 break yourself of it before you marry. It will 
 make you and the man you marry miserable." 
 
 But the only thing which made appeal to Frances 
 was that her aunt would not combine with her in 
 the fine bit of financiering she Irad^planned. She 
 merely thought she was afraid she would not get 
 the money back. 
 
 "I know he wouldn't mind," she sobbed. 
 
 Her aunt looked at her with exasperation. "Oh, 
 you're hopeless !" she said wearily. "Quite hope- 
 less ! You don't understand, at all. You'll learn, 
 some day, but you will learn in a much harder 
 school than that I'm trying to teach." 
 
 Frances turned and fled back to her sister. 
 
 "She wouldn't even think of it," she sobbed, 
 when she was in the room with her, the door 
 locked tight upon their disappointment. "She 
 wouldn't even think of doing it, and she said that 
 I'd make Richard miserable!" 
 
 "It seems to me that she's the one who makes 
 folks miserable," Clarice said viciously. "When 
 Monty started raving over her, the other evening, 
 I just shut him up. I told him that he'd better try 
 to live with her before he felt so certain that she 
 was so great."
 
 48 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 After the girls had gone to the seashore resort, 
 Gretchen Jans called Richard up by telephone 
 again, and asked him to stop in to see her at her 
 office as he went uptown. He was elated, that 
 day, by the favorable result of a financial skirmish, 
 in which he thought his opponent had probably 
 been Suffern Thorne, although his real identity had 
 been masked with utmost care. 
 
 "I'll be a little late," he said, "but I'll be 
 there." 
 
 "What do you mean by late?" 
 
 "It will be after four before I get there." 
 
 "Late ! Four ! I never leave my office until 
 six o'clock." 
 
 He smiled, as he turned from the telephone. 
 
 When he found her, at half-after-four, she sat 
 before her desk in idleness unwonted. Her hands 
 were even folded on her ample lap. He was 
 astonished. 
 
 "I have never seen you in your office in repose 
 before," said he. 
 
 "Repose?" said she. "Repose? Why, Richard, 
 I have never been much farther from repose in all 
 my life! It isn't often anything upsets me till I 
 have to lay aside my work." 
 
 "No," he granted, "I should imagine not." 
 
 "Not often," she repeated. "But, Richard, I 
 am afraid you're going to have a dog's time of it." 
 
 He flinched. Could she have some exclusive bit 
 of Wall Street news which had not come to him? 
 Could it be possible that his opponents had some- 
 thing secretly in pickle which would cost him dear?
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 49 
 
 If she was worried by what was impending for him, 
 then it must be serious, indeed! 
 
 "What is it?" he asked anxiously. 
 
 "Oh, Frances," she said solemnly. 
 
 The reaction was complete and instantaneous. 
 He had no doubts or worries about Frances. He 
 knew and was amused by the continual warfare 
 which was going on between her and her aunt, but 
 he was not impressed with the belief that in it 
 there lay any real significance for him. 
 
 "Some new bit of extravagance?" he asked. 
 "Has she asked for a new pair of shoes?" 
 
 "Richard," she said slowiyT^M&e you. I 
 think I've told you so, before. And I love 
 Frances. I have told you that before. But I am 
 afraid the girl is a spendthrift, Richard." 
 
 "Well, I'm going to, have enough fine thrift for 
 two so let her spend." 
 
 "You are in love and don't see straight." 
 
 "I certainly am very much in love." 
 
 "I know it, and it makes me find excuses for 
 you. / didn't see straight, when I was in love." 
 
 "Were you ever really in love, Aunt Gretchen?" 
 
 She flushed, and he had never seen her flush be- 
 fore. It quite surprised him and it drove his 
 bantering smile away. 
 
 "In love? Why, Richard, I was married and 
 in those old days marriage meant well, what it 
 doesn't seem to, any more." 
 
 "And there weren't any children." 
 
 "And there weren't any children, but the little 
 one who died. That, I think, more than my 
 husband's death, although I loved him, Richard
 
 50 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 oh, I loved him! was what has spoiled my life 
 for me." 
 
 "Most women wouldn't think their lives spoiled, 
 if they were as rich as you are. You are some- 
 times called the richest woman in America." 
 
 "The richest? Poor one of the very poorest. 
 For years for many years my life has been a life 
 of poverty of poverty so far as that one thing 
 which really counts most, goes love. That, really, 
 is everything unselfish, -sacrificing love your 
 own for somebody, and somebody for you. Un- 
 selfish, sacrificing love. It isn't really worth while 
 unless it is those things unselfish and self- 
 sacrificing." 
 
 He was wholly sobered, very greatly moved. 
 He had never seen the bustling, practical and busy 
 Gretchen Jans in such a mood as this, before. He 
 did not see her long thus, this time. 
 
 "In a way it's that that made me ask you to stop 
 in," said she. "You want to be most careful about 
 money, Richard, with poor Frances. She has 
 queer, crooked notions about money." 
 
 "Crooked!" 
 
 "I don't mean that she's a thief, exactly; but 
 well, listen to this proposition which she made to 
 me: She wanted me to give her money to buy a 
 lot of useless and unnecessary summer furbelows 
 for her and Clarice. She didn't ask me, out and 
 out, to buy them I suppose she knew it wouldn't 
 work but she asked me if I wouldn't lend her 
 money so that she could buy them. And she said 
 I'd get my money back, all right, if I would only 
 lend it to her. She said if I would lend it to her
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 51 
 
 you would pay me after you were married!" 
 
 He laughed, and it was not a laugh devised to 
 hide a worry or a mortification, as she had expected 
 it might be. It was a hearty, whole-souled laugh, 
 of real amusement. 
 
 "She wished to borrow money of you and 
 promised that I'd pay it back as soon as we are 
 married? Well, why didn't you arrange the loan? 
 I would have, with good interest." 
 
 She looked at him with disapproving eyes and 
 shook her head. "Well, Richard," she said slow- 
 ly, "you are certainly a fool."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 The summer seemed almost unreal to Richard 
 so much had come into his life, so much had gone 
 out of it. It was with real sadness that he ac- 
 knowledged to himself that, since his engagement, 
 the friendship between him and his old bunkie 
 Philip Cartwright, in the pleasant, old-fashioned, 
 somewhat grimy bachelor quarters diagonally 
 across the Square from the sedate and solemnly 
 old-fashioned house of Gretchen Jans had slowly 
 cooled. One night he spoke of this, with some- 
 thing of complaint in voice and manner. 
 
 "What's the matter with you lately, Phil?" he 
 asked. "I sometimes think you're changed toward 
 
 me." 
 
 Cartwright was a man of few words meaning 
 much, who was rapidly achieving eminence in a cer- 
 tain kind of law. He never made pretensions. 
 What he said, that you could depend upon. Some- 
 times he said much more than one would wish him 
 to, for, despite his choice of a profession, he was 
 truthful startlingly so, sometimes. 
 
 "No, I haven't changed toward you," he 
 answered now. He had very little facial play and 
 never made a gesture when in conversation, but 
 his eyes, to his best friends, sometimes conveyed a 
 little that his words did not. Now they evaded 
 Richard's. He looked too much at their worn old 
 rugs during recent conversations to please his 
 friend.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 53 
 
 "And you're not sore at me?" said Ward. 
 
 "No, I'm not sore at you." 
 
 "Is it that you don't approve of my er 
 marriage? You're such a close-mouthed chap 
 even with " 
 
 "It's your marriage, isn't it?" 
 
 Ward flushed a little angrily. ".You ought to 
 be a little interested." 
 
 "I didn't say I wasn't. But I'm naturally 
 sorry to have this combination broken. I shall be 
 lonely here without you, Dick." 
 
 "Ah I And that's what broke you up so ! But 
 you don't like her." 
 
 "I guess I'm not a ladies' man. I guess I 
 wasn't cut out for a cavalier." 
 
 "Why do you think that?" 
 
 "Observation." 
 
 "Go into details.' 1 
 
 "You'd get mad." 
 
 "No I wouldn't." 
 
 "Well, it seems to me that women must have 
 changed. Perhaps it's because I came here from 
 the country. Maybe they haven't changed, out 
 there. But they think a lot about the pie-crust, 
 here, and how it looks not on the kitchen-table, 
 they never see it there, but in the baker's window 
 and they don't think much about what's inside the 
 pie." 
 
 "They seem superficial?" 
 
 "Pretty foamy, Dick." 
 
 "You mean Frances is?" 
 
 "There; you're getting personal. I wasn't talk-
 
 54 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 ing personalities. It's late, anyhow, and I'm go- 
 ing out." 
 
 Richard looked at him with keen exasperation. 
 
 "If you disapprove of her why don't you say 
 so?" 
 
 "I didn't say I disapproved of her." 
 
 "I know you didn't but you might as well admit 
 it." 
 
 "No; I'm not going to admit it. I'm a lawyer." 
 
 Ward's exasperation grew. In the old days, 
 until indeed, he had been fascinated by the charm- 
 ing girl across the square, he had found Cart- 
 wright's reticence restful, his abrupt speech, when 
 it came, amusing, his calm views of life delightful 
 and his analyses shrewd and penetrating. Now 
 he found him aggravating beyond words. If the 
 man had ever even offered him congratulations, 
 even such as he might know were utterly conven- 
 tional, mere tributes to politeness, it would have 
 been far less annoying, it would even have been 
 less aggravating if he had openly reproached him 
 for deserting him; but he had simply grown more 
 silent. Once or twice Richard had discerned upon 
 his face a detail of expression which, had he been 
 sure of it, would have torn up their friendship, in 
 spite of its firm rootage once or twice he had 
 surprised a look in Cartwright's eyes which seemed 
 to be compassionate. 
 
 'Don't you dare to pity me!" he cried now, in 
 wrath at memory of that look. 
 
 "For what?" 
 
 "Because I'm going to marry her.'* 
 
 "Why, I was congratulating you."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 55 
 
 "You said that, but " 
 
 "Why pity?" 
 
 Ward found it quite impossible to answer this, 
 so let the conversation drop; but it was one of 
 many, each of which put a small wedge into the 
 rift in their old, closely-cemented friendship. 
 
 A little later Richard voiced complaint again, or 
 rather, continued the same voicing of the same 
 complaint after an interval of silence. "Even that 
 young ass, Monty, says you don't approve of her." 
 
 "You admit that he's an ass." 
 
 "Monty's shrewd, even if he is a freshman." 
 
 "Then why call him a young ass? But he must 
 have been when he said such a thing as that." 
 
 "Phil, you're impossible." 
 
 "That's what the ladies think." 
 
 A light burst upon Ward. "So that's it, eh?" 
 he cried, much pleased. "She turned you down, eh, 
 and you never mentioned it to me !" 
 
 "She didn't turn me down." 
 
 But from that time on Richard found some satis- 
 faction in a mental murmur of "sour grapes" 
 whenever Philip did not seem to quite approve of 
 his rhapsodic eulogies of Frances. It was rather 
 hard on him to have his chum throw water, too 
 Aunt Gretchen threw enough. They both seemed 
 to think the girl was criminal, he angrily told 
 himself, because of her exceeding and delightful 
 femininity. She was more feminine than other 
 girls. That, he swore, was why he loved her so. 
 He reflected, with some satisfaction, upon the odds 
 against which he had won her and did not refrain 
 from mentioning this to his friend, whose state-
 
 56 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 ment that he had not once aspired to Frances he 
 refused to credit. 
 
 "Queer field I ran against you and young skull- 
 and-crossbones." 
 
 "Who's young skull-and-crossbones ?" 
 
 "Suffern Thorne." 
 
 "In the running, was he?" 
 
 "Yes; he was another of your rivals. You 
 ought to like him now, if misery not only loves com- 
 pany but loves the company itself." 
 
 "I wouldn't want to have a closer bond than 
 that between Suffern Thorne and me. I was sur- 
 prised when I discovered that she was receiving 
 him. That was one of the things that " 
 
 "Made you leave the field to me?" cried 
 Richard, now almost genuinely angry. "You in- 
 fernal ass, have you any notion what you're say- 
 ing?" 
 
 'Not at all what you would make out that I 
 
 am." 
 
 "It would be a pity to have our friendship go to 
 smash, now wouldn't it, old man?" 
 
 "I hope," said Cartwright, and this time there 
 was a real ring of feeling in his voice, "that noth- 
 ing ever will do that to us." 
 
 Ward as he prepared to go, held out his hand 
 and his friend grasped it warmly; but, all the same, 
 both men were conscious that things never could 
 again be quite as they once had been. 
 
 "The serpent's in our Eden," Ward said as he 
 went. 
 
 "Yes; so is Eve," said Cartwright. 
 
 There was little play in the man's face, but it
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 57 
 
 twisted after Richard had gone out, his eyes were 
 steady when he looked off into space, as was his 
 frequent habit, they were also steady when he 
 looked straight at another's eyes frequently so 
 steady, then, that the person whom he looked at 
 felt uncomfortable; but now they were neither 
 very steady nor so very calm. He looked out of 
 the window, winking, shifting his glance constantly. 
 A woman acting thus would have been upon the 
 verge of tears. 
 
 It had been that other gaze of his, that steady, 
 dry-eyed gaze, straight and unabashed at her big 
 eyes, which had most annoyed Frances during the 
 few moments when they had, by chance from time 
 to time, been left alone together. If there had 
 been things about the girl which had annoyed him 
 and made him certain that he did not care to marry, 
 there certainly were things about the man which 
 bothered her and made her certain that she did not 
 care to marry him. 
 
 "The serpent's in our Eden," he repeated slow- 
 ly to himself, full of regret at the plain signs of 
 waning comradeship between him and his friend. 
 And then: "By Jove, the serpent's Eve, herself! 
 I've nearly made a joke." 
 
 He almost chuckled for a moment, then his 
 gravity returned. 
 
 Over at the thrifty home of Gretchen Jans, 
 Ward sat waiting, with what patience he could 
 summon, for the coming of the woman whom he 
 loved. Clarice, for a short time, had talked to 
 him, but when she found that he had not had re- 
 cent word from Monty, disappeared. He found
 
 58 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 the room extremely tiresome. He was not en- 
 thusiastic as a student of antiquities. The ancient 
 horse-hair-cloth furniture repelled him and he 
 could fully sympathize with Frances' hatred of 
 it; the grim oil-paintings on the walls distressed 
 him as he knew they did the girl. Everything was 
 elegant, expensive, but it was so very old, so very 
 solid. Much money had undoubtedly been spent 
 on outfitting this house, but everywhere there was 
 apparent the large fact that everywhere there had 
 been ample value given for the money. He re- 
 called, as he sat thinking this, an exasperated word 
 or two of Frances'. "They used to wear horse- 
 hair-shirts on their own backs, to make their bodies 
 suffer," she had ventured, in one of her rare jokes, 
 "but aunt, instead, puts them upon her furniture 
 to mortify her nieces' souls. This pricks mine 
 through my shirt-waist." 
 
 "I don't wonder that she wants to get away," 
 he told himself, and smiled at thinking of an early 
 wedding. "Aunt Gretchen is all right; but she 
 doesn't understand her." 
 
 When Frances came to him, she plainly had been 
 crying. Richard was all sympathy, at once. 
 "What's troubling you, my dear?" he said. 
 "What's troubling you? Can I do something to 
 alleviate the woe?" 
 
 "I'm so worried over all the wedding matter," 
 she admitted, coming to him with that child-like 
 surrender, that complete and charming confidence 
 which delighted him. "Aunt Gretchen is so funny I 
 We disagree about the last small detail."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 59 
 
 "I wish it were the groom's part to provide the 
 wedding." 
 
 "Dick, I wish it were. I really wish it were. 
 You'd do it as it should be done, while she I shall 
 be positively ashamed to have our friends come 
 here and see it. I told aunt that this whole floor 
 ought to be re-done and she just laughed at me." 
 
 " 'But,' I said, 'I only shall be married once'." 
 
 " 'I hope that will be all,' she answered, 'and 
 it won't take over twenty minutes.' ' 
 
 " 'All the more reason,' I replied, 'that the place 
 should make a quick and good impression on the 
 guests'." 
 
 " 'Frances,' she answered, and when she says 
 'Frances' that way, I know I might as well stop 
 talking, 'they'll be here possibly an hour. If they 
 don't like my home they won't have long to bear 
 the pain; if I did it over as you'd like to have it, 
 I'd have to suffer in it for the balance of my life'." 
 
 "I wish we might slip out and have a quiet little 
 wedding by ourselves," said Richard, somewhat 
 hotly siding with his bride-elect. Afterwards, 
 when he thought the matter calmly over, he could 
 see Aunt Gretchen's point of view quite plainly. 
 The old drawing-rooms were very elegant and 
 rich, even if they were undeniably old-fashioned. 
 He did not blame her quite so vividly when he 
 remembered that she doubtless loved them as they 
 were. But now, before he had considered these 
 things carefully, while, instead of thinking of them 
 he had his eyes and thoughts upon the somewhat 
 petulant but very lovely, tear-stained face before
 
 60 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 him, he only said again : "I wish we might slip out 
 and have a quiet wedding by ourselves." 
 
 "I wish so, too," said Frances. 
 
 "Well, why couldn't we?" 
 
 "An an elopement?" 
 
 "Anything you like." 
 
 "I'm just certain that even my wedding-gown, 
 if we go through the wedding as she would like 
 to have me, will be something I won't like." This 
 was unjust and she well knew it, but she was ex- 
 cited. 
 
 "Well, think the other over. If you want to 
 have it, it could be arranged." 
 
 "Do you think she'd be so very angry?" The 
 girl had, in her heart, a wholesome fear of her 
 firm aunt; perhaps there was a deep affection, also; 
 but if there was the latter it was very deep well 
 hidden. 
 
 "I don't see why she should be. It would save 
 her endless bother." 
 
 "And save me humiliation. Dick we'll do it. 
 We will do it just whenever you may say the word." 
 
 "I'll say it soon, then." 
 
 "It sometimes seems to me as if I couldn't get 
 away from here too soon!" 
 
 "Is it because you want to get away or because 
 you want to come to me?" 
 
 She snuggled to him charmingly. "Because I 
 want to go to you, of course. If you only knew 
 how many millions I'd refused so as to go to you !" 
 
 He smiled. He knew she was referring, now, 
 to Suffern Thorne and his unsuccessful suit. 
 
 "Surely I ought to be quite willing to make plans,
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 61 
 
 then, for the daintiest and most delightful, up-to- 
 date elopement that a maiden ever heard about," 
 he said. 
 
 "I really believe she just deserves it." Frances 
 showed upon her face a charming look of earnest- 
 ness and firm conviction, in her voice the emphasis 
 while firm was quite delightful. It was as if she 
 spoke about some erring child who had earned 
 punishment which she was now compelled against 
 her will solemnly to administer. "I do believe she 
 actually deserves it and it will save her such a 
 lot of money! That ought to make her glad!" 
 
 "She doesn't think she's stingy; she thinks you 
 are extravagant," said Richard, smiling at her, as 
 he did so, with that look of whimsical, admiring 
 affection in his eyes which made her certain, and 
 which he wished should make her certain, that he 
 would do anything she asked, be it extravagant or 
 not. 
 
 The thought of an elopement made a strong 
 appeal to her. It might make her aunt sorry that 
 she had not coincided with her rather wildly 
 ornate wedding-plans. And it would, undoubted- 
 ly, hasten the day when she would be free of 
 domination and, instead of being ruled, would rule. 
 
 "It would look better in the papers, too," said 
 she. "I'd rather have them say that Miss Van 
 Zandt was married in Hoboken in a motor-costume 
 than to have them say that she was married in this 
 stuffy house, at seven a. m., in calico or hair-cloth." 
 
 Ward threw back his head and laughed. "It 
 wouldn't be as bad as that, would it?" There was 
 in his fine eyes the look of fond indulgence which
 
 62 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 an uncle often, and a father sometimes, saves 
 for a spoiled child. 
 
 "Why, it's perfectly absurd," said Frances, with 
 more of her charming earnestness and emphasis. 
 "She acts as if she never thought she'd have 
 another penny in the world! It actually shocked 
 her when I said my train should be four yards and 
 that there ought to be two pages to walk with it." 
 
 Ward had not a very clear idea about wedding- 
 dresses. "Do they really have them that long?" 
 
 "Longer!" 
 
 "Then, if anyone has ever had one longer, it 
 would be absurd for you to have one shorter," he 
 agreed, with mock solemnity. 
 
 "That's precisely what I told her. I said we 
 owed it to your place in life if to nothing else. I 
 said it wouldn't be the proper thing for you mind 
 you; I wasn't thinking of myself at #//, I was think- 
 ing of you, Dick for me to have a train a single 
 half-inch shorter than the one that Wilcox girl wore 
 when she married the old prince." 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 "She laughed. Then I told her that it seemed to 
 me as if her own pride would demand that when 
 I left her house, I left it looking as a bride should 
 look, not like a fright and frump." 
 
 "And her reply to that?" 
 
 "She said she sometimes felt as if she might be 
 lucky to have me leave her house at all, no matter 
 how I looked." 
 
 Now Ward laughed with a complete abandon, 
 "That must have wholly crushed you." 
 
 "No; not at all. Why should it? I was simply
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 63 
 
 trying to convince her that it is worth while to pay 
 a little heed to what the balance of the world may 
 say." 
 
 "Well, you make the plans for the elopement. 
 That will save the whole confounded nuisance." 
 
 "I'd much rather elope anywhere than have a 
 wedding that looked cheap." 
 
 The plans were made with utmost care and 
 secrecy. Only Clarice was told the details, and 
 she, Philip Cartwright and Monty, were the only 
 guests invited. Ward, in a limousine, picked 
 Frances up at a street corner in the shopping dis- 
 trict, and they whirled thence toward the parsonage 
 he had selected. 
 
 "Not wishing to back out, are you, and have a 
 really truly wedding, after all?" 
 
 "No, Dicky dear," she said decisively her 
 hands clasped upon his arm in the dainty clinging 
 way she had. "The thought of being married at 
 Aunt Gretchen's as she wished to have me married 
 there, was positively terrible. Really I never 
 should expect to have a moment's brightness in a 
 married life that had begun among that hair-cloth." 
 
 "You shall have a drawing-room of cloth-of- 
 gold when we build our house and I imagine we 
 can build it before so many years have passed, if 
 things continue to go well." 
 
 "I am 50 glad! It will be a relief to have things 
 as I want them as we want them, darling once 
 in my life." 
 
 "As far as in me lies I shall see to it that you 
 have them as you want them for the balance of 
 your born and blessed days."
 
 64 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 It was not exactly usual that elopement. 
 Richard had seen to it that the clergyman's wife 
 dressed up their drawing-room with much elabora- 
 tion and with many flowers. As he was a fashion- 
 able clergyman not unwilling, possibly, to do a 
 little thing like this which might annoy Aunt 
 Gretchen, for she did not give as liberally as he 
 thought she might to some of his pet charities 
 and as the parsonage was quite palatial, and, last- 
 ly and most importantly, as Richard's check-book 
 had been open to whatever calls might come to it, 
 the scene, as the small wedding-party entered, was 
 beautiful in the extreme. 
 
 Frances gave a gasp of sheer, sensuous delight, 
 and, with the gasp, drew in a breath of perfume 
 from rare flowers the very rarest in the market, 
 
 "How lovely!" she exclaimed, and Richard felt 
 that he had been sufficiently rewarded for the care 
 he had expended on the manifold arrangements. 
 
 "I do hope dear Mrs. Jans will not be angry," 
 said the clergyman's smart wife, and, by her smile, 
 showed that she really rather hoped she would be 
 frantic to the verge of mania. "But we have tried 
 to make it just as pretty, in a simple way as we 
 could manage." She said nothing about Richard's 
 check-book. 
 
 "It is beautiful!" said Frances, smiling, for it 
 certainly was very charming. "Don't you think so, 
 Mr. Cartwright?" 
 
 "It seems to be about the thing," he granted, 
 with active, interested eyes wandering about, ob- 
 serving every detail, but with lips closed tightly,
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 65 
 
 for the most part. "Everything that could be 
 seems to be here." 
 
 He was wondering about his old friend's future. 
 Would it be a happy one? Would it? He knew 
 little about women but it was most unusual for 
 this quiet, forceful man to make a gesture, but 
 now unconsciously he waved one hand as if to 
 thrust away from him the doubts that crowded on 
 him constantly about the wisdom of his friend's 
 selection of a helpmeet. 
 
 The clergyman was late; but when he came he 
 brought in smiles enough and honeyed words 
 enough, polite and fitting jokes enough, to make 
 up for his tardiness and he used them all. 
 
 It had been arranged that Philip should stand 
 sponsor for the bride, and he was ready for the 
 task, but when the clergyman asked, with his care- 
 fully trained voice pitched to a carefully trained 
 tremolo: "Who giveth this woman to this man?" 
 an unexpected voice spoke from the doorway be- 
 fore Philip's slow lips had a chance to speak. 
 
 "I do," said Aunt Gretchen. "I do. I give 
 her to you Richard give her to you gladly and I 
 wish you joy. I love her, Richard, and I wish you 
 joy of your elopment. I heard about it yesterday 
 but thought I wouldn't mention it. I'm late but 
 I had some things to do before I could get uptown. 
 I'm a very busy woman." 
 
 In the carriage, as they drove from parsonage 
 to railway station, Richard suddenly burst into 
 laughter.
 
 66 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 Frances looked at him fondly, smilingly, inquir- 
 ingly. "What is it, Dickie dear?" she asked. 
 
 "Why er the elopment," he replied. "The 
 elaborate elopment from Aunt Gretchen. It didn't 
 er elope so very well, did it?" 
 
 "Not from Aunt Gretchen, no dear; but from 
 the hair-cloth furniture, it did. I'm sure I never 
 could have married you, at all, with all that hair- 
 cloth furniture around." 
 
 "I could have married you in a bare desert with 
 the sky gone from overhead, or in a den of gnomes 
 and furies." 
 
 "Could you? I don't like to think about such 
 things. . . . I'm I'm glad we're not to go to 
 such a very fashionable place, at first; I've got to 
 get some clothes. Aunt Gretchen was so " 
 
 "Get all the clothes you want, sweetheart." 
 
 "You darling!"
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 The first few months of married life were very 
 sweet to Richard Ward. He assured himself that 
 even his best dreams were quite surpassed by the 
 exceeding joy of the reality. To go home in the 
 afternoon to Frances, in the handsome flat upon 
 the Park's west side, and find her waiting for him, 
 smiling, welcoming, was a delicious joy which, 
 possibly, his too sedately earnest years of unremit- 
 ting drudgery to build a fortune, and the dull 
 monochrome of his long residence with Philip 
 Cartwright in their dingy bachelor rooms upon 
 Washington Square, South, the nearest he had 
 known before to home, since early boyhood made 
 more delightful than it would have been to most 
 men. He could find no flaw at any point, when he 
 examined his existence in occasional revery. 
 
 "Happy?" he said to Cartwright, when one 
 evening they met at the club, an institution which 
 he seldom visited of late. "Why man, I didn't know 
 what the word meant, in the old days !" 
 
 "No?" said Cartwright, gravely. "Glad, old 
 man." 
 
 "There's only one thing mars it," Richard went 
 on impulsively. 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "It seems to have badly hurt our friendship." 
 
 "We're always friends. Nothing could do that." 
 
 "It has, at least, cut our association down to the
 
 68 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 few evenings I can spend here at the club. You 
 never come to see us, Phil." 
 
 "I guess I am a stay-at-home, and " 
 
 "And what?" 
 
 "Why, I don't know, exactly." 
 
 "Sometimes it seems to me that even yet, you 
 don't approve of Frances." 
 
 "It's not for me she's your wife, Dick." 
 
 "Oh, I know; we're beating around the bush. I 
 mean that, somehow, you seem really to dislike 
 her, be very critical of her, all that sort of thing. 
 I see you look around the place, when you do come 
 to see us, at all the pretty things with which she 
 has surrounded us, and then I see you try to hide 
 that old expression of quiet criticism which used to 
 drive me crazy when I came home to our rooms 
 with some new brand of smoking. You wouldn't 
 say that you thought your old 'Lone Jack' was its 
 superior, but, as you smoked a pipe-full of my 'find' 
 you'd have that funny little look of secret knowl- 
 edge on your face. It was nothing but God's 
 mercy, once or twice, that kept me from knocking 
 out your brains with the tobacco-jar." 
 
 "Superior? Not I." 
 
 "No; I guess you don't feel superior. But the 
 trouble is, you never make mistakes. It's hard on 
 us who do to watch you and feel conscious of that 
 calm survey which you are giving us from your 
 mistakeless height." 
 
 Cartwright looked at him after a slow swing 
 upward of his eyes, which had been studying the 
 carpet. Always slow, deliberate, conservative,
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 69 
 
 his movements were even the movements of his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Maybe I'm the one that's most mistaken," he 
 said at length. 
 
 "For heaven's sake, how?" Ward asked, in sur- 
 prise. "Tell me, without waiting. If you'll only 
 give me one real chance to gloat, I will forgive 
 you for the thousand times you've had the chance 
 and haven't taken it. That's another trouble 
 with you, Phil you never take the chance to gloat, 
 though all the rest of us know, perfectly, you ought 
 to, and though you let us know that it is time to 
 know you ought to. Understand? Involved, but 
 true. You might be less infuriating if you gloated 
 good and hard occasionally." 
 
 "Infuriating? Am I that?" 
 
 "Intensely, viciously. It sometimes rises to the 
 height of real depravity a negative, inactive, im- 
 personal depravity, which, when you come to ana- 
 lyze it, is not wrong but right." 
 
 Cartwright let his head go back against the high 
 puffed-leather of the chair. Then he laughed a 
 little cautiously, conservatively. 
 
 "A sort of holy sin." 
 
 "No ; not that, at all. I wonder what the words 
 are. Inoffensive insult? Not at all. That puts 
 it backwards. What I mean to say is that you 
 voice approval, but know, even as you voice it, 
 that your approval, really, is full of criticism." 
 
 "You're still mixed, Dick. If I should put a 
 case to any jury with this queer lucidity of yours 
 I'd not look for a verdict." 
 
 "No; I know it, but you like us, but you don't
 
 70 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 approve. I feel it, often, and Frances she feels 
 it all the time." 
 
 Phil looked at him quickly very quickly for 
 Phil Cartwright. "Does she? I'm sorry." 
 
 "Then you admit it." 
 
 "No; I don't admit it." 
 
 Ward rose and gave his friend a look, half-quiz- 
 zical, half-helpless. "I'm due back at the flat. 
 Phil, you don't know what it means to have a home 
 to be due at." 
 
 "Why go? Mrs. Ward will not be home for 
 hours yet." He glanced upward at the mantel-clock. 
 
 Richard looked at him, surprised. He knew, 
 perfectly, that Frances would be late, that night. 
 She had joined an opera-party which he had, him- 
 self, abjured in order to enjoy the evening with 
 his bachelor-days-pal, but he had not mentioned to 
 him that she would be late. 
 
 "How do you know when she'll be home?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "I only guessed." 
 
 Vaguely uncomfortable, Ward sat down again. 
 "You're really uncanny," he said discontentedly as 
 he sank back into the chair. "She's at the opera, 
 and, for a fact, will not be home for hours." 
 
 "I thought so. Now " 
 
 "Tell me why you thought so." 
 
 "I don't know. Now " 
 
 "Phil, you're a queer bird." 
 
 "I know I am. I was going to ask about your 
 business. Doing well, are you?"
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 71 
 
 "Fine, Phil; fine," said Ward, his face lighting 
 as he left the subject of his friend's queer notions. 
 
 "Glad. Got a chance for you." 
 
 "You have? What is it?" 
 
 "I can double twenty thousand for you within 
 twenty days." 
 
 "If you say you can, I know you can. When 
 will you want the twenty thou?" 
 
 "Morning." 
 
 " W-h-e-w ! I don't know that I could raise it." 
 
 "Why, I've heard that you've been making 
 money by the fist-full." 
 
 "So I have, Phil; but it costs to live, you know." 
 
 "Aren't saving, Dick?" 
 
 Ward, once more, felt uncomfortable. He did 
 not wish to make defense of his expenditures. He 
 thought he saw the processes of Cartwright's mind. 
 When they had lived together he had never been 
 a spendthrift and the man was now, undoubtedly, 
 surprised to find that he was short of funds when 
 business had been good. He told himself a little 
 angrily that a cold-blooded creature like Phil Cart- 
 wright, selfish and unsympathetic, could not com- 
 prehend a warmer-blooded man's anxiety to make 
 the young years of his married life delightful for 
 the woman who had given her all to him, by plac- 
 ing her in those surroundings which most pleased 
 her, by giving her the sort of life she most desired 
 to lead. 
 
 "Saving?" he said then almost a little anrily. 
 "No; not just yet, Phil. It costs a lot to start in 
 married life, you know, and one owes something 
 to the woman who entrusts him with her happiness.
 
 72 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 Among other things he owes that happiness to 
 her. If she trusts to him to furnish it, certainly it 
 is his duty to see to it that It comes." 
 
 "I suppose so," Cartwright granted. "But I'm 
 sorry you can't take this chance. It's a mere cinch, 
 and if you don't go in the chance will go to Thorne. 
 I hate to see him get it. That man's a fish for 
 warmth, an eel for squirming into good things, out 
 of bad ones, and I guess he's a snake too. If you 
 don't get the money he will. Hell!" 
 
 "What is the deal?" said Philip, somewhat anx- 
 iously. 
 
 "I can't tell, unless you can go in. I had first 
 chance of picking the fourth party there are two 
 in it with me; but under seal of secrecy in case I 
 didn't find him ready. Now that you're not ready 
 why the chance will go to Thorne." 
 
 Philip took a long breath, slowly. "Well 
 that's how it stands," said he. "In a few weeks " 
 
 "Be ready then?" 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 "Not certain?" 
 
 "Why there may be some things to settle up. 
 As I've already said, it costs a lot to start in life, 
 you know." 
 
 "Does it?" 
 
 "Why, certainly; you ought to know it." 
 
 "No," said Cartwright, "no. I've never started 
 life the way you mean." 
 
 "Phil, you'll make me angry if I stay any longer. 
 I'll be going." 
 
 "I don't want to make you angry."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 73 
 
 "I don't want to get angry. So good-night. 
 I'm mighty sorry I can't join you in that deal." 
 
 "I'm sorry, too. If you could be dead certain 
 you'd be ready in a week or two or, say a month 
 I might be able to hold it off. I am not sure." 
 
 Ward once more sank back into the easy-chair. 
 For two minutes he was deep in mental calcula- 
 tions. He hated very much to lose an opportunity 
 which Philip Cartwright said was good, for if he 
 said it was, it was. But there were so many things 
 to pay for! As he had said to him, it cost a lot 
 to start in married life how much he had not 
 dreamed until he had embarked on the experiment. 
 He racked his brains to think of some way whereby 
 he could do for Frances what they had, in many 
 charming, cuddling, loving hours laid plans for, 
 and still raise the twenty thousand dollars, but he 
 could not find a way. And, he told himself, he 
 would not start thus early at disappointing her. 
 He had promised her the things, gowns for certain 
 functions, jewels to match them and others, an elec- 
 tric brougham, oh, a hundred things and he 
 would keep his promise, but, in the future, he 
 would be a little careful not to let his promises run 
 quite so far ahead. He must surely make some 
 allowance for the possible demands of unexpected 
 business, for on his readiness to meet them might 
 rest greater things than those immediate wants of 
 hers. 
 
 "No, old man," he said, at length. "I'm not 
 dead certain." 
 
 "Too bad, Dick." 
 
 "Oh, wellj there will be other chances."
 
 74 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "Yes," said Cartwright, slowly, and so plainly 
 without thought of offering offense that Richard, 
 although he looked at him with kindling eyes for 
 a brief moment, did not let himself get angry, 
 "there will always be the chance for the chap 
 who's ready." 
 
 As Richard strolled home through the damp and 
 glittering night along New York's most famous 
 Avenue, he thought much about the things that had 
 transpired of late. He saw clearly that he must 
 be just a little careful about Frances. Undoubted- 
 ly she had a tendency to spend a little more than 
 was exactly wise. He must tell her all about this 
 chance which had been offered him and which he 
 could not take advantage of because they had been 
 somewhat lavish in their way of starting married 
 life. It would help her understand. She was not 
 avaricious, but the bait of a great deal of money 
 at a future time will help a child to form the habit 
 of depositing its pennies in its red-tin savings-bank. 
 It would help her. He smiled affectionately as 
 he thought of her she was a child a dear, 
 delightful, loving, thoughtless child. Sub-conscious- 
 ly he felt that Cartwright had been critical of her 
 that evening. Sub-consciously he always had that 
 feeling, nowadays when he was with him. It 
 showed, perhaps, that the man lacked some of the 
 finer feelings which are necessary to the making of 
 a perfect man. He had not noticed this when they 
 had lived together Cartwright had once nursed 
 him through an illness with a care as tender as a 
 woman's, but it must be true, because the man was 
 surely prejudiced against his wife. And anyone
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 75 
 
 who felt that way lacked something. Everyone 
 with any sense admired her. 
 
 Sometimes, though, he almost wished that this 
 same admiration were not quite so universal. 
 There were times when he felt fearful that she 
 cared almost as much for it as she did for her 
 home ; but, then, the girl was very young. He was 
 her senior, not in years alone, but also he was 
 more staid by nature. Society did not especially 
 appeal to him, but made a strong appeal to her, 
 he knew. That was a detail of her temperament 
 and when they had been married he had under- 
 stood it perfectly. He had no reason to complain 
 about it now and he was not complaining. He 
 assured himself of that repeatedly as he strolled up 
 the Avenue in his deep revery. 
 
 Then, suddenly, against his will, he asked him- 
 self the question which he had felt certain Cart- 
 wright had had on his tongue's tip to ask a half- 
 a-dozen times that evening. For some reason he 
 had refrained, and his own guess at the reason had 
 been, in part, the cause for his vague annoyance 
 with him. Had married life, with Frances, at the 
 start, proved to be all he had expected? Had she 
 given him the happiness he had thought would 
 come to him the minute he could claim her for his 
 very own? Had he found anything lacking which 
 he had craved and had expected would be part of 
 the new life? 
 
 Realizing that these inquiries were crowding in 
 his brain and feeling that in them there was an 
 undefined disloyalty to her, he tried to put them 
 from him, but they were persistently recurrent. It
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 might be, he admitted, finally that she had been a 
 bit more frivolous than he had thought she would 
 be after the great interest of home had come into 
 her life; it might be that she had been, sometimes, 
 really extravagant had spent more, even than his 
 generosity admitted that she should have spent, 
 and his generosity was and had been bounded only 
 by the limit of his resources; it might be that, 
 sometimes, she had seemed lacking in that sym- 
 pathy for which his deep soul yearned that inter- 
 est in what he did and what he hoped to do, in 
 those ambitions which were centred, now, in get- 
 ting everything that heart could wish for her. Per- 
 haps she looked at the results, alone, and did not 
 stop to think about the methods that achieved 
 them, did not quite appreciate the vigor and the 
 weariness of the great effort they required. Per- 
 haps she had not, yet, quite entered into his whole 
 life as he had thought she would; but he must 
 give her time I He told himself that it was most 
 unfair of him to look for an old head upon young 
 shoulders and, having found this phrase he 
 gloried in it. 
 
 It explained all, it excused all. That was what 
 he had, unconsciously, been doing; that was what 
 Cartwright was doing looking for an old head up- 
 on young shoulders. Why, she was but a girl! 
 How utterly unfair to ask of her maturity of judg- 
 ment, sympathy, deportment! That was where 
 Aunt Gretchen had failed ! 
 
 As for the matter of expenditures he probably 
 had never made that really clear to her. He would 
 explain the situation to her when she came home
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 77 
 
 that very night if it would not keep him up too 
 long. Sometimes she was quite late in coming 
 home and there again he caught himself upon the 
 thin verge of a criticism and refused to harbor it. 
 She was not later than the average young matron 
 of society. She certainly did not stay longer than 
 her friends stayed she would scarcely stay alone ! 
 No, the fault was his, or rather, there was not a 
 fault at all. His business made demands on him 
 which richer men who had no business were not 
 subjected to. He had to be on hand down at the 
 office in the morning and could not, of course, in 
 consequence, spend the whole night in revelry as 
 they did. That certainly was not her fault. 
 
 It really was her misfortune, for he felt quite 
 sure, indeed she had a thousand times assured him, 
 that she liked to be with him far more than to be 
 with anybody else in all the world. She always 
 begged of him to take her to the places where she 
 went so often and he almost always found it neces- 
 sary to tell her that he could not. He felt some- 
 what elated as he told himself that he had done 
 her, without knowing it, a real injustice. There 
 was a certain pleasure in self-criticism and, for al- 
 most the whole balance of the walk, he indulged in 
 it. 
 
 Then, for some reason which he did not try to 
 find, the name of Suffern Thorne crept back into 
 his thoughts. Phil had had so much to say about 
 him. Of all the men he knew in New York city, 
 he believed, that same man, Suffern Thorne, came 
 nearest to being utterly despicable. It was addi- 
 tional annoyance to reflect upon the fact that it
 
 78 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 would be Thorne who would directly profit by his 
 own inability to take advantage of the opportunity 
 which Cartwright offered. Thorne! Nobody re- 
 spected him, none had good words to say for him, 
 everywhere he was the one man most universally 
 criticised and then condemned. 
 
 But even those who criticised, condemned him, 
 toadied to him I The man, undoubtedly, had some 
 attractive characteristics in society he was invited 
 everywhere. His money opened all doors to him, 
 his reputation closed not one of them. It made 
 Ward feel a brief recurrence of his younger exulta- 
 tion because he never had been tempted into the 
 entirely idle, sometimes vicious, life of the New 
 York society youth. 
 
 This for a moment switched his thoughts to 
 Monty, now safely housed at Harvard, and made 
 him hope that he would not be silly that way, when 
 his time came; but thoughts of Monty did not hold 
 him long. His revery went back to Frances and 
 the sort of life which she had chosen for herself. 
 He wondered if the company of men like Thorne 
 could be agreeable to her. He could not quite be- 
 lieve it could, because he knew her to be clean of 
 soul and, in the main, quite healthy-minded much 
 more healthy-minded, he assured himself, than the 
 average young woman of New York. And, when 
 the man had tried to marry her, she had without 
 delay refused him. 
 
 No; he need not worry. He was sure of that. 
 
 Still, he and men like him were part of the so- 
 ciety which so engaged her; it was to be with them 
 and the women they attracted and who attracted
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 79 
 
 them in another word "society" that she spent 
 much time away from him; it was to please them 
 and be like them that she strained, continually, to 
 do things which ate so sadly into his financial 
 strength. It had been because she liked them, 
 wished to be with them and have their like with her 
 that he had been unable to tell Cartwright that he 
 would jump at the offer he had made. This 
 thought shocked Ward a bit. Gad, they had paid 
 a high price, he and Frances had, for association 
 with the crowd she went with Thorne and such. 
 
 Well, he must talk it over with her. She would 
 see things differently if once they were explained to 
 her. He had been at fault, himself, for having 
 hesitated about this. It was quite true that he had 
 been hesitant for no reason except that he was anx- 
 ious not to pain her it would pain her, he as- 
 sured himself, with a wry face but the surgeon 
 gives his pain through kindness, and it would be 
 kind of him to let her see exactly how things stood 
 with him, with them, even if it did pain her a little. 
 
 He was almost startled when a car drew up 
 close by the curb and someone in it called his name. 
 He turned quickly and went toward it. Aunt 
 Gretchen occupied the car. 
 
 "I've been a fool among a lot of other fools, to- 
 night, Richard," she announced, at once. "Been 
 to a ball a charity affair, they say. Going to buy 
 clothing for the naked Fiji Islanders, or someone. 
 If they're any nakeder than some who danced there 
 at that ball they need it." 
 
 "Why, Aunt Gretchen," he exclaimed. "You, 
 in society? I didn't know you ever frivolled."
 
 8o THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "Get in," said she. "Get in. I've had a chill 
 since I first saw the gowns there and don't like to 
 sit here with this door open. Get in. I'll take you 
 home." 
 
 "Delighted," he said gaily and climbed in. 
 
 "Go to the Park, James," said Aunt Gretchen 
 through the speaking tube. 
 
 "I thought you were going to take me home." 
 
 "Well, I'm saving time by taking you first 
 through the Park. You're in no hurry to go home. 
 Frances won't be there for lord knows how long. 
 They had just begun to dance when I got tired and 
 left. They'll be at it hours." 
 
 "Yes; these things are always late affairs." 
 
 "Don't go much, yourself, do you?" 
 
 "No, not as much, I guess, as I should go. It 
 makes it hard for Frances. I've been thinking of 
 that as I walked." 
 
 "Didn't seem to feel as if it was too hard for 
 her to bear to-night. Seemed to be enjoying life." 
 
 "Well that's what I am her husband for to see 
 to it that she does enjoy life." 
 
 "Oh, that's what you're her husband for, is it?" 
 For a time she sat in silence, while he waited, half- 
 amused and half-annoyed, for her next speech. 
 "Keeps you busy, doesn't it?" she asked at length. 
 
 He laughed at her and she smiled, herself, but 
 soon went on. "You're her husband for the pur- 
 pose of seeing to it that she enjoys life. There's 
 another question." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "What's she your wife for, Richard? What is 
 she your wife for?"
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 81 
 
 "Same purpose seeing to it that her husband 
 enjoys life." 
 
 "And does she do it?" 
 
 "Certainly. She doesn't have to Mo* it. r As 
 long as I succeed she will succeed, for what makes 
 me enjoy life best is seeing her enjoy it." 
 
 "Richard," she said, with lips which closed in- 
 stantly and tightly after she had said it, "you some- 
 times make me sick." 
 
 The motor glided through the Park at the slow 
 pace which Gretchen Jans had trained her chauf- 
 feur to^ The mist, which had been almost a fine 
 drizzle, when Ward had left the club, had cleared 
 away. At times, indeed the night was beautifully 
 fine now. Inasmuch as his companion now kept si- 
 lence, he took it on himself, at length, to start the 
 conversation again. 
 
 "The Park is very beautiful," he said. 
 
 "Humph!" 
 
 "I had quite forgotten how delightful it all is." 
 
 She saw a little opening. "How came you to 
 forget? Not been here lately?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "You know why not. I've been too busy." 
 
 "Making money?" 
 
 "Making money." 
 
 There was another silence. This time she broke 
 it. "By the way, did Cartwright tell you that there 
 was a chance for you to do some really big busi- 
 ness in the next few weeks?" 
 
 "Yes; how did you know of it?"
 
 82 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "How did I know of it? Why, I told him to. 
 Didn't mention that, did he?" 
 
 "No, I had not the least idea " 
 
 "No; I told him not to." 
 
 "It was very good of you to think of me." 
 
 "Well, going to do it?" 
 
 "N-no I'm sorry, but I haven't ready money, 
 just this minute, and he said it couldn't wait." 
 
 "I thought you wouldn't have." 
 
 "Why did you think that?" 
 
 "A half-wit would feel sure of it if he knew how 
 you're going on." 
 
 "What do you mean by 'going on' ?" 
 
 "Richard, as I've said before, you make me 
 sick. I stopped and picked you up, to-night, be- 
 cause I wanted to feel sure you understood about 
 that chance that Cartwright offered. I hoped you 
 would be ready to step in and make that money. 
 I did, Richard; yes, I did. I hoped so but I 
 knew that I was hoping against hope. Now, what 
 I want to further say is that you'd better try an- 
 other tack. You'll get to port a good deal sooner 
 if you do. Next time a chance like that comes 
 sailing past, you have the rope to reach it with 
 and hitch to it. Yes, Richard, have the rope to 
 reach it with." 
 
 "I certainly shall try." 
 
 "Try!" She sniffed. "Why don't you say you'll 
 doit?" 
 
 "It's dangerous to make a reckless statement in 
 a talk with you, Aunt Gretchen. You're so certain 
 to remember it, and, later, cite it, to the great con-
 
 ' I HOPED YOU WOULD BE HEADY TO STEP IN AND MAKE THAT MONEY. 
 
 Page 82.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 83 
 
 fusion of the man who made it if he's not lived 
 up to it." 
 
 "Then why not make it and live up to it?" 
 
 "I shall try to live up to it, though I do not 
 make it." 
 
 " 'Try !' I'll tell you, Richard, why you are 
 afraid to come out flatly with the statement that 
 you'll have the money when the next chance comes 
 you're not half sure that Frances mind you, 
 Frances; I know her will let you keep the money 
 out of circulation for the purpose. Frances hates 
 to have good money kept from circulation. It's a 
 mania with her to keep it going out." 
 
 He rose to the defense of his young wife. 
 "Well, she has it, now, to circulate." 
 
 "I suppose that is a hit at me. I glory in it, 
 Richard; yes, I glory in it. She has it now to cir- 
 culate and I am sure she circulates it. Well, Rich- 
 ard, I can't say that I am disappointed in you, for 
 you were so much in love I knew you'd be a fool; 
 out if you'll think things over there is hope for 
 you. There will come other chances. Be ready, 
 man, to meet them. Teach Frances, if you can, 
 that it is prettier to see a ship come in with a good 
 cargo than it is to watch one sail away with one 
 for which no right and proper value has been left 
 behind. Teach her, Richard, teach her, and save 
 yourself a lot of trouble, later on. And next time 
 you be ready to take a good chance when it hap- 
 pens to come begging you to make some easy 
 money." 
 
 He could not but grant that there was sense in 
 what she said there always was a lot of sense in
 
 84 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 everything she said although he really was sorry 
 that she knew about his inability to put his finger 
 upon ready funds. He thought it would give her 
 a wrong impression make her think that Frances 
 had been more unreasonable than she really had 
 been. 
 
 But before he had an opportunity to form a 
 worthy argument to offer to her, she had started 
 on another subject. 
 
 "Know Suffern Thorne, do you?" 
 
 "Why, yes." 
 
 "Like him?" 
 
 "Can't say I do." 
 
 "Knew how he courted Frances at the same time 
 you did, didn't you?" 
 
 "Why, yes. I beat him." 
 
 "Yes ; she had sense enough for that, thank good- 
 ness! Did you know that he was hanging 'round 
 her all the while, these days?" 
 
 "I suppose they meet." 
 
 "Yes; often. I'm not saying that there's any 
 harm in it. There isn't any really truly harm in 
 Frances; but you don't want your wife to be the 
 object of mean gossip, do you?" 
 
 "Of course not, and she won't be." 
 
 "Maybe not, if you take care of her. Be certain 
 that you do take care of her. She needs it, Rich- 
 ard; certainly she needs it." 
 
 This vividly annoyed him. "Why should Suf- 
 fern Thorne " 
 
 "You know, young man, don't you, that he's the 
 man that got your chance to go into that pool?" 
 
 "Yes; Philip told me."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 85 
 
 "Well, he'd take other things of yours if he 
 could do it." 
 
 "You mean " f 
 
 "Never mind exactly what I mean. I'm not go- 
 ing to say it; but don't let Frances run around so 
 much. She's too attractive from the skin out; 
 she's too silly from the skin in. Here we are, 
 now, at your place, so I won't have to hear your 
 answer. Good-night, Richard. I wish you well; 
 I surely wish you well. Let me know if I can help 
 you with advice at any time. Good-night." 
 
 Often, to save his strength for the next day, he 
 went to bed before his wife came in, but this night 
 he did not. Instead, he sat down at the little 
 spindle-legged desk his wife had changed his old 
 one for, when she had furnished up his room for 
 him, one week when he was out of town. The desk 
 annoyed him, as almost all the things for which 
 she had changed the solid, practical old furniture 
 of his bachelor days, annoyed him, but he knew 
 that she had done it thinking it would please 
 him, so he never had informed her that it did 
 not. 
 
 This night, however, he found the shaky, slim- 
 legged thing unbearable. He could not write up- 
 on it, so he cleared away a place upon a corner of 
 a table and began to figure, figure, figure on a pad 
 there, trying to devise some way of meeting his 
 increased outgo and still save up the money which 
 would let him take the next chance when it came 
 along. How bitterly he regretted that he had been 
 forced to miss this one, he would not even tell him- 
 self.
 
 86 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 He was sitting there, at work, when, after three 
 o'clock, his wife came in. 
 
 "Oh, Dicky dear," she cried, delighted, "it was 
 good of you to sit up for me, darling." 
 
 She ran to him and threw her arms about his 
 neck and cuddled him before she gave Elise her 
 things. Elise was her new maid and very com- 
 petent and French and costly. Her presence al- 
 ways made Ward madly nervous. 
 
 "So good of you !" she cooed. 
 
 "I don't see very much of you," he ventured, 
 after the maid had gone. 
 
 "Because you don't go with me," she said 
 gaily, "and you'd have such good times if you 
 did!" 
 
 "I'm afraid my work does not leave time or 
 strength to stay awake and play all night," said 
 Richard. 
 
 "But here you are, awake all night, without hav- 
 ing gone to play with me, at all !" 
 
 "I went down to the club to have a talk with 
 Cartwright, and then, when I got home, I had 
 some figuring to do, so you see I've really been 
 busy." 
 
 "But Dicky dear, you would have been as busy 
 if you'd gone with mel And at so much more 
 pleasant things." 
 
 "These things were business." 
 
 "I'm afraid my boy gives altogether too much 
 thought to business." 
 
 "I have to, dear. Now there was something 
 that I wished to say to you. I wonder if we couldn't 
 cut expenses just a bit."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 87 
 
 "Of course we can, if you think best." 
 
 He smiled, delighted. "That's fine. I'm glad 
 you feel that way about it. You see, I had a 
 chance, to-night, to go into a deal which would have 
 made oh, heaps for us, but couldn't do it. We 
 have spent so much on living that I didn't have the 
 money." 
 
 "Why didn't you just borrow?" 
 
 "That's not always easy and it's not often wise. 
 But, you understand, if we had been more careful 
 and I had had the money, I could have made 
 enough so that, perhaps, from now on we would 
 not have had to be so careful." 
 
 "If you'd only told of it before 1" 
 
 "I didn't know till to-night." 
 
 "Well, what shall I do?" 
 
 "We'd better cut down, here and there oh, all 
 along the line for this year, Frances. That will 
 give me capital I really need. You see, our home 
 is eating all our income and that isn't wise." 
 
 "Of course not; and I'll help you all I can." 
 
 "You dear!" 
 
 ,"For, really, we ought to save a lot of 
 money." 
 
 "Indeed we ought." 
 
 "I've been thinking that we'll have to build, 
 Dick, before long, you see, and " 
 
 "Building wouldn't be the way to save, just 
 now, exactly." 
 
 "No; of course not, only it seems rather cheap 
 to live in just a rented flat, now doesn't it?" 
 
 "If it seems cheap it isn't," he said, laughing, for 
 her arms were tight about his neck, her cheek
 
 88 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 pressed tight to his, the perfume of her charming 
 person everywhere enveloping him. 
 
 "Well, you let me know when you think we can 
 build," she went on gaily. "I'll be thinking out 
 just how the dear house ought to be our house, 
 Richard our house! Won't it be just 
 lovely?" 
 
 "Indeed it will, and if we really economize so 
 that, next time, I can take advantage of stray 
 chances like the one I lost to-night " 
 
 "Of course, dear; certainly." 
 
 "And there is another matter that I want to 
 speak about, my dear; a matter which is even less 
 agreeable, but which I'm sure you will forgive me 
 for referring to. There is a little talk, I find, 
 about the fact that Suffern Thorne is so attentive 
 to you. I know it is the merest idle gossip, but we 
 don't want any kind of gossip, do we?" 
 
 "He's been just as kind." 
 
 "I know, dear, but perhaps you'd best not favor 
 him, particularly over others, don't you know? 
 He's not what I would call a friend of mine. We 
 never liked each other." 
 
 "Of course you didn't. I know that. Well, 
 there's only one thing to be done, then, and that is 
 to ignore him, utterly." 
 
 "It's good of you to be so sweet about it." 
 
 "I'm just delighted, Dicky dear, to do anything 
 you ask of me. You won't mind my riding with 
 him Thursday, will you, for I've promised to do 
 that, but after that " 
 
 He was annoyed, but he was helpless. 
 
 "Well, after that then surely," he said, smil-
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 89 
 
 ing at her as one smiles at a spoiled child who yet 
 remains delightful. 
 
 "And we'll be very, very economical." 
 
 "Yes, dear; it would so please me." 
 
 "And then you'll build me a new house a house 
 that shall be absolutely all my very own." 
 
 "After we save enough so that I can make a pot 
 of money." 
 
 Tm not going to believe it will be very long. 
 . . . Elise . . . Elise . . /' 
 
 The maid came, bustling. 
 
 "And, after all, dear Richard, don't you think 
 you're doing Suffern Thorne the teeny-weeniest in- 
 justice? Why he's very nice to me. This very 
 night I came home in his limousine. It's so much 
 comf 'tabler than ours ! He asked me if I wouldn't 
 use it often. He even gave me his garage call and 
 said that he would leave instructions to have it or 
 any other of his cars sent to me any time I wished." 
 
 Ward looked at her in almost sharp annoyance : 
 "My dear," he said, and in his voice was some hint 
 of actual sternness, "you will please use my cars 
 only. I do not care to have you taking any favors 
 whatsoever from that man." 
 
 "Oh, very well," she pouted, "if that's the fool- 
 ish way you feel about it! He only seemed to 
 want to make me happy." 
 
 "You must let me be the one to make you happy, 
 Frances." 
 
 "Sometimes you don't sometimes you make 
 me most wwhappy." 
 
 "I don't mean to be a bear." 
 
 "There, dear, I know you don't, so don't feel
 
 90 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 hurt because I said mean things. I'm going to bed 
 now, to forget just everything except the bee-ee- 
 yu-ti-ful new house." 
 
 "But don't forget that you must help me save, 
 so we can build it quickly." 
 
 "Yes, I must help you save so we can build it 
 quickly."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 There was a strange difference, two years later, 
 between the real emotions of Richard Ward on 
 the day he bought the handsome plot on which his 
 new house was to stand, and those which he had 
 thought, in many a long revery, he would experi- 
 ence on that occasion. It was a stately plot, as 
 stately plots of land are counted in New York, 
 where they measure real estate by inches. It faced 
 that portion of Fifth Avenue skirting Central 
 Park which means that it ran very largely into 
 money. Distinguished names would have been on 
 the doorplates of adjoining mansions were it not 
 sheer tempting Providence and thousands of un- 
 welcome callers to put such very famous names up- 
 on door-plates. No vulgar car-lines ran before this 
 lot only the great gasoline juggernauts of the 
 Fifth Avenue Stage Line, with seats atop, and 
 spruce conductors who could name the houses of 
 the rich in glib rotation (for a fee) bore the people 
 past its front at exactly twice the cost of ordinary 
 car-fare. This portion of Fifth Avenue is the 
 most exclusive thoroughfare in all America. 
 Heavy trucking is kept from it by mounted guard- 
 ians in blue at every point where it is likely to at- 
 tempt an entrance; the poor may walk on it and 
 wonder, that is all; a special force of officers in 
 grey stand guard on it, in addition to the city's 
 commonplace policeman, for along this park-front
 
 92 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 stretches a long line of solid blocks scarce broken, 
 anywhere, by vacant lots, each one housing some- 
 thing like a score of millionaires. 
 
 On the day the stakes were driven for the ex- 
 cavation Richard was on hand and chatting with the 
 architect a very famous architect while Frances 
 was out in the car, detached, because it might seem 
 overly enthusiastic to be actually upon the ground, 
 but still intensely interested and elated. Two of 
 the common people stopped upon the sidewalk, 
 watching operations with dull, idle curiosity. 
 
 "Another palace goin' up for some damn 
 millionaire," said one of them, with less resentment 
 in his face than his words indicated. 
 
 "Uh-huh. Gee! It runs to money land here 
 on the Avenya! Feller said the other day that 
 you could cover it with fi'dollar gold-pieces thick 
 as you could lay 'em, and, just about put down 
 its value." 
 
 "I saw that in the Evening Joinal, once." 
 
 "An' it'll take as much to build th' house, an' 
 so, before it's finished, you could cover it with tens, 
 
 an'" 
 
 "G'wan! Ain't you th' chump ? Wouldn't take 
 no more in money to cover it with tens than 'twould 
 to cover it with fives. They're worth more, but 
 they're bigger." 
 
 " 'Twould, too, take more. They ain't twice as 
 big around a part th' reason that they're worth 
 more is they're thicker. So it would run into lots 
 more money. Why " 
 
 " 'Twouldn't take a cent more. Just th' same. 
 Why"
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 93 
 
 The two passed OH, but on the face of the de- 
 lightful woman waiting in the auto was a smile 
 which had not been there just before they eame. 
 The talk had pleased her. Frances was not, quite, 
 a cad she did not feel "superior" or lofty, or un- 
 charitably proud, as some rich women have been 
 said to feel, but it gave her a delicious feeling of 
 luxurious warmth about the heart to know that 
 what the two men had been talking of was the site 
 her husband had secured for their new home, that 
 what they had said of it was almost if not quite 
 true, and that, over and above all, it was she 
 she, Frances Ward^ sitting in the auto unobtru- 
 sively and listening to them, for whom he had 
 secured the lot, for whom he was to have the house 
 built. 
 
 After they had seen the staking done, Richard 
 and the architect strolled out across the sidewalk 
 to the side of the big motor. 
 
 "Well," said Richard, with a somewhat tired 
 smile, "work has at last begun, dear it has actual- 
 ly begun." His voice was flat and unenthusiastic. 
 
 "I'm 50 glad," Frances smiled back at him. 
 
 There was much more actual satisfaction in her 
 smile than his, for elements were mixed in his. 
 Expressions far from smiling were often on his 
 face, these days, and some of them had so grown 
 fixed there that when smiles came they were forced 
 to work their way through them, if they would 
 win to light at all. Things were going well with 
 him, to every outward seeming. On the Street it 
 was well-known that he was making money mak- 
 ing a great deal of money but, somehow, he never
 
 94 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 seemed to quite catch up with the continually in- 
 creasing outgo. Reared by no means to a simple 
 life, he found himself, in this the fifth year of his 
 marriage, living in the midst of manifold com- 
 plexities of which he had before not dreamed. 
 Their establishment, even in the fnighty, fashion- 
 able apartment building where they lived, where 
 everything was advertised as being done by the 
 elaborate and expert management, comprised too 
 many details for his tired mind to try to follow 
 when he went there from the office; he had almost 
 abandoned effort to join Frances in any of the 
 multitude of social activities which now absorbed 
 her time, or even, to keep track of them at all; he 
 was accustomed to discovering some late picture of 
 her very likely one which he had never before 
 seen on the society pages of the newspapers, in 
 connection with accounts of social functions of 
 which he had not heard at all. The husband and 
 the wife saw little of one another, although she 
 worried more about this, seemingly, than he did. 
 She was always chiding him because he was at 
 home so little, and always he was promising to 
 spend more time with her and always failing on 
 account of the grind, grind of money-making which 
 her mode of life made necessary and which would 
 never let him rest. That summer he had spent 
 almost the whole hot period in town, while she had 
 been at Newport as the guest of various of their 
 fashionable friends. In his soul he knew that 
 this new house was a mad venture; but he had 
 found himself unable to resist her constant plead- 
 ings sometimes frankly begging, oftener veiled
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 95 
 
 in some allusion that disturbed him more than the 
 frank begging did. 
 
 Aunt Gretchen sent for him the day following 
 that on which the lines for the new house were 
 laid. 
 
 "I read this -morning's papers, Richard," she 
 said grimly, looking at him over her big spectacles 
 as she leaned back in her swivel-chair before her 
 desk. The passing years had made few changes 
 in her. Her gown may possibly have been a 
 little rustier her hair a little grayer; perhaps 
 not. 
 
 "Did you?" he asked vaguely. "I didn't that 
 is, I only read 'financial'. Anything particular?" 
 
 "Yes," said she, "there's something quite par- 
 ticular. Another poor fool has gone wrong." 
 
 "Embezzlement? I hope not in a bank that 
 you've got stock in." 
 
 "Yes, it's embezzlement," she said, with her 
 peculiar diction, a combination of slow drawls and 
 snaps, the snaps, of course, signs that sentences had 
 ended. "Not in a bank, of funds, though; in a 
 head, of brains. Who robbed you, Richard?" 
 
 He stared somewhat blankly at her. 
 
 "Oh, I know, of course," said she. "Frances 
 it was and always is. Is it going to be forever, 
 Richard? Have you no will left, whatever? No 
 self-control? No brains, at all?" 
 
 "Before you go much further," he suggested, 
 "would you mind explaining to me what you 
 mean?" 
 
 "You bought that property and you are building 
 a great house on it."
 
 96 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "Well, other men have bought much finer pro- 
 perty and built much greater houses." 
 
 "Other men but men with money." 
 
 "Am I not a man with money?" 
 
 "No; you're only one who's making money. 
 You are not a man with money, for you spend it 
 just as fast as you can make it or Frances does. 
 Faster, I presume. Richard, are you never going 
 to wake up?" 
 
 She never quite angered him. Her talks, he 
 knew, were meant to be most kind and do him 
 good, and generally he realized the justice of her 
 reasoning and critical deductions. He would not 
 have listened to another person on the footstool 
 who uttered criticisms of his wife he realized 
 that she had absolutely a good right to: she had 
 earned it by the early care the death of Frances' 
 parents had thrown on her care she had accepted 
 without murmuring except when things, she thought, 
 went quite too far. 
 
 "Well," he said, in weak defense, "the house is 
 not what you're so fond of calling 'waste.' It isn't 
 money actually gone disposed of, never to re- 
 turn as some expenditures have been. The pro- 
 perty will grow in value. I'll be able any time, to 
 get my money back." 
 
 "In twenty years, perhaps," she said, sententious- 
 ly. "I've looked the matter over, Richard. You 
 paid a-hundred-and-ten-thousand for the lot." 
 
 "How did you find that out?" he asked, sur- 
 prised. "The price, it was expressly stipulated, 
 was to be kept secret." 
 
 "I should think you might have stipulated that,"
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 97 
 
 she said, with sagely nodding head, as she again 
 peered at him over her great spectacles. "I should 
 think, perhaps, young man, you -might have been 
 quite anxious that the price should be kept secret." 
 
 "Er why?" he asked, although he knew, quite 
 well. 
 
 "Because you know you paid not less than 
 twenty-thousand more than that lot's worth," said 
 she, "That's why, Richard; that's just why. I 
 am glad you tried to keep it secret. It shows that 
 you've not lost your business head entirely. Why 
 did you do it?" 
 
 "Well, it was the site which we particularly 
 wanted," he said, somewhat ill at ease. 
 
 "'We? We' Was it really 'we', or Frances?" 
 she asked slowly. 
 
 "It was 'we'. He was determined to defend his 
 wife at this point. 
 
 "I don't believe you cared a rap what lot your 
 house was built on; I don't believe you cared a rap 
 to have a house at all ; I don't believe that it's your 
 doings in the smallest detail but the payment for 
 it." 
 
 "Don't you think I care as much as other men 
 about a home?" 
 
 "I don't know how much you care about one; 
 I'm quite sure you haven't got one; I'm quite sure 
 that building that house on the Avenue won't sup- 
 ply you with one, either." 
 
 But the building of the house went on, apace. 
 
 Richard was a daily visitor at the scene of 
 operations, at the start, then he went around upon 
 alternate days, then once a week, then sometimes;
 
 98 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 finally he found the fight downtown so fierce, so 
 all absorbing, that he almost quite forgot the house 
 except when time came for the signing of the 
 checks. Then it came back to his mind with a dis- 
 tressing rush. 
 
 He was a careful business man in details, though, 
 and when bills began to come, in steady streams, 
 for things which he knew nothing of, he instantly 
 investigated. His plans and specifications for the 
 ornate porch called for green-sandstone pillars. 
 An extra bill came in for hand-rubbed granite. 
 Oak-wainscoting was to have ringed the library to 
 six-foot height. The detailed bills from the in- 
 terior wood-work people showed a wainscoting 
 eleven feet high, and carved, instead of pannelled. 
 There also were carved brick for the great fire- 
 place in the dining-room, which he had heard no 
 word about before he was required to pay for them, 
 and other things, of a like mystery, which mounted 
 up, in aggregate, to a large sum well over 
 thirteen thousand dollars. He called the architect 
 upon the telephone and failed to get him; then he 
 called the contractor. 
 
 He was definitely angry. It seemed to him that 
 Someone was endeavoring to impose on his in- 
 telligence. Of course he would not have to pay the 
 bills the specifications were attached to all the 
 copies of the contract. He wondered if they 
 thought him such a fool that he would let them 
 slip these extras in on him and pay the excess 
 charges without murmuring. Money had been 
 flowing from his office in a never-ceasing stream 
 to them, and, although much had been coming in,
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 99 
 
 he felt the drain too plainly to be comfortable 
 his balance at one bank was quite too low, another 
 had informed him that it was approaching danger- 
 mark. Notwithstanding his large income he was 
 pressed for ready money till he scarcely knew what 
 to do. Frances had been ruthless in her personal 
 expenditures bills from modistes and smart mil- 
 liners, jewelers and boot-makers, corsetiers and 
 caterers these had been growing both in number 
 and in size with startling speed of late. 
 
 "I want to know," he asked the contractor, 
 "where you got any authorization to make changes 
 in the specifications for my house. There are a 
 dozen matters of increased expense of which I have 
 heard nothing until now, when they are mentioned 
 on your monthly statements." 
 
 "What especially, do you refer to?" asked the 
 man, plainly much surprised. 
 
 "Well, there's that added height of wainscoting 
 for one thing, the carved brick for that fire-place 
 for another, and there's a charge for hand-rubbed- 
 granite for the pillars of the porch. The plans 
 and specifications call for green sandstone." 
 
 "Mrs. Ward it was, who ordered them," the 
 contractor said quickly, and then mercifully dis- 
 connected. He was a married man himself and 
 could without much difficulty make a guess at the 
 mixed feelings of the man who sat at the far end 
 of that wire just then. 
 
 "Frances dear," said Ward that evening, striv- 
 ing to be very calm indeed, "You'd better have a 
 little talk with me, hereafter, before you order 
 changes in the house. They cost, you know."
 
 ioo THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 She looked at him in real surprise. "Why, 
 Dicky dear, I've only made the littlest changes! 
 Just a few things here and there, that I was sure 
 would make it so much better." 
 
 "I have so far, been forced to pay a matter of 
 some thirteen thousand dollars for those 'little 
 changes,' " he replied, still very carefully and calm- 
 ly. "Frances, I cannot stand the drain." 
 
 "But thirteen thousand dollars, darling, that is 
 not so much, and remember that we'll have to live 
 in it the house, I mean.". 
 
 "Thirteen thousand dollars, dear, is a great sum 
 of money. I'm not in a position, at the present 
 time, to have such added liabilities thrust on me 
 without warning. You might seriously embarrass 
 me by doing things like that too often most ser- 
 iously embarrass me." 
 
 "Have I really made my Dicky-daddies a whole 
 lot of worry?" she cried, going to him with her 
 fascinating face, her slim caressing hands, even the 
 delightful lines of her fine figure begging lenience. 
 "I'm so sorry! Won't I be forgiven if I won't do 
 it any more ?" 
 
 Of course he took her in his arms; of course he 
 told her that it did not really matter, although he 
 begged her (he did not command her) never to 
 do things like that again without consulting him. 
 
 Another thing was worrying him, and one which 
 he was half ashamed to worry over. Monty was 
 no longer now a boy; he was a young man, and he 
 felt all an elder brother's fine responsibility for a 
 bright youngster without parents. He was in his 
 senior year at Harvard and would soon be on his
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 101 
 
 hands to start aright in the great world. His 
 vacations had, of course, been spent with him, and 
 Monty and Clarice had been thrown much together 
 for Clarice spent as much time with Frances as she 
 could, both because there was a strong bond of 
 affection between the sisters, and because Clarice 
 found things unpleasant sometimes, at Aunt Gret- 
 chen's. The calm, hard-headed business-woman 
 eyed with disapproval the girl's growing tendency 
 to consider money only as a means of entertain- 
 ment; to forget that someone had to earn it through 
 hard work; to not only take the goods the gods 
 provided willingly, but to grasp through strategy 
 and subterfuge, through hint and sometimes actual 
 double-dealing harmless enough, but to Aunt 
 Gretchen inconceivably deplorable for more. 
 
 He noted all these things and vaguely, most 
 indefinitely, indeed, but still undoubtedly, his young- 
 er brother's growing liking for her company dis- 
 turbed him, although really he cared more for 
 Clarice himself, than most husbands do for their 
 wives' sisters. 
 
 He went to the house on Washington Square 
 north, where Gretchen Jans had summoned him, 
 early one summer evening, arriving just in time to 
 be a witness of a little verbal passage between the 
 girl and her positive old relative. 
 
 Clarice sat on the handsomely carved stool be- 
 fore the square piano both relics of a bygone 
 fashion, archaic but glowing from much polishing. 
 The chord the girl had just struck in her nervous- 
 ness at the thought of what was coming still hov- 
 ered in the room, as pure and full as any harmony
 
 102 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 from a more modern instrument could be. Noth- 
 ing of Gretchen Jan's which could be kept in good 
 condition by minute and ceaseless care was per- 
 mitted to deteriorate. 
 
 "But, Aunt Gretchen," Clarice said, "I'm simply 
 naked." 
 
 "I don't see more bare skin than usual," was the 
 answer. "Not half as much as I would see if I 
 bought all those clothes for you and let you have 
 them made the way you'd like to have them made." 
 
 "I mean I've got no clothes that really are fit 
 to wear." 
 
 "When I was a girl of your age I had just three 
 dresses two of calico to work around in, that 
 would wash, and one of checkered wool for church 
 and funerals." 
 
 "But that wasn't in New York." 
 
 "I thank my stars it wasn't, if you and Frances 
 are fair samples of the kind of girls New York pro- 
 duces, Clarice ! My girlhood was a preparation 
 for good wife-and motherhood. Yours seems to 
 be a preparation for a future as a dummy figure 
 at a clothes-show." 
 
 Clarice turned away, almost in tears. 
 
 "Don't think for one short minute, that starting 
 in to cry will make me change my mind a particle. 
 I'm not Richard Ward, remember." 
 
 Ward, who had not been announced or seen, 
 withdrew discreetly, for the moment, not too com- 
 fortable. 
 
 The disappointed girl fled uptown to his 
 wife, and they talked the matter over with much 
 wrath.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 103 
 
 The net results of the long conversation were 
 some secret trunks of finery made for Clarice, but 
 not delivered at the house on Washington Square, 
 north. Sent to the great apartment of the Wards 
 (as were the bills for them) they went later, with 
 the delighted girl at the New Jersey coast resort 
 to which her aunt had sent her for vacation, and 
 there their contents attracted such attention that, 
 in course of time, this reached the ears of Gretchen 
 Jans. 
 
 The wholly innocent medium of this revelation 
 was poor Monty Ward who, home from college 
 and from some weeks with a friend whose father 
 was an Adirondack millionaire, had hastened when 
 these weeks were over, to the staid resort where 
 Clarice was staying. Monty never knew the bite 
 of poverty which many college boys know well, for 
 Richard, remembering the troubles of his own 
 days as a student, dealt generously with him. In- 
 deed his somewhat lavish but by no means too ex- 
 pensive care of Monty was almost the only luxury 
 be allowed himself. His gorgeous home was al- 
 most anything but luxury to him it meant not real 
 enjoyment but a source of endless worry, cease- 
 less smothered disapproval. 
 
 Returning to New York the lad decided that it 
 would be right for him to call upon the aunt of the 
 exceedingly smart girl whom he had just seen at the 
 seaside. In his heart, despite the fierce and num- 
 berless complaints of her which he had heard from 
 Frances and from Clarice, he had more respect for 
 Mrs. Gretchen Jans than he had ever had before, 
 for anyone except his brother. Her competence
 
 104 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 made powerful appeal to him, as it did indeed to 
 most men, and he regarded her with that enthusias- 
 tic homage, despite Clarice's veiled complaints of 
 her, which youth will ever pay to great success. It 
 thrilled him, when he thought of it, to realize that 
 he should be on calling terms with the richest 
 woman in America; it gave him a certain satis- 
 faction to reflect that he knew many ot the number- 
 less accounts of her and her home life which had 
 appeared in newspapers and magazines to be 
 quite false; he was delighted when, as he ap- 
 proached and found her standing on the broad 
 white-marble steps before her home, she looked 
 across her spectacles at him, at first, inquiringly, 
 as if he were a stranger, and then began to smile 
 with some signs of cordiality and held out her hand 
 to him. She liked the whole-souled, care-free, 
 honest-faced, broad-shouldered youth immensely 
 and she showed it in the hearty clasp she gave his 
 hand as he came up the steps to her. 
 
 "Well, now, young man," said she, "and where 
 did you come from? I thought you were in col- 
 lege." 
 
 "Vacation time," said Monty. 
 
 "All the time seems nowadays, to be vacation 
 time for young folks," she replied as she made 
 room for him on the top step to which she sank, 
 herself, in somewhat weary fashion. She showed 
 herself no mercy, ever, and almost every evening, 
 when she reached her home, was very tired. Then 
 she liked to sit there on those steps, if the weather 
 made this possible, and look out into the queer 
 life of the queerest park in all America. "You
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 105 
 
 haven't told me where you've been, young man," 
 she said, when they were seated. 
 
 "In the Adirondacks, for a while, then down the 
 coast a bit." 
 
 She looked sharply at him, instantly suspecting 
 that he probably had seen the girls. 
 
 "The Clarice-and-Frances coast?" she asked. 
 
 He laughed. "It used to be called Jersey, but 
 you've got the new name for it right." 
 
 "Didn't see them, did you?" 
 
 "Now, Mrs. Jans" 
 
 "As long as you stay sensible you may call me, 
 as your brother does, 'Aunt Gretchen'." 
 
 "Thanks, awfully for that," said he, with a frank 
 smile of genuine delight. "And I never should 
 have gone down to the Clarice-and-Frances coast 
 if it had happened not to be the Clarice-and- 
 Frances coast." 
 
 "What's that, young man?" 
 
 "I never should have gone down there, if they 
 had not been there." 
 
 "Find them worth the trip, did you?" 
 
 "Worth the trip! Say, they'd be worth a trip 
 to Persia ! Honestly, I think your nieces, Mrs. 
 Jans Aunt Gretchen are just about the most com- 
 plete editions of 'Perfect Feminity Brought Up to 
 Date' at present offered at the book-stores." 
 
 "You do, eh? Looking well, were they?" 
 
 "I guess; they had the field put sound asleep. 
 That pink silk of Clarice's with crinkles in it you 
 know, the one she wears with the lace parasol with 
 goblins on it well " 
 
 "Pink silk with crinkles? Lace parasol with
 
 io6 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 goblins? Excuse me. Go right on, young 
 man." 
 
 He did not note the queer compression of her 
 lips, although they still were held to it when he de- 
 parted. 
 
 Next day a rather short old lady in a gown of 
 rusty black appeared at the Grand Ocean View 
 Hotel at that exceedingly smart Jersey coast re- 
 sort. The vast piazzas were well filled by guests 
 at tea and there were those among them who posi- 
 tively snickered as she made her way up the wide 
 steps, after she had alighted from the auto-bus 
 which had conveyed her from the station. 
 
 She may have known this or not, at any rate she 
 gave the fact no heed, if she did know it, but 
 marched up into the wide, dim hall beyond and 
 down its mighty length to the far office, where, 
 clustered round about with bell-boys in amazing 
 uniforms, as lesser, colored jewels sometimes are 
 set about a diamond in a fine brooch, the clerk 
 leaned lazily upon the desk in grandeur. 
 
 "Are you the clerk of this hotel?" the wearer of 
 the rusty gown said pleasantly. 
 
 He changed his attitude a little, giving it his 
 fourth-class air of deference. 
 
 "Yes, madam," he replied. 
 
 "Are Mrs. Ward and Miss Van Zandt guests 
 here?" 
 
 "Yes, madame, I think so." 
 
 "Don't you know, young man?" 
 
 "They are." 
 
 "Are all those boys, there, busy?" 
 
 "No, madame."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 107 
 
 "Send one of them, please, to Miss Van Zandt to 
 tell her that I'm waiting here." 
 
 "Who shall I say, madame?" 
 
 "You needn't say, particularly. Just tell him 
 that a woman's waiting. An old woman." 
 
 "That, madame, is not customary." 
 
 "Oh, isn't it? What is?" 
 
 U A card or name, madame." 
 
 "I don't wish to send a name." 
 
 "I cannot send the boy, then." 
 
 She looked at him with a calm face, not angered, 
 not even scornful, but amused. "Oh, can't you? 
 Could you if I had a room here?" 
 
 "Er I suppose so." 
 
 "Let me have a room, then." 
 
 The clerk did not know what to do quite, in an 
 emergency like this, for Miss Van Zandt and Mrs. 
 Ward were nieces of the famous Gretchen Jans, 
 and there were constant rumours among the guests 
 of the hotel that Mrs. Jans herself, might come to 
 stay a day or two with them at any time. As the 
 richest woman in America very seldom went a- 
 pleasuring, she would be an acquisition to this 
 hostelry. He did not wish therefore, to have the 
 ladies angered by any slip of judgment. This old 
 woman might be some respected servant, some 
 trusted tradeswoman, even the housekeeper of Mrs. 
 Ward. In any of these cases it would probably 
 annoy them should she not be treated with respect; 
 but, on the other hand, she might and looked to be 
 too sharp and shrewd for such lowly walks in life. 
 She might be, he reflected, a begging agent from
 
 io8 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 some charity, who would annoy them. Such people 
 always had a keen-eyed look. 
 
 But finally he decided that there was a vacant 
 room upon the top floor of the house, at the far 
 end of the longest, narrowest corridor, and pre- 
 pared to write her name upon the cardboard slip 
 which represented it in the great rack, behind the 
 desk, as soon as she had signed the register. He 
 therefore pushed the great book toward her, 
 dipped a pen in ink and held it out. She took it 
 with a hand which plainly was accustomed to mani- 
 pulation of such weapons, and, as he waited, wrote 
 upon the register, in a small, unobtrusive hand: 
 
 "Gretchen Jans, New York." 
 
 The startled clerk's whole face turned brilliant 
 red, his right thumb turned a greenish black be- 
 cause he inadvertently inserted it in the great ink- 
 stand. He did not even notice this as he began to 
 make apologies and offer Mrs. Jans the best suite 
 in the house. 
 
 "The room you have selected for me will do 
 very well," she said, without appearing to observe 
 his deep embarrassment. "It probably is reason- 
 able. Young man, your thumb is in the ink-well." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Jans." 
 
 "You needn't. It is not my thumb." 
 
 "Er er " 
 
 "Don't put it on your nose ! What did you say 
 the number of my room was? Seven-nineteen ?" 
 
 That was the number he had plainly indicated 
 that was the number of the room at the far end 
 of the most dismal and the longest and the highest 
 corridor in the hotel.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 109 
 
 "Why er no. Perhaps you would try twenty- 
 seven." 
 
 "Better, is it?" 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Jans." 
 
 "All right; I hope it will be comfortable. Now 
 your thumb is on your cuff. Who does your laun- 
 dry for you? Tell them to use Take-Ink-Out. 
 You'd better go and wash your thumb, young man." 
 
 Behind the desk was a large mirror, and, re- 
 flected in it she now caught a glimpse of Frances, 
 and walking with her, a gentleman and a girl in 
 a pink dress with an elaborate parasol. They were 
 approaching her. The dress was very pink, the 
 parasol exceedingly elaborate and there were drag- 
 ons on it in expert embroidery. Monty had men- 
 tioned dragons. The gown was of the most ex- 
 pensive material and the most fashionable model. 
 Aunt Gretchen gasped, for she really had not known 
 that Clare was so extremely pretty then she shut 
 her lips with a very definite compression and took 
 stock of who was with the sisters. 
 
 Beside Frances strolled a very carefully 
 groomed man, somewhat undersized. He was the 
 sort of man who never fails to have gloves on his 
 hands whenever there is any possible excuse for 
 wearing them. His shoes were perfect brilliant 
 in their varnish, encasing feet which, like his hands, 
 were almost too small to seem masculine; his care- 
 fully made knockabout suit was freshly creased, 
 and every detail of his appearance indicated an at- 
 tentive valet supplementing the best efforts of the 
 most expensive haberdashers and tailors. His 
 shoulders drooped a little his whole carriage was
 
 no THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 a little languid, and his face, eager, for the mo- 
 ment, as he talked to Frances, would, it was ap- 
 parent, sink back at once, when this momentary 
 animation left it, into lines etched by boredom. 
 His eyes were very dark, with somewhat saffroned 
 whites and very heavy lids. They were not deep- 
 set, but the thickly veined skin underneath them 
 gave the impression of a shadow and made them 
 seem sunken. He gestured constantly, but not ob- 
 trusively, with his gloved hands as the party walked 
 toward her, gossiping busily. His complexion was 
 quite dark enough for Spanish blood and his face 
 was long and thin and narrow. 
 
 "Well," said Gretchen Jans. "So Suffern 
 Thome's here, is he?" 
 
 A moment later and the party had come near 
 enough for greetings. 
 
 "How do you do, Frances?" she said, turning 
 calmly. 
 
 Frances gave a little gasp. "Why, Aunt Gret- 
 chen !" After a second's hesitation she advavnced 
 with evidences of effusive joy. 
 
 "Don't be so cordial," said Aunt Gretchen. 
 "You know you don't feel cordial." 
 
 "Why, of course I do." 
 
 Mrs. Jans turned from her to the younger girl. 
 
 "How dod you do, Clarice?" 
 
 Clarice was even more embarrassed than her 
 sister. "Er er how delightful! Dear Aunt 
 Gretchen !" 
 
 "Glad you're so delighted. I see Monty wasn't 
 dreaming. He was right about the dress," (her
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT in 
 
 eyes took Clarice in from head to foot), "and 
 right about the parasol." 
 
 She turned from them as Suffern Thorne ap- 
 proached a little languidly, giving him not the least 
 attention. 
 
 "He was right about some other things, also, 
 I see." 
 
 Thorne greeted her. "Ah, how d'ye do?" 
 
 "I'm very well," said Gretchen Jans, "although 
 I shouldn't be well long, if I remained in present 
 company." 
 
 She spoke, then, to the hotel-clerk. "Young 
 man, you may tell a boy to show me to my room." 
 
 Then, to the girls, ignoring Thorne entirely: 
 
 "You may come up, girls." 
 
 In the room she eyed them as they stood, 
 ashamed to be ashamed, angry because they could 
 not help but act as if they had been caught at 
 something surreptitious. 
 
 "Well, girls," she said to them, "you're making 
 quite a little splash here at the seashore, aren't 
 you? Best suite in the hotel, clerk says you've 
 taken, Frances." 
 
 "Yes; Dick told me to be just as happy as I 
 could." 
 
 "Helps make you happy, does it the best suite? 
 More room than I had in my whole house in the 
 first three years when I was married. Helps make 
 you happy, does it? And Richard told you to be 
 happy. Hum-um. Suffern Thorne he helps 
 make you happy, too, does he?" 
 
 "Why, Aunt Gretchen" 
 
 "Clarice those clothes you're wearing do they
 
 ii2 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 make you happy? I suppose you know Dick paid 
 for them and Dick's a little worried about money, 
 these days, what with that new house and such. 
 Maybe he'd be worriedier if he knew he paid for 
 them. I'll have to ask him." 
 
 "I couldn't have come down here, wearing what 
 I had!" 
 
 "No? Good place to stay away from, then. 
 Stand out there Clare and turn around. Let me 
 see that dress, front, back and sides." 
 
 Claire, very nervous, did so. 
 
 "Now let me take that parasol." 
 
 Clare handed it to her and she turned it over in 
 her hands and looked at it with queer, half-dis- 
 gusted scrutiny. It was as if the hting she touched 
 were not quite clean. Without a word she passed 
 it back. Again she spoke to Frances. 
 
 "So that's the price you're getting I mean all 
 these things this suite, the clothes you're decor- 
 ated with and those that fill your trunks, Clarice's 
 silly duds and parasol and the company of men 
 like Suffern Thorne ! That is the price you're get- 
 ting, is it? That, and the new house upon the 
 avenue." 
 
 "The price for what, Aunt Gretchen? You're 
 so funny!" Frances answered. 
 
 "Find me funny, do you? More than I can say 
 for you. You're a pretty solemn spectacle, Mrs. 
 Richard Ward. The price for what? The price 
 for which you're trading Richard's happiness and 
 much less important, your own. Richard, Frances, 
 is having a hard fight, in town, to keep you going 
 and the things you want going. He won't tell you
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 113 
 
 so, and he won't tell me so; but I am very wise 
 about some things and I know how he's fighting. 
 It's costing more than dollars, Frances it is cost- 
 ing blood his blood. And it's costing you quite 
 heavily you don't feel honest, do you? You're 
 deceiving him and changing your young sister in- 
 to just as big a fool as you are." 
 
 "Now, Auntie," Frances pouted, "I think you 
 might be pleasant when you come to see me. And 
 you ought to bear in mind that I came down here 
 for a rest." 
 
 "A rest! A rest from what? A rest from too 
 much play. Do you know the thing that really 
 would rest you? . . . Work!" She turned from 
 her with actual scorn bright in her eyes. 
 
 "Clarice," she said with definite determination, 
 "pack up your bag. Take off that foolish dress. 
 No trunks. Pack up your bag with just exactly 
 what you took when you went from my house and 
 get the dress and hat on that you wore away. You 
 are going home with me on the next train."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Even Gretchen Jans was puzzled when it came 
 to saying what she wished to say to Richard and 
 she put it off till Autumn brought Frances from 
 the sea-shore. The situation was a hard one. Al- 
 ready she had said as much to him about his wife 
 as she believed that anyone had any right to say 
 to any husband about any wife. She had told him 
 that she thought her niece was foolishly extrava- 
 gant and should be curbed. He had not laughed 
 at her, exactly, but had treated what she told him 
 as of no importance. 
 
 "The girl's always been a spendthrift, from the 
 minute she was old enough to throw a penny to 
 a drunken beggar. I don't object to giving but 
 I never give to beggars and I surely never give to 
 drunken beggars. I don't wholly blame her, but 
 In the old days when her parents were alive and 
 tried to live as best they could on what VanZandt 
 earned with his brush and palette, he used to laugh 
 and, sometimes, actually go without, if Frances, 
 given money to go to some store to buy the supper, 
 came home with only part of it and showed a rib- 
 bon which she'd bought for her own self with half 
 of what she'd been supposed to use to buy the food 
 for them to eat." 
 
 "You're too hard on her," said Richard. "And, 
 besides, you say, yourself, that, then, you laughed 
 at her." 
 
 "I didn't say / laughed. I didn't. That was
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 115 
 
 one reason why her father never liked me and my 
 sister thought I was a brute in petticoats." 
 
 During the weeks that followed Ward had oc- 
 casion to remember this short talk. At the time it 
 had not much impressed him; none of the Aunt's 
 warnings did. As she had hinted that she realized 
 there were too many of them. Money, too, was 
 coming more easily, and, while he could not pay all 
 the old, he managed to keep well abreast of cur- 
 rent bills, although they continually grew. He 
 was doing well, and the rapidity with which his 
 profits counted up made him indulgent of ihs 
 wife's tendency, although, more as a tribute to his 
 admiration and his confidence in Gretchen Jans 
 than because he thought it necessary, he once more 
 asked her to be careful about using money with 
 too great a freedom. The occasion for it was 
 the arrival from the smartest jeweler's in town of 
 somewhat startling bills for turquoise fol-de-rols. 
 She countered very quickly. 
 
 "Why, Dick," she said, with her big, earnest 
 eyes fixed full on his, "I did that, partly, to dis- 
 prove some of the things Aunt Gretchen has said 
 of me. I wanted just to prove to her that I am 
 not so wholly selfish as she sometimes says I am. 
 I did not buy those for myself, at all, Dick." 
 
 He gasped a little. The bill was for a large 
 amount, and he could not quite see the logic of her 
 thought that he would be more likely to approve 
 of it if the expenditure had been for someone 
 other than herself. 
 
 "For whom, then, did you buy them?" he in- 
 quired.
 
 n6 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "I bought them for Clarice," she answered, al- 
 most with an air of triumph. "Turquoises are not 
 becoming to me in the least. That surely wasn't 
 selfish!" 
 
 "Well, dear, perhaps we'd better be a little care- 
 ful about spending such large sums, even for our 
 little sisters," he said gravely. "In the first place 
 it was, really, a great deal to be spent for orna- 
 ments, just now, when the house is eating so much 
 money, and, in the second, I'm not sure that such 
 things do Clarice much good. You must remember, 
 Frances, that Aunt Gretchen won't be likely to 
 give Clarice much money that is not her way " 
 
 "I should rather think it wasn't !" 
 
 "And it may be she may not marry money. Per- 
 haps it would be just as well for us to be a little 
 careful about getting her into the habit of rich 
 jewels and such things. It might be kindness to 
 Clarice, herself." 
 
 "You're getting so you talk exactly as Aunt 
 Gretchen does," said Frances, pouting. 
 
 They were at the breakfast-table in their apart- 
 ment when this conversation took place and it was 
 interrupted by the ringing of the telephone, which, 
 at breakfast, Richard always had convenient to his 
 hand. There were likely to come early calls from 
 down-town concerning the day's business. 
 
 'Hello," said he. "What is it?" 
 
 "Crane and Douglass' man. He wishes to see 
 Mrs. Ward, sir." 
 
 Richard put his hand on the transmitter and 
 turned to Frances. "Do you want to see the deco- 
 rator's man?" he asked. "They're probably just
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT n 7 
 
 bothering you so that they may charge visits in 
 the bill, the way a doctor does. Everything has 
 been completely settled as to what they are to do." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said she, and smiled at him delight- 
 edly. "I do want to see him, very much." Then 
 the smile dimmed a little. "But perhaps he'd 
 better come a little later." 
 
 Richard, though, was curious. "What is it, 
 dear? What is there to talk about with him?" 
 
 She pouted, though her smile 'still lingered. 
 "Mustn't be inquisitive," said she. "It's a surprise 
 for you." 
 
 He went down town a bit worried. The visit of 
 the man, while he was in the very act of urging 
 her to exercise economy and her subsequent eva- 
 sion of her questioning, were worrisome. Things 
 were running into money faster even than his not- 
 able success would warrant. He hoped that she 
 had not planned more large expenditures. 
 
 The idea was so bothersome that, after he had 
 reached the offiice, he called her on the wire. 
 
 "Frances, dear," he said, as gently as he could, 
 "I've been a little worried about Crane and Doug- 
 lass' man." 
 
 "What has he done to worry you?" she asked, 
 and he could tell that she was puzzled. 
 
 "No; I mean about his calling at the house, this 
 morning. You know I asked you not to order any 
 more expensive changes in the house. That bill 
 for all that satin tapestry on your boudoir came in 
 this morning, and it's just a little er er stag- 
 gering. I wouldn't say a word, dear, if it wasn't 
 just about as transient as it is expensive that stuff.
 
 n8 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 It will need to be renewed within a year, you 
 know." 
 
 "Oh," said she, her voice drooping with a dis- 
 appointment that made him feel as if he were a 
 brute. "I thought you'd like to have me have the 
 hangings something I would like and that would 
 fit me, Richard. That old rose we had on first 
 why, when I stepped into that room it made me 
 look as sallow " 
 
 "If you'd only thought about that at the start, 
 before we had it hung," said he. 
 
 "But, Dicky dear, how could I tell, beforehand, 
 that it would make me look like an old woman? 
 Positively like a grandmother!" 
 
 "Well, it's done, now, anyway," said he. "But 
 after this and Crane and Douglass' man, this 
 morning well, you know, dear, I'm a little wor- 
 ried by the bills, and " 
 
 "Oh, that man this morning! That was some- 
 thing that you will approve," said she and in her 
 voice was such a ring of positive conviction, such 
 an accent of real pleasure that he smiled, there at 
 the distant end of the long wire. 
 
 "Well?" he said inquiringly, expecting her to 
 make it clear. 
 
 "It's a surprise," said she. "And Dicky mustn't 
 ask a single question. I can't tell you any more 
 than that. It's something that you will approve 
 that will delight you." 
 
 Still smiling, although he flinched a little, fear- 
 ful that she might be wrong about his liking it; 
 he hung up the telephone and turned back to meet 
 the business problems of the day. They were ela-
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 119 
 
 borate and bothersome, as ever, nowadays. The 
 new house had been draining him beyond his wild- 
 est dreams of the capacity of such things to de- 
 mand. Sometimes he almost wished he had not 
 been so willing to begin on it, that year. He told 
 himself that had he known how greatly it would 
 eat into his capital he would have waited till that 
 capital was larger. Phil Cartwright had advised 
 that still, Frances had been anxious not to wait. 
 Life in an apartment seemed to worry her. She 
 had felt certain she would be much happier when 
 she had a whole house to look after. It would 
 keep her busy, she had told him, to attend to it, 
 busy with the sort of thing which she was sure she 
 would enjoy. In the apartment everything was 
 done by the complete and complex system which 
 has been devised to lift all the humdrum details of 
 existence from the shoulders of the prosperous in 
 New York city. If she so much as made sugges- 
 tions, she complained, (and did it with such charm- 
 ing little wrinkles in her forehead that he laughed 
 at them and kissed them, to dispel them), they 
 always made her feel that she was interfering. It 
 had pleased him. It had seemed to indicate to him 
 that, possibly, her serious interest in life was grow- 
 ing, and, although he scarcely would admit it to 
 himself, he had discovered that a total lack of it, 
 even in the loveliest and most emphatically pettable 
 creature ever born is wearisome. 
 
 This thought that, finally, Frances was really 
 beginning to see other than life's lightest aspects, 
 had been, he realized, what had made him so en- 
 tirely willing to foster every sign of interest she
 
 120 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 showed in the new house, although the cost was 
 high so high, in fact, that, more than once, it 
 had alarmed him. 
 
 He was interrupted in his not entirely pleasant 
 reveries by a boy with mail. Lying at the top of 
 the large packet marked as "Personal," was a 
 letter addressed in rambling, boyish script. He 
 recognized it, instantly, as Monty's hand. He 
 loved his brother with exaggerated ardor, perhaps 
 because the boy so frankly worshipped him as the 
 epitome of all life held of manliness, success, de- 
 sirable maturity in all things. He had been more 
 than Monty's brother he had been his parents, 
 too, to all intents and purposes. 
 
 The boy had done magnificently at Yale, and 
 now, as his first days of relaxation from the strain 
 were losing novelty, Richard found the keenest 
 pleasure in observing that he had the love of Work 
 ingrained in him. He took the keenest pleasure 
 in devising plans for starting him upon the proper 
 track in business life. He wished the lad to have 
 as many of the chances he had missed as could be 
 given to him ; he schemed, continually, to find ways 
 of teaching him, without his knowing that he still 
 was, in a way, at school, the dangers of the pitfalls 
 into which his own unguided feet had blundered, 
 not only in commercial life, but along other lines. 
 
 But as he read the letter a slight frown grew 
 upon his face, although he was unconscious of it. 
 An office-man looked in, with papers for examina- 
 tion and planning to discuss vacation plans with 
 him, but, seeing his expression, hurriedly withdrew 
 with both the papers and the plans.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 121 
 
 Monty's letter was a rambling, boyish scrawl, 
 full of his ambitions to "get busy," as he phrased 
 it, as soon as he could end his visit to the chum 
 whom he had gone to see as soon as he had left 
 the seashore. He did not even wish, he said, to 
 "take the balance of the summer off," but wanted 
 to "hunch down to work with all his shoulder- 
 muscles tightened and his back bent for the strain," 
 the very day that he got back to town. 
 
 "It's me," he wrote, " for active industry, in- 
 stanter. The activ-er and indust-er and instant-er 
 the better. Please let me at 'em, Dick, I have a 
 hunch to hustle." 
 
 The letter not entirely like him, after all, and it 
 puzzled Richard Ward. Monty was a youth who 
 loved his friends, who loved his sports, and, some- 
 times, loved plain loafing. Such frantic longing 
 for such desperate endeavor seemed unnatural. 
 The boy wished, it seemed, to have a place found 
 for him in the office without any wait, whatever. 
 He did not even want to take the week which 
 would be necessary if he should accept an invita- 
 tion from a pal to join him on the long-distance 
 race of his sea-going motor-boat. No; Monty 
 yearned for work at once, and work at quite the 
 hardest task Dick could find for him the task 
 which, he explained, would soonest teach him all 
 about the habits of the animals he hoped to be the 
 greatest trainer of since Jay Gould, First, the Wall 
 Street Bostock bulls and bears. 
 
 "What's happened to the kid?" the elder brother 
 asked himself as he read four or five crowded 
 pages of this thought, repeated in a dozen ways.
 
 122 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 Then, as he saw that he was coming to the let- 
 ter's end, he thought he got a hint of what the 
 animating impulse was. Monty somewhat stiffly, 
 and with one or two erasures, poured out, here, 
 his admiration of Clarice. 
 
 The thing was a real shock to Richard Ward. 
 Monty, his little brother Monty, was seriously very 
 much in love, and with Clarice ! 
 
 For five minutes more he sat there and again the 
 clerk who peered in through the door decided not 
 to interrupt him. On his face there was a strange 
 expression which the clerk had never seen before; 
 it very plainly would be a fatal moment to inquire 
 about vacations. In Ward's mind there was a 
 whirl of worry of a sort which he had not known 
 in the past. 
 
 Suddenly it had burst upon him that he would 
 not wish for Monty just the sort of married life 
 which he was finding his to be. Suddenly he shrank 
 from the idea of subjecting the bright youngster to 
 the constant strain of worry, desperate endeavor, 
 small reward which made his own existence 
 
 He had almost told himself that it was making 
 his existence miserable, but he did not go that far 
 that is, he fought the word back, after it had 
 flashed into his brain, and would not let it stand 
 as an expression of his actual feelings. Miserable? 
 He was not miserable ! He would not admit so 
 vicious an expression. 
 
 Yet, as he sat there, pondering on his little 
 brother's letter, his deep soul knew well that that 
 had been the very word which really would best 
 express what he was feeling. He was tired from
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 123 
 
 the strain of making money, money, money. No 
 matter what great sums he won, always was there 
 a demand for more. And what, in actual fact, had 
 he received for it? He was building a great house 
 but would it be a home? Not, certainly, the 
 sort of home which he had pictured in ten thou- 
 sand reveries before he married. That home had 
 been a place for him and for the wife who shared 
 it with them absolutely theirs, exclusive, full of 
 comfort, full of rest, a sweet confessional in which 
 to pour one's soul out into sympathetic ears. Small, 
 dusky rooms, and not too many of them had been 
 pictured in his dreams; an open fire or two, deep 
 chairs (perhaps a little worn and, therefore, full 
 of comfort), a pair of well-trained servants, whose 
 chief usefulness would be to keep the world away. 
 . . . Clarice was like her sister. Monty had 
 drawn pictures, he had not the slightest doubt, 
 much like those which he had, himself, drawn. He 
 wished the boy to be completely happy. . . . 
 What would be the really kind thing for him to do ? 
 Despite the clerk, who, now, was looking in so 
 often that he had attracted his attention, he de- 
 cided, then and there, to send the boy away upon a 
 journey which should give him time for thought. 
 If, really, he loved Clarice, why, then he would, 
 he could say nothing. Love was love. He had 
 and did love Frances and the person who had tried 
 to influence him against her through a strategy 
 planned to force forgetfulness, or through inuendo 
 planned to change his feelings, would have earned 
 his instant and lasting enmity. He knew that. 
 His experience with his best friend, Cartwright, had
 
 i2 4 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 been quite sufficient to convince him. Phil had 
 never, really, tried to stop his marriage, yet the 
 mere fact that he disapproved, although he tried 
 to hide the disapproval, had been enough to 
 threaten their old friendship a friendship which, 
 through all their bachelor days had been the sweet- 
 est thing that either of them had experienced. 
 
 He could not say to Monty that he was endan- 
 gering his happiness by letting himself fall in love 
 with one who was exactly like his wife in many 
 ways. It would be a liberty unwarranted, even to 
 an elder brother and it would be a tremendous 
 criticism of his wife. He frowned almost fiercely. 
 It would be doing what Aunt Gretchen had done 
 so persistently and often that it had almost made 
 him dislike her! But he would give the boy a 
 chance he would force a chance on him, if neces- 
 sary. He pulled pad and pen toward him and 
 wrote : 
 
 Dear boy: 
 
 I am glad you feel so energetic. 
 That's right. Be ambitious. There is 
 nothing pays so fine an interest as young 
 ambition. But you musn't be too greedy 
 for the troubles that will come. Don't 
 fear they'll come soon enough. You've 
 been working hard, at college, and you 
 need'nt buckle down to other work with 
 such startling suddenness and speed. Be- 
 fore you start to work remember mind 
 you, I'm going to help you all I can: 
 there'll be as good a chance for you, here
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 125 
 
 in my office, as I possjbly can make for 
 you, and it will be ready just as soon as 
 you are really ready for it that there'll 
 be enough in years to come to make you 
 hate the thought of it. I am sure of this, 
 although I know there is no laziness in 
 you. In that we are alike. And it is 
 because we are alike that I am sure that, 
 on occasion, in your later life, you'll 
 loathe the thought of work of the 
 eternal daily grind to turn out money, 
 money, money. 
 
 When Fall comes you may begin, but 
 not before, if you please, Monty. Take 
 a rest and see a little of the world. You 
 will have small chance for either after 
 you have started in this office. I am send- 
 ing you a check with this, and I want you, 
 when you get it, to investigate the map 
 of Europe, find out what, on it, attracts 
 you most, and then go down and buy 
 your ticket for that dot with stop-overs 
 at any other dots which may in minor 
 ways attract. Come back in the autumn. 
 Then you shall have your chance to 
 tackle the Great Problem. But I want 
 you to start off upon this journey on the 
 first ship sailing after you have finished 
 reading this. You'll find it fun, old man, 
 and later you will find it to have been ex- 
 tremely useful. Run along now; trot the 
 globe, a little ; have as good times as you 
 can. I'm sending you enough so that you
 
 126 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 can really see something, and I know you 
 won't be assinine. 
 
 Dick. 
 
 P.S. Better not come to New York, at 
 all. I'm buried to my ears in worries of 
 one sort or another business, you know : 
 the sort of thing you are so anxious to 
 get into and Frances is engaged from 
 morn till night on the new house. 
 
 He stopped here, and twirled the pen in fingers, 
 which, as he looked at them, he could see were 
 just a litle tremulous not through any momentary 
 nervousness: Monty's situation was not in the least 
 acute; but one of the results of the tremendous 
 overstrain beneath which he had been, of late 
 months, striving. 
 
 Then he took a fresh sheet and wrote on it : 
 
 "As for the other matter, Monty, (I can 
 read between the lines, you see), I 
 wouldn't think about such things for a 
 few years. You're young exceedingly: 
 much younger than you think and 
 Clarice is a mere child." 
 
 He sealed the letter in an envelope, addressed 
 it, stamped it and rang for the boy to come and 
 mail it; but, as he came, he tore it open, threw the 
 envelope, fresh stamp and all into the basket 
 (whence the keen-eyed, thrifty Irish lad recovered 
 it at once, took out the added sheet on which his 
 words about Clarice were written, tore it into mi-
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 127 
 
 nute particles and threw them, in their turn into 
 the basket. Then he sealed the letter in another 
 envelope, re-addressed and -stamped it and gave 
 it to the boy. 
 
 "Take that to the chute, yourself," he said. 
 
 The anxious clerk would, then, no longer be 
 denied, but hurried in with many papers and much 
 important talk, blinds all of them, in his mind, 
 to the discussion of vacation. Soon Richard had 
 forgotten everything the new house, Frances, 
 Monty and Clarice, in the absorption of the grind 
 which, although he did not realize it, quite, was 
 grinding grist for them, alone. Frances, the new 
 house, Clarice and Monty they were the burdens 
 he must carry. Strain, struggle, strive he must to 
 carry them, for they were very heavy burdens, 
 much heavier than he realized, although his back 
 was finally beginning to ache wofully beneath the 
 overpowering weight. 
 
 Monty, when the time came, did not seem to 
 think much of the European plan, but at lengtn 
 the "length" was very largely in his face, too 
 departed on a journey which was to take nine 
 months.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 The dead heat .of August came and made the 
 city gasp. Frances and Clarice were out of town, 
 much of the time, and Richard saw little of Aunt 
 Gretchen or Phil Cartwright. Most of his even- 
 ings, when, even after hours, he was not busy with 
 the work of making money, were club-spent or 
 devoted to the open surface cars. A giant of the 
 street had told him about open surface-cars as 
 cures for some of the ills which come from too 
 tight application to the problems Wall street offers 
 to its devotees. 
 
 "You see life, there, uncooked," he had explained 
 to him. "You'll find it a rare sight." 
 
 Richard was too tired to so much as smile at his 
 friend's pun, but he tried out his prescription and 
 he found it good. Once or twice he went on long 
 rides with the man, himself, and it astonished and 
 amused him to observe this master of uncounted 
 money watching with the keenest intdrest the love 
 affairs of clerks, who crowded tight against their 
 sweethearts on inside-end seats and planned with 
 them, in whispers when the car was silent and in 
 shouts when it was running, the future which they 
 were to share. Once he caught a half-hour's con- 
 versation between sweethearts, which held him in 
 a closer fascination than a play could have. 
 
 Their marriage, it appeared, was close at hand. 
 The youth was arguing for a flat up in the Bronx 
 which rented for thirty dollars.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 129 
 
 "No, the maiden said, "we can't afford to pay 
 that much." 
 
 "A man," the youth replied, with grandeur, 
 "can spend a quarter of his income on his rent 
 and" 
 
 "Not and save," the girl said, interrupting, "and 
 if we don't save we'll like as_not get fighting. I've 
 been watching folks and *' 
 
 "Money isn't everything," the young man chided. 
 
 "No; that's right; it ain't," she answered, "but 
 the few things that it ain't can mostly be bought 
 with it. Now, Jim, don't you get gay and plan to 
 have your wad spent Saturday noons, five hours 
 before you get it. We're going to save, Jim, you 
 can bet on that, and so we'll take that cheap flat 
 the one at twenty two. Gee, I wish I knew where 
 we could find one for fifteen! You won't be in 
 it, only evenings. It's a darned sight better, Jim, 
 than what we either of us have got now." 
 
 "But you'll be in it all day long!" 
 
 "Well, if I get cramps because it's small I'll 
 cure 'em with a little think about the bank-roll 
 growing." 
 
 Ward was sorry when they left the car at a 
 near corner. He would have liked to hear more of 
 their talk. 
 
 "That chap," he caught himself reflecting, "is 
 going to be a very happy man." 
 
 Instantly his mind turned back upon himself in 
 sharp reproach. It had been another mind which 
 had commented his sub-conscious mind and he 
 felt guilty, felt as if it had insulted Frances, for, 
 undoubtedly, it had compared, in a swift survey,
 
 130 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 this poor girl, who probably was now, before her 
 marriage, selling ribbons in some cheap depart- 
 ment store, with his own wife. While the shop 
 girl urged her "steady" to take the cheaper of two 
 flats, so that they might achieve a "bank-roll," 
 Frances was arranging for his own removal from 
 the elegant, extravagant and comfortless apart- 
 ment they abode in, now, to the more elegant, 
 more expensive, and, he feared with all his soul, 
 more comfortless establishment which she had real- 
 ly compelled him with a soft force but an irresis- 
 tible, to erect upon the Avenue. While the shop- 
 girl was restraining her young man and planning 
 for his quick establishment of a "fat bank-roll," 
 Frances was continually spending more and more 
 and then yet more of the great sums of money 
 which were coming in, as the result of his tremen- 
 dous and nerve-racking efforts, and still had to be 
 restrained to keep her from an even greater lavish- 
 ness. 
 
 " That chap," he said again, "is going to be a 
 very happy man." 
 
 He had gone, by this time, to the Battery, upon 
 a Lexington Avenue car, and, leaving it there at 
 the route's end, boarded another car, uptown 
 bound, without observing, without caring, what line 
 it might ply on. As it journeyed northward he 
 paid small attention to the streets it traversed, but, 
 suddenly, when it swung around a curve abruptly, 
 he caught an angling glimpse of the illuminated 
 cross upon the church near his old quarters. A 
 moment" later and the car was clanging through a 
 romping crowd of children, overflowing from the
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 131 
 
 park and playing just before the door by which, for 
 years, he and Phil had entered their dingy, but, 
 it seemed to him, this evening, most delightful old 
 apartment. He craned his neck as he went by and 
 saw that, in the upper windows, out of which, so 
 many, many nights, he had looked upon the queer, 
 contradictory crowds which thronged the square, 
 bright lights were burning. He was astonished, 
 and perhaps, a bit ashamed, to find that in his 
 heart there stirred a thrill of homesickness. They 
 had been fine old quarters those dingy, littered 
 rooms, and, in a way, he had been very happy 
 there with silent, understanding Phil the old 
 hard-head! He wondered who the chaps were 
 there, this evening, and if, some day, they would 
 abandon them, as he had, with the idea that they 
 would be happier 
 
 He caught himself up short, again. Too often, 
 lately, he had to catch himself up short, that way. 
 
 At the corner of the square he left the car and 
 strolled over to Aunt Gretchen's. He was aston- 
 ished to find Phil there, still more astonished when, 
 not long after his arrival, he departed, almost as 
 if he wished to certainly go off soon enough so 
 that there would not be a question of their start- 
 ing off in company and thus being forced into a 
 conversation certain to be intimate. 
 
 "Phil's looking well," he said, when he had 
 gone, trying not to show that he was hurt a little. 
 
 "You're not." 
 
 "No? I'm feeling well enough. The summer 
 heat has told on me a little, possibly. Haven't 
 stuck my nose out of the city once this summer."
 
 132 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Oh, always there is something to detain me." 
 
 "Business good?" 
 
 "Why, yes; as good as can be looked for at 
 this time of year." 
 
 "New house is crowding you a little, eh?" 
 
 "Oh, of course; it is a big investment." 
 
 "Bigger than you counted on, a good deal, 
 Richard, isn't it?" 
 
 "There have been some extras." 
 
 "I've been afraid there would be more than you 
 expected." 
 
 "Building always costs more than a man ex- 
 pects. You've seen it, lately, have you?" 
 
 "Yes; I've seen it. And, Richard, I could see 
 a great big *W' on it a half-a-block away." 
 
 "A V?" said Richard, puzzled, trying to re- 
 member any detail of the architect's expensive and 
 extensive drawings which had provided for the 
 use of his initial anywhere upon the structure. 
 "For 'Ward,' you mean? Where was it?" 
 
 "No," said Aunt Gretchen, with a snap of her 
 firm lips, "for 'waste' and it was everywhere. 
 Wasted money, wasted effort, wasted mind and 
 soul and body. I don't like your new house, Rich- 
 ard." 
 
 He had thought she might be critical the new 
 house represented Frances and she was ever criti- 
 cal of whatever represented Frances. But he had 
 not looked for utter condemnation. 
 
 "I am sorry," he said slowly. 
 
 "You're not as sorry, now, as you are going to 
 be, I am afraid," she answered. "For a million-
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 133 
 
 alre that house might be all well enough; for you, 
 it is all wrong." 
 
 "I'm going to be a millionaire." 
 
 "Not while that Initial represents that word and 
 while that word stands for the most important 
 thing about your life, you're not. I don't mean 
 that I don't wish you well. I hope you'll be a mil- 
 lionaire." 
 
 But her face and manner as she said the words 
 did not exactly indicate that she believed the hope 
 would be realized. 
 
 He rose to go, not quite offended, but depressed. 
 Everything, it seemed, must, nowadays, occur to 
 add to his depression. "You're as bad as the 
 young couple !" he exclaimed and tried to smile at 
 her as if she had not worried him. 
 
 "What couple?" 
 
 "Oh, nobody; a couple on the street car. I must 
 run along. I've been thinking about Phil. I'll 
 look him up, I think." 
 
 "Don't go; sit down. I want to talk to you, al- 
 though I don't believe I am good company." 
 
 Reluctantly he sat down upon the hair-cloth sofa 
 which his wife detested so. As he felt its slippy 
 surface under him he did not wonder at her hat- 
 red of it; as he looked about the dull and heavy 
 room he did not wonder that the whole environ- 
 ment hurt her almost to the point of actual agony, 
 as she had often said it did. Aunt Gretchen saw 
 his glance rove here and there. 
 
 "You don't like it, Richard, do you? Well, it 
 isn't up-to-date ; but I can tell you something which 
 may make it seem a little better to you maybe,
 
 134 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 maybe not. It was paid for, Richard, when we 
 bought it, for we did not buy it till we had the 
 money in the bank to draw on. There was never 
 one red cent of debt upon our home." 
 
 He forced himself to laugh. It must be either 
 that or hotly rising wrath. "Aunt Gretchen," he 
 said carefully, "you're hard to well, to " 
 
 "Hard to bear, sometimes, you mean, do you? 
 Yes; I presume I am. If I didn't like you, though, 
 you'd never have the chance to bear me. That's 
 what I used to tell your wife when she got aggra- 
 vated over things. But tell me something of your 
 business. Tell me what you're buying, these days. 
 Tell me what you're selling, too. I've talked 
 'street' with several, of late." 
 
 The change of subject saved his nerves. He 
 laughed. "You always have talked 'street' with 
 several. I only wish the 'several' that you talk 
 'street' to would only talk to me as franky." 
 
 "I don't want to harp, now, Richard, but they 
 won't, not while you're building houses that you 
 can't afford. You may be sure of that. That 
 house will close a-many mouths to you. But go on, 
 tell me what you have been doing." 
 
 He bit his lips but laid his deals before her. His 
 operations did not seem to rouse her commendation 
 as he had believed they would. It disappointed 
 him a little. 
 
 "Who knows you're buying on those lines?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "We've kept it very quiet." 
 
 "I would." 
 
 "We shall. I'm going down the coast, tomor-
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 135 
 
 row, to get Frances. It will be about the only day 
 I shall take off, this summer. She's been lonely, 
 too, since you took Clare away." 
 
 "Yes; Clare's told me that a dozen times a day. 
 She has been lonely, too. I've had two weeks of 
 hearing it, without a break, whenever I have seen 
 her. She says it constantly, like a young parrot 
 asking for a cracker. But I couldn't leave her 
 there with Frances. I wonder if you know just 
 why I went and got her?" 
 
 "Aunt Gretchen, you say too much against my 
 wife. I can't listen to this steady stream of cri- 
 ticism." 
 
 "All right; don't blame you. But the reason I 
 went after Clare may interest you. Monty, when 
 he came from school, went down to see them and 
 came back with bulging eyes because of Clare's ex- 
 traordinary dresses. She didn't have such very 
 wondrous dresses when she left here, so I went to 
 see what he had seen. I saw, all right, and then 
 I brought her home. She's angry. I half think 
 the child's got so she actually hates me, but I've 
 done what I could do to make her sensible. 
 
 "But we've drifted off the subject, haven't we? 
 We started to talk Wall Street." 
 
 "We always seem to drift. Well, I've been buy- 
 ing R. and T. and buying very heavily. I have 
 reasons to believe " 
 
 She nodded. "I never speculate, myself," said 
 she, "but it's your business to, and I should think 
 that might be very good. I saw the man who 
 heads the market on the other side, the other day." 
 
 His lips compressed a little. He had always
 
 136 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 hated Suffern Thorne and they had been antago- 
 nists too often to allow the hate to even cool. 
 "You saw him? Where?" 
 
 "He had just brought Frances in from driving 
 in his motor. She says it's a much better motor 
 than the one you hired for her, down there." 
 
 Her keen eyes watched him sharply as he lis- 
 tened, but, by a great effort of the will (for he 
 was wholly conscious of her surveillance) he hid 
 the least sign of astonishment or of chagrin, if he 
 felt any. 
 
 "That," said she, and shut her lips between each 
 little group of words with a tight snap, "was one 
 good reason for my bringing Clare away. I sup- 
 pose you know, don't you, that Frances had ar- 
 rayed her in three trunksfull of new finery." 
 
 'I knew that she had bought some things for 
 her." 
 
 "Well; I didn't till your brother told me of it. 
 Where is Monty, now?" 
 
 "I sent him for a litle run around upon the other 
 side. Just out of college, that way, it seemed right 
 that he should have a look at things before he 
 buckled down to such a grind as I am tied to." 
 
 She nodded. "I wonder if you have more sense 
 than I am giving you due credit for?" she asked. 
 
 "I was worried about Monty." 
 
 She actually smiled. "Richard, you have made 
 me feel that there's some hope for you. I am 
 glad it worried you and that you sent the boy away. 
 Clare worries me as much as Frances does." 
 
 "We all have worries."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 137 
 
 "Monty is a fine, bright boy." 
 
 "He is, indeed." 
 
 "Take care of him." 
 
 "I'm going to, if I can." 
 
 "By the way, have you told Frances what your 
 operations are?" 
 
 "I may have mentioned them." 
 
 "I wouldn't." 
 
 He was near to anger, now, again. "Why not?" 
 
 "Well, you know who's fighting you the hardest 
 on the street? You know whose money's every- 
 where against you and who, in his clammy, blood- 
 less way, has sworn he'd have your scalp, don't 
 you? Of course you know whom I refer to, 
 Richard." 
 
 "You mean Suffern Thorne again?" His color 
 deepened just a little. 
 
 "Yes, Suffern Thorne. Well, as I've told you 
 when I went to get Clarice I had to wait for quite 
 a little while before Frances happened to come in 
 from motoring with Suffern Thorne," 
 
 He turned a really angry face on her, this time. 
 "My dear Aunt Gretchen," he said hotly, "don't 
 go too far. I'd trust my wife with anyone with 
 whom she cared to go. I don't like Suffern 
 Thorne; but I am not afraid that Frances will re- 
 veal my business secrets, to him or anybody elsefl 
 She" 
 
 "I'm not afraid of her, myself, the way you 
 mean," said she. "Now don't get snippy, Richard. 
 The thing that worried me a little was the chance 
 that she might be careless, if she knew what your
 
 138 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 line of buying was. And if she should talk, care- 
 lessly, it would be bad." 
 
 It pacified him partially. "She won't talk," he 
 said. "I don't believe she would remember what I 
 said about my business long enough. It doesn't 
 interest her, ever." 
 
 "No," was the reply, "it doesn't and that may 
 be a real mercy. When are you going to move?" 
 
 "We're being moved today. Everything will be 
 all settled by tomorrow." He hailed the change 
 of subject with relief. "I want to get it over with 
 before she comes up from the seashore." 
 
 "In my day," Gretchen Jans replied, "when their 
 homes were moved was when young women were 
 most certain to be there and busy." 
 
 Again he hid annoyance in a laugh. "If I don't 
 hurry off, Aunt Gretchen, you and I are going to 
 have a fight." 
 
 "You'd better hurry on, then, Richard, for I 
 shouldn't want to have a fight with you." 
 
 Aunt Gretchen Jans looked long and solemnly 
 at the vacant door-way after he had passed through 
 it. When, finally, she let her gaze shift, it was 
 not to look at anything with definite interest, but 
 to let it rest abstractedly upon her hands which she 
 turned over and then back again, in turn, repeated- 
 ly, without once seeing them. She had really, al- 
 though he did not dream it, been most considerate 
 of him she had not told him that her niece had 
 spent, down at the shore, far more, even, than the 
 generous allowance he made her, and had bor- 
 rowed a full thousand dollars of her. She had 
 let her have the money simply to save Richard
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 139 
 
 worry. Gretchen Jans' heart was not wholly with- 
 out soft spots. 
 
 
 
 Ward had not realized how tired he was until 
 he took the boat, for Sandy Hook, where he could 
 make an advantageous train-connection on his little 
 journey down to get his wife and bring her home 
 to the new house. Then he found that never in his 
 life had he been quite so tired and nervous. 
 The boat on which he travelled leaves New York, 
 each week-day summer afternoons, so timed as to 
 appeal, particularly, to the men of the financial 
 district. It does not cater to the general public 
 and it has no Sunday schedule. There were on it 
 not less than a hundred men he knew, but he was 
 rather careful to avoid their company their greet- 
 ings, even. When Laffan asked him to make four 
 for a few hands of poker he refused him almost 
 curtly. 
 
 His thoughts were full of contrasts of the dull 
 reality and the bright forecasts he had made. To- 
 morrow he would take his young wife to their 
 new house ! 
 
 There would be little of the bounding joy which 
 he had thought to feel on that occasion. The 
 building of the house had grown into a burden, 
 long ago, although he had expected it to be a vivid 
 jay. Its furnishing, which he had thought would 
 be a task which would be carried to completion 
 through a series of delightful consultations with 
 the woman whom he loved, and visits, in her com- 
 pany, to the great, fascinating shops, had been, in- 
 stead, accomplished almost without discussion and
 
 I 4 o THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 at a cost which, when he had cast a total at his 
 desk, that morning, appalled him. He was in the 
 utterly anomalous position of a man who finds 
 that he is making twice as much as he has ever 
 made before, but finds his outgo trebled. It was 
 annoying, it was more it might become embar- 
 rassing if it did not immediately cease. 
 
 Instead of going to his wife with an exultant 
 heart to lead her to a new home full of character, 
 and mutual thought and comfort, he was going to 
 her full of worry, to conduct her to a glittering 
 house, planned by a stranger, filled by strangers 
 with strange furnishings, which he felt at the start, 
 would never really be a home at all. He knew 
 now, that he had not been ready to assume a task 
 so mighty as this residential enterprise but, then 
 it had not been so mighty when he had assumed it. 
 Except the land it stood on and the grey stone 
 walls, there was little in the structure now, which 
 had not been elaborated since he had first accepted 
 the architect's designs elaborated, always with the 
 thought of high display, not with the thought of 
 home-like comfort. 
 
 But he fought the growing sense of disappoint- 
 ment and dissatisfaction down, as he neared land, 
 and before the little railway journey ended, found 
 that there would be after all, much real delight in 
 seeing Frances after this short separation, and that 
 he should enjoy the journey to the new house later, 
 with a real zest, after all. He decided that he 
 would refrain from all reproaches, although, on the 
 way down, he had been carefully deciding on how 
 best he might express a number. The only thing
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 141 
 
 which he must express which would be sure to be 
 counted as unpleasant, would be his hope that 
 Frances would not further interfere between her 
 aunt and Clarice. To fail to speak of this would 
 be he felt, unfair to Clarice herself. He was very 
 fond of her. She was a beautiful and charming girl 
 who, now that she was budding into womanhood, 
 continually revealed new phases of attractiveness. 
 He surely could not blame Monty for loving her. 
 If only she were not so much like 
 
 He brought his mind up sharply, for suddenly 
 he realized the words in which his brain had al- 
 most phrased its criticism of the girl whom there 
 were indications that his brother might, in course 
 of time desire to marry. He had almost let it say : 
 
 "If only she were not so much like Frances !" 
 
 This put him back into a miserable frame of 
 mind, and thus he drove to the hotel; but to his 
 great delight, a sharp reversal came with the first 
 glimpse of her. 
 
 She was delighted by the sight of him that was 
 very plain from every line of her appealing face, 
 from every eager motion of her body as she sped 
 to him. 
 
 "Why, Dick!" she cried. "I must be dreadful- 
 ly in love with you! I don't believe we are old 
 married folks, at all. We must be a young bride 
 and groom." 
 
 He postponed even the one unpleasant thing 
 which he had planned to say to her and bade her 
 very gaily tell her maid to get her luggage ready 
 for the trip to town. He even smiled when that ex- 
 tremely well-trained servant whom, of late, he al-
 
 142 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 most had begun to loathe, appeared and greeted 
 him exactly as the perfect maid should greet the 
 master of the household. 
 
 All his doubts about his wife's proper interest 
 in their new home vanished when she cried in rapt- 
 ure at his brief descriptions of what had been done 
 since she had seen it; he could not find it in his 
 heart to criticize her once, as he had planned to, 
 for the unwarranted additions to the cost of house 
 and furnishings which she had made without con- 
 sulting him. He began to feel a real resentment 
 towardAunt Gretchen for the state of mind she had 
 aroused in him; even to pity poor Clarice because 
 she had been forced to leave her charming sister 
 and the pleasant life of the elaborate hotel and go 
 back to the stiff old house upon the Square. Final- 
 ly he found that he was speaking very pleasantly of 
 what he feared was going on in Monty's heart. 
 
 "I think the scamp is dead in love with her, al- 
 though he does not really know it, yet," he said. 
 
 "What fun!" cried Frances, and he actually 
 nodded. 
 
 But just before the time came for departure, 
 while they were surrounded by the bustle of the 
 maids and porters who were taking out the luggage, 
 came a slight reaction. 
 
 "Oh, I must leave word for Mr. Thome," said 
 Frances. "Dick, you haven't any notion how de- 
 lightful he has been to me. We have motored 
 every day. Without him really, I think I should 
 have died of the monotony." 
 
 His face grew grave upon the instant. "I was 
 going to speak of that, my dear," he said. "I'd
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 143 
 
 rather you dropped Thorne. We never have been 
 friends you know, and lately he has become my 
 bitterest enemy in business. Besides he isn't quite 
 the kind of man you ought to know he surely 
 isn't one whom you should let yourself be seen with 
 much, or even any without me and with me, I'm 
 afraid there isn't much chance that he'll seek you." 
 
 She was instantly offended, although it seemed 
 to him that he had put the matter very gently. 
 
 "He's been very nice to me," said she,, and 
 pouted. "Don't you think you are a little incon- 
 siderate to demand " 
 
 "I'm not demanding dear, I'm only asking and 
 explaining to you why you oughtn't to have any- 
 thing to do with him. The man is not, in fact, at 
 all fit for a lady's company." 
 
 "He's always said the nicest things of you he 
 thinks you are so clever on the Street! I think 
 you're most ungenerous. I do believe you're 
 jealous, Dick!" 
 
 "Well, Frances," he replied, trying very hard to 
 keep his temper and be gentle with her, as a father 
 would be gentle with a foolish child, "I am quite 
 sure I am quite right, and I'm as sure that you will 
 do as I have asked." 
 
 They heard the tinkle of the telephone out in the 
 minute reception-room of the suite. An instant 
 later they heard Elise answering it. 
 
 "It's Mr. Thorne, madame," the maid said, 
 entering. "He wishes to be told if you are ready." 
 
 "Tell Mr. Thorne," said Frances petulantly, 
 "that I'm very sorry I can't go with him to-day, 
 but Mr. Ward has just come down to take me to
 
 144 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 New York. Be sure to let him know that I am 
 ve-ry sor-ry" 
 
 "Bien, madame." 
 
 "Dick, I think you're very, very inconsiderate," 
 Frances cried, as she turned back to him. "Most 
 
 inconsiderate. Indeed I do If you are ready 
 
 I am. The boy just said the motor " 
 
 "All right; we'll go then," Richard answered. 
 
 The start of the great journey to the brand-new 
 house was not precisely as he had expected it to be.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 On the little railroad journey they did not have 
 much opportunity for talk. The single parlor-car 
 of the gritty train was crowded, and their chairs 
 were not adjoining. But on the steamer, as they 
 cut swiftly through the Lower Bay, the Narrows, 
 and finally the Upper Bay's blue, beautiful expanse, 
 Richard found a place secluded by a shielding life- 
 boat, where they had more privacy. 
 
 The magic of her presence was strong on him. 
 He had begun to wonder, too, if the shocked and 
 sorry pang her friendship for his enemy had made 
 him feel, had not been utterly unreasonable. 
 
 Almost consciously against his will he found 
 himself entranced anew by her delightful beauty, 
 listened to and owned himself afresh a captive 
 of the soft, caressing modulations of her voice. 
 He had (journeyed to her quite resolved to 
 make his feelings very plain and soon the journey 
 homeward would be coming to an end with not a 
 word of criticism spoken. He searched his mind 
 for the set speech he had decided on about her mani- 
 fold extravagances, her inconsideration in ordering 
 expensive alterations in the house without consult- 
 ing him; his lips were actually opened to begin 
 carefully on his reproaches when (quite by chance: 
 he knew there was no art in it) she laid her hand 
 appealingly upon his sleeve as she enthuisiastically
 
 146 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 told him voluntarily, as if the thing was worthy of 
 his praise, how it had happened that she first had 
 thought of adding to the carven wainscoting of the 
 new dining-room. The shrewd manager of the 
 firm which had put in the woodwork had taken to 
 her photographs of some celebrated European 
 dining-room. Captivated by its dignity and charm, 
 she had herself gone to the office of the architect 
 and said that they must have a wainscot like it. 
 
 It made it very costly," Richard murmured, won- 
 dering where the stern, unyielding censure he had 
 planned had vanished to. 
 
 "Yes; he said it would be costly. But, dear, it 
 seemed to me that we were building not a house to 
 sell to live in for a year or two and then auction 
 to the highest bidder but a house to live in all 
 our lives. I thought the matter over and I just 
 decided that my own dear Dicky Ward should have 
 the best in his home, no matter if an architect and 
 an interior woodwork stupid did try to make me 
 let him get along with second-best." 
 
 Richard actually stammered when he tried to 
 start an explanation of the fact that the large sum 
 which he had set aside with which to build the 
 house had been long since absorbed, and that in 
 order to be prompt in payment of the unexpected 
 bills, he had been forced of late, to borrow fear- 
 somely to borrow and use money on the house, 
 which if he borrowed for any purpose whatsoever, 
 he should have borrowed for his business, already 
 sorely cramped by the unceasing demands for more 
 from architects and contractors. 
 
 He found it quite impossible to reproach her,
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 147 
 
 even to emphatically warn her. The charm of her 
 fascinating femininity had crept into his blood, his 
 heart, his brain. The fresh breeze from the Bay 
 caught up the subtle perfume of her person and en- 
 wrapped him in it. He had not been parted from 
 her for so long a time before, since they had mar- 
 ried, and now his whole soul thrilled in answer to 
 her mere propinquity. Alone, in New York City, 
 pondering only on the foolish things which she had 
 done, it had been easy to condemn her, quite simple 
 to frame into sentences the stern reproaches he 
 would offer her. Here, at her side, her great liquid 
 eyes raised now and then, to look into his own with 
 their child-like appeal, her explanations of her 
 wanton waste of money delightful through their 
 very lack of logic their innocence, it seemed to 
 him, now that he was near enough to feel the thrill- 
 ing touch of her soft fingers he could not force 
 the words of criticism from his lips. 
 
 He imagined the expression which would form 
 upon Aunt Gretchen's strong, disgusted face if she 
 were but witness of this scene of his surrender, 
 and with a glance at Frances' tempting lips which, 
 instantly he longed to crush with kisses he smiled. 
 He fancied how Phil Cartwright would character- 
 ize his weakness he could see the big, smooth 
 face of his old chum as he listened, with thin lips 
 shutting ever tighter on the disapproval which he 
 would not, definitely, voice. For an instant this 
 thought pained him, spurred him; then his eyes 
 wandered from the deck to Frances' dainty slippers, 
 the glimpse of silken stockings upon wondrous 
 ankles just above them, up along the tempting,
 
 148 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 captivating curves of her smooth, graceful figure 
 to her face, her eyes, her lips all his, all his her 
 lips, her lips and he forgot Phil Cartwright. 
 
 Then he considerel Suffern Thorne in turn, and 
 the emphatic protest he had planned to offer against 
 her friendship with his enemy. It was the infantile, 
 undoubtable and quite undoubted innocence of her 
 big blue eyes and broad, smooth brow, unworried, 
 which killed his final thought of further talk about 
 it. 
 
 "Well," he finally said, weakly, "What's done 
 is done," I suppose. "We can't help that, dear. 
 I'm not even going to scold you. But, in the fu- 
 ture" 
 
 "I'm so glad !" She snuggled up to him delight- 
 edly, and, after a quick glance round about to see 
 that no one visible was watching them, pursed her 
 lips up, showing that she really wished she dared 
 to kiss him. She did venture far enough to raise 
 a gloved hand to his cheek, and smoothed it with 
 a charming surreptitiousness. 
 
 Involuntarily he also, looked around. The pet- 
 ting was delightful, but men worry more about such 
 demonstrations where the public may look on and 
 be amused than women do. No one could^see how- 
 ever, and he settled back to wonderful, luxurious 
 enjoyment of her. 
 
 "/ wouldn't care," she said, observing his swift 
 reconnaisance, "if all the world should stare 
 through big green goggles, Dicky. When you are 
 so sweet and lovely I just have to pet you, here 
 and there, and let my mouth show how it loves to 
 kiss you."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 149 
 
 And so the mighty understanding, which he had 
 determined must be reached, regarding many 
 matters, came to an abrupt and not impressive end. 
 
 Not long before the boat slowed down before 
 she worked into her pier (for five minutes Frances' 
 firm, caressing fingers had been pressed in frequent, 
 loving little signals into that arm of his which was 
 concealed beneath the overcoat he carried), she 
 seemed suddenly to think about another matter. 
 
 "Do you know, dear, what Aunt Gretchen did to 
 Clarice?" she asked. 
 
 "Why er what did she do to her?" 
 
 "She came down and took her home with her, 
 after the most dreadful scene! She said I had 
 quite put you into bankruptcy by buying the poor 
 child a dress or two to wear she had absolutely 
 nothing fit, dear, I assure you! and that she 
 wouldn't leave her, for another minute, under my 
 contaminating influence." 
 
 There was another matter. He sat silent, al- 
 though he knew he should assure her that he 
 thought Aunt Gretchen had been right. 
 
 "The poor child's youth will go in misery, as 
 mine went," said his wife, with a pathetic droop of 
 voice and countenance quite genuine, both of 
 them. "I don't think she ought to live there, any 
 longer. It's too dreadful. I " 
 
 This really alarmed him. "No; Frances," he 
 said very firmly, "I think we'd best not interfere 
 between your aunt and Clarice. Clarice is extrava- 
 gant, and " 
 
 "I know she is; that was exactly what I had in 
 mind. She needs someone who would be kind in
 
 i 5 o THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 teaching her. Aunt Gretchen why, she's some- 
 times almost brutal! Now if Clarice were con- 
 stantly with me, I could by kindness teach her how 
 to be more sensible, without utterly destroying all 
 her" 
 
 But the balance of her sentence perished before 
 the peal of hearty laughter which the thought 
 aroused in him. 
 
 "I think her present teacher may accomplish 
 more than you would," Richard said, when he had 
 sobered. 
 
 "But Richard, dear, the child is miserable. I'm 
 so sorry for her that " 
 
 The boat was at the dock and a German baron, 
 who had been observing Yankee seashore customs, 
 and writing home about American bad manners, 
 cut their conversation short by ruthlessly dividing 
 them with his suit case. 
 
 It was almost dark when, in a taxi, they stopped 
 before the door of their new home, to enter it with 
 hand in hand, for the first time since it had been 
 finished. 
 
 "Doesn't it seem good and sort of snug- 
 gly!" she cried, as soon as they were free from 
 servants' eyes. "Dear, doesn't it seem good?" 
 
 "Yes, darling," he exclaimed, "it does seem 
 very good." 
 
 "Then kiss me, sweetheart, and tell me that you 
 do forgive your wicked, wasteful little wife for 
 having been so much in love with you and it and 
 yes, oh yes, herself! that she just made it every 
 bit as charming as she could." 
 
 He pressed her tight to him with his left arm
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 151 
 
 while his eyes roved around the softly lit and ex- 
 quisite interior. 
 
 "Tell me !" she insisted. 
 
 "Of course," he said. "Of course I do, my dear. 
 But, after this " 
 
 "From now on, darling," I shall make each 
 penny shriek from pinching before it gets away 
 from me." 
 
 "Do that and we shall be all right." He knew 
 that it was weak to accept this somewhat off-hand 
 promise of economy as sufficient, but since he had 
 come again into the influence of her exquisite sex 
 charm, he found the mere thought of the lectures 
 he had planned to give her quite abhorrent. He 
 knew that he was miserably weak in this, but 
 this was their first night together in their wonder- 
 ful home ! He would say no more, at any rate to- 
 night, than would barely save his conscience. 
 
 And she seemed to understand a little. "Well, 
 then," she said prettily, "I'm going to help. I'm 
 going to be so c-a-r-e-f-u-l !" 
 
 The butler entered with respectful deference. 
 
 "Mr. Cartwright, 'e 's bean hon the 'phone, sir, 
 twice, sir, lately. Hif 'e calls hagain shall Hi hin- 
 form 'im that you're 'ere?" 
 
 "Yes, certainly." 
 
 "Phil Cartwright!" Frances said. "I am afraid 
 I don't quite like some of my Dicky's friends." 
 
 "I've had to ask him to take charge of things a 
 little for me," Richard answered. "They were 
 getting so confused that " 
 
 "He won't be at the house much, will he?" 
 
 "Sometimes; but mostly at the office."
 
 1 52 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "Well anyway, in this house I won't have to see 
 him if I don't feel like it, will I? It's so big so 
 nice and big! Isn't it heaps better than the best 
 apartment that was ever built, Dick dear?" 
 
 "Yes, darling." 
 
 "And, even if I've worried you by spending too 
 much money, you'd rather have me here in it with 
 you than any other woman in the world. 
 Now wouldn't you?" 
 
 "Than any other woman in the world." 
 
 "I must have Clarice up in the morning. 
 Won't she be delighted with it all? And think 
 of Monty when he comes! He'll be completely 
 stunned?" 
 
 "If he has any proper feeling in him, he will 
 be stunned." 
 
 "When is he coming, Dick?" 
 
 "Let me see. He's been away four weeks, now. 
 His trip was planned to take three months." 
 
 "What a long, long journey!" 
 
 "A youngster ought to see a little of the world." 
 
 "Clarice has been quite desolate without him. 
 She had thought he'd be in town, or where we were, 
 all summer." 
 
 He bit his lips. 
 
 "I think the trip was wise. I wish I'd had a 
 journey like it at his age." 
 
 "Poor Clarice! She's 50 unhappy!" 
 
 Actually, as he looked down at her, where she sat 
 now, upon a low, rugged chair, he almost felt that 
 he had been a vile conspirator in venturing agree- 
 ment with Aunt Gretchen when she had declared 
 that the two sisters ought to be kept separate to
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 153 
 
 save the younger from destruction. And Monty 
 and Clarice they were dear children! 
 
 "So Monty won't be home for eight long 
 weeks." 
 
 "About that. Will you excuse me, dear? I've 
 got some letters to go over. I had to make the day 
 short at the office so as to go for you." 
 
 "You just run along then, Dick, and do the 
 wicked work and hurry back to me. It musn't steal 
 a minute more than necessary though, on our first 
 night in our new house." 
 
 While he was busy in the library she sat at a desk 
 in her charming boudoir, writing to Clarice. Her 
 eyes were actually full of tears as she considered 
 her poor sister's woes. The letter was a very long 
 one. 
 
 "Come right away," it ended. "Put your trunks 
 all on a taxi while she's downtown. The ones she 
 wouldn't let you take home with you I brought here, 
 of course. You'll be much happier here, darling, 
 than with dear Aunt G." 
 
 Having marked the letter for delivery next 
 morning early, by one of the house servants, she 
 sat a moment, in a revery about her little sister. 
 She wondered if the child would be in later life, 
 as fortunate as she considered that she was herself. 
 In her very soul to-night, the dreaming woman was 
 quite happy. Life had, since she had left the weari- 
 some restraints and uncongenial roof on Washing- 
 ton Square North, tossed into her lap almost every- 
 thing that she had ever wished for. The new 
 house made her as happy as a cushioned basket 
 makes a kitten, and part of her enjoyment of it was
 
 154 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 of almost the same sort. But there were other de- 
 tails of her nature which were gratified. The 
 place would give her social dignity and standing. 
 Some, who had been scornful, now would certainly 
 be envious; some who had been envious would 
 now be quite nonplussed and put out of the run- 
 ning. She looked around her with a sensuous en- 
 joyment of the rugs, the furniture, the decorations 
 on the walls and ceiling. 
 
 "How lovely!" she said suddenly, involuntarily 
 rising and advancing to a mirror. "Dick is such a 
 dear!" 
 
 For a long minute she stood there in contempla- 
 tion of her own extraordinary beauty. Then she 
 let her eye rove from the gorgeous negilgee she 
 wore to the soft walls of satin-damask. 
 
 "Ugh!" she cried. "They fight! And half my 
 negligees and morning gowns will fight with this 
 old-rose. I really must order new ones. I wonder 
 if Clarice would care to have this one and no, the 
 dear child ought to have new clothes for just a 
 while. She's been wearing clothes down at Aunt 
 Gretchen's till they dropped from her in tatters. 
 Poor thing! She shall have everything she wants 
 here, anyway. Dick is so generous ! He never 
 really says much." 
 
 She turned her thoughts again, to her appear- 
 ance and, as she stood before the mirror, waved 
 her arms in languorous rhythm, and took a step 
 or two the while she peered at her reflection from 
 over one bared shoulder. 
 
 "Frances," she said at length, "you are a dear 
 in this! If only it or else the walls well, that
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 155 
 
 can easily be remedied. Perhaps these old-rose 
 walls well, I'll have to talk to them about it. 
 They certainly do fight and I like this wrapper 
 and" 
 
 She found a place upon a long, thin-legged 
 Recamier couch and put her hands behind her 
 head. No thought of bed was in her mind, no 
 weight of sleep was in her eyelids. That too, had 
 changed since the dull years when she had lived 
 with Gretchen Jans. She rose now, when she 
 pleased. 
 
 She smiled. "Dear Clarice!" she was reflect- 
 ing. "She is in love with Monty! It ought to be 
 that way, too two brothers and two sisters ! How 
 delightful!" 
 
 Her thoughts wandered from this subject soon, 
 and her brow clouded. She went somewhat cau- 
 tiously to the wall-safe, where Elise, by her in- 
 structions had placed the little hand-bag in which 
 she had brought her valuables from the seashore. 
 Before she worked the combination of the safe 
 she looked with just a shade of question in her 
 eyes, toward the two doors which led into the room. 
 
 "Oh, he'll not be up for half-an-hour," she told 
 herself at length. From the bag she took some 
 little oblongs of pink paper, printed with blue let- 
 tering and figures. In the hands of a poor woman 
 an onlooker would have instantly identified them 
 as pawn-tickets. In such wonderfully groomed 
 hands as hers, glittering with gems, such supposi- 
 tion would have been considered quite absurd. But 
 she sighed as she looked at them, for absurd as 
 it might seem, they were pawn-tickets, for a good
 
 1 5 6 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 share of the jewels he had given her. "It does cost 
 so much to manage things at the seashore!" she 
 thought. "And I didn't want to ask him for more 
 money just right then. . . . Now I'm back in town 
 I'll want them. I wonder if he'd be so very angry. 
 I'll tell him some day, certainly. I'm not trying to 
 deceive him. But just now with the new house 
 and all and I've got to have those hangings 
 changed, and and quite a lot of other things 
 and Clarice's coming here and all I won't tell him 
 right away, or ask him for the money. He is so 
 funny sometimes, over money! Positively silly. 
 One would think we were a pair of paupers. He's 
 like Aunt Gretchen, almost. I suppose the extras 
 I've put in the house do bother him, but he likes 
 them, for he said he did. And, really I ordered 
 them as much for him as for myself. Still . . . I'll 
 not tell him of these things to-night." 
 
 The sound of a far footsteps startled her, and 
 she flew back to the wall-safe with the queer little 
 bits of paper which, in a slum-woman's hands, 
 would have appeared to be pawn-tickets. Poising 
 there, almost as if she really were terrified, as she 
 thrust the slips into the envelope from which she 
 had just taken them, she stood a moment, with her 
 hand on the safe door, her gaze turned back across 
 her shoulder toward the entrance to the corridor. 
 The steps did not come nearer. 
 
 "He wasn't coming. It's that they're locking 
 up the house downstairs," she told herself, "but 
 I'll put them back to-night. It will be better later, 
 after he has learned that Clarice is coming and 
 has got over that."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 157 
 
 She did not, in the least believe that she was 
 doing anything which, ethically, was wrong, in 
 keeping from him the amazing fact that she had 
 pawned some of her jewels in order to meet the 
 great expenses of her summer, in spite of all the 
 money he had given her to meet them with. She 
 thought only of the great necessity for cautiousness, 
 diplomacy, in choosing just the time to make the 
 revelation. She shot the bolts of the small safe, 
 turned the combination knob which locked it, and 
 then stood listening again. 
 
 Faintly she heard the tinkle of a telephone. 
 
 "Somebody after Richard," she said almost 
 angrily. "They ought to let the poor boy rest 
 when he's at home." She went and stood a moment 
 by the open door. Up the stairway came the word- 
 less murmur of her husband's voice replying to the 
 call. Then, suddenly it was apparent that there 
 had been some break in the connection, for he spoke 
 louder, in annoyance. 
 
 "Hello, hello, hello! Hello Phil, that you 
 again?" The voice again dropped to a wordless 
 murmur. 
 
 "Phil Cartwright!" she exclaimed, annoyed. 
 "Whenever he is here or has been here, then Rich- 
 ard is so different. I believe I actually hate Phil 
 Cartwright." 
 
 She went back into the softly lighted*boudoir 
 and with care to prevent noise, closed the door on 
 its new hinges. It worked with an ease she had not 
 known of doors down at Aunt Gretchen't, and she 
 swung it back and forth, enjoying this as might a 
 child the working of a brand-new toy.
 
 i 5 8 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "That's what they meant when they were talking 
 of ball-bearings," she said happily. "How easily 
 it swings!" She closed it softly and went to a 
 drawer set in the wall, one of a little nest beneath 
 the window-seat. She pulled it out and thrust it 
 back as she had swung the door, repeatedly. It 
 worked as perfectly as if it had been swimming in 
 a bath of oil. 
 
 "How I used to loathe the sticking drawers 
 down at Aunt Gretchen's," she reflected, in a revery 
 made pleasant by the fact that the discomforts it 
 reflected on were past. "This house is perfect 
 perfect! I don't believe there is a thing that pos- 
 sibly could be the teeniest bit better except per- 
 haps well, those old-rose hangings. It cost a lot, 
 but then, it's worth it. Dick will feel as I do, 
 later. He is worried, now, but when he comes to 
 live in it, and " 
 
 She heard the coughing of a taxi as it stopped 
 before the door and went to a front window to 
 look out. "Somebody's coming here at mid- 
 night !" she exclaimed astonished, and switched off 
 the lights, so that she could observe without herself 
 being visible. 
 
 An electric arc cast a bright circle of its wavering, 
 cold blue light upon the sidewalk just between the 
 taxi and the entrance to the house. Across it she 
 saw a man hurrying. He disappeared at once, 
 passing beyond the angle of her vision and, a 
 moment later, she heard the outer door close softly. 
 
 "Phil Cartwright! He's come up here, at this 
 hour!" She was really disheartened. "Richard 
 is so selfish. It's some business thing or other, and
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 159 
 
 he sent for him. That's what he was telephoning, 
 probably. I don't think it nice at all, when he him- 
 self said we ought to have this night to ourselves 
 the first night in our brand new house! I wish 
 Dick wouldn't be so tiresome with his miserable 
 old business things! They'll very likely sit and 
 talk an hour, and when they've finished, Richard 
 will be worried, and I won't dare to speak about 
 the hangings, or poor Clarice, or anything. He 
 always is when he has talked to that Phil Cart- 
 wright. I do wish he'd keep away from him !" 
 
 Again she listened at the door which opened on 
 the hall. 
 
 Ward, realizing how completely he had failed in 
 carrying out his firm determination to curb Frances, 
 had plunged, the moment he was in his library 
 alone, into new schemes for getting money. New 
 schemes for getting money were the plain alterna- 
 tive either he must curb her, or he must have 
 more more, more, more But his resolutions had 
 been dissipated by the magic charm of her delight- 
 ful company a delight, he realized with a queer 
 smile, which he was now foregoing so that he might 
 keep her happy, keep her charming when they were 
 together and he had sent for Phil to come and 
 help. He knew how weak he had been. He had 
 not impressed her in the least with the fact that he 
 was carrying too great a burden. 
 
 Only one thing now, could make it possible for 
 him to pay the debts she had contracted and let 
 her go on contracting debts without his hindrance. 
 He must secure extension of the loan he had negot- 
 iated with The Century Trust.
 
 160 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 It was for that that he had sent to Cartwright. 
 Cartwright was the man to make arrangements. 
 He always helped him manage. 
 
 Frances, in the meantime, had let her thoughts 
 revert to Clarice. 
 
 "I never said a word to her of Monty," she 
 realized and, having given up the hope that Dick 
 would come immediately, went to her desk, picked 
 up the letter she had written, tore it open and 
 examined it. "No; not a word. Well " 
 
 Smiling now, she wrote : 
 
 "You will be happier, my dear. Monty, though, 
 won't be here for nine weeks! We were talking 
 of you two this afternoon Dick and I were. Yes 
 we were I" 
 
 * 
 
 Next morning Monty came.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 The Monty Ward who rang the bell of his big 
 brother's great new house was strangely different 
 from the Monty Ward who, but a few weeks earlier 
 had left New York to see what he could see in the 
 broad avenues of the wide world. The journeying 
 had not only browned his skin with the thick, rich 
 tan of open sea, giving him a new expression of 
 maturity which his fresh, childish coloring had pre- 
 vented earlier, but there had come into his face a 
 deeper strengthening a new self-reliance, a real 
 manliness. For the first time in his life he had had 
 to shift quite for himself, upon this journey, and he 
 had learned some necessary lessons quickly the 
 sort of lessons which, once learned are not forgot- 
 ten and are sure to leave their impress even on ex- 
 ternals. He had lost none of his unconquerable 
 vivacity; he was as debonnaire, arriving in New 
 York, as any adventurer of old returning from far 
 journeyings with lance and shield; but, at the same 
 time there was a look of real dependability about 
 him. In fact, and to be brief, Monty had de- 
 parted a mere boy and had returned a man. The 
 little period of his absence had included that dis- 
 tinctly magic moment which occurs in certain indi- 
 viduals and carries them from youth into maturity 
 as at a bound. 
 
 He did not show the butler (who, at that hour 
 of the morning had not quite assumed the total of
 
 162 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 his dignity and had opened the door to him) at all 
 that measure of respect which the man evidently 
 looked for. He never had set eyes on him before, 
 for he was one of Frances' new acquisitions, en- 
 gaged to begin service with the opening of the new 
 house, but he pushed blithely past him, looking, 
 meanwhile, wonderingly and with frank admiration 
 at the details of the hall and furnishings. When 
 he had left town, the house had been in an unfin- 
 ished state in that most utterly unfinished state 
 which just precedes completion, when the litter of 
 the workmen is brought up from obscure places 
 and piled where it will show. 
 
 "What name, sir?" said the butler, worried. 
 
 "Never mind the name. I " 
 
 "But" 
 
 "Which way must I go to find the library?" 
 
 "To the right, sir. I'll announce you, sir, if you 
 will tell me " 
 
 "You don't need to announce me. Everybody 
 knows who / am." 
 
 Paying not the slightest further heed to the dis- 
 tressed man-servant he passed on until he reached 
 a vantage point from whence he could survey the 
 hall, the stairs, a bit of the conservatory, through 
 whose green glass a pleasant light found entry to a 
 corner of the breakfast-room, just at the left. The 
 walls, hung with dark leather, the broad landing 
 of the really grand staircase, its balustrade like 
 the railings of a Roman balcony, the elaborately 
 grilled door of the electric elevator, the polished 
 floors and splendid curtains of rich stuffs, each 
 caught his eye in turn and all impressed him. He
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 163 
 
 was very frankly pleased by everything and did 
 not, in the least, object to making this apparent. 
 At length, while the outraged servant waited, 
 puzzled and afraid to voice his wrath, he dropped 
 his hands in limp expression of real helplessness, 
 unable to find fitting words. 
 
 "Well, well, well!" said he, and then began to 
 gaze again, delighted by new details. 
 
 Frances had just gone into the breakfast-room, 
 too late, as usual, for breakfast with her husband, 
 and, as usual, regretting this, a little. The negligee 
 she wore was most becoming, and Elise had caught 
 her hair up in a loose, artistic knot, quite com- 
 fortable, and most attractive. Having heard the 
 voices in the hallway she had waited, in a portion 
 of the breakfast room a view of which was not 
 commanded by the open door, wondering who the 
 early caller might be, till the youth expressed him- 
 self thus tersely. She recognized the voice, al- 
 though her ears were most incredulous, and slipped 
 out of the breakfast-room to meet him, but his 
 back was turned, and, at first he did not see her. 
 Her dainty, slippered feet made no noise, whatso- 
 ever, on the thick pile of the rugs. 
 
 "Why, Monty, is it really you?" she said, at 
 length. 
 
 He whirled and looked at her with a broad smile. 
 
 "You can make bets on it." He caught her in 
 a delighted, brotherly embrace. 
 
 "I'm so glad to see you back and so surprised." 
 
 "Well, you've got nothing on me. I'm glad to 
 be back. And, also, / am some surprised. These 
 - er palatial halls "
 
 i6 4 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "Nice, isn't it?" 
 
 "It is truly great. Where's Dick?" 
 
 "I presume he's in the library. I thought he 
 might be in the breakfast-room, but " 
 
 "How is he? Well?" 
 
 She smiled at him with real affection, real cor- 
 diality of welcome. He was an especially nice- 
 looking boy and she could see that he approved of 
 her appearance. She always had liked Monty and 
 knew that he liked her. 
 
 "Yes, Dick's very well." 
 
 "That's bully. And Clare?" This marked 
 the first break in the youth's entire composure. 
 Frances saw, to her delight, that he was flushing. 
 This being established she did not reply, at once, 
 but kept on looking at him, not in a manner which 
 the most extremely sensitive could possibly object 
 to, but steadily quite steadily. 
 
 "She's well, too," she said, at length, satisfied 
 with the effect her careful steadfastness of observa- 
 tion had accomplished. "She's very well. She's 
 coming to live with us, you know." 
 
 "Oh, ho!" said Monty, quite delighted. 
 
 "Yes," said Frances, with a little tightening of 
 her forehead. "She couldn't stand it at Aunt Gret- 
 chen's any longer, so we I asked her to come 
 here and live with us. I'm expecting her this morn- 
 ing any minute, now. You seem to have arrived 
 at the right time, exactly! But why didn't you 
 tell us that you were coming?" 
 
 "I did," the youth replied, surprised to hear the 
 question. "I sent Dick a wireless. Didn't he get 
 it?"
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 165 
 
 "Why, no." 
 
 He made a gesture of disgust. "That wireless 
 is a false alarm, anyhow. The best way is to drop 
 your message overboard in a bottle." 
 
 As he spoke he caught a glimpse of an extreme- 
 ly pretty picture, flitting, for a moment, across the 
 mirror opposite. It was that of Clare, dressed as 
 if for traveling and with extra wraps upon her arm. 
 She had left Aunt Gretchen's in something of a 
 hurry, having had her packing interrupted by the 
 incursion of the ancient chamber-maid, who, claim- 
 ing privilege from years of service, began to ques- 
 tion her somewhat minutely. Panic had seized the 
 girl. She feared the maid might telephone her 
 aunt, and, although she was not quite clear in her 
 mind as to exactly what Aunt Gretchen could do in 
 the circumstances, she decided that it would be sure 
 to be unpleasant, so she had bolted. Her face was 
 flushed and she was breathing as if from a run, 
 although she had come uptown in a taxi. Such 
 was the force of Gretchen Jans' strong character, 
 that, instinctively, although she knew it was ab- 
 surdly silly, the girl had all the way kept a lookout 
 for pursuit. 
 
 "In all human probability," she had assured her- 
 self (and not without some reason), "aunt will be 
 glad, when she comes home and finds me gone. I 
 needn't fear she'll do any frantic chasing." 
 
 But, all the same, she had watched constantly 
 and nervously from the cab windows, and now 
 that she was actually within the doors of Richard's 
 house, felt wondrously relieved. That, of itself, 
 had given 'her delightful, fresh young cheeks un-
 
 1 66 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 wonted color. Now the surprise of seeing Monty 
 much increased this. 
 
 "Why, Monty!" she exclaimed and almost 
 started toward him hastily t with hand outstretched 
 in very cordial greeting. She nipped this impulse 
 in the bud, however, and, instead of hurrying to 
 him, entrenched herself behind a table. 
 
 He stood dazzled, spellbound, for a moment, as 
 it seemed, quite tongue-tied. 
 
 "Clare !" he said, at length, not loudly, but with 
 a vibrant thrill in his young voice which reached 
 her inmost soul and made her sorry that it was 
 good policy to stay behind the table. "Gee-me- 
 neddy, but you're getting pretty!" Both of the 
 young people had entirely forgotten Frances. 
 
 Now, having gathered courage or recovered 
 from amazement, he approached her, going round 
 the table, indeed rapidly. She waited with a look 
 of extreme interest upon her face, to make quite 
 certain what he meant to do, and when she had 
 made certain, might, possibly, have decided to 
 dodge him and run away if there had been suffi- 
 cient time for such manoeuvres. But there was not. 
 He had grasped her hands with all the freedom 
 from restraint that had existed between them in 
 those far-off days, a few weeks earlier, when they 
 had been children, ere he had started as a trotter 
 of the globe. Having seized her hands he tried to 
 draw her close to him and kiss her, but she turned 
 her head away, although she did not make too 
 great resistance to the general direction in which 
 his strong young arms were urging her. 
 
 He apparently noted her resistance with some
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 167 
 
 astonished disapproval. Having noted it with 
 care, he disregarded it and drew her to him with 
 still greater force, a force that took her to him, 
 quite beyond a doubt, but it did not turn toward 
 him the face she had averted. H considered this, 
 also, without approval. 
 
 "No?" he said reflectively. "Well, now! I'll 
 show you who's boss here !" 
 
 He did, immediately. Indeed he kissed her 
 quite six times and possibly a seventh. She strug- 
 gled, but not very fiercely. Indeed she struggled 
 scarce at all until he had exclaimed: "Now if you 
 don't behave I'll do it again!" 
 
 Releasing herself cleverly, so cleverly that an 
 observer might have wondered why, in case she 
 had been very anxious to, she had not writhed out 
 of his grasp before he had done it again, she 
 stepped off to a distance, and, having wreaked his 
 wicked will, he permitted her to do so without pro- 
 test. 
 
 Having reached the distance without interfer- 
 ence she paused, trying to look angry. "Brute !" 
 she cried, and looked at him, suppressing with much 
 difficulty smiles of purest joy at seeing him again. 
 
 "Brutess!" he replied, with repartee extremely 
 mild for Monty. 
 
 She seemed, after this retort, to be quite will- 
 ing he should stay and gossip with her, despite his 
 desperate general character, for she asked, with 
 pleasant interest, almost, it might be said, indeed, 
 with very friendly interest: 
 
 "Did you have a good time, Monty?" 
 
 "Rotten!" he replied, with unexpected emphasis.
 
 1 68 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 This plainly quite astonished her, but, before 
 she could make comment he had gone to her again. 
 
 "I was lonesome as thunder," he went on. "Got 
 desperate in Paris, one day, and took a trip out 
 into the Norman hills. Nobody talked any Eng- 
 lish, there nobody talked any French, either 
 anyhow, not the kind I know. It was awful." 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 "I'd ask for a hard-boiled egg and they'd fetch 
 around a horse and wain. Do you know what a 
 wain is? It's something like a wigwam on wheels." 
 
 She made no comment, waiting, evidently, for 
 more sad details of his travels, but she got none. 
 He was too intent in study of her face, apparently, 
 to make thought of far lands possible. 
 
 "Clare," he said, "if I'd recognized the fact 
 that you looked like you, I never would have gone." 
 
 This elicited no response, whatever, so he sprang 
 for her, with arms out-stretched. Undoubtedly he 
 contemplated repetition of proceedings recently so 
 notable. She dodged him very neatly, and, before 
 she paused, was once more quite across the table 
 from him. Accepting his defeat he waited for her 
 conversation. Neither made the slightest refer- 
 ence to the defeat itself. 
 
 "How do you like the new house, Monty?" 
 Clare asked casually, but with a wary eye on him. 
 
 "Great!" he said. "Immense! Dick must have 
 been crowding Pierpont Morgan these last few 
 months." 
 
 Frances, who had watched the amorous manoeu- 
 vres of the youth, the desperate resistance of the 
 maiden, without comment, but with much amuse-
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 169 
 
 ment, nodded, now. "The stock business has been 
 very good, I believe." 
 
 With elaborate indifference to Clare, as if he 
 never had endeavored to make her a captive, 
 Monty nodded to her sister and sat down upon a 
 chair-arm. 
 
 "That's a cinch," he granted. Then, in a chink 
 between two thoughts of Clare remembering that 
 he would really like to see his brother: "Where is 
 Dick? He said he was going to put me at work 
 as soon as I got back." The thought of labor 
 seemed to be attractive to him, for he spoke with 
 earnest emphasis. "It's me for the three-legged 
 stool to-morrow a. m., as soon as the whistle blows. 
 I'm so full of ambition it's bulging my eyes out." 
 He looked first at Frances then at Clare and the 
 second look dwelt persistently. "I've got to make 
 a lot of money, and I've got to make it quick." 
 
 This seemed to interest Clare deeply, although 
 she tried to make her inquiry sound casual : "Why 
 this sudden avariciousness?" 
 
 He looked down at the floor, then looked up at 
 the ceiling; he even stooped and picked a bit of 
 fluff from off the very bottom of one trousers leg 
 before he made reply. When, at length, he spoke, 
 his eyes were on the spot whence he had picked the 
 bit of fluff. "I'm going to get married," he an- 
 nounced. 
 
 If he had been striving for effect he achieved 
 success in his endeavor. The sisters, both of them, 
 undoubtedly were interested deeply and immediate- 
 ly. They even started, slightly, showing their 
 relationship by the almost exact likeness of the
 
 one start to the other. Clare was the first to 
 speak but she sat down before she spoke, and 
 that she tried to make the action appear to be mere 
 chance, not the result of real necessity for a sup- 
 port, was as apparent as it was ineffective. 
 
 "Going to be married!" she exclaimed, nor did 
 she wholly win success in her great effort to control 
 her voice. 
 
 "Surest thing you know," said he, now looking 
 up from where the bit of fluff had been and meet- 
 ing her astonished, and perhaps, her dismayed 
 gaze with frank and open comradery. "I've got 
 the girl all picked out, and well we're going to 
 get married, that's all." 
 
 "But who is she?" said Frances. "Somebody 
 whom you met abroad?" She stole a look at Cla- 
 rice, in which sympathy was blended with a certain 
 curiosity that curiosity which makes even a sister 
 anxious to observe the definite effect of a great 
 grief upon its victim. 
 
 Monty rose. There was, no longer, any use of 
 pretending to pick fluff. There had been but one 
 bit at the start and that had, obviously, been en- 
 tirely picked. He therefore leaned upon the table 
 in a careless attitude, not seeming to, but really 
 noting with exhilaration that each one of his move- 
 ments was followed with the utmost interest by 
 both the sisters. * 
 
 "No, indeed," said he. "I didn't see anyone 
 over there that I'd even invite to the wedding. 
 No; she's someone that lives right here in the U. 
 S. In fact, right here in New York." 
 
 Upon Clarice's face was an expression hard to
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 171 
 
 describe briefly, for it was very complicated. As- 
 tonishment was in it, and, perhaps, chagrin. This 
 may have been a little seasoned with real grief, and 
 anger, did, undoubtedly, form one of its pro- 
 nounced ingredients. Perhaps there was a pinch 
 of doubt in it no more than a mere pinch, for 
 Monty had spoken definitely. 
 
 "Monty, are you serious?" asked Frances. 
 
 He sat, again, upon the chair-arm from which, 
 recently, he had arisen, and stood gazing at her 
 very earnestly. "Serious!" said he, the influence 
 of foreign lands upon him. "Well, I should say 
 yes, yes, and likewise om f oui, not forgetting ja, 
 nor yet si, si, senora. Marriage is a serious 
 matter." 
 
 Clare, having striven bravely for it, had, by this 
 time, achieved some measure of control of her own 
 voice. She did not wish it to sound angry and it 
 did not. She wished it to sound interested and it 
 did. But her face of that she had not gained such 
 good control. It was quite noticeably pale. "Oh, 
 tell us who she is !" 
 
 To this the young man shook his head. He 
 tried to counterfeit extreme embarrassment, and, in 
 a measure, did so. "I I don't like to, right now,'.' 
 he said. Not now. I'm bashful, you know." 
 
 "But when is it to be?" asked Frances, not to 
 be entirely put off. 
 
 "I don't just know," said the young man, after 
 a second of deep thought. "You see, we haven't 
 settled on any definite date, yet." He looked up 
 at her with a frank smile. "I've got to get some 
 money first."
 
 1 72 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 Clarice, now fully mistress of her tones, al- 
 though even yet she did not use her eyes with any 
 freedom, keeping them, somewhat persistently, up- 
 on a figure in a rug, asked hesitantly: "Shall we 
 meet her?" 
 
 "Oh, surely," Monty answered, positively. 
 
 "Have you been engaged er long?" 
 
 "No, I wouldn't go so far as to say that. You 
 see, I don't believe in long engagements." 
 
 Possibly because she did not wish to longer study 
 the gay rug, possibly because some street noise 
 drew her notice (but this is scarcely possible, at 
 that), Clarice turned quite away from him and 
 gazed out of a window. 
 
 Instantly the youth took full advantage of the 
 fact that she no longed could look up and catch him 
 with a sudden glance, and made Frances, in whose 
 forehead there had grown a frown of depth and 
 unmistakable significance of actual worry, smile 
 suddenly. For, as soon as Clarice had turned her 
 back the youth began to frantically motion the elder 
 sister away. It was evident that he desired a 
 tete-a-tete with Clare. At about the third em- 
 phatic wave of his right hand, Frances left the 
 room, and, as she went, the smile was much more 
 definite upon her face than the preceding frown 
 had been. 
 
 When she was safely gone the young man spoke. 
 He did not offer to approach Clarice, as he had 
 done, earlier; instead he carefully entrenched him- 
 self behind the self-same table she had lately used 
 as bulwark.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 173 
 
 "See here, Clare," he demanded from this safe 
 position, "aren't you a little bit sorry?" 
 
 She turned and faced him, though she did not 
 look at him. She left her far place by the window 
 and went to the fire-place into which she gazed 
 with the same interest which she had given to the 
 view the window offered. 
 
 "I sorry?" she inquired; and then, with the 
 least bit of effort: "Why should I be sorry?" 
 
 Now she turned toward him with sudden access 
 of cordiality. She even took a step or two in his 
 direction. 
 
 "Why," said she, with carefully achieved en- 
 thusiasm, "I am glad!" Her voice caught, then, 
 but she repeated bravely: "Glad that you are 
 going to be so happy !" 
 
 Then she hurriedly went bade to the window, as 
 if something might be happening on the street by 
 this time which she might be sorry if she missed 
 a sight of. 
 
 Monty followed her at leisure. 
 
 "Eh thank you !" he said courteously to her 
 retreating back. And then, as she came to a halt 
 because the window barred her further progress: 
 "Do you really want to know who the girl is?" 
 
 She turned, but not completely toward him. 
 "Why, of course," she answered. 
 
 Now he went close to her and there was not in 
 his manner any of the forcefulness which had been 
 there when he had first insisted upon kissing her. 
 Rather, indeed, was it now one of supplication 
 very much excited, worried, anxious supplication. 
 "Well tHen," said he. "it's you."
 
 i 7 4 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "I !" said Clarice, who had been very neatly 
 faked and now, at first could scarcely feel quite 
 sure she heard aright. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "You needn't act as though you thought it was 
 so strange," said he. "It's the most natural thing 
 in the world." 
 
 She did not, however, seem inclined, after what 
 she had just undergone, to accept this cheerful 
 view of things. "But you haven't said anything to 
 me about it," she suggested. 
 
 "I told you just as soon as I knew it, myself," he 
 answered. "Why, I just found it out a moment 
 ago!" 
 
 She turned from him, recovering completely and 
 amazingly, quite at her ease again, plainly deter- 
 mined to do what she could do toward forcing him 
 to some amends for the unquestionably uncom- 
 fortable few moments he had put her through. "I 
 like your nerve !" said she. 
 
 There was a note of satisfied complacence in his 
 answer. "I'm inclined to be rather pleased with 
 it myself. Most fellows would probably have 
 come haunting around here for a year or so be- 
 fore they dared to make a break. But I " 
 
 Suddenly he stopped this line of talk and went 
 close to her. Having reached a point whence she 
 could readily be reached by outstretched hands, he 
 did not stretch them out. Instead he stooped a 
 little toward her, but not far enough to touch her. 
 "You may kiss me," he said graciously. 
 
 "Kiss you!" she exclaimed, with a quick turn
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 175 
 
 toward him and a quick turn away, "I hate 
 you." 
 
 He did not insist upon the kiss, instead he drifted 
 from her to the vantage point upon the table which 
 he had, at divers times, used previously. "No, you 
 don't. If you could have seen how sorry how 
 sort of jealous you looked when I announced our 
 engagement !" 
 
 "Monty," she declared, and now approached 
 him, but not lovingly, "you are positively insult- 
 ing." She did not struggle very wildly, though, as 
 springing from the table, he laid hold of her, and 
 clasped her in his arms possessively. 
 
 "Now see here, Clare," he said earnestly, "I'm 
 mighty sorry, but I just couldn't help it not to 
 save my life I couldn't. I knew there was some- 
 thing the matter, the minute I fell off the end of 
 Pier Fourteen. And that was it. That's why I 
 had such a bum time. I missed you I I loved 
 you." 
 
 She made a move as if to draw away from him, 
 but the effort was not earnest and was wholly in- 
 effective. 
 
 "Yes, I did, Clare," he continued. "And it 
 made me as miserable as a hen on a hot stove, all 
 the time I was away. That's why I came back so 
 long before my time to get to work to earn 
 money so that we could afford to marry." 
 
 With each dash the youth had pressed her just 
 a little tighter to his breast, but she showed no evi- 
 dence of real discomfort. 
 
 "And I'm going to," he went on, eagerly. "I'll 
 go down to that Stock Exchange, to-morrow, and
 
 176 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 sail through that bunch like a pack of hounds 
 through a country village. And anything that gets 
 in my way will think it was run over by a Norman 
 wain and that's being run over some. I love you, 
 Clare, dear, and you've simply got to marry me. 
 That's all. You've got to." 
 
 She did not say she would not, but she made a 
 feeble protest. "But you were perfectly horrid!" 
 she exclaimed. "You had no right to do to say 
 the things you did. Don't you think I have any 
 pride?" 
 
 Not violently, but very steadily, she now disen- 
 gaged herself and went to a short distance, whence 
 she looked at him reproachfully. He let her do 
 this, but in his eyes were strong apology and strong 
 appeal. 
 
 "Bushels, bales and bundles of it," he declared. 
 "That's why I had to get under your guard. You 
 aren't angry, are you?" 
 
 "Yes, I am," she answered firmly, and, leaving 
 him entirely, crossed the room. It may be that she 
 looked behind her once, to see if by any chance, 
 he might be following, but she went quite across 
 the room. 
 
 "You mustn't be," said he; and he was follow- 
 ing her. 
 
 "I will if I want to be!" 
 
 Now he approached her in a supplicating mood. 
 It pleased her to observe that he appeared to have 
 quite ceased to take things so for granted as he 
 had been doing. 
 
 "But you don't want to be," he pleaded. "Do
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 177 
 
 you? . . . You're trying hard to, aren't you? 
 . . . And it's mighty hard work, isn't it?" 
 
 She made no reply and he insisted, holding her, 
 with each insistence,, just a little tighter. 
 
 "Isn't it? . . . Isn't it? . . . Isn't it?" 
 
 She made no answer whatsoever, so he placed his 
 hands upon her shoulders, and, holding her far 
 from him, looked straight into her eyes. 
 
 "Isn't . . . it?" 
 
 She did not hold her eyes to meet that steady 
 gaze. Instead she let her face fall to her cupped, 
 concealing hands. "Yes," she admitted faintly. 
 
 After that there was a longish moment of real 
 silence, which the young man found agreeable, for 
 he was holding her again, now quite as tightly as 
 seemed safe. 
 
 "It was so hard, Monty, so hard your being 
 away," she told him, almost weeping. 
 
 "It surely was," he granted. "But I'm home, 
 now, and you just watch my smoke !" 
 
 This recalled his energy and industry to mind 
 and he looked fretfully about, as if he could not 
 longer wait for some means of expressing them. 
 
 "Where's Dick, anyhow?" he cried quite peev- 
 ishly. "I want to go to work right now." 
 
 Frances had gone to find him and now brought 
 him with her. Monty, turning, saw them and 
 sprang toward him. 
 
 "Dick, old chap," he cried, in his new, manly, 
 way, which took his brother somewhat by surprise. 
 "By Jove, I'm glad to see you! You're looking 
 fine, too." 
 
 Ward took his hand in a warm clasp. Things
 
 178 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 had not come about as he had hoped his strategy 
 might make them he could not see so very many 
 indications on the surface of the situation to make 
 him think that Monty, while he had been journey- 
 ing, had forgotten Clarice wholly; but it seemed 
 very good to have his suddenly matured young 
 brother near him in New York again. "Glad 
 to see you, Monty. Have a good time 
 did you?" 
 
 "Had a better time in the last fifteen minutes 
 than in all the time I was away." He turned to 
 Clare. "Shall we tell him, Clare?" 
 
 Ward, seeing his plans gone wrong entirely, took 
 their destruction cheerfully. He loved both young 
 folk. They might, after all, be very happy. Clare 
 might learn 
 
 "What's all the mystery?" he asked, although 
 he knew, of course." 
 
 "Clare and I are going to be married. Yes, sir; 
 she proposed to me and I accepted her, right off 
 the bat. So it's me for work to-morrow morning, if 
 that job's still vacant." 
 
 His brother nodded. "It's vacant, now, old 
 man," said he. "I'm not going down, this morn- 
 ing, but perhaps you'd better. I'll 'phone them 
 that you're coming." 
 
 "Fine! Immense!" said Monty. "It certainly 
 is good to be back again, Dick. How's everything 
 going? If the new stable" (he let his eyes roam 
 around the splendid room) "is any criterion things 
 have been coming up your street like a torch-light 
 parade." 
 
 His brother's voice was just a little dull and
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 179 
 
 weary as he answered: "Business has been good 
 very good." 
 
 "That's immense. Now Dick, put me on the 
 stool that moves the fastest, won't you? You know 
 it costs a lot of money to be married, these days 
 and I want to become a benedict while I'm still 
 able to walk. It's no fun getting married when 
 they have to push you down the aisle in a wheeled 
 chair."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Now that the thing was done, Richard tried to 
 put away from him all thoughts of anything but 
 pleasure over Monty's engagement. He surely 
 wished the boy a happy life and he was fond of 
 Clare and sure that she could help him achieve one 
 being, meanwhile, very happy on her own ac- 
 count with such a splendid chap as Monty, if she 
 did not ah, if she did not No; he could not 
 quite put all those thoughts away. 
 
 The next evening, in his study, where he had 
 long been very busy over puzzling, and distress- 
 ing figures, Frances came and sat upon his chair- 
 arm. She began to talk about the young folk. 
 
 "They're very happy, aren't they, Dick? It's 
 good to see people happy. I ... love happi- 
 ness 1' 
 
 "Clare didn't go home, last night, did she? 
 The two foolish creatures were still sitting by the 
 fire and spinning dreams when I came in, and that 
 was after eleven." 
 
 "Oh, I forgot to tell you, Dick. Clare is com- 
 ing to live with us. I sent for her, yesterday. 
 That's how she happened to be here when Monty 
 came. You don't mind, do you? I meant to ask 
 you, but you were away, or busy, and it was posi- 
 tively unbearable for her at Aunt Gretchen's." 
 
 He was a bit non-plussed. He had not expected 
 this, and he had no ready answer.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 181 
 
 "I know, Dick, because I lived there, myself," 
 his wife went on. "She just can't understand 
 people wanting decent things to wear, and decent 
 things to look at. She's getting to be positively 
 miserly ! And I was so sorry for Clare that, after 
 aunt had dragged her back to town, that way, I 
 wrote her, of course, to come. I knew you 
 wouldn't mind, Dick. You don't, do you?" 
 
 Still he scarcely knew just what to say to her. 
 He did not wish to tell her that he dreaded the 
 expense which he was certain would result from 
 the two sisters talking over what they called their 
 needs, together, where there was a car in waiting, 
 always, to take them downtown where such needs 
 could be supplied; he scarcely cared to tell her 
 that he feared her influence upon the girl his 
 brother loved and planned to marry. So, finally, 
 he said, and knew that he was weak in saying 
 it: 
 
 "Of course not, Frances, if you want her. . . . 
 Only, it seems to me that, maybe, she might be 
 better off, down there." 
 
 "Better off, there !" His wife looked at him in 
 genuine wonder at the thought that he could en- 
 tertain so strange a notion. "At Aunt Gretchen's? 
 Why, Dick, nobody could be worse off than that ! 
 Didn't you say that when you took me away from 
 there?" 
 
 He could not deny that he had said just that, a 
 hundred times; and neither could he tell her that, 
 having learned more of her than, at that time, he 
 had known, he now to some extent agreed with the 
 very woman he had then believed was stingy,
 
 1 82 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 stingy to the point of cruelty to the two girls whom 
 she had taken in. 
 
 "Clare's inclined to be extravagant wasteful," 
 he declared, though. "Aunt Gretchen's example 
 might not be a bad thing for her." He spoke very 
 carefully. His position was not simple. "And 
 she lives comfortably, at any rate," he added. 
 
 "Comfortably!" Frances' voice was scornful. 
 "How can you say that, Dick? With all that 
 horse-hair furniture, and those wax-flowers in the 
 front parlor! Why, Dick, it's positively awful!" 
 
 Again he failed to answer her. The man was 
 thinking deeply. There was truth in what she said. 
 He could imagine that a girl like Clare might be 
 tremendously unhappy at Aunt Gretchen's; still 
 
 "What are you thinking about?" his wife went 
 on, finding him still silent. "That nasty old busi- 
 ness again?" She went to him and put her hand 
 upon his shoulder pleadingly. There was feeling 
 in the tone and feeling in the gesture, too, that he 
 was sure were genuine. It touched him to have 
 her look up at him with really anxious eyes. "You 
 mustn't worry, so Dick, it just breaks my heart 
 to see you worry." 
 
 He smiled at her, although it cost him a real 
 effort. She raised her lips and kissed him daintily. 
 
 "There, that drives them away, doesn't it the 
 wicked worries? Sometimes I cause them, don't 
 I, Dick, but am I a good wife, Dickie, dear, and 
 do you love me?" 
 
 She was quite irresistible. His face lighted won- 
 derfully as he replied: "You know how much I 
 love you, dear."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 183 
 
 She sat and loked at him and talked with that 
 delightful, half childish and half serious emphasis 
 which he had found so charming, which he still 
 found so charming. "Not so much as I love you, 
 Dick, and I'm not as good a wife as you are a hus- 
 band. You know you've talked of it a lot, of late 
 oh, yes you have ! I spend so much money ! I'm 
 always wanting something. . . . And I don't 
 know at all about business, while good wives ought 
 to be able to talk their husbands' business over with 
 them, hadn't they?" 
 
 He nodded. "They ought to be frugal and eco- 
 nomical," he said in acquiescence, when she had 
 not quite expected it. 
 
 On many an occasion in the past, self-criticism 
 on her part had made him rise to her defense 
 against herself and, possibly, averted criticism 
 from his own lips. 
 
 "Frugal and economical," said she, "and see 
 that the servants don't waste the butter, and know 
 the price of chops, and haggle with the tradesmen. 
 . . . And I don't do any of those things, Dick." 
 
 He smiled somewhat ruefully. She certainly did 
 not. 
 
 "But I'm going to, after this. Would you love 
 me more if I were that sort of a wife?" 
 
 "I couldn't love you any more, Frances." 
 
 She was not satisfied, at all. On previous oc- 
 casions he had been far, far more demonstrative 
 in his protestations when she had brought him to 
 book, in this way. 
 
 "I don't like the way you say that, Dick. You 
 really mean you'd like to have me do those things."
 
 1 84 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "It would help, dear," he admitted. "That's 
 the way that people save." He wondered if it 
 would impress her, much, if he explained to her, 
 again, the real necessity that they should save a 
 little, now. He decided that it would not, and, as 
 she jumped up and stood before him with a bril- 
 liant smile of real determination on her face, he 
 was rather glad he had not tried it. 
 
 "Then I'll be that kind!" she cried. "Really, 
 we ought to save. We're terribly extrava- 
 gant." 
 
 He smiled, much pleased at this. If she could 
 once come to actual realization of how terribly ex- 
 travagant she was ! 
 
 . "That is" (plainly she thought it wise to quali- 
 fy a little,) "in a way we are; and we ought to be- 
 gin saving right away." 
 
 He nodded with approval. "Yes, dear, really 
 we ought." 
 
 "For," she went on, as if he had not spoken, 
 "we need a new motor terribly. Of course I 
 ought not to ask for one, right after you have 
 given me such a be-yu-tiful new home, and after I 
 have made that home cost so much more than you 
 expected, dear . . . and I don't ask it. I just 
 mentioned it. That's all." 
 
 His elation was all gone. It vanished far more 
 quickly than it had come to him. He shook his 
 head and when it fell into repose it had the old 
 time tired droop upon its shoulders. "I'm afraid 
 it's out of the question, for a while, at any rate." 
 
 "Of course it is," she seemed to agree fully. 
 "No one knows that any better than I. And we
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 185 
 
 won't say another word about it. My big boy 
 has too many things to worry him, as it is." 
 
 With one of her delicious bits of mothering she 
 put her crooked arm around his neck as he sat at 
 his desk and stood beside him, pressing his head 
 against her breast, mothering and petting it with 
 the other hand. 
 
 "Poor head!" she said. "With so much in it, 
 and with a nasty little wife who worries it so ! Tell 
 me about the worries, Dick, and I will help you." 
 
 "You wouldn't understand, dear," he said, some- 
 what wearily. 
 
 She drew away, pretending to be offended. "Am 
 I so stupid as that?" 
 
 He smiled. "It isn't stupid, dear; it's just that 
 you don't know about such things." 
 
 "But you could try," said she, persisting prettily. 
 
 Half against his will, knowing that it would be 
 waste of time and energy to tell her about business 
 matters, but, still, hopeful that if she understood 
 it might impress her with the real necessity for 
 helping him by cutting down expenses, he did tell 
 her something of his worry. 
 
 "It's it's about the Century National loan," 
 said he. "I I've been puzzled and alarmed about 
 it. They have my paper for sixty thousand, you 
 know, and they don't want to renew on the security. 
 It comes as something of a shock, for I had every 
 reason to suppose that " 
 
 Thinking of it and the mystery of it got on his 
 nerves again as it had, many times, since he had 
 learned of it. 
 
 "It worries me," said he. "It worries me tre-
 
 i86 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 mendously. I had Phil Cartvvright here, last night 
 
 > 
 
 "Yes; I saw him come." 
 
 " and he is quite as puzzled by the thing as 
 I am. They won't renew on what they have, and 
 I don't know what else to give them." 
 
 "Well," said she, "if they're going to be so 
 mean and nasty about it, tell them that you won't 
 pay them at all." 
 
 He looked at her with mixed emotions showing 
 on his face. Of course he had known perfectly 
 the utter hopelessness of endeavoring to make her 
 understand. It could scarcely be said that her en- 
 tire failure to do so had come as a surprise to him, 
 but it was a disappointment, too. If she would not 
 even make the effort, then he could scarcely hope 
 to so impress her with the grim necessities of the 
 unpleasant situation which confronted him as to 
 induce her to be careful about money. He ans- 
 wered very carefully, however, still trying to be 
 fair, to give her every chance. 
 
 "But you can't do that in business," he explained. 
 "I have thought of trying to take up this loan by 
 negotiating with the United Leather. Carson, the 
 president there, understands, I think, just how 
 things are, and, if I can arrange with him to " 
 
 But, suddenly, he saw that she no longer was 
 attending. Not understanding, in the least, what 
 he was talking of, she had gone from behind his 
 chair and, now, was busy with small details of a 
 hanging. It cut him. 
 
 "I'm sorry if I am disturbing you, dear," he 
 said, and his voice showed the real depth of the cut.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 187 
 
 She did not notice this, however. Her mind had 
 drifted from the subject wholly. "Dick," she said, 
 absolutely unimpressed by anything which he had 
 said about the bitter problems that confronted him. 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 Now she noted something in his voice which 
 brought her back from her absorption in the tri- 
 viality which had attracted her attention from his 
 talk. She saw the deep lines on his face, the worry 
 in his eyes, the disappointment she had given him. 
 
 "Oh, I am so sorry, Dick!" she cried, really very 
 anxious to atone. "I was trying hard to pay at- 
 tentionreally I was! I guess I'm no good, Dick. 
 I'm no help to you, at all. And I ought to be. 
 Say what you were saying again. I'll listen, this 
 time; really I will!" 
 
 He shook his head, although he smiled a little. 
 Even when she disappointed him she was alluring, 
 charming. 
 
 "You're disgusted with me. You're angry with 
 me," she said, unhappily. 
 
 "No; I'm not, dear heart. Neither the one nor 
 the other." But he plainly had decided not to try 
 to tell her more about his worries. He bent, some- 
 what wearily above the papers on his desk. 
 
 She leaned across his shoulder and, declared, 
 contritely, "I'm so sorry, dear!" 
 
 He had not been much annoyed because, per- 
 haps, he had expected little ; but he had been hope- 
 ful hopeful that her interest might really end in 
 understanding, and that understanding might result 
 in actual assistance, to the extent, at least, of a 
 little more consideration, for a time, of money mat-
 
 i88 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 ters so his disappointment really was great. 
 "You needn't be sorry," he said, smiling. He would 
 not let himself be critical of her. "And I'm go- 
 ing into the study for awhile before I go down- 
 town." 
 
 "What time will you be home this afternoon?" 
 "The usual time five-thirty or so." He won- 
 dered, as he looked at her, if he had entirely failed 
 to make the least impression on her. Was it not 
 certain, he debated, that, although she seemed so 
 careless of his worries, she must, really, be con- 
 cious of the fact that he was troubled seriously and 
 in need of help? Might it not seem upon the sur- 
 face that she did not care, did not even try to un- 
 derstand, while, really, this was not the case at 
 all? He loved her and had proved it in ten thou- 
 sand ways. She loved him that he did not doubt. 
 After he had gone would she not think seriously 
 of the matters he had emphasized, and, consider- 
 ing them, determine to be helpful? He wondered 
 if she had not asked about the time of his return 
 so that she might know just how many hours were 
 waiting in which she might accomplish something, 
 plan a system of economies, to pleas him. Per- 
 haps she had been thinking of a fine surprise of this 
 sort. 
 
 "Couldn't you get home about two?" she asked. 
 "There's an agent coming to show me a new car 
 and he says I can have it done in any color I want." 
 She was as eager as a child in making this quite 
 clear. "It's like the one that Tom Van Ork gave 
 Molly for her birthday, and my birthday's next 
 week, you know, Dickie dear, and I thought that,
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 189 
 
 maybe, you might want to give me a new car, too , 
 mine's such a rattly old thing, you know." 
 
 She saw the look upon his face, and, for a mo- 
 ment, was impressed by it, although it seemed 
 rather to repel her than to make her feel at all 
 contrite. 
 
 "But, of course," she added, "if you can't afford 
 it" 
 
 He went back to her, still very careful to be most 
 considerate in manner and in speech. He felt that 
 he must not allow himself to blame her. "I'm 
 afraid, dear," he said evenly, "that it's out of the 
 question at present, at any rate." 
 
 She pouted, very greatly disappointed. "But 
 Tom Van Ork hasn't nearly such nice offices as 
 yours ! And I thought if he could afford it, surely 
 you could! . . . Maybe not right away, of course 
 . . . but they'd trust you for it, you know. I even 
 asked the man about that and he said that they 
 would trust you. He said that all you'd have to 
 do would be to give them a note, or something." 
 
 "I'm sorry, dear," he said, still evenly, still care- 
 fully, "but I don't see how we can get it at any 
 rate, not for a while." 
 
 Really angry, now, she drew away from him. 
 To have her urgings fail with him in any detail 
 whatsoever was almost a new experience. A hun- 
 dred times, she had vanquished his objections to 
 expenditures with much less argument than she had 
 used, this morning. "Of course, if you feel that 
 way about it " 
 
 Still he did not let himself show his exasperation, 
 even in his tone. "It isn't the way I feel," he said,
 
 i 9 o THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 defensively, "it's the ability, or, rather, the inabil- 
 ity to do " 
 
 "But Tom Van Ork " 
 
 "Tom Van Ork has an importing house. It's 
 an entirely different matter. He does a great vol- 
 ume of business with very few individuals. I do, 
 at present, a very small amount of business with a 
 great many individuals. I " 
 
 "Yes; but I don't see why. You know you're 
 much smarter than he is everyone says so. And 
 if he can afford these things, it seems to me that we 
 could." 
 
 After an instant's pause she now brought forth 
 an argument which, plainly, she considered quite 
 unanswerable. 
 
 "We ought to, for appearances sake, if for no- 
 thing else." 
 
 The thing had reached the point, he felt, where 
 he must, really, be very final. Such discussion was 
 quite profitless; it could lead nowhere but to quar- 
 rels. They had never had a quarrel and he did 
 not intend to let this matter carry them along to 
 one. "My dear girl, as I have told you so many, 
 many times, I can earn only so much, and that has 
 no bearing whatever on what anyone else earns." 
 He made his voice as positive as possible, being 
 careful, though, to keep all notes of anger from it. 
 "I can buy you nothing else for a while." 
 
 As he turned away he let his eyes rove around 
 the room the beautiful new room, a part of the 
 beautiful new house; the whole, his beautiful new 
 gift to her and the great weight beneath which, 
 by reason of the strange and unexpected opposi-
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 191 
 
 tion he was meeting on the street, he had found it 
 necessary, suddenly to so desperately struggle. All, 
 all had been devised and done for her! Was she 
 without appreciation, wholly? And now she was 
 persistently demanding more ! He kept reproaches 
 from his lips with difficulty, and, an instant later, 
 was extremely glad he had. 
 
 She followed him as he went to his study door, 
 and, just before he reached it, put her hand upon 
 his arm. "Dickie, dear," she pleaded, "I'm sorry 
 that I spoke of it, at all. Really I am. I won't 
 speak of a new car, again." 
 
 He put his arm around her, love and exultation 
 swelling in his heart. They stood there, closely 
 clasped; he assured himself for the ten-thousandth 
 time that he had grievously misjudged her, that, 
 after all, she was the dearest thing on earth and 
 most adorable. She did not mean to be inconsider- 
 ate. And the new car if everything went right, 
 and soon, things must, again, begin to go right with 
 him well, she should have the car. 
 
 
 
 The new butler had not seen Aunt Gretchen, either, 
 and, when she passed him in the hall and made her 
 way directly to the drawing-room, without so much 
 as by-your-leave, he did not quite know what to do. 
 He remembered Monty, though, and made no pro- 
 test. The arrival of Elise upon the scene relieved 
 him. She told him with her eyes that the visitor 
 was not one who would steal the silver mantel-clock 
 and he departed, leaving her to see what she re- 
 quired.
 
 i 9 2 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 I will tell monsieur you are here," said the ex- 
 tremely pretty French girl. 
 
 "Um!" was Aunt Gretchen' s comment, as she 
 looked about the room. Here was no horse-hair 
 furniture ! Nothing which had cost so little, would, 
 it was quite evident, be tolerated in this room or 
 in the rooms adjoining it. 
 
 It was plain from the expression of her face that 
 she did not approve, at all, of what from where 
 she stood she saw of the new house. 
 
 "Madame wishes anything?" said Elise polite- 
 ly, before starting off. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Madame will make herself comfortable?" She 
 advanced a dainty chair toward her. 
 
 "Madame," Aunt Gretchen said, with a long 
 look round the room, "will try, but Madame will 
 not succeed, in a bird-cage like this." 
 
 "Bien, Madame," Elise replied respectfully. 
 She was very much afraid of her mistress's Aunt 
 Gretchen; there was no sign of amusement on her 
 face as she observed the quite apparent look of dis- 
 approval with which the drawing-room was being 
 studied. She knew all about Aunt Gretchen and the 
 fact that she was spoken of as being fabulously rich 
 had, long ago secured for her her most subserviant 
 respect. As the visitor still stood, she again ad- 
 vanced the chair which she had offered. 
 
 "That wasn't made to sit on," said Aunt Gret- 
 chen, looking at it scornfully. Its slight, graceful 
 frame and delicately shaded satin covering was in 
 strong contrast to the furniture in her own draw- 
 ing-room on Washington Square, North.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 193 
 
 Elise, uncertain what would be best to do, with- 
 drew. Aunt Gretchen gave the dainty chair a 
 wide berth and crossed over to a sofa. Standing 
 not against the wall, as all her sofas stood, and 
 backless, it offered no support whatever to the 
 shoulders. Aunt Gretchen when she sat, liked com- 
 fort, so she rose again. 
 
 "Sofa, everything for show," she said, and once 
 more gave the room a minute, disapproving survey. 
 She was thus engaged when Richard entered. 
 
 "Well," said he, "this is a surprise and an 
 honor." 
 
 "Richard," she said, advancing to his out- 
 stretched hand, "it's seldom I get an impulse. 
 When I do, I like to coddle it. I had started down- 
 town when I got an impulse to come up here in- 
 stead, and against my judgment I came, for busy- 
 bodies seldom get anything for their pains but 
 trouble. Richard, maybe you don't know it, and 
 maybe you do, but you're a fool." 
 
 "Who isn't?" he replied, not much astonished. 
 
 "Well, I'm not, for one, and there are a couple 
 of others I could mention, if I should think long 
 enough. Don't you think you've let Frances squan- 
 der enough money and opportunities?" 
 
 It aggravated him to have her go back to the 
 subject which had been so much discussed between 
 them; but he also knew that she was animated by 
 real friendship, and that underneath her brusque- 
 ness there was probably a vein of very actual love 
 for both of them. He wondered what had stirred 
 her up, that morning. 
 
 "Why?" he asked.
 
 194 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "I just told you I wasn't a fool. Don't you sup- 
 pose I know that somehow you've got yourself on 
 your last legs financially? I've heard about the 
 Century Trust this morning. I'll admit that their 
 refusal to renew your loan astonished me, and I've 
 been wondering why it was. There is a chance 
 that all this reckless spending of good money which 
 goes on here in your household has been what 
 made them decide against you. Bankers watch 
 such things among the people whom they loan to. 
 I know what their refusal may mean to you. 
 And look here, Richard, are you a man or a 
 mouse?" 
 
 "A mouse, I think," said he. There was no use 
 trying to deny the fact of his financial embarrass- 
 ment to her. Her knowledge of affairs was quite 
 uncanny. 
 
 "And I think so too. I don't think you deserve 
 much sympathy and I don't think you deserve any 
 help. And I'm not going to give you any " 
 
 She paused, but he said nothing. 
 
 " that is, not yet," she added. 
 
 "I'm not asking help not asking you," said he, 
 a little angrily. 
 
 "I know that's why I am here. Why don't 
 you put your foot down and say that all this wanton 
 waste of money of everything that counts shall 
 end? Taking Clarice away from me and bringing 
 her up here to make your burdens heavier when 
 those you're carrying already are too much for you ! 
 Clarice has good in her and so has Frances but 
 for Frances to believe that she's the one to start 
 that girl upon the proper road in life why,
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 195 
 
 Richard, they are just alike ! She will not help the 
 girl, but hurt her. You've brains enough to see 
 how foolish, how futile it all is." 
 
 He was uncomfortable. He knew she spoke 
 plain truth. "But" 
 
 "I'm a very busy woman. Don't try to foozle 
 with me. I know about those girls. Don't you 
 forget that I had charge of Frances before you 
 took her off my hands." She rose; she found her- 
 self more comfortable standing than sitting on the 
 fancy things there in that drawing-room. "I know 
 her, bone, blood, vanity and laziness." 
 
 He felt that he must speak in vehement defense, 
 but did not. The situation seemed to him to be too 
 hopeless. His efforts to impress his wife Still it 
 did not seem to him to be quite fair for Gretchen 
 Jans to come to him and criticize him for his fail- 
 ure to make Frances see things in their true rela- 
 tion. 
 
 "But you" 
 
 "Had her and didn't succeed in doing anything 
 with her, you were going to say?"she said. "I had 
 just begun to hope to when she hopped away and 
 went to you. That's why she eloped. You knew 
 it, and you helped her. The screws were beginning 
 to bind too tightly." 
 
 He made no reply. What she said was absolute- 
 ly true. 
 
 "Richard," she went on, "I'm late, already. I 
 haven't any time to spare. I really hadn't time to 
 come uptown to see you. But I thought I hoped 
 a word or two might do some good, and if so, I 
 wanted to say it. You've let her run you, and she's
 
 i 9 6 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 run you I don't understand it, all of it, I will ad- 
 mit that, Richard, but at the bottom you'll find 
 Frances, whatever it may prove to be which has 
 been happening to you she's run you so far into 
 the hole that you can't see daylight. If you ever 
 expect to get out you'll have to learn to run her; 
 if you don't there won't be enough left to pay for 
 the excavating. . . . And I like you, Richard. I 
 think you mean to do what's right. . . . Think it 
 over think it all over and then do something be- 
 fore it is too late." 
 
 He could not, possibly, be angry with her. It 
 was a relief to him to talk to someone who seemed 
 to actually know of his financial danger and to 
 know and to appreciate just what, primarily had 
 resulted in his sore embarrassment. She plainly 
 did not know any more than he did, just why he was 
 being so unmercifully, so personally hammered on 
 the Street, but she knew what it had been which 
 had so bound him that he could not dodge the 
 hammering. 
 
 "If it is any satisfaction to you to know it, that 
 I had already decided." 
 
 "Good!" said she. "I trust that you'll be able 
 to do it." 
 
 As they stood, on the point of parting, Frances 
 entered. She was glad to see Aunt Gretchen there ; 
 glad to have her see the comfort and the luxury of 
 the new house. She had a wholly wrong idea that, 
 seeing them, she would be impressed by them and 
 think that possibly she had not shown true ap- 
 preciation of her when she had been with her. She 
 hurried forward, with elaborate cordiality, wonder-
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 197 
 
 ing, among other things, what would be said about 
 Clarice's change of residence, hoping that it had 
 not too much angered her. 
 
 She had just gone through her mail and found 
 among the letters one or two extremely pressing 
 duns from people whom she had supposed would 
 be content to wait much longer for their money. 
 That, already the news had been spread broadcast 
 that the Century Trust, Dick's largest creditors, 
 had refused to give him an extension, she was of 
 course, quite ignorant, but after their talks, she 
 was a little panic-stricken at the thought of asking 
 him to pay these unsuspected liabilities, and there 
 were those pink pawn-tickets in the wall-safe ! Aunt 
 Gretchen's coming might be providential. Instant- 
 ly her hopes rose. If she should prove to be not 
 too much incensed by Clarice's departure possibly 
 she might 
 
 "Why didn't you send word to me that 
 Aunt Gretchen was here?" she asked pleasantly 
 of Dick. 
 
 He smiled with what cheeriness he could assume. 
 "You'll excuse me, now you've learned it," he said 
 diplomatically. 
 
 "Don't go, Dick," said Aunt Gretchen, who did 
 not wish to have a tete-a-tete with Frances. 
 
 "I must; I want to telephone the office. I'll be 
 very late !" 
 
 Aunt Gretchen resigned, perforce, to conversa- 
 tion with her niece, toward whom that day, she felt 
 especial grievance, turned to her with what patience 
 she could muster. 
 
 "I'm so glad to see you, auntie," Frances said,
 
 198 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 effusively. She advanced as if to kiss her, but her 
 aunt withdrew a step or two. 
 
 "You don't want to kiss me," she said grimly, 
 "and I don't want to be kissed. Why do you pre- 
 tend to be so glad? You after money?" 
 
 "Why, auntie," Frances cried, "I haven't even 
 mentioned money!" 
 
 "Well, if it isn't money, then what is it?"
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 Frances was abashed, uncertain, hesitant. Aunt 
 Gretchen was not hesitant, however. Having 
 waited what she thought a quite sufficient time, she 
 asked again not good-naturedly. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" she demanded. "If it isn't 
 money, what then is it?" 
 
 "Now, Aunt Gretchen !" 
 
 "Don't Aunt Gretchen me. You remember what 
 I said to you down at the seashore when I gave you 
 that last thousand!" 
 
 Frances looked at her, half in appeal and half 
 in keen annoyance. It seemed very inconsiderate 
 to her, for her rich aunt to bring this matter up. 
 She had herself, almost forgotten it. She had a 
 way of letting the unpleasant things slip from her 
 mind. It is a way with those whose brains are in- 
 dolent; to even carry in their minds unpleasant 
 things is something of an effort wrath takes vital- 
 ity. She did not know just what to say, now that 
 her aunt's emphatic speech on that occasion was 
 recalled so forcibly to her. 
 
 Gretchen Jans did not sit silent while the younger 
 woman tried to think the matter out. She sat at 
 all apparently, with much suspicion of the furniture 
 and only on the very edge of the slim-legged chair 
 which seemed to her more likely than any other in 
 the room to bear her weight with comfort and 
 some degree of safety.
 
 200 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "I don't propose to work like a dog to earn 
 money for you and Clarice to squander," she said 
 firmly. "It made you both uncomfortable that 
 unwillingness of mine, and now you both have left 
 me. You eloped and Clarice has run away. ... I 
 miss you, in a way. There were times when it was 
 really agreeable to have someone who was young 
 around, but all the waste of money you're a fool 
 and Richard is a fool for letting you be a fool. 
 Now, is it money, or isn't it?" 
 
 "I do wish you'd be calm," said Frances, very 
 greatly flustered. "You're so excitable that I don't 
 know whether I'm on my head or my heals." 
 
 "And you don't know whether it's money or isn't 
 money, eh?" Aunt Gretchen rose. "Well, you'll 
 have to find out very quickly, for I can't wait." 
 
 "It's not money," Frances stammered. "That 
 is not exactly." 
 
 "Not exactly, eh?" This with sarcastic empha- 
 sis. "Umph! Not exactly. I knew it!" 
 
 "I don't want you to give me money," Frances 
 said, in eager explanation. Her face was flushed, 
 her voice and hands a little tremulous, her wits 
 entirely scattered. It was true that her aunt flus- 
 tered her. She scarcely did know whether she was 
 standing on her head or heels. "No ; I didn't mean 
 to ask you to actually give me any I wanted to 
 see if you wouldn't loan me some just for a few 
 months until these hard times are over." 
 
 "What hard times? I haven't noticed any hard 
 times." 
 
 "Our hard times Richard's and mine." 
 
 Aunt Gretchen looked around the ornate and ex-
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 201 
 
 pensive room, she took stock of her niece's gown, 
 she tapped her foot upon the rich, thick rug. 
 
 "Your hard times won't ever be over not if 
 you keep on the way you have been going." 
 
 "Richard's had a lot of things coming due, at 
 once, and it has tied him up, you know. The 
 house, and things. In a month or so everything 
 will be all right." 
 
 Aunt Gretchen smiled a crafty smile, pretending 
 that she had at last, and for the first time, come 
 to an understanding of the situation. 
 
 "Oh, Richard wants it does he? Eh? Why 
 didn't he ask me for it then? He's just been here 
 with me, and if he hadn't, he knows where to find 
 me." 
 
 Frances was becoming more and more confused. 
 She was no match for this extremely practical old 
 woman ; she had never been a match for her in any 
 of their countless battles over this same subject, 
 money; but she kept on trying to explain, to gloss 
 over her extravagance with excuses which, even 
 while she made them, she was conscious were quite 
 futile. 
 
 "It's not that, exactly," she said timidly. "You 
 see, it's that / need it. There were some bills, you 
 know, that I expected to be able to settle, and 
 now he can't let me have the money. So I 
 thought I'd just help him by borrowing it some- 
 where and then he can pay it back again when 
 some of his money shall come in." Her nervous 
 voice was wheedling, doubtful of its own convin- 
 cing power, very plainly almost desperate. 
 
 "A very bright idea," Aunt Gretchen's voice
 
 202 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 was sharply sarcastic. "A very bright idea, 
 Frances. And on what security do you expect to 
 borrow this money?" 
 
 This was entirely unexpected and left Frances 
 speechless for an instant. "Why I er hadn't 
 thought of that. I knew you had to have security 
 to pawn things;" (she caught her breath a little 
 quickly after that, wondering if the word would 
 attract her aunt's attention, but it did not), "but I 
 thought when you borrowed, you just borrowed!" 
 
 "So you do if you happen to control a chain of 
 banks. But not with me, you don't. Before I let 
 go of money, I want to see collateral and I gener- 
 ally do." 
 
 Frances was in distress. Her voice trembled with 
 her disappointment. "Then you won't loan me 
 any money?" 
 
 "No ma'am. I don't see any valid reason why I 
 should assist you to become any more of a fool 
 than you are at present. If you were living within 
 your means, and doing the best you could, no one 
 would be quicker to help you than I. But you 
 aren't. You never have and you never will. Giv- 
 ing money to you means sending good money after 
 bad, and bad after worse." She started toward 
 the door. "And I don't propose to do it." 
 
 But Frances would not yet give up. She had 
 never wheedled her firm aunt successfully, but 
 "Now Aunt Gretchen !" she said, pleadingly. 
 
 "That won't do any good, either. I tell you 
 candidly, Frances, that I long ago became so dis- 
 appointed in you, that, of late, it's ceased to be a 
 disappointment at all. You're taking Clarice
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 203 
 
 away to teach her, I suppose your own wise methods 
 of managing her life. That settled it, I guess. At 
 any rate it's settled. When I paid for all those 
 boarding- and finishing-schools, and convents, and 
 music-courses, I had hopes for you. But they're 
 gone, now. You've been married several years, 
 now. You've neglected your duties as a wife, you 
 have denied your obligations as a mother. Why, 
 there ought to be two or three children playing 
 about here, this minute." 
 
 "A woman's sphere," said Frances, "comprises 
 something besides children." 
 
 "All this talk about a woman's sphere makes me 
 sick. A woman's sphere is first to be a mother, 
 second to be a good mother. After that she can be 
 a doctor, or a lawyer, or a carpenter, or a society 
 leader, or a or a suffragette. Or anything she 
 wants to. But if she isn't a mother first huh! 
 There soon won't be any women left to have any 
 spheres !" 
 
 "But if Richard and I" 
 
 Her aunt again laughed scornfully. "Oh, it 
 isn't Richard. It's you. And it's not because you 
 can't have children, it's because you won't. You're 
 too selfish." 
 
 She stopped and looked at her with contempla- 
 tive, not unkindly, although very disapproving eyes. 
 
 "There's a lot of good in you, Frances," she went 
 on, at length. "But the trouble is, you've never 
 had any one to think about but yourself. And the 
 only thing that will ever awaken you to the good 
 that lies beneath all the selfishness, is a child. Good 
 mothers don't have time to be selfish. After
 
 204 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 you've lain all through the night with a little, new- 
 born baby whimpering in your arms, it won't make 
 much difference whether the breakfast-table in the 
 morning is decorated with carnations, or only food. 
 I lost my baby. I lost my husband. And I've 
 got only money." 
 
 Frances had never heard her aunt talk like this 
 before. She did not often show her heart to any- 
 one, this richest woman in New York, this Gretchen 
 Jans whom all the Sunday supplements, from time 
 to time had illustrated tales of, mostly telling of 
 her marvellous ability at making dollars multiply 
 or of her parsimony never telling of the nature 
 of the heart that beat beneath the plain and service- 
 able woolen gown which had attracted the attention 
 of the world because, upon the richest woman of 
 her time, it was not silk. 
 
 "I lost them. And I've got only money. And 
 I'd give every dollar of it, just to feel those little 
 hands against my cheeks. A woman isn't a woman 
 till she is a mother. I'm sorry for you, Frances 
 sorry that you know so little. But now you'll pro- 
 bably go on like this, till the end of your days, un- 
 less something shall happen to change utterly the 
 course of your whole life." 
 
 Fiances was affected but not at all as her Aunt 
 Gretchen looking shrewdly, keenly at her, hoped 
 against hope that she might be. The reserved, 
 misunderstood old woman had laid bare her heart 
 in this brusque speech as she had never laid it bare 
 to anyone before, and she wondered if it might 
 not if the cold and cheerless tragedy of the blank 
 canvas which the picture showed, despite its frame
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 205 
 
 of gold, might not arouse some of the feeling 
 which had been quite stifled in her niece's breast 
 by the mere love of wastefulness, extravagance. 
 
 "Aunt Gretchen!" the young woman cried, im- 
 pressed, but not as her aunt had hoped that she 
 might be. 
 
 "I'd like to see you poor, for a while," said the 
 old woman, in a thoughtful, not unkindly voice. 
 "I'd like to see you poor so downright poor that 
 you would have to take in washing and scrub floors. 
 That's your only chance for salvation; and I 
 wouldn't raise a finger to stop it, although I sup- 
 pose we all have helped to spoil you. But it's your 
 own fault actually. For nobody can spoil a really 
 good thing. It's only the half-rotten ones that 
 become all rotten. Had you been the right 
 sort of a woman you'd have derived benefit from 
 the things you have let only injure you." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "When you begin to help yourself, then I'll begin 
 to help you. But not until then." 
 
 The chatter of young voices broke in upon them 
 from the hallway, and an instant later, Monty and 
 Clarice came in. Clarice, a bit nonplussed for just 
 a moment at the sight of her deserted aunt, soon 
 regained her poise and hurried toward her. 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Gretchen 1" she exclaimed. "I am 
 so glad to see you." 
 
 "You needn't be." 
 
 "Are you so very angry because I've come up 
 here to live? Frances and er Dick they 
 seemed to think they needed me, and " 
 
 "May they get much good of you, Clarice."
 
 206 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "Why, auntie, I" 
 
 "I've just been giving your sister a little lecture 
 that you ask her to repeat to you. I haven't time, 
 myself; but you need it, just as badly as your sister 
 does and maybe worse, for you are younger and 
 it may come hi time to do some good!" 
 
 Clarice gazed at her in shocked distress, and 
 went at length to Frances. They then stood to- 
 gether like badly frightened children, while their 
 aunt looked at them. 
 
 After a calm survey of them she raised her 
 hands and dropped them, as if abandoning a 
 problem. 
 
 "Where you two girls got it from, I don't know. 
 It wasn't from your mother; it certainly has not 
 been from me. It must have been from your poor 
 father, although I will say this for him he may 
 have been a fool, but he was honest strictly 
 honest." 
 
 "But, auntie ", said Clarice, glancing nervous- 
 ly at Monty. 
 
 Aunt Gretchen interrupted her without the least 
 compunction. "When either one or both of you 
 make up your minds to do the right thing, come and 
 see me, but don't come until then. And don't come 
 wearing two-hundred-dollar dresses, eighty-dollar 
 hats and twelve-dollar shoes." 
 
 Without another word she left the room, as fast 
 as her firm, steady tread would carry her and then 
 left the house entirely. 
 
 "Stingy old thing!" Clarice exclaimed, looking 
 after her with a fiercely puckered brow and tapping 
 foot.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 207 
 
 "With all her money, too !" said Frances. "Talk 
 about one's family I " 
 
 "One's family will do less for one than strangers, 
 every time. What did she say to you, Fran?" 
 
 "Oh, the same old thing." Frances turned 
 away, with a gesture of great weariness, discourag- 
 ment and woe. "Wants me to live on bread and 
 water in a tent and take in floors to scrub!" 
 
 "When people get a little money," said her sister, 
 with a philosophy which often is subscribed to by 
 much older persons, believed by many to be ex- 
 tremely wise, "they always want to see other 
 people as uncomfortable as possible." 
 
 Monty, before the brusque visitor's departure 
 and during the brief colloquy between the sisters, 
 had remained entirely silent. Aunt Gretchen, as 
 she passed him, had made no sign of recognition, 
 whether because she merely did not see him, be- 
 cause she saw him and did not think him of enough 
 importance to be recognized, or because she saw 
 and recognized him and decided to have none of 
 him because she thought that in some way he had 
 been a party to the defection of Clarice, he did not 
 know. He was very vividly embarrassed, and 
 rather hated to look now at either of the sisters, 
 but they did not seem to be embarrassed they 
 were merely very angry at their aunt. 
 
 "Monty's going to take me in the country in the 
 car want to come?" said Clarice to her sister, 
 failing to find further words to utter on the other 
 subject. 
 
 "No," said Frances. 
 
 "Well, goodbye."
 
 208 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "Goodbye." 
 
 The two young folks departed. Frances, after 
 a doleful look at everything about the room the 
 dainty and expensive room which she had spent 
 so much of her own time and so much of Richard's 
 money in outfitting, but out of which, because she 
 did not have more of the money, she was getting 
 very little pleasure sank down on the couch. 
 
 "Elise !" she called, in languid, woeful voice. 
 
 Like magic the French maid (who had been 
 listening, endeavoring, without much real success, 
 to follow what was said inside the room), came 
 in. "Madame!" 
 
 "Elise, bring me a cup of chocolate." 
 
 From another door came Richard, his face more 
 worried in its look than ever, his hands full of 
 folded papers. 
 
 "What, not gone yet?" she said, surprised at 
 seeing him. 
 
 He shook his head, and sat down near her.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 Things were going very ill with Richard Ward 
 much worse than he had thought they could go. 
 Everywhere he turned he found the influence at 
 work against him to be so malign, so clever, so mys- 
 terious that he could not combat it, could not even 
 identify it. Beginning with mild summer, during 
 Frances' absense at the seashore, this had been 
 persistent, baffling, constantly more serious. No 
 sooner had he thought he had discovered who his 
 enemy or enemies, might be, than something hap- 
 pened which disproved at once his surmise. No 
 sooner did he think he had devised a way of coping 
 with the situation with success than some new move, 
 of ingenuity akinto the infernal, it seemed to him, 
 defeated him, or if it did not do quite that, so trou- 
 bled him that it most seriously sapped his fighting 
 strength for the next battle which, invariably, 
 came with the next day. 
 
 That his secret enemy was armed with money 
 without limit was plain for, more than once, brokers 
 had been sent upon the floor to fight him who, by 
 doing so, lost heavily (or seemed to), in order to 
 accomplish his undoing. The fight shifted too, 
 from one firm to another, so that he never knew, 
 from day to day, beneath what banner the next 
 battle would be fought against him. This, added 
 to the strain of constantly increasing home-expenses 
 which had grown beyond the limit which, in his
 
 2IO 
 
 bachelor days, sophisticated though he had been, 
 he had dreamed the household costs of a childless 
 couple could not reach had sapped the man's 
 financial strength and, sapping that, had also sapped 
 his nerve. Within the year he had aged ten, and 
 now continued and successful opposition had about 
 succeeded in forcing him to desperation. 
 
 He did not wish to tell his wife these things, first 
 because he did not wish to worry her, second be- 
 cause he did not think that she would understand, 
 or understanding, be impressed sufficiently to de- 
 finitely and effectively lend aid by doing the one 
 thing which he so often had urged on her cutting 
 down expenses. Still he saw no way by which he 
 could avoid a long and serious talk with her, many 
 times he had evaded it, but now the need was des- 
 perate and, after careful thought, he had fixed upon 
 this day as the occasion for it. That had given him 
 the motive for returning early that and the neces- 
 sity for a long talk with Cartwright, which he did 
 not wish to have occur down at his office where, of 
 late, the very walls had seemed to have keen ears 
 for business secrets. 
 
 "I came home," he said to her, "because I 
 wanted to think things over and to talk with you. 
 And Cartwright's coming later." 
 
 She frowned. The calm silent Cartwright's de- 
 meanor when they chanced to be together always 
 disconcerted her. She thought his influence on 
 Dick was growing too, and she felt certain that 
 that influence was critical of her. 
 
 "I won't have to see him will I?"
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 211 
 
 Richard looked at her with heavy, tired eyes. 
 "I am afraid you will, dear." 
 
 She was annoyed. "But why? What can he 
 possibly have to say that will interest me?" 
 
 He shook his head and did not look at her. "I 
 don't know, yet. Maybe much. I hope little." 
 
 "Business?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I hate business." 
 
 Richard did not look at her, he did not throw off 
 the tired droop which slumped his shoulders, he 
 did not manage to relieve his voice of its flat, 
 weary note. "I am beginning to, myself Frances." 
 
 "And I don't like Cart-wright." 
 
 "He's a good lawyer," said her husband, dully, 
 "and my closest friend." 
 
 "I know," said she. "I suppose I ought to like 
 him, for your sake, Richard. But I just can't. He 
 doesn't like me." 
 
 "Nonsense." 
 
 "Oh, it isn't nonsense. He didn't want you to 
 marry me in the first place." She set her lips a 
 little tightly and tapped her foot against the rug. 
 "And I'll never forgive him for it never!" 
 
 "Didn't want me to marry you? Why, dear, 
 that's silly." 
 
 "It isn't silly at all. It's so. Didn't he try to 
 dissuade you from it? Didn't he tell you I was silly 
 and vain and extravagant? Didn't he?" 
 
 Cartwright had intimated all these things a 
 hundred times, and Richard well remembered it. 
 He had not said them in so many words perhaps, 
 but he had indicated that he thought them in a
 
 2i2 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 hundred ways which Richard had not found too 
 hard to understand. During their long and fine 
 companionship he had learned how to interpret the 
 unexpressed meanings of the silent man with an un- 
 erring accuracy, and he never doubted that there 
 were a thousand things about the woman he had 
 learned to love of which Cartwright disapproved 
 would not have failed to know it, even if Phil 
 had not, upon that notable occasion, broken what 
 amounted to a rule with him and actually said his 
 say in words. But of course he would not admit 
 these things to her. And Cartwright had not in- 
 fluenced him. The fact that he had fought for her 
 and won her in despite of him was evidence enough, 
 he thought, that he cared more for her than for his 
 chum's opinion. 
 
 "Didn't he?" she insisted. 
 
 "Now, my dear girl, please let's talk sense." 
 
 "Didn't he say those things?" 
 
 He tried to smile indulgently at her. "Well, 
 you are extravagant, aren't you?" 
 
 It instantly changed their position, putting her 
 on the defensive, where he had been. 
 
 "Well," she admitted, "perhaps I am just the 
 least little bit. But I love pretty things so, 
 Dick." 
 
 "So do I," he said. "That's why I married 
 you." 
 
 Now his smile was genuine and he went to her 
 and put his arm about her. She worried him, some- 
 times almost beyond endurance, but he never for a 
 second stopped loving her. He never saw her that 
 she did not make a new appeal to him.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 213 
 
 "Oh, you dear!" she cried. She was drinking 
 chocolate and held the cup out toward him prettily. 
 Her little ways were fascinating. "You may have 
 a sip of my chocolate for that." 
 
 He smiled very fondly at her. 
 
 "But was that the only reason why you married 
 me? No you shan't have the chocolate not if 
 you married me just because you thought me 
 pretty." 
 
 "I didn't," he said, his smile fading now a little, 
 into very actual earnestness. "I married you be- 
 cause I loved you." 
 
 "That was nice. Now you may have all the 
 chocolate." 
 
 "I've had luncheon, thank you all I care for." 
 
 This by-play had relieved her. By-plays always 
 did. She felt triumphant ever, if she managed to 
 dodge serious talk with Richard. She hated serious 
 talk with him, or anyone. It always ended in some 
 criticism of her of some talk about economy. 
 Economy. She hated the mere word! She had 
 been hopeful but now his face was grave again. 
 She felt that she was sadly burdened. 
 
 "O-o-o-oh! You scorn my gifts! Well, then, I 
 will drink it myself." 
 
 As she sipped the chocolate she looked at him 
 out of the corners of her eyes, trying to be sure if 
 his unusual presence at the house at that hour really 
 portended anything so very disagreeable. "You 
 look so serious, Richard." 
 
 She was almost sorry she had said it. Instantly 
 his face lost what little of light gaiety there had 
 been on it.
 
 2i 4 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "With reason, dear," he said, and then paused, 
 trying to devise a way of saying what he had to 
 say with as small offense as possible. "Frances, I 
 don't want to seem disagreeable, but we must cut 
 down expenses. We really must, dear." 
 
 She frowned a little prettily, but still she 
 frowned. "You just said you didn't want to be 
 disagreeable." 
 
 "I don't, but" 
 
 "And then you go right and do it." 
 
 He was nervous and unhappy, but the situation 
 forced him to go on, even against his will almost 
 as much against his own as hers. "I'm sorry, dear, 
 but" 
 
 "Now please, Richard, don't let's quarrel," said 
 she. She looked at him reprovingly, as if the 
 fault were wholly his. 
 
 "Yes," said he, with a persistence which sur- 
 prised her, with a determination which surprised 
 himself, a determination which was plain despera- 
 tion, really, "but there must be a change in that, 
 too in the way they end. We're spending too 
 much money, and we must stop. I I'm sorry, 
 little girl. I'd like to give you everything that you 
 want, but I can't. Simply can't. You understand?" 
 
 His evident distress made its appeal to her its 
 real appeal to her. She went to him impulsively 
 and his face lighted as if somebody had given him 
 a gift. "Then what can I do to help you?" she 
 said anxiously, with a really wifely manner. 
 
 "We'll have to give the house up." It was 
 plain enough that these words cost him very dear. 
 He spoke them with an effort. It cut him to the
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 215 
 
 quick to have to say a thing like that just after they 
 had gone into the place. "We must move to a 
 smaller place, at once; keep fewer servants " 
 
 "But dear," she said, aghast, "this is the house 
 we've built! How foolish to build a house and 
 then at once move out of it ! And as for a smaller 
 place why Richard, even this is scarcely large 
 enough. I've been wondering to-day, why we didn't 
 add another story. We have but four spare rooms, 
 now." 
 
 The thought of giving up the house was bitter, 
 also to his soul as bitter as he knew, it must in- 
 evitably be to her, when she should come to take 
 it seriously, which she plainly did not do as yet. He 
 himself, began to offer substitutes. 
 
 "Economize upon the servants, then." 
 
 She shook her head as if the very thought were 
 foolish. "We have only two maids, the butler and 
 Elise now, Richard! And the chauffeur, of course." 
 
 "Your personal bills," he said, persisting, in spite 
 of the too evident fact that, really he was not im- 
 pressing her, at all. "A hundred for a hat ! Four 
 hundred for a gown! It would be all right if I 
 were a millionaire, Frances, but I'm not. So far 
 from it are the facts that I have nothing nothing 
 but debts to show for all my years of hard work. 
 I don't care you you economize, Frances, but 
 economize we must." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, looking at him with 
 plain disapproval. Once she opened her lips as if 
 to answer him, then closed them and turned away. 
 Instead of saying anything to him whatever she 
 raised her voice and cried: "Elise!" She dwelt
 
 216 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 on the word and made it an expression of annoyance 
 against him. 
 
 The French maid came in softly, deftly, paying 
 no attention to the master of the house, looking 
 only at her mistress. 
 
 "Give me a magazine, Elise." 
 
 The maid brought one from a table which 
 Frances could herself have reached with but slight 
 effort. "Anything else, Madame?" 
 
 "No." As the maid went out, Frances would 
 have settled as if to read, without further regard 
 for her annoying husband. 
 
 But the time had come when he was absolutely 
 forced to bring some order out of all the chaos of 
 expenditure which had begun to drag him, he saw 
 clearly, close to an abyss' edge which he feared 
 even to look over. Not roughly, but with a firm- 
 ness new to him, he went to her and took the maga- 
 zine out of her hands. 
 
 She looked up at him, quite unangered, unresist- 
 ing, but with calm, patient protest. 
 
 "I told you that I was quite ready to do anything 
 I could to help you, Dick. But we must live decent- 
 
 iy." 
 
 "Would you be willing to go to a hotel?" he 
 asked; "give up one of the cars or, better still, give 
 them all up and use taxis ?" 
 
 She looked at him with something like a pitying 
 incredulity. It was not at all as if she feared that 
 she might really have to do preposterous things 
 like those, but rather, that she thought he must be 
 mad so much as to suggest them. "Not even a 
 town ear."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 217 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 "Why, Richard," she said coldly, "you're getting 
 positively niggardly !" 
 
 He made no protest, no defense, and more un- 
 usual, did not yield. He could not yield. 
 
 "I've been making about twenty thousand a 
 year," said he. "We've been spending twenty-five. 
 When I was making ten we were spending fifteen. 
 I don't want to complain, Frances, but we must cut 
 down expenses. We must not spend all, and more ; 
 we must spend part and save part. I don't care 
 how you do it, as long as you do do it. Keep fewer 
 servants, fewer motors, move to a smaller house, 
 spend less for dress and entertainment. Any or 
 all of these courses are open to you. Take which- 
 ever one you will, but save enough so that it won't 
 cost us over ten thousand a year to live. Will you 
 do this for me?" His voice was very tense, and 
 there was hope in it, although the hope was not so 
 strong as it had once been. It gave his tone a little 
 ring, but not the vibrant, vital ring it would have 
 given it a year before if he had asked a favor of 
 her then he had lost some measure of his confi- 
 dence in her. 
 
 She responded, but with reservations. "Why, of 
 course, Richard, I'll do anything for you any- 
 thing ! only I must be able to keep my friends." 
 
 His lips tightened. His brow darkened. His 
 eyes chilled. Still his voice was even, not in the 
 least angry; but there was in it that cold quality of 
 real finality which she had not before heard in it. 
 "If the keeping of friends means the sending of 
 your husband into bankruptcy, get new friends.
 
 2i 8 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 There are as good people living on sixty dollars 
 a week as on six hundred and better." 
 
 It was plain now, that she wished to put the 
 whole thing from her. She was tired of it, not at 
 all in sympathy with it, almost disgusted. Not 
 knowing how she could refuse, not willing to con- 
 sent, she wished to temporize. "I'll think it over, 
 Richard, and then we'll decide what is best to do." 
 
 "You've said that before," he answered, without 
 showing any sign of giving back an inch from his 
 position. "And it has resulted in nothing. Now 
 we haven't left to us the time for thinking. You 
 must realize that, Frances. You must realize it. 
 We must do I" 
 
 "You're positively brutal," she declared really 
 angry "Surely a few days more or less can't make 
 any difference." 
 
 "A few hours make a difference, now," he an- 
 swered. "Frances, I'm seriously involved. If we 
 don't give up this house it may be taken from us. 
 Do you understand? I have notes falling due ob- 
 ligations to meet. In trying to get money for you 
 to spend I haven't had time to look behind me. 
 Whatever lay before me to seize I have seized. 
 Whatever lay behind me I have fled from. Now, 
 suddenly, the end, of which I would not admit the 
 possibility, although my reason warned me of it, 
 really has come." 
 
 He turned from her and took a nervous turn or 
 two. 
 
 "That is why Cartwright is coming he has been 
 up all night going over the wreckage that is left. 
 Frances, I haven't asked much of you since we were
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 219 
 
 married. We haven't lived at all as I've wanted to 
 live, but you were happy, and I tried to be." 
 
 Again he paused and took a few nervous steps, 
 needing time for the arrangement of his words. 
 
 "I wanted children, you did not, and we are 
 childless," he went on. "I wanted a little home 
 in which we could be by ourselves and of ourselves. 
 You wanted a big house and servants society and 
 all the turmoil that it means. We have had the 
 big house, the servants, the society, the turmoil. 
 I tried not to complain, because I didn't expect you 
 to like a thing just because I liked it. And until 
 now I have given all, and more than I had any right 
 to give. We have lived all your way. It has 
 brought disaster." 
 
 He stopped now in his walking, and raised his 
 head and looked at her. He had never looked at 
 her like that in all their married life before. 
 
 "Now," said he, "we must live my way. Instead 
 of fitting our income to our wishes, we must fit our 
 wishes to our income." He gazed on, steadily, not 
 unkindly, but in a way which left no doubt that he 
 was very much in earnest. "Do you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 She did not reply to his question, she did not 
 comment on any of the points which he had made. 
 Instead her eyes filled brimming full of tears and 
 in her voice appeared the tearful tremolo of injury 
 and reproach. "Richard," she declared, "I be- 
 lieve you're sorry you married me!" 
 
 "No, dear." 
 
 She walked away from him, her shoulders sag- 
 ging in deep misery, her feet dragging in a listless
 
 220 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 step. "Yes you are, too ! Oh, I'm miserable ! I 
 could cry!" 
 
 His determination weakened and the firmness 
 vanished from his voice. "Now, dear " he plead- 
 ed. 
 
 j "Men know nothing of the suffering the care 
 of children," she plaintively insisted. Then, almost 
 spitefully: "If a man only had to have one, him- 
 self, he'd never ask a woman to !" 
 
 His poise was gone. "Now, my dear girl, I " 
 
 Her tears were coming fast, but they were not 
 humble she was injured, deeply injured and, see- 
 ing that at last she had him quite on the defensive, 
 she pursued her great advantage with unrelenting 
 persistence. "I'm sorry that I've failed you so 
 utterly! I'm sorry that you feel your marriage to 
 me was such a mistake ! I'm sorry that I've brought 
 you nothing but worry and unhappiness !" 
 
 She did not do the things which he had suggested 
 even the honor of considering them. If any change 
 whatever was to be made in their relations to the 
 world, their mode of life, it meant (she instantly 
 assumed) that their relations to the world must 
 cease entirely and their mode of life change utter- 
 
 iy. 
 
 "Very well!" she almost wailed. "I'll go away. 
 I can leave you. You can live as you choose, then. 
 You won't have to worry about my extravagancies 
 and uselessness. You can marry someone else " 
 she was very angry now, and hurled these final sen- 
 tences at him with sobbing, almost incoherent vehe- 
 mence, " who will give you the children and the 
 home that I have failed to give you."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 221 
 
 He was defeated. He did not, in the least, know 
 how to cope with her. "Now, don't be foolish, 
 dear" 
 
 She ran quickly to a sofa burying her head upon 
 her crossed hands at its top, not again becoming 
 vehement, not allowing tears or sobs enough to 
 come to again make her incoherent in the least, 
 but wearing on her face a look of hopeless misery. 
 "I've tried so hard to have things right for you 
 to have our home attractive to keep the right 
 kind of friends for you." Now, at length, she 
 yielded unreservedly to woe. "I am so miserable 
 I wish I were dead!" 
 
 It was too much for Richard Ward. He went 
 to her contritely, tenderly touched her shoulder, 
 petted her hair. "There, there don't you under- 
 stand? It isn't that. I love you don't you know 
 I love you?" 
 
 Her words came brokenly. "But you don't treat 
 me at though you did." 
 
 "Ah, but I do, little girl," he fervently assured 
 her. "And there's no great harm done no harm 
 that can't be undone." It cut his heart not to be 
 able to assure her that, after all, she need not do 
 the things she so disliked to do. "Just be calm, 
 and think things over sensibly. All we need is a 
 little judicious economy. We can still have all we 
 need, if not all we want. A smaller house, or an 
 apartment, a couple of servants, one motor; we 
 could be very comfortable on a thousand a month, 
 dear." 
 
 But this did not comfort her at all. The idea 
 was repulsive to her.
 
 222 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "And have all our friends laughing at us !" 
 
 That roused him a little. ''Friends of that 
 kind," he declared with emphasis, "one is better oft' 
 without." 
 
 He stood over her, as she sat sobbing there, and 
 hoped against hope that, presently, she would raise 
 her head and smile at him with a brave smile, tell- 
 ing him that he was right that if he thought that 
 these things must be done, why, she would stand 
 close by his side, her shoulder against his, and help 
 make the fight which would relieve his worries. But 
 she did not do these things. Instead, without so 
 much as looking at him, she wailed, dolefully: 
 
 "Elise! Elise!" 
 
 Miserably unhappy he went out as the French 
 maid came in.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 As Ward passed through the door she looked up 
 and gazed after him a little furtively. Her face did 
 not show traces of such violent weeping as her 
 shoulders and her sobs, while he had been in the 
 room with her, had indicated to him. Indeed there 
 was almost as much resentment as there was real 
 grief in her indignant eyes, as they followed his 
 bent-shouldered, tired figure till it passed through 
 the curtains between the morning-room and hall 
 and disappeared. 
 
 The maid stood waiting; silent. "Madame?" 
 
 "Powder, Elise, and rouge." 
 
 They were supplied and, with her own deft 
 hands, she made the applications necessary to ef- 
 face the signs of grief. They really were not very 
 many, and as soon as she saw in the small hand- 
 glass which the maid presented to her without be- 
 ing told to, that traces of her indignation were 
 much more plainly visible upon her lovely face 
 than traces of her tears, she smoothed the wrinkles 
 from her brow at once without much effort, assum- 
 ing, now a look of resignation, saintlike, lovely. 
 She looked at every portrait of hurt righteousoess, 
 and spoke almost calmly, although there still was 
 a faint trace in her articulation of the sobs which 
 had been so violent when Richard had been there. 
 
 "Elise," she said, beginning a conversation with 
 reflective face.
 
 224 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "Madame?" 
 
 "One has so much trouble when one is married, 
 Elise. Don't ever have a husband. . . . Do I look 
 all right?" 
 
 "Ah, beautiful, Madame." 
 
 "Thank you, Elsie. Put the things back. I am 
 through with them. And bring me a newspaper." 
 
 Faintly the soft, rich booming of the electric- 
 bell's padded hammer on its gong, throbbed 
 through the room. "See who it is, Elise, and let 
 me know. If it is the man about the car the one 
 who was to bring a new car here, to-day, to show 
 me, tell him . . . tell him to call again in ... oh, 
 in a day or two." 
 
 "Bien, Madame." 
 
 A moment later the French maid came back. 
 "It is the M'sieu Cartwright." 
 
 "To see Mr. Ward, of course." 
 
 The maid bowed. 
 
 "Have him shown into the library." 
 
 But Cartwright, mistaking Elise's intention, had 
 followed at the maid's trim heels. "I beg your 
 pardon !" he exclaimed when he discovered not the 
 master, but the mistress of the house, awaiting him. 
 
 "Come in. Richard is somewhere, and is ex- 
 pecting you. He told me you were coming." She 
 looked at the man keenly more keenly than he 
 did at her, for his eyes were, for the most part, dis- 
 creetly lowered. 
 
 He knew that, really, he was her antagonist and 
 did not enjoy that feeling toward a woman and his 
 best friend's wife. In these days he never was 
 quite comfortable in Frances' presence; now, there
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 225 
 
 in the house with her, without her husband's brac- 
 ing presence, for the first time in the very midst of 
 what he knew to be the monumental folly which 
 Ward's love for her had led him to commit, he 
 knew that he was more than likely to be unfairly 
 critical of her. He did not wish to be unfair to 
 anyone. The thought that he might be was far 
 more worrisome to him than it would be to her, 
 he knew, even if she should suspect it. He stood 
 awkwardly and gazed about the spacious, elabo- 
 rately rugged floor. 
 
 She was conscious of this and it did not in the 
 least displease her. "You haven't been in this 
 room of the new house before, have you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Like it?" 
 
 "It's all very pretty," he replied, glancing care- 
 fully (not furtively: Cartwright was not at all 
 afraid of her, she merely made him feel uncom- 
 fortable), "but not for me. I want things I can 
 put my feet on." 
 
 Seeing his discomfort she was filled with a desire 
 to make it more acute. "You don't like me, do 
 you Mr. Cartwright?" she inquired abruptly. 
 
 The directness of the challenge confused him for 
 an instant, although Cartwright was not one to be 
 easily confused. "Why, I that is " 
 
 She laughed merrily, a bit coquettishly, perhaps. 
 "You needn't be embarrassed. ... I don't like you, 
 either, you know." 
 
 He looked at her and smiled with a certain kind 
 of admiration. This seemed certainly to be fair 
 fighting and fair fighting he approved of, no matter
 
 226 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 who the fighter might be. But no reply occurred to 
 him, so he made none. 
 
 "Why don't you like me?" she insisted, pleased 
 to have him at what she recognized as a decided 
 disadvantage. 
 
 But Cartwright was a lawyer and not to be so 
 lightly trapped. "Suppose you tell me first, why 
 you don't like me." 
 
 She did not hesitate, as he had. "Well, I think 
 you're cold and hard and unsympathetic and don't 
 understand women very well." 
 
 He smiled faintly. "I used to be a traveling 
 salesman," he ventured. 
 
 "That might explain why you are cold and hard 
 and unsympathetic, but it does not necessarily signi- 
 fy that you understand women." 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Ward, when women don't even 
 understand themselves, how can a man hope to do 
 so?" 
 
 She shook her head. She quite recognized that 
 she was battling with him and she thoroughly en- 
 joyed it. "Now you're evading." 
 
 Again he smiled his little smile, acknowledging 
 the weakness of a man engaged in argument against 
 a woman. "That's my only chance." 
 
 "The old cry!" she exclaimed in dainty scorn. 
 "The man has logic, the woman only intuition!" 
 
 "Whereby," said he, still smiling, "the woman 
 is the better equipped, for the man is hampered by 
 rules. The woman can bite, kick, hit below the 
 belt and strike in the breakaways." He was very 
 careful to keep the little smile upon his face, so 
 that there could be no assumption that he really
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 227 
 
 was very serious. "When women get to be lawyers 
 and judges I'm going to quit and go to digging 
 clams. Clams have no intuition." 
 
 "So much the worse for the clams." 
 
 "But so much the better for the man who has to 
 dig them." 
 
 "Well, I told you why I didn't like you." 
 
 His smile broadened the least bit. "I'm much 
 obliged." 
 
 "Now aren't you going to tell me why you don't 
 like me?" 
 
 There was not a moment's hesitation in his an- 
 swer. It returned with almost startling prompt- 
 ness. "No." 
 
 "Oh," she cried, "but that's not fair, you know!" 
 
 He did not protest against the charge. "I'm 
 sorry," he said frankly, "but I'm taking no 
 chances." 
 
 She looked at him with a sort of slow appraise- 
 ment, not friendly not pretending to be friendly. 
 "You don't seem at all like other men." 
 
 He turned to her again with his slow, quizzing 
 smile. "Am I to take that as a compliment or 
 criticism?" 
 
 "Did not you ever say things that you didn't 
 mean?" 
 
 "Well, I am a lawyer." 
 
 "You don't care for women at all?" 
 
 "Homeopathically, only," he admitted. 
 
 She shook her head at him, half in mock, half 
 in a serious rebuke. "You're not very gallant. 
 Sometimes you're not even polite." 
 
 "That's only my crude way of trying to cover
 
 228 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 my embarrassment. Seriously, I hope you don't 
 think I meant to be impolite to you." 
 
 "But you've said that you didn't like me. That 
 isn't being polite, is it?" 
 
 Now his smile was self-deprecating. "It might 
 be. I've seen people whose dislike was the highest 
 form of praise." 
 
 "Meaning me?" 
 
 "Meaning no one, in particular." 
 
 She had plainly tired of sparring and now went 
 at him with frank charges. "Well, if you won't 
 tell me why you dislike me, I'll tell you. You don't 
 like me because you think I'm silly, vain and ex- 
 travagant. Don't you?" 
 
 "On the advice of very excellent counsel, I refuse 
 to answer." 
 
 "And particularly you don't like me because I 
 was the cause of separating you and Dick." 
 
 "Witness again balks," he said, half smiling. 
 
 She was now half-reclining on the divan and, 
 before she spoke again, she changed her charming, 
 graceful posture till she almost faced him. She 
 made a charming picture as she looked up at him. 
 Very plainly, too, she meant to. "But you do think 
 I'm pretty, don't you ?" 
 
 "I think you're beautiful," he answered prompt- 
 ly. And then: "That helps, doesn't it?" 
 
 "A little," she admitted; "but I had to work so 
 hard you might have given me, willingly, at least 
 that much." 
 
 "True, I might," he agreed. 
 
 "But you didn't." 
 
 "Oh, that was my lack of intuition, I guess."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 229 
 
 She made a gesture as if abandoning him as 
 hopeless. "Oh, you are quite impossible^ ' 
 
 "Yes; I am still a bachelor." 
 
 "Do you never " 
 
 She was interrupted by her husband's coming. 
 "Hello, Phil," he said, not boisterously, but with 
 the tone of one who sees someone whom he much 
 wants to see. 
 
 "'Lo, Dick." 
 
 "Been here long?" 
 
 "Oh, five or ten minutes." 
 
 Richard's face, as he looked at him, showed that 
 it was much more than a casual call; that from 
 Cartwright he expected some important informa- 
 tion important and unusual. There was a look 
 upon his face, indeed, almost like that a prisoner 
 casts at a jury as it files in with the verdict. 
 "Well?" he said anxiously. 
 
 Cartwright, with tight-closed lips, slowly shook 
 his head. 
 
 "Bad as that, eh?" said Ward, slumping cu- 
 riously into his clothes almost as if through some 
 sudden process he had grown considerably smaller. 
 His face whitened a little, and the hand that 
 wandered up to touch his brow was not too steady. 
 
 Frances, observing them curiously, as wives look 
 at their husbands when they are with male friends 
 of whom wifely approval is not at all complete, did 
 not note the smaller signs of his distress, nor under- 
 stand how great it was, but she saw that he was 
 worried, and in her heart, blamed Cartwright for 
 it. With her curious failure to go down beneath 
 the surface of events she felt that he had caused,
 
 23Q THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 not merely brought, the news of some disaster, and 
 she had the strangely selfish feeling that by doing 
 so he had wronged her. She did not herself, 
 realize how wholly she left Richard out of all 
 this thinking. Richard was distressed, therefore 
 something had happened which would make her 
 suffer. Cartwright had brought the news which 
 had distressed him; therefore his was the responsi- 
 bility. That her husband was suffering did not so 
 much impress her; that she would suffer she was 
 certain and this knowledge worried her, of course. 
 
 Richard, as she looked fixedly, in agonized dis- 
 tress, at Cartwright, seemed to have forgotten that 
 she was present; Cartwright showed her, by a 
 quick glance in her direction, that he had not for- 
 gotten. 
 
 "As bad as that!" said Richard. 
 
 "Worse," said Cartwright, bluntly. "Old man, 
 you're up against it. Whoever has been gunning 
 for you certainly has got you. It would be silly to 
 deny it." 
 
 Frances, watching him with slightly opened, 
 frightened lips, felt that he was a vicious brute be- 
 cause he did not lie about it. Still she was thinking 
 only of herself. It was inconsiderate of him to 
 bring such news to worry her. 
 
 "About twenty thousand in the next ten days 
 would turn the trick," said Cartwright, "but no less. 
 How does the place stand?" 
 
 "Mortgaged and second-mortgaged," Ward 
 said, gloomily. "At forced sale it wouldn't bring 
 ten thousand in real money." 
 
 "Any other assets?" said the lawyer with that
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 231 
 
 kindly, official curiosity which seems so prying and 
 so cruel to outsiders and, sometimes, to its subjects. 
 "Jewels?" 
 
 For a moment Richard made no answer. Then, 
 without looking at his wife he shook his head. 
 Then he said slowly: "Nothing of any 
 account." 
 
 "Dick," said Cartwright slowly, not in the least 
 reluctantly, however, only earnestly and thought- 
 fully, "Dick, I could squeeze out about ten thou- 
 sand if you could make the rest." 
 
 Ward did not look at him, but took a sidewise 
 step toward him and felt for and found his hand. 
 "Thank you, old man," he said, "but no it's 
 bankruptcy, I guess." 
 
 "Isn't there any friend or associate " 
 
 The crushed man shook his head. "The last 
 one has done his last. You know that, as well as I. 
 You can't expect them to keep on forever." 
 
 His wife, frightened, and now very serious, had 
 listened carefully and with a growing sense of 
 horror to the talk of the two men. For the first 
 time she began to realize that what her husband 
 had, from time to time, explained to her, had been 
 very, very real, not a mere phantom of imagination, 
 conjured up by a too timid prudence, if not by 
 plain desire to hamper her and keep her from en- 
 joying life in her own, expensive way. Now, for 
 the first time, she really thought of helping him, 
 and, on the moment's spur, made the first sugges- 
 tion that occurred to her. 
 
 "Dick," said she, "there are those diamonds 
 those diamonds you gave me last year on our
 
 232 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 anniversary. You could take those." She had 
 forgotten, for the instant, the pawn-tickets in her 
 wall-safe. 
 
 Cartwright sent a quick glance of approval al- 
 most of surprised approval toward her. 
 
 Her husband shook his head, however. "A 
 mere drop in the bucket." 
 
 "They cost five thousand," she protested. You 
 told me so; and" (suddenly she had thought about 
 the tickets and went on without considering 
 caution) "they're pledged for only fifteen hun- 
 dred." 
 
 Cartwright was first to sense just what this in- 
 inadvertant speech he was quite certain of its inad- 
 vertance might mean to his old friend; of how 
 deeply it might hurt him to have a revelation of 
 this sort come. That it was a revelation was shown 
 as plainly by the expression upon Richard's face as 
 that it had been an inadvertance was quickly in- 
 dicated by the look of quick regret, almost of 
 fright, that grew upon his wife's. 
 
 "What!" Ward demanded. 
 
 She shrank from him, almost like a wilful child, 
 who, having often been in mischief and escaped, 
 has at length gone far enough so that it fears dis- 
 covery will really bring punishment. 
 
 "I didn't mean to tell you," she said quickly, 
 foolishly, making matters worse. 
 
 "But you've been wearing what? Paste dupli- 
 cates?" 
 
 She nodded, still with eyes that dodged. "I 
 had to have clothes mine were sights! Positive 
 sigktsl And I didn't want to ask you for any
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 233 
 
 more money you were so peevish about it, you 
 know." 
 
 He was almost incredulous, even of her own con- 
 fession. Sub-consciously, although he had not ad- 
 mitted it even to himself, he had considered her 
 jewels as assets. "And the tiara have you pawned 
 that, too?" 
 
 She found a chair and sank into it as she nodded 
 an admission. "I needed so many things, Richard 
 dear. I was going to tell you when business 
 should be better. Then you wouldn't mind, I 
 knew." 
 
 Her husband flashed one quick glance at her. 
 From Cartwright he kept his eyes averted, very 
 carefully. His position, for a long while, had been 
 that which to a husband who is very deeply in 
 love with his wife must be hateful of knowledge 
 that he must defend her, in ten thousand little ways, 
 continually, from the harsh but the just judgment 
 of a friend who sees her as she really is, but as he, 
 the husband, refuses to admit she is, even to him- 
 self. After the quick look the one quick look in 
 her direction he also kept his eyes away from 
 her. For half-a-minute, he walked back and forth 
 and then said hoarsely: 
 
 "Call a meeting of my creditors." 
 
 Cartwright was distressed beyond his power of 
 words to tell his power of words was limited, 
 Cartwright's, and this made some folk think he had 
 small power to feel. But really his heart was bleed- 
 ing for his friend. He, too, kept his eyes averted 
 from the woman in the chair. 
 
 "There's no use of rushing into failure," he
 
 234 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 urged carefully. "Wait a few days. You've got 
 until the end of the month. Think it over. May- 
 be something will turn up. Maybe I " 
 
 "You?" said Ward, with a quick look of grati- 
 tude blended with an absolute refusal. "You'll 
 do nothing. Do you suppose I'd take one cent of 
 yours, or of any other man's?" 
 
 "Well, don't be in a hurry." 
 
 Richard shook his head. "I know how you feel, 
 old man, but it's no use. You'd better go and fix 
 things up." 
 
 Without another word his friend went from him, 
 conscious that by staying he but added to his 
 misery. 
 
 After he had gone, the woman, conscious that 
 disaster really had come, that the trouble which 
 she had believed, when he had warned her of its 
 danger, was a mere figment of the man's imagina- 
 tion, held before her as a bogey to induce her to 
 deny herself the things she craved, crouched, terri- 
 fied, upon the couch, and looked at him with anx- 
 ious, apprehensive eyes. 
 
 The mere fact that he did not look at her was 
 terrifying. Generally her presence exercised a sort 
 of magnetism which to some extent controlled him; 
 now he seemed to be unconscious of it. If he had 
 even railed at her, she thought, as she crouched, 
 watching him, it might have been a little easier. 
 She knew that if he did not speak, without much 
 more waiting she would begin to cry. She actually 
 feared him, for a moment. 
 
 But he did not do a fearsome thing when, at 
 length, he gave voice to his thoughts. There was
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 235 
 
 no violence of indignation in the man. Finding 
 that there was none, she took heart, not conscious 
 of the depth of the terrific woe which thrilled him 
 with a sense of utter, black despair. 
 
 "I've worked hard," said he, at length. "I've 
 made enough money to last most men to the end of 
 their day. Where is it, now? Gone! All gone! 
 . . . And with it the best part of my life." 
 
 He still refrained from looking at her, but he 
 had stopped walking. Now he stood, half-turned 
 away from her, with tense hands held low at his 
 sides. 
 
 "I used to clench my fists and set my jaw, and 
 say, 'Damn you! Damn all of you! I'll have 
 what I want ! I'll take what I want !' " he went on, 
 slowly. "But now try as I will, the best I can say 
 is: 'What's the use?' For twenty-two years I've 
 worked as hard as a man could work twenty-two 
 years! the twenty-two years of a man's life that 
 mean the most to him gone! . . . And nothing 
 gained except a house that is no home, a woman 
 that is no wife, and ruin." 
 
 It frightened her; frightened her very much. 
 She had never seen him in the least like this be- 
 fore. She did not realize at all, the actual part 
 which she had played in the disaster, she did not 
 realize the magnitude of the disaster, she was not 
 conscience-stricken in the least, but she was fright- 
 ened badly frightened. 
 
 "Richard!" she said softly. 
 
 Over him swept, now, a swift revulsion. He 
 had been the strong and uncomplaining man so 
 long that it made him feel aghast to realize that
 
 236 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 under the terrific stress of this terrific moment he 
 had really spoken the plain truth. He did not wish 
 her to imagine him to be unjust. He hurried to 
 her, raised her in his arms and pressed her close 
 to him. 
 
 "I'm sorry, dear," he cried. "I didn't know 
 what I was saying. I'm tired, nervous. I for- 
 give me, dear! I didn't mean itl" 
 
 Now her fright as quickly vanished as it had 
 appeared. Positions, instantly, were quite re- 
 versed. Now, again, he was on the defensive. She 
 pushed him from her. "You did mean it! You 
 did!" 
 
 "No . . . no!" he protested, full of sharp re- 
 morse. 
 
 "But you did mean it!" Then, quickly chang- 
 ing, after she had found that her reproaches were 
 effective, she clung to him with charming earnest- 
 ness, affection. 
 
 "I told you I'd do anything to help you, make 
 any sacrifice for you ! I meant it, Richard ! I mean 
 it now. I'll do anything you say, go anywhere you 
 say, live as you wish. But it's too late, now, isn't 
 it? You don't love me any longer or you you 
 couldn't and say the things you've said." 
 
 "I didn't mean all I said," he cried; "I didn't 
 mean half that I said. It's not too late to start 
 over. I love you, Frances! You know how I 
 love you." He was openly apologizing and trying 
 only to find a little justification for himself. "Only 
 you have been wrong a little wrong. You've 
 spent too much money. You've let your desire for 
 pretty things go a little too far. You haven't
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 237 
 
 thought quite enough you haven't understood 
 quite enough. Perhaps I expected too much of 
 you!" Now he was holding her very closely to 
 him. 
 
 "I believe you did, Richard," she said, gravely 
 nodding acquiescence. "I honestly believe you 
 did." 
 
 "That's all the fault I have to find with you, 
 dear," he went on, still defending. "Suppose we 
 forget it all and start afresh. What do you say? 
 We understand one another better, now." 
 
 His heart was filling with a fine belief that real- 
 ly they did. Ready, as he always had been, to ac- 
 cept the burden of responsibility, to take every 
 burden, of whatever kind indeed, from her, he 
 seized with a real eagerness, the chance to blame 
 himself. "We'll fight side by side," he cried, en- 
 thusiastically. "You shall know of my work, I of 
 yours; and we'll help each other. I can still fight 
 them on their own ground if only I have got you 
 to fight with me and for me. What do you say, 
 Frances ? Will you ? Will you ?" 
 
 He had achieved a fine enthusiasm, an enthusi- 
 asm which would have gone out, then and there, if 
 undisturbed, and conquered much. He looked 
 down into her face with fond, believing eyes. Out 
 of all the evil good had come, he told himself. 
 Their misfortune had aroused her, and at last, she 
 would support him in his battling, not ever hamper 
 any more. 
 
 "Of course I will, dear," she replied. "I'll do 
 anything I can to help you. You've been working
 
 238 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 too hard, dear. Let's close up the house and take 
 a trip abroad." 
 
 His hands dropped from her shoulders to his 
 sides, the fine light which had kindled in his eyes 
 died out. He turned away without a word.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 While the scenes of the preceding chapter were 
 in progress Monty and Clarice were riding in the 
 park. Life had begun to worry him. For the first 
 time he had begun to take real notice of the fact 
 that married men must meet responsibilities and 
 that these responsibilities, in these days of ex- 
 travagance and in New York, the city of extrava- 
 gance, are many and are heavy, and that they prin- 
 cipally consist of making money. His clerkship in 
 his brother's office, which at first had made a 
 strong appeal to him as offering an opportunity to 
 learn the business, made much less of appeal when 
 he considered it as a means of earning money with 
 which to enter matrimony. He had not thought 
 seriously of these things before; now he had begun 
 to think of them most seriously. 
 
 "I don't see how we're ever going to get mar- 
 ried, Clare," he said, as they made the third round 
 of the reservoir. "How do people get rich, any- 
 way?" 
 
 "Why, by working, don't they?" 
 
 "For sixty a month? And when you can't get 
 even a decent dinner for less than seven dollars?" 
 He sighed. "I don't know what to do. Dick can't 
 afford to pay me any more. I'm not worth it to 
 him." 
 
 "Then why don't you go to work for someone 
 else?" Business seemed to her to be a very simple
 
 240 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 matter. Men needed money for their wives, so, of 
 course, they went down town and got it. That was 
 all. If Monty could not find as much as she would 
 need in one place, why, the obvious thing for him 
 to do was to hurry to some other place. 
 
 But Monty shook his head at the suggestion. 
 He was not very wise, but he was wiser than his 
 sweetheart in such matters. "If I should go to 
 work for a stranger I should have to be there every 
 morning at nine o'clock, and you wouldn't let me 
 do that. We'd miss these morning gallops. Hi, 
 hum ! I've been working a week, and I have eleven 
 dollars and seventy-five cents less than when I 
 started, although I drew my first pay yesterday. . . 
 . I wonder how little we could live on, Clare?" 
 
 She was not deeply interested, and her horse was 
 rather frisky. She pulled him down with a deter- 
 mined hand before she answered. "I don't know, 
 I'm sure," 
 
 Monty turned and looked at her, partly to see 
 that she was managing to keep her horse in hand 
 all right and partly to appraise her as she sat on 
 him. "How much do you suppose that habit cost ?" 
 he asked, after he had made quite sure that she was 
 in no danger. 
 
 "I never asked. I sent the bill to Aunt Gret- 
 chen." 
 
 "Forty dollars?" 
 
 "Forty dollars ! Why, Monty, it cost a hundred 
 at least." 
 
 "And those riding boots? Eight or ten?" 
 
 "Fifteen, I think. I don't remember." 
 
 He shook his head and turned away. "And silk
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 241 
 
 stockings, and according to those statistics you're 
 wearing about a year's pay right now. I suppose 
 if we didn't have to pay any rent, or eat, or any- 
 thing like that, we might be able to get along upon 
 my present princely wage. But, as it is, dad blame 
 it all! life is certainly I almost said itl" 
 
 "Why, Monty!" said Clarice, a little shocked, 
 or at any rate pretending that she was. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, dear, but that's what I 
 meant. To see other people living along looks like 
 a cinch but when it comes to your own " 
 
 He looked at his watch. "Well, I'll have to go 
 in now. I've been getting to the office later than is 
 absolutely stylish, even in the Wall Street district. 
 And besides, Dick said he wished to have a talk 
 with me before I started down. Something seems 
 to be hot in the air. I've felt it ever since I've been 
 at home. It isn't pleasant, either. He said Aunt 
 Gretchen would be up this morning, to talk some 
 matters over with him, and that just as soon as he 
 had finished up with her he wanted me to come and 
 have a chat. He acted as if the little confab might 
 deal pleasantly with some delightful subject such as 
 death by suffocation or contagious ailments, too. 
 Dick ought to take a rest." 
 
 As they turned out of the Park into the ave- 
 nue and neared the house Clarice said, not too hap- 
 pily, "She's there Aunt Gretchen is. That's her 
 car there, before the door." 
 
 "Well, I'll take both horses to the stable you 
 run in and greet your loving relative." 
 
 "I shall fly up stairs and try not to be seen," 
 Clarice confessed. "I'm so afraid of her! And
 
 242 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 she hasn't caught me in this habit, yet! Perhaps 
 she hasn't even had the bill yet. She'd think it 
 awfully extravagant." 
 
 When ten minutes later Monty, now changed to 
 street clothes he could make his change with that 
 lightning quickness of the youth not yet enslaved 
 by a man servant entered the big library, trying 
 to find Dick, he found instead, as he had been a 
 little fearful that he might, his sweetheart's aunt 
 waiting with not too much patience, for his brother's 
 coming. 
 
 "Good-morning, young man," she said promptly. 
 
 He threw away his cigarette and advanced bold- 
 ly. "How do you do, Aunt Gretchen." He won- 
 dered what she'd have to say about him and 
 Clarice. 
 
 She wasted not a minute in approaching this 
 most fascinating subject. "So you're going to 
 marry my niece, eh?" 
 
 "I hope so." 
 
 "And might I inquire whose consent you asked?" 
 
 "Hers." 
 
 She looked keenly at him. "That strikes you 
 as being sufficient, does it?" 
 
 "Well, she's taking all the chances." 
 
 She looked at him not disapprovingly. "You look 
 like an intelligent young man. I hope you behave 
 yourself." 
 
 "Caesar's wife and I run a dead heat." 
 
 "You mean by that ?" 
 
 "I try to." 
 
 "Very few young men do, nowadays. Have you 
 had any business experience?"
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 243 
 
 "I've been working a week fifteen dollars 
 worth." 
 
 ''Working .for Richard, aren't you?" 
 
 "Ostensibly." 
 
 "Like it?" 
 
 "With modifications." 
 
 "Well, what would you rather be?" 
 
 "Rich." 
 
 She nodded, not approvingly. "You'll need to 
 be if you're going to marry Clarice." 
 
 "I know it," he said discontentedly. "That's 
 the trouble. Nobody can marry, nowadays, unless 
 he's rich." 
 
 "That's what you think, is it?" 
 
 "That's what everybody thinks." 
 
 "I don't. There's more contentment in a Harlem 
 flat than in a Newport villa, any day." She 
 paused and looked keenly at the handsome, eager, 
 anxious boy. "I knew your father. When he 
 married your mother he owed three thousand dol- 
 lars and when I went to visit them the first time, 
 your mother and I slept on the bed and he on the 
 floor in the kitchen. That's how rich he was when 
 he got married." 
 
 Monty looked at her in frank surprise. "I 
 didn't know that." 
 
 She peered shrewdly over the tops of her 
 big spectacles at his retreating back as he took a 
 thoughtful step or two away from her. 
 
 "There are a lot of things you don't know, 
 young man." 
 
 As he came back she told him even more of 
 them. "And your father and mother knew more
 
 244 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 about happiness than all the people on Fifth 
 Avenue from Thirty-fourth street to the Park. 
 People, nowadays, are living on what my chauffeur 
 calls the high speed and they don't stop, even to 
 toot their horns at crossings." 
 
 Monty walked and thought and finally he 
 nodded. He had seen enough of Dick's establish- 
 ment to teach him some things, although of course 
 he was at the period of life and love when he did 
 not imagine that the flaws which would creep into 
 others' married life could ever, by remotest possi- 
 bility, creep into Clarice's and his; still, as a gen- 
 eralization, he could readily believe all that the 
 shrewd old woman had been saying. 
 
 And there was comfort in it, for it seemed to 
 open actual possibilities to him, for the first time. 
 If he should wait to marry Clarice until he had 
 achieved the things his brother had achieved be- 
 fore his marriage, then a long and dreary period 
 of dull delay stretched out before them. It sudden- 
 ly occurred to him that while Aunt Gretchen did 
 not seem to be endorsing his claims to her niece's 
 hand with real enthusiasm, still she was providing 
 for him precedents which he had not before known 
 of to use in argument on his own side. 
 
 "I believe you're right," he said. 
 
 "I know I'm right." She went, suddenly, so 
 close to him, that he gave back a step. "Let me 
 tell you, young man, that in this world happiness 
 doesn't follow riches riches follow happiness. 
 Or, if they don't, the happiness makes up the differ- 
 
 ence."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 245 
 
 She paused and once more bored him through 
 and through with her appraising look. 
 
 "You look to me as though you had something 
 in you. Take a day off sometime, and try to find 
 it!" 
 
 Without another word she left him, and after a, 
 
 and found his brother. He had, for some time, it 
 appeared, been closeted in his room, with Cart- 
 wright and appeared in the great upper hall some- 
 what hurriedly, as if nervous because time flew. 
 
 "Hello, old man, am I late?". he asked. 
 
 "I guess not," Monty answered almost abstract- 
 edly. Aunt Gretchen had supplied him with much 
 food for thought. "I've been putting in my time. 
 Wanted to see me about something?" 
 
 "Yes; come downstairs to the library." Once 
 there he seemed a little hesitant about beginning 
 what he had to say, selecting a cigar elaborately, 
 lighting it with extra care, puffing on it then in 
 silence for a moment. 
 
 Monty watched him, possibly observing these 
 things, probably unconscious of them. His mind 
 was full of the necessity for finding means of earn- 
 ing money rapidly so that he could marry Clarice. 
 
 "Didn't want to raise my salary, or anything like 
 that, did you?" he asked. "Or did you want to 
 jack me up for being late at the office every morn- 
 ing but one of my first week on the job?" 
 
 "Neither," said Richard slowly, and now Monty 
 noticed that his face was very pale and that his 
 hand was tremulous. Beneath his eyes were 
 shadows deeper than were usually there and he
 
 246 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 kept his lips, when they were quiet, very tightly 
 pressed together. "Neither. I've some bad news 
 for you, old man." 
 
 "Bad news for me?" said Monty, much sur- 
 prised. 
 
 "Yes," said his brother, evidently speaking with 
 a mighty effort. "To-morrow I declare myself 
 insolvent. So, of course, your position is no more." 
 
 Monty looked at him aghast. He had been too 
 busy with his own affairs as is the way of youth and 
 youthful egotism, to realize the signs of Richard's 
 really desperate depression, although he had 
 noticed that he had been gloomy, worried, some- 
 what downcast. 
 
 "Bankruptcy! Hell!" he cried. "Old man, I 
 thought business had been great. There have been 
 people enough hanging around the office." 
 
 "The business has been good," his brother an- 
 swered. "But" 
 
 He caught himself abruptly. He had almost 
 said that nothing could withstand the waste which 
 had gone on. 
 
 "I spoke to Daniels about you, yesterday you 
 know Daniels, don't you? J. M. Daniels," he said, 
 turning to another subject. 
 
 "You mean the chap with all the mines?" 
 
 "Yes; and he has a position for you, if you care 
 to take it. It's hard work and small pay, and it 
 means isolation from all the things you've been 
 used to. But it offers a future the right kind of 
 a future. It's clerk in the Sangue d'Or Mine at 
 a hundred a month. Will you take it? I wish 
 you would, old man."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 247 
 
 Monty was nonplussed. The situation Dick's 
 failure and all that, seemed too incredible for pos- 
 sible reality. It seemed to him absurd, quite unbe- 
 lievable. And this going out west to a mine what 
 would that do to all his plans? 
 
 "Will you take it?" Richard asked again. 
 
 "Why, I don't know, Dick. I hadn't thought. 
 Don't you suppose there's something here in New 
 York city? Clarice, you know I don't think she'd 
 want to go away out there to that God-forsaken 
 dump." 
 
 Richard was in a stern and retrospective state 
 of mind. He wished to save his brother, if he 
 could, from those tremendous evils which had first 
 menaced and now wrecked his own career. 
 
 "No place is God-forsaken," he exclaimed, "ex- 
 cept the place where man forsakes his God and 
 that's no more there than here." He let his voice 
 which had risen to unusual pitch, drop now, and 
 went closer to his brother. He placed his hand 
 persuasively upon his shoulder. "I want you to 
 take this position, old chap. It will be best for 
 you. Believe me, it will." 
 
 "But Clarice?" 
 
 His brother whirled and filled him with aston- 
 ishment. "Ask her to go with you. Marry to- 
 morrow and leave the day after." 
 
 His voice softened as he added: "Better get 
 away as soon as possible, you know, because it 
 won't be exactly pleasant around here for a 
 while." 
 
 He stopped now, and faced Monty squarely with 
 the question: "Will you go?"
 
 248 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 Monty was exceedingly unhappy. The thought 
 of thus dashing off into the wilderness, instead of 
 settling down to such life in New York city as he 
 had always looked forward to was not agree- 
 able. It meant a revolution in his life, and if it 
 would mean a revolution in his life what would it 
 mean in Clare's? 
 
 "But Clarice," he said again. "I don't believe 
 she would go with me and, of course, if she won't 
 go-" 
 
 "You could come back, after a year or so, and 
 marry her." 
 
 The young man smiled sarcastically. "And 
 leave her here in the meantime with Wilkes and 
 Jackson and Hughes and Van Dorn and all those 
 other Johnnies hanging around? Fine chance!" 
 
 "You don't seem to have much confidence in your 
 retentive abilities," said his brother, intentionally 
 making his voice a little taunting. 
 
 Monty shook his head. "I have, while I'm on 
 the job; but you know Clarice." 
 
 "Yes," said Richard slowly, "I do know Clarice." 
 He tried to make his voice exceeding gentle as he 
 added: 'That's why I want you to go, Monty." 
 
 Wrath blazed in Monty's eyes at once. Did his 
 brother veil a criticism of Clarice in what he said? 
 "Why, what the devil do you mean?" he cried, half 
 angrily. 
 
 His brother went to him and put his hand upon 
 his shoulder, and thus, at short range, looked 
 straight into his eyes. His voice was very gentle, 
 almost tender as he made an explanation which 
 was hateful to him. "Old man," he said, "you're
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 249 
 
 my brother and I'm yours, and we have no one else. 
 Clarice is like Frances, and well I don't want 
 that your life should be as mine has been. Now do 
 you understand?" 
 
 But Monty only vaguely comprehended the great 
 sacrifice the elder man was making in thus opening 
 the hidden chambers of his heart to him. Filled 
 with youth's egotism and the vast conceit of a first 
 love, he saw only that Clarice had been attacked, 
 not that the man who had thus boldly ventured 
 had in so doing thrust the knife hilt-deep into his 
 own heart-pride. 
 
 "Now see here, Dick," he protested hotly, "I 
 won't have even you say one word against the 
 woman I love. I " 
 
 "I am saying," his brother answered gravely, 
 "a word against the woman / love. You are like 
 me, Monty. Where you love you are weak, and, 
 weak you will be made to give all, and will receive 
 nothing nothing but the ghosts of things that 
 might have been. You want a home, don't you?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "Like this?" said Richard, and waved his hand 
 about, to indicate the spacious, ornate rooms 
 which had been such a burden that his back had 
 bent beneath it. 
 
 Monty shook his head. "I had thought of a 
 little place smaller than this, you know, and 
 cosier, and full of window-seats and easy-chairs 
 and nooks; a place with an open fire a place just 
 for us two." 
 
 His brother nodded and on his face there was a 
 flicker of a smile in which almost Monty could see
 
 250 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 pity. "I had thought of the same kind of a place, 
 old man. Have you asked Clarice the sort of a 
 place she would like?" 
 
 "Why no." 
 
 "Nor did I ask Frances I .... You want 
 children, don't you?" 
 
 "Why, of course," said Monty, but a bit un- 
 easily. 
 
 "Have you asked Clarice about that?" 
 
 "Certainly not." Almost annoyed by the mere 
 thought that he would put a question of that sort 
 to the young girl he loved, he turned away. 
 
 Richard, not rebuffed, moved close to him again. 
 "I failed," he said, in a low voice, "to ask Frances." 
 
 "But, you know," said Monty, "you can't ask a 
 girl things like that !" 
 
 "And why not?" said his brother coldly. 
 
 "Why, it's not it's not proper." 
 
 This roused Richard Ward. In the impassioned 
 speech which followed Monty could discern the 
 long-pent passion of a man whose love for home 
 and what home stands for, in the best sense of 
 the word, had been ignored and flouted by the one 
 who should have helped toward realization of it. 
 The man revealed, there, to the youth the secret 
 depths of his great disappointment, and the youth 
 knew that to listen was a privilege which would 
 have been denied to any other human being upon 
 earth but him. Now spoke brother unto brother 
 as a brother should, without reserve and helpfully, 
 regardless of the agony the revelation took to his 
 own heart. 
 
 "Not proper? No?" said Richard, with a voice
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 251 
 
 that thrilled with the fierce protest in his heart. 
 "But it's quite proper, I suppose, to be denied one 
 of the greatest blessings of God and to help deny 
 Him the right to repopulate His earth!" 
 
 The words had been an outburst, perhaps aston- 
 ishing in its intensity the speaker quite as much 
 as the listener. What followed was, for a while, 
 spoken in a gentler tone, but never did the speak- 
 er's earnestness fail for a second to thrill in his 
 words as Monty never in his life before had heard 
 a strong man's feeling make a voice vibrate. 
 
 "Monty, when I married, I made a mistake. I 
 wouldn't say that to anyone on God's green earth 
 but you, and if anyone should say it to me, I'd call 
 him a liar. But it's true. I loved her; I still love 
 her. She loved me more than she loved anyone 
 except herself. But that is not enough for a man 
 who loves." 
 
 His eyes were fixed upon the floor, his face had 
 whitened even beyond the rather noticeable pallor 
 which had been upon it from the start of this un- 
 usual interview. His hand trembled, when from 
 time to time, he raised it to touch nervously his 
 forehead, cheek or hair; it trembled when it dallied 
 with his watch-chain. It only held quite firm when, 
 now and then, he placed it on his brother's shoulder 
 as throughout the long course of his talk, he some- 
 times thus emphasized a point. 
 
 "The things that I wanted were the things that 
 you want and they were the things that I had a 
 right, that you have a right to expect. But I didn't 
 get them, and you won't get them, for you are like 
 me and Clarice is like Frances. At first you won't
 
 252 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 miss the lack of these things much. It will be 
 enough that you love and are loved. Having her 
 you will be happy, no matter where or how. . . . 
 The things that she will want you will give her, and 
 thereby you will be able to be with her but little, 
 for your time will be spent in acquiring for her the 
 things she craves more than she craves you. You 
 will find that a hat means more to her than an hour 
 of your society, a gown more than a day, and a 
 motor more than a month. . . . You will come 
 home to a house that is not a home, to a wife that 
 is not a mother and to loneliness. And instead 
 of a pipe and the firelight and the companionship 
 of one, there will be a dinner, an opera, guests 
 never rest, never peace. . . . And even after you 
 have gone to bed will come pleas senseless, illogic- 
 al pleas for things which you cannot give because it 
 lies not in your power to give them. And this when 
 you are daily grinding from your brain its last 
 effort, from your body its last endeavor. . . . 
 
 "It begins to tell, after a while, and you begin 
 to quarrel. That makes it worse, and with the 
 coming of each morning you are glad to go, even 
 to grind aH day in the money-mill, for there, at 
 least, are no tears, no pleas, no never-ending pro- 
 cession of answerless 'whys'. . . . 
 
 "After a while you get calloused things don't 
 hurt so badly. But when that time comes, also 
 comes the loss of power to enjoy to appreciate. . . 
 you are on a tread-mill, your eyes ever upon the 
 grinding grill beneath your feet, and behind you is 
 the mountain of debt that threatens to overwhelm 
 you.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 253 
 
 "At times you get frightened, and when, by and 
 by, the mountain behind you shall topple over on 
 you and crush you, as my mountain has toppled and 
 crushed me you are rather glad. . . as I am rather 
 glad . . . because even ruin is better than the things 
 that were." 
 
 Monty had listened spell-bound, voiceless. He 
 no longer had the protests of offended youth to 
 offer to the older man. He was abashed almost, 
 because he knew his brother had held out his naked, 
 shrinking soul for his inspection and his benefit. 
 
 "That, old man," said Richard, after a long 
 pause, "is what my life has been. Do you want it 
 for yours?" 
 
 The youth kept silent for a moment, then tried 
 to find a way out of the trouble by suggesting "ifs," 
 as ever is youth's way. 
 
 "But if you had started differently in the begin- 
 ning," he began, "if you had said 'no' and had cut 
 down expenses and economized " 
 
 "And how, pray?" his brother demanded, inter- 
 rupting him. "With what can you meet the lack 
 of logic, the utter inability to reason? Commands? 
 pleas? They bring but tears. Economize and you 
 pay for it in answerless questions, repinings and 
 pleadings and importunities until your brain is so 
 tortured and twisted that It were better to pay 
 more and double your earning capacity than to pay 
 less and halve it. There is nothing nothing that 
 a man can do nothing ! And then, if he still love 
 her" 
 
 "But how could a man love a woman like that?" 
 the boy inquired, almost indignantly.
 
 254 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "I don't know." His brother's hands dropped 
 to his sides in a strange gesture. "Perhaps it is 
 that he clings to the 'might-have-been,' perhaps it 
 is because the more of a woman a woman is, the 
 more a man must love her .... I don't know." 
 
 He took a thoughtful turn about the room, his 
 hands working a little nervously, his shoulders 
 stooped, his step a tired man's. 
 
 "I can't tell you all about it, old man there is 
 too much it is too complicated. But it is some- 
 thing that you don't want, for you can have some- 
 thing infinitely better." 
 
 Now he went to him and stood close by him, 
 again looking straight into his eyes. 
 
 "I hope I'm wrong in Clarice though I fear I 
 am not. You said that she wouldn't go west with 
 you. Do you want the kind of woman who 
 wouldn't go with you, no matter where, or when, 
 or how? Is that the kind of a wife for you or for 
 any man?" 
 
 Monty was almost overwhelmed by this new 
 aspect of the greatest problem of his life. "I I 
 don't know, Dick I " 
 
 "Do you want a wife who won't bear you chil- 
 dren?" Richard asked, with vehemence. "That 
 won't try to help you? That won't live for you 
 and let you live for her? . . . You don't, old man; 
 you know you don't!" 
 
 The boy was dazed, unable to think clearly about 
 all these things so suddenly and unexpectedly thrust 
 at his mind. "I I hadn't thought about these 
 matters in just that way," he stammered. "Dick,
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 255 
 
 "Neither had I," said Richard Ward. "And 
 that's why I wanted to maybe I've misjudged 
 Clarice, Monty. I want to give her every benefit 
 of every possible doubt. Why should not this be a 
 good opportunity to find out whether I am right 
 or wrong? Decide to go West, with Daniels, and 
 see if the girl will go with you." 
 
 The younger brother had been tremendously im- 
 pressed. He knew how unremittingly laborious 
 had been his brother's efforts to pile money upon 
 money; he knew that he had made great sums; he 
 knew that he, personally, had spent ridiculously 
 little of them. He knew that now, after all his 
 years of effort, he was on the verge of ruin ruin as 
 irrevocable and black as any self-wrought ruin could 
 be, yet he knew this ruin had not been self-wrought. 
 He could not doubt that Dick's dreams, at the 
 start, had been as bright as were his own dreams, 
 now; he saw that they had faded, faded, faded in- 
 to nothing worse, had faded into nothing and 
 then been replaced by realizations which were night- 
 mares. 
 
 The love he bore the girl he wished to marry 
 would not let him think, for a short instant, that 
 his life with her would be as Richard's had been 
 yet yet, she was Frances' sister and he knew she 
 was extravagant. Many things Aunt Gretchen had 
 said, warningly, rushed to his mind. 
 
 "See if she will go with you," Richard urged. 
 
 "By Jove, I will, Dick!" He hurried from the 
 room. 
 
 He found Clarice in the broad seat of the group- 
 window in the upper hall.
 
 256 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "Clarice!" he cried, as he discovered her. 
 "Clarice!" 
 
 The girl dropped the fashion paper she was 
 turning over idly, rose and went to him. "What 
 is it, Monty? For Heaven's sake, what is it?" 
 she exclaimed. His manner almost frightened 
 her. 
 
 "Clarice," he said hurriedly, "I'm'going West 
 to work in a mine. The business has failed and 
 I've lost my job, you know, and Daniels wants me 
 to go out with him to some place in Colorado, or 
 Alaska, or somewhere and it's a lonely place a 
 hundred a month to start with, but we could live on 
 that, out there, all right; and I've got to go to- 
 morrow and I told Dick that you wouldn't go. But 
 will you? Will you, Clarice? Will you marry me 
 and go out there with me?" 
 
 The girl looked at him with small understanding 
 of what he had explained to her. The youth had 
 not been incoherent, but considering the fact that 
 this was absolutely new to her a thunderbolt from 
 a clear sky he had not really been lucid. 
 
 "Monty, are you crazy?" she inquired, not in- 
 excusably. 
 
 "Not yet," said the boy cautiously. 
 
 "Or is this some kind of a joke? You can't be 
 
 serious." 
 
 "Serious?" he answered. "Well, I should say 
 I am! There's nothing for me around here, and 
 there ought to be a great chance out there. And I 
 told Dick I was afraid to go away and leave you 
 here with Hughes, and Jackson, and Wilkes and 
 that bunch, all laying to double-cross me and get
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 257 
 
 you away from me. And I said I thought you 
 wouldn't be willing to go, and Dick said that a 
 woman who wouldn't stick to the man she loved, no 
 matter if he set out for Montana or the South Pole, 
 wasn't the kind of a wife any man ought to have, 
 and I agreed with him." 
 
 He paused and looked at her with some slight 
 apprehension. "That is," he corrected, "maybe I 
 agreed with him." 
 
 He paused again and looked at her with anxious 
 eyes. 
 
 "Oh, doggone it, Clarice !" he said explosively, at 
 length, "will you marry me to-morrow and go out 
 West with me? Will you, Clarice?" 
 
 Her face now, was quite as serious as his. What 
 Dick had said to Monty about his married life and 
 wife had, in a measure, been what she had recently 
 begun to think about them. Clarice was a clever 
 girl and had begun to wonder if, after all, her sister 
 had selected just the road which led to her own 
 happiness or that of those surrounding her. She 
 had been thinking of this very matter as she idly 
 turned the pages of the fashion magazine and, now, 
 she answered with a suddenness which startled her 
 almost as much as it delighted Monty. 
 
 "Yes," said she, "I will!" 
 
 "Oh, Clarice !" The boy was wild with his de- 
 light, almost unbelieving. 
 
 Without another word he caught her in his arms 
 and, when she would have spoken, smothered every- 
 thing she would have said, with kisses. Then, with 
 her quite breathless in his wake, towed by his strong 
 right arm, he hurried back to Richard.
 
 258 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "She's going, Dick!" he cried. "She didn't even 
 argue. When I asked her she just said: 'Yes, I 
 will' like that. Oh, Dick, she's going!" 
 
 "Have you thought of all it means?" asked 
 Richard of the girl. 
 
 "No," said Clarice, with a spirit which surprised 
 him, but which did not surprise his brother. He 
 had seen her face when she had told him she would 
 go. "And I don't care what all it means, I said 
 I'd go and I will." 
 
 "You won't like it," Richard said, dissuadingly. 
 "It will be a cluster of huts on a sun-baked slope; 
 a crowd of Italians, Sicilians, Corsicans, Slavs, 
 Hungarians, half-breeds, negroes, Mexicans. The 
 Superintendant's wife may take a bath once a 
 month, but that will be her only claim to social 
 standing. If you go it will be to isolation, to no 
 companionship but that of your husband. There'll 
 be no shops, no chance to wear or see fine gowns. 
 You'll have food that's barely fit to eat, the days 
 will be long and alkali-ridden, and lonely the 
 nights as silent as a tomb and as dead." 
 
 Monty had been watching her with an intens- 
 ness almost painful as his brother catalogued the 
 horrors he was asking her to fly to as his bride, but, 
 to his delight, he saw no sign of weakening upon 
 her face. 
 
 "But we won't have to stay there forever, will 
 we?" was her comment. 
 
 "No," said Richard, "not if Monty makes 
 good." 
 
 The girl turned to Monty with her hands out- 
 stretched. "Then I'll go."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 259 
 
 "Fine !" said Richard with appreciation, very 
 evidently with surprise. 
 
 "You know," said Clarice, with a quick glance 
 at him, "I think it did me good in just the way Aunt 
 Gretchen thought it would do harm, for me to 
 come up here to live." 
 
 Then flushing deeply, she caught herself up short. 
 She would not be disloyal to her sister. 
 
 "And," she went on hastily, "I was reading a 
 novel the other day, too, that set me thinking. It 
 does seem an awful waste of time, here in New 
 York, for most of us a waste of time, a waste of 
 energy, a waste of everything." 
 
 Richard looked at her in frank amazement, 
 Monty looked at her with an astonished pride. 
 
 "What are we all doing here?" she asked. "And 
 why are we all doing it? Out of all the married 
 people I know, except some tiresome old friends of 
 auntie's there isn't a couple that's really congenial 
 that are married, as / want to be married. And 
 I tried to reason out why it was, and the only con- 
 clusion that I could come to was that it was the 
 fault of conditions and environment. Either the 
 men work hard and the wives spend all they get, 
 or the men don't work at all and spend all their 
 wives get. And there are too many things 
 theatres, dinners, operas, guests, to take husbands 
 and wives apart. They never really begin to get 
 acquainted till they're so old they aren't able to. 
 So I made up my mind that that was not the right 
 way to live. I was going to speak to Monty about 
 it and ask him if he didn't think so, too. Aunt 
 Gretchen always has been trying to show me how
 
 2 6o THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 extravagant and foolish I was. She did not im- 
 press me much, I am ashamed to say. I had to 
 see some other things. I had to see some of the 
 women who have spent their lives in nothing else 
 have occupied them in extravagance to the ex- 
 clusion of all other things some of the women 
 who come here, sometimes to realize what I 
 might come to if I kept on as I was." 
 
 "Clarice!" cried Monty, in a rapture, while 
 Richard still looked at her in dumb surprise. 
 
 "So it seems to me that while the first year or 
 two out there with Monty may be hard, the things 
 which we will gain in the end will be worth the 
 sacrifice. And I guess we can make it, can't we, 
 Monty?" 
 
 "Sacrifice!" cried Monty. "With you there? 
 Why it's going to make the sacrifice into a celebra- 
 tion!" 
 
 On Richard's face was growing a slow smile, 
 first of surprise and then of satisfaction. 
 
 "And we're to leave at once?" she asked. "Well, 
 what time does the first train go?" 
 
 "I what time does it go, Dick?" Monty asked. 
 
 "Three-thirty," Richard answered, looking first 
 at one then at the other of the youthful couple 
 with a better expression on his face than had been 
 there before that day, or, probably, for many days. 
 The girl surprised him, pleased him. He had been 
 fearful for her fearful of his wife's bad influence 
 on her, but now it seemed that the example had 
 been really a warning not a temptation to do 
 likewise. "It's the Twentieth Century Limited, you 
 know."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 261 
 
 "They charge ten dollars extra on that train, 
 don't they?" Clarice quickly asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, we won't take it," she said firmly. "We've 
 got to economize. There must be a cheaper train 
 that will get us through soon enough. Then, 
 Monty, we can have a noon wedding." 
 
 Monty was filled with joy as he had never 
 been in all his life before. The prospect of the 
 exile did not seem at all appalling, now, but stimu- 
 lating. He would have to make a fight out there, 
 and he liked fighting. When he had thought about 
 the battle which his married life would bring him, 
 he had thought about it as a battle such as Richard 
 had been fighting a battle for the woman whom 
 he loved. But now it seemed that it would be a 
 finer, more exhilarating fight, for not only would 
 the battle be for her, but she would stand close by 
 his side and help him fight. Ah, she had risen to 
 the situation, Clarice had, as even he had not sus- 
 pected that she would! Dick had named a dozen 
 ways in which the wife might fail to the destruction 
 of the husband, but ah, Clarice would never fail ! 
 She had shown, already, that in every way she 
 would be the ideal help-meet. 
 
 Then, suddenly, there flashed across the mind 
 of the delighted youth the other question which 
 question which he had maintained one could not 
 ask a girl. For a moment, thought of it dismayed 
 him, but things had gone so well, so far, that he 
 determined then and there to show his brother, 
 who had made such dire predictions, that in no 
 respect whatever would Clarice fail. Boldly he
 
 262 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 looked Richard in the eye, then turned his glance to 
 Clarice. Frances had failed Richard, for she had 
 not given him a child. But Clarice 
 
 "And Clare, dear ", he said boldly. 
 
 "Yes, Monty." 
 
 But now that he approached the matter at close 
 quarters it seemed a bit more difficult. "Do you 
 want," he started, and then stopped. It was a bad 
 beginning. "Shall we " he tried again, and again 
 came to a full stop. Then, bracing himself firmly 
 for the task, he made another effort. "Don't you 
 think," said he, "that well, we ought to have " 
 
 The sentence ended, thus, unfinished. 
 
 "Oh, doggone it, Dick," he cried, "I can't ask 
 her a thing like that!" 
 
 But Clarice, by some trick of woman's intuition, 
 understanding, looked up quickly at him, nodded, 
 blushed furiously, threw a quick glance at Richard 
 and then: "Yes; yes; I do," she murmured and 
 hid her head on Monty's shoulder. 
 
 "Clarice," said Richard, going to them where 
 .they stood, tight in each other's arms, "I owe you 
 ' an apology." 
 
 She spared him one hand somewhat grudgingly 
 as if, at such a moment, both were really needed 
 about Monty's neck. 
 
 "I misjudged you, and I'm very sorry to say that 
 I said hard things about you. I can't tell you how 
 sorry " 
 
 "You said that I was vain and silly^and extrava- 
 gant and useless, generally?" asked Clarice, look- 
 ing at him, half with smiles and half with happy 
 tears across her chosen master's shoulder. "Well,
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 263 
 
 so I was until until I came here and saw Fran- 
 ces oh, I don't mean that, but until some things 
 made me begin to think. But I'm not those things, 
 any more, because I understand life better, now. 
 Oh, you'll see how different I'll be from now on 
 no, you won't see, but we'll write you about it." 
 
 She changed her clinging clasp of Monty's neck 
 to a fierce hug, kissed him twice and pushed him 
 well away from her. "Come, Monty," she said 
 briskly, "we've got so many things to do !" 
 
 "God bless them both," said Richard Ward, as 
 he looked after them with smiling eyes, "and keep 
 them far from here where everything is waste 
 utter, utter waste."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 The hubbub of the day was dying out in the thin 
 canon, downtown, where, in the intense hours of its 
 working, the moneymill grinds frantically. To 
 Ward's opened window came occasional noises, not 
 the steady roar which had maintained until a half- 
 hour since, but separate sounds, emphasized be- 
 cause of their mere individuality. Wall Street's 
 frantic energy ceases each working-day, as sudden- 
 ly as it begins, and it begins with the abruptness, 
 almost of a mad mob's rush upon a breastworks. 
 
 The man's face, as he sat there, was pale and 
 tired-looking even more tired-looking than had 
 been habitual with it, of late. His hand, utterly 
 relaxed for the first time in months, even the first 
 time in years perhaps, as it toyed with a great sheet 
 of paper covered closely with figures, red-lined and 
 professional-looking, was less tremulous than it 
 had been before the fearful strain had reached its 
 climax, passed the strength of his endurance, ex- 
 ceeded his ability to achieve. His eyes, as they 
 roved here and there about the room, passed slow- 
 ly from one object to another, not with the alert 
 and almost frightened glances of the recent days. 
 As he leaned back in his chair, at physical ease, his 
 feet hung quiet. For months, when he had been 
 seated in that chair, one or the other of them had 
 been jumping nervously upon its toe, its heel beat- 
 ing a quick tattoo upon the air to call up nervous
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 265 
 
 force. Save for himself and a scrub-woman all 
 the offices were quite deserted. 
 
 He looked about the place with curious eyes, 
 almost as a stranger might. He seemed to see 
 each desk, each chair, each rug, each ornate glass- 
 partition, mahogany counter, with a new sharp- 
 ness of detail as if they were strange things to him. 
 Now that the time had come for him to let the 
 awful tension of his brain and nerves relax, because 
 it had proved futile to preserve him, it was hard 
 for him to realize that all the recent days had not 
 been episodes in a bad dream. Why had he not 
 spared himself their agony by giving up before? 
 Long ago he had felt sure that a surrender was in- 
 evitable. No man could have won against the odds 
 which had opposed him. He was not even bitter 
 in his thoughts of the lost battle. He had been 
 handicapped beyond his strength, beyond the 
 strength of any man. 
 
 "Utter, utter, utter waste!" he said aloud, re- 
 membering his talk with Monty just before the boy 
 had started westward, with his sternly set young 
 face and his aroused, devoted bride, now every bit 
 as earnestly determined as the boy was. to make 
 their battle with the world a winning fight, to help, 
 not hinder, him as he contested it. "Waste, 
 waste !" 
 
 Cartwright had entered, unannounced, because 
 no employee remained now in the place. The of- 
 fices of Richard Ward had suddenly become like 
 the bare decks of a sinking ship. The word that 
 trouble of the worst kind threatened had scared 
 many, his own quiet words had sent the rest to find
 
 266 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 their hats and coats and scurry for new jobs. So 
 no one barred the lawyer's way, as all persons had 
 in the past been barred, when they attempted to 
 approach the master of the place without an- 
 nouncement. 
 
 "What's waste?" he asked. 
 
 Ward had not heard him enter, but he was not 
 startled. His nerves were stunned beyond the pos- 
 sibility of little shocks just then. 
 
 "Everything," said he, as he looked up. "Time, 
 energy, effort, life. It's all waste. What do I and 
 such as I accomplish? Nothing. Do we make the 
 world a better place to live in? Do we improve 
 ourselves even? Do we make happier those about 
 us? Is there any good we do any good at all? 
 God puts us here for something, doesn't He? Then 
 it must be to construct to upbuild to create, 
 yet what have I upbuilt? What have I created? 
 Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Serving no pur- 
 pose, striving for no end, I creep uselessly, vainly, 
 onward toward oblivion. It's waste utter, utter, 
 utter waste." 
 
 Cartwright took a vacant swivel chair and sat in 
 it, leaned back, as Ward did, his feet swinging. 
 For a time he did not speak at all. Then he nod- 
 ded slowly. 
 
 "It's a queer game, old man," said he. "Some- 
 times it seems as though the fates started us out for 
 a purpose and then forgot. It's a queer game a 
 mighty queer game. I was down in Washington 
 Square yesterday, and dropped into our old bar- 
 racks, just for fun." 
 
 Ward turned to him, indefinitely interested.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 267 
 
 "Same two old rooms," Cartwright went on, 
 "same old carpet with the holes, same old bath- 
 room with exposed plumbing, same old landlady 
 just as whole-souled and nosey as ever. It did 
 me good to find there something that five years in 
 New York can't change." 
 
 "Five years!" said Richard. "That's a long 
 time." 
 
 "A damned long time, in New York city," Cart- 
 wright agreed. "They waste us fast here." 
 
 "Fast, fast," said Ward. 
 
 "Remember Gibbs? What a bully fellow he 
 was, and how he dropped out of sight? And Dun- 
 can? And Bates? And God knows how many 
 more?" 
 
 Ward nodded. 
 
 "It'll be that way with us, Dick. They drop us 
 into the lake. We make a splash, and not such a 
 hell of a splash, at that, and that's all. Wish I 
 were married and had a family somebody to 
 care!" 
 
 Ward's eyes involuntarily shot toward him, Cart- 
 wright caught the glance and quickly shifted his 
 own. Then he went on somewhat hurriedly: 
 
 "Good God! I'm talking like an old woman! 
 What did you want to see me about before I went 
 uptown? Anything in particular?" 
 
 "I wanted to know principally if you had any- 
 thing to tell me." 
 
 Cartwright sighed. "Nothing new. Every- 
 thing's all fixed. All you've got to do is to sit tight 
 and I'll attend to the rest." He was plainly try- 
 ing to act as if he were not the witness of a tragedy,
 
 268 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 but he was not enough the fool to try to make light 
 of the situation. 
 
 Ward stirred uneasily, but did not look at him. 
 
 "How do you feel?" asked Cartwright, as 
 one might ask a patient about to undergo an opera- 
 tion. 
 
 Ward waited for a slow, deep inhalation before 
 he answered. Finally: "Relieved." 
 
 "Good," said Cartwright, looking at him with 
 real fondness in his eyes. "That's right, old man." 
 Then, after another pause, as if he wished to em- 
 phasize the fact that what he said was mere sugges- 
 tion, not advice: "You know it might be arranged 
 so that you could get an extension of time and 
 credit, whereby you might keep on " 
 
 Ward interrupted him. "I don't want that, Phil ; 
 I'm tired. I don't want the responsibility. I'll 
 work for someone else, for awhile, at any rate." 
 
 Cartwright plainly heartily approved this deci- 
 sion. "Well, you won't have any trouble getting 
 an opportunity to do that. Only there'll be less 
 money in it, probably at any rate, at first." 
 
 "I know. I want less money," said Richard, 
 with decision. "I want a fixed income and no capac- 
 ity to get into debt." 
 
 "The fixed income will be easy enough, but the 
 other" 
 
 "I'll have to regulate, myself?" 
 
 Cartwright nodded. 
 
 "I'm going to try " 
 
 He did not complete his sentence, but his friend 
 knew what he would have said if he had done so. 
 
 They sat in silence, for a time, now. Then Cart-
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 269 
 
 wright slowly rose, as if reluctant to depart and 
 leave Ward there alone. 
 
 "Well, I promised Richards to meet him at the 
 club at six. You going uptown?" 
 
 "No; not yet, old man. I'm going to sit here 
 for a while and think and try to think things out." 
 
 "Then if there's nothing else, old man, I'll " 
 
 "There's nothing else, Phil." 
 
 Both men rose and Cartwright reached his big 
 hand out in a strong clasp. "You know all I think, 
 Dick all I feel," he said in a slow voice, vibrant 
 with deep sympathy. "And there's no limit, old 
 man no limit." 
 
 "I know; thank you, Phil good-night." 
 
 "Good-night, Dick." 
 
 For hours the man sat there considering life, 
 and the successes and the failures which compose it. 
 Until now success had ever been his portion; now 
 the rising failure loomed with dreadful horror on 
 his vision. What had wrought this dire black- 
 magic? He had never ceased his striving, never 
 dallied with dishonor, never taken the advantages 
 of his associates which many men in the financial 
 district think fair things to do in the Great Game. 
 Always he had worked to the top limit of his 
 strength, always he had worked with a keen eye for 
 others' rights as well as for his own advancement. 
 Always he had won, won, won. Why then, had 
 the end come to his effort an end shrouded in the 
 black abyss of failure? He had not failed, really. 
 He had made great sums of money and had made 
 them rapidly; but now he was unable to meet his
 
 270 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 honest obligations after all this striving, after all 
 this mighty effort. Why? 
 
 To be sure there had been, lately, that malign 
 influence at work against him in the Street, mysteri- 
 ous, uncanny, striking always when and where he 
 was most vulnerable, the same influence which had 
 induced the Century Trust to call his loan. The 
 secret foe had hastened the black climax, but he 
 could not, then, stir up a violent resentment toward 
 him, whoever he might be. Had things gone dif- 
 ferently uptown he would have had the strength 
 and weapons for the downtown fight. He realized, 
 as he looked back along the years, that ever since 
 before his marriage there had been this foe at work, 
 antagonizing secretly, striking from behind one 
 cover or another, but until now, his efforts had been 
 fruitless because he, Richard Ward, had thrilled 
 with fierce vitality, had never lacked resource, had 
 not relaxed his watchfulness. But now the foe 
 had caught him, devitalized, resourceless, blinded. 
 The "Why?" found no real answer, therefore, in 
 the scheming of the enemy, but in the fact that he, 
 himself, had been, by other matters, weakened. 
 
 There could be but one real answer to the 
 "Why?" which rose so constantly within his 
 thoughts the tragic word which had been on his 
 lips as Cartwright had come in: Waste waste, 
 not in his offices or in any of his own affairs, but 
 in the home for which his mighty effort had been 
 wholly made. It had been the woman he had 
 loved the woman he still loved who had, real- 
 ly- 
 
 He roused suddenly, to realization of the length
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 271 
 
 of time which must have passed since Cartwright 
 had left him. It was dark now, to his surprise, and 
 he had to grope to find the button of the electric 
 light which hung above his desk. He turned it, 
 blinked as the yellow radiance flooded round him, 
 took his coat and hat from the near chair where he 
 had thrown them when, more hours ago than he 
 could readily believe, he had come in, with the 
 knowledge of his ruin definitely in his mind, put 
 them on, and not thinking of the light again, but 
 leaving it there, radiant, as one light is left upon a 
 sinking ship, went out. 
 
 He walked the long miles to his home the home 
 which had been not a refuge to him but a burden 
 which had crushed him with its weight, and after 
 he had reached it, entered, so deeply buried in his 
 bitter thoughts that he was scarcely conscious of the 
 servant who relieved him of his hat and coat, of go- 
 ing to the library, of sitting there, for further hours. 
 
 The "why" which puzzled him so vastly, and 
 which puzzled Cartwright quite as fully, was no 
 secret to a small group "on the Street." In each 
 direction he had turned the nemesis had crouched, 
 waiting, masked, implacable, adroit, strong, not 
 through the possession of a merely powerful capi- 
 tal, but through command of mighty millions. 
 Now it had thrust at him through the office of one 
 broker, now through another's, but ever was the 
 thrust at him and him alone. He could not work 
 with secrecy enough to circumvent it; he could not 
 work with a bravado great enough to make it 
 hesitate. Ever, ever it was trailing him upon each
 
 272 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 highway of finance he tried to travel; ever it had 
 won, of late months, in his skirmishes with it. That 
 it was ruthless, utterly, and after him alone, was 
 quickly clear to the entire financial district, for even 
 a small purchase on his part would send a good 
 stock down, a sale of size, send weak stock up, not 
 only to his own distress, but possibly to the tre- 
 mendous loss of others, much more deeply inter- 
 ested than himself. 
 
 Two men were talking of it in a club as he sat 
 pondering that "why?" 
 
 "It's been a man-hunt!" cried one of them, who 
 had suffered. "Dick Ward's been like a pestilence. 
 Go with him in a deal and it's been sure you'd 
 get financial cholera." 
 
 "He's on the eater-wagon and there'll be a 
 smash," his friend replied, "if what you say is true. 
 Therefore, let us have a drink." He touched the 
 bell. 
 
 "Wise notion," said his friend. "It cost me 
 fifteen thousand last week, just to sell, for half-an- 
 hour, one line that he was selling on the sly. I need 
 a stimulant." 
 
 "Who's after him?" 
 
 "Some damned cold-blooded beast!" 
 
 They drank in unhappy silence, considering this 
 matter. 
 
 Suddenly one of them whistled softly, as if un- 
 expectedly a great discovery had been thrust upon 
 him. "Sure I have !" he whispered. 
 
 "You have what?" 
 
 "Seen Kelly." 
 
 "Kelly?"
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 273 
 
 "Why, I've got wise to the pursuit of Ward. 
 He's been a rabbit. It's Suffern Thorne. Sure pop. 
 Some Nemesis, he is. I see it all as clearly as if I 
 were our cute friend Pierpy Morgan, with financial 
 second-sight. Ward cut Thorne out with the Van 
 Zandt girl pretty thing, his wife is too, with both 
 hands wide open, scattering his money to the starv- 
 ing jewelers and dressmakers along the Avenue 
 and Thorne he has laid low and kept dead quiet 
 ever since. But when he saw a chance wow! it 
 was his knife for Dicky's floating ribs. He'd make 
 a fine man on the witness-stand for the defense! 
 Great capacity for saying nothing. Don't you see? 
 He tied his mask on tight, right then ; he sharpened 
 up his butcher-knife and hid in one of the dark cor- 
 ners of this year in Wall Street." 
 
 "Plenty of dark corners in this year, down there, 
 all right." 
 
 "Else why would it be Thieves' Paradise? He 
 hid very cleverly, and every time Ward's passed, of 
 late, when he's been good and ripe and careless, 
 because of his fool house and his fool, spendthrift 
 wife^he's stuck it into him; and when he hasn't 
 passed, he's chased him up and slashed at him." 
 
 "He must hang on to grudges with the hand that 
 grips till death ! Ward's been married years, now." 
 
 "It's more than a mere grudge, you innocent 
 small boy he's going to ruin him. Ward's wife 
 is one of those dear things that dealing dollars 
 out plumb dopes. It's a passion with her to dis- 
 burse. You know 'em?" 
 
 "By God, I do ! You know I was married, once, 
 and"
 
 274 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "Oh, yes; I now recall the case. Excuse me. 
 Reno, wasn't it? Well, his is worse than yours was. 
 She shovels it out. Now do you see? Thome's 
 waited say, what a yarn for one of the sweet 
 Sunday papers ! And Ward is not within ten miles 
 of next." 
 
 "Is Thorne going to win?" 
 
 "God knows probably. When she went down 
 the coast, this summer that was when Thorne left 
 the street for near a month. I heard about them 
 from Ned Reilly. He was down there, too. Ward 
 didn't get there much too busy here, producing 
 cash to pay the bills; but Thorne was there and 
 drove the lady in his motor, sailed her in his yacht, 
 flowered her from his florist's, fed her from his 
 candy-shops was with her every minute. I heard 
 all about it. Don't you see? She probably gave 
 him some reason to believe that if Ward should go 
 smash oh well, you know the men like Ward 
 when they go smash they sometimes use a gun or 
 something. And she probably made Thorne think 
 that if Dick blew his brains out " 
 
 "Don't say those words so lightly. I sometimes 
 feel like" 
 
 "You couldn't. Yours are far too small and 
 you're not enough a marksman. It would take a 
 peach to hit the microscopic target. That's what 
 you get for interrupting." 
 
 "You going to wise Ward?" 
 
 "Little boy, just now I have some active troubles 
 of my ownest own. When I see a clever panther 
 tracking down a luckless stranger, I do not, habit- 
 ually, divert that panther's mind and urge him to
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 275 
 
 track me, unless I have a gun. At present I'm 
 not armed for a quick scrap with Suffern 
 Thorne." 
 
 "You're right, all right. Had alcohol enough?" 
 "To last me to the house, I guess." 
 
 While these men were reaching the real truth 
 of his great puzzle, Ward was pondering it, with 
 less success, up at his house. Hour after hour he 
 sat and studied it. He had not even noted that 
 his wife was absent from the house when she came 
 in, breezy, perfumed, smiling, with a quick swish of 
 silken skirts, long after midnight. 
 
 "All alone here, Dick? Poor boy!" she cried, 
 and went to him as she threw back her wrap. 
 
 He looked at her with tired eyes. 
 
 "Yes; alone, of course. Where have you been?" 
 
 Before she answered him she fluttered to the 
 door and pushed the button of a bell to call her 
 maid. As the sleepy Elise entered, took her hat 
 and cloak and went away again, she answered: 
 
 "Out to dinner with " 
 
 "With whom?" 
 
 "Sh, the Astons and Van Pelts and people." 
 If she hesitated as she finished out the sentence the 
 pause was very slight and her husband did not 
 notice it. She stripped off her long gloves slowly, 
 and preened herself a little, as, very beautiful in 
 features and in form and wonderfully gowned, she 
 stood before him. "You haven't told me whether 
 I look well or not!" she said in whimsical com- 
 plaint. "You never say pretty things to me now, 
 as you used to, Dick !"
 
 276 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "Don't I?" It was clear enough that he was not 
 paying very close attention. 
 
 "You know you don't. You haven't even 
 
 now." 
 
 "You look well of course. You always look 
 well." 
 
 "You don't say it very enthusiastically," she com- 
 plained. An outsider, knowing her well, would 
 have seen at once, that there was something quite 
 unusual in the flush upon her face, the occasional 
 nervous movement of her hands, the queer way in 
 which, from time to time, she dodged his eyes. He 
 would have seen it, instantly, if he had been in 
 normal form; but now he was too nearly dazed by 
 all that had occurred to him to make a careful note 
 of anything. 
 
 He paid no attention to her last complaint, but 
 rose, with slow and tired movement and leaned 
 upon the table, looking at her. 
 
 "Frances," he said, with queer deliberation. "I 
 want to have a serious talk with you." 
 
 She darted a quick look at him, saw that he no 
 longer had his eyes on her and seemed a bit re- 
 lieved. "But we've had so many, many serious 
 talks lately, Dick," she said. "Can't it wait till 
 morning? I'm terribly tired." 
 
 "I'm tired, too, Frances," he replied and his 
 whole figure drooped at the mere word. She noted 
 for the first time now, the unwontedly deep lines 
 which seamed his face, the deep sag of his shoul- 
 ders, the whole world-weary aspect of the man. 
 
 "Poor boy! You do look tired," she admitted, 
 and went to him and pushed him back into his
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 277 
 
 chair, caressingly. Then she found a seat upon its 
 arm and drew his head against her breast and 
 stroked his hair. "Now you go right to bed and 
 have a good night's sleep. Then, in the morning, 
 we can have the talk just as long and just as ser- 
 ious as you like." She spoke as to a fretful child. 
 "Or not to-morrow Monday, Dick." 
 
 "Monday we move, Frances." 
 
 She sprang up from her seat and faced him with 
 wide eyes. "Move Monday! "Why, it's out of 
 the question absurd! Why I there's the din- 
 ner to the Ravenals! The invitations were sent 
 out weeks ago. That's for Tuesday. We can't 
 possibly go till after that! Why, you yourself 
 must see how absurd it is !" 
 
 "The dinner cannot be, Frances," he said dully. 
 "Don't you see how absurd how even laughable it 
 would be for a wife to give a dinner to twenty or 
 thirty people the day after her husband has de- 
 clared himself bankrupt? That's what I must do. 
 You'll have to notify them that it's off." 
 
 "But Dick, that's silly, dear! You can't treat 
 people like that! What would they think?" 
 
 This roused him from the lethargy which, up to 
 then, had bound him into dulness. "What differ- 
 ence does it make, what they think?" You'll pro- 
 bably never see them again." 
 
 "Never see them again !" 
 
 "From now on," he answered, "we must find 
 our friends among those whose incomes are the 
 same size as mine which will probably be about 
 ten thousand a year. You don't seem to have real- 
 ized what a radical change it will be, Frances."
 
 278 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "But, Dick, why must it be such a change as 
 that?" she pleaded. "Couldn't we stay on here, 
 and economize? Cut down here and there, on the 
 little things, you know?" She took a step or two 
 away from him and stood looking at him with re- 
 proach. "You're asking a great deal of me to 
 give up my home my friends everything, almost. 
 Don't you think so?" 
 
 He turned to her, not angrily, but very seriously. 
 "I am asking only that you give back a little of the 
 much that I have given you." 
 
 "You don't look at those things logically, Dick, 
 you never did," said she. "Your business your 
 standing demand that you have a suitable home 
 and that your wife shouldn't go around in rags. 
 It costs a lot, perhaps; but everybody knows, in 
 these days, you have to spend money to make mon- 
 ey. And you jump into things so, Dick. You 
 never stop to think. You should take things calm- 
 ly, easily. Why " 
 
 She paused a second and looked at him with 
 bowed head, and eyes upturned a little furtively. 
 
 "Why, something might happen so that we 
 wouldn't have to move, or you even even give 
 up your business." 
 
 He shook his head. "Not now. It's already 
 decided. It's already virtually done." He paused 
 and for a moment, walked back and forth before 
 her, but he did not look at her until just as he be- 
 gan to speak again. "And there will be radical 
 changes in other things," he said, at length. 
 Frances, you must have no more accounts at the 
 shops."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 279 
 
 "No accounts at the shops!" she cried, incredu- 
 lously. 
 
 "None; no account at any shop, Frances. This 
 I must insist on." 
 
 She had sunk into a chair to gaze at him, aghast, 
 as he had said that his assignment was, virtually, 
 an accomplished fact; she rose now, with a gesture 
 of annoyance. "Really, Dick," she cried, "you're 
 perfectly absurd to-night!" 
 
 He waved his hand in sheer helplessness against 
 her failure to attempt to comprehend. "I'm sorry 
 you think so," he said, wearily, "but I must insist, 
 nevertheless. Whenever you need or want any 
 money, you must come to me. If I shall have it, I 
 will give it to you and you can spend it, as far as 
 it will go." His positiveness frightened her. "But 
 there must be no more debts no more debts of 
 any kind. And for a time there'll be no money to 
 spend for anything beyond the bare necessities of 
 food and lodging. Remember, I must now go out 
 to hunt for a position." 
 
 She looked at him incredulously. "You're go- 
 ing to hunt for a position to work for someone 
 else? 1 ' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "To be a salaried employee?" The incredulity 
 became almost a sneer. 
 
 "I sincerely hope so." 
 
 "But, Dick," she said, reproachfully, "where's 
 your pride?" She stepped away from him and 
 looked at him with unbelieving eyes. "Why, I 
 never in my life heard of such a thing! I won't 
 be able to look my friends in the face!"
 
 280 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 He smiled sadly. "Because your husband earns 
 an honest living and pays his debts?" 
 
 Her face was still half-unbelieving, wholly re- 
 proachful. "Because he could be such a big man 
 and as content to be such a little one. Dick, you 
 seem almost cowardly !" 
 
 This once more roused him. M Is it being coward- 
 ly to start all over at my age ? It seems to me it 
 would be more cowardly to go on spending other 
 people's money money that I could never repay. 
 And . . . nevertheless ... we move ... on Mon- 
 day." 
 
 He let his shoulders drop from their tense strain 
 and leaned upon the table as if he needed its sup- 
 port. 
 
 "The house is to be made over to my creditors, 
 the furniture is to be sold at auction for their bene- 
 fit. There will be no money there will be no bills 
 no accounts no expenditures beyond those ab- 
 solutely necessary. It is my right to insist upon 
 these things, Frances, and I do insist. Do you 
 understand?" 
 
 Now she dropped her attitude of incredulity and 
 went to him almost with anger in her eyes, almost 
 with defiance. "And suppose I refuse?" she asked, 
 excitedly. "Suppose I refuse to give up everything 
 even the necessities of life; to relinquish my 
 home, my friends, and to go with you, to the grati- 
 fication of this absurd whim of yours?" 
 
 He looked at her for an instant as if not quite 
 comprehending her strange question. Then he 
 shrugged his shoulders. "That is at your discre- 
 tion. You can refuse, if you like."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 281 
 
 "But you would go?" 
 
 He shook his head helplessly. "I have no 
 choice." 
 
 She did not answer this, but turned away from 
 him as if she might be taking him at his word 
 abandoning him. 
 
 "So it was for better then, and not for worse 1" 
 said he. 
 
 Still she did not look at him. Upon her face 
 there was a curious mixture of expressions worry 
 being uppermost a worry, mixed with fear; but 
 through that look was growing one of resolution, 
 as if she had in mind the presentation of a remedy 
 for their woes which might need much explanation, 
 but which, no matter how hard it might be to show 
 to him, must be presented without further waiting.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 When, having thought out as best she could, 
 whatever matter was upon her mind, she turned 
 back toward him, she saw that he had crossed to 
 the great fire-place and stood leaning on the high 
 and ornate mantel, gazing gloomily into the smold- 
 ering embers of the hard-wood fire which had been 
 lighted when he first came in. She braced her- 
 self as for an effort, when he did not turn to look 
 at her, and then astonished him by laughing mer- 
 rily. He turned, in his surprise, and gazed at her. 
 
 "Oh, Dick, Dick, Dick!" she cried. "You're 
 such a serious such a very serious thing! You 
 don't know how funny you are !" 
 
 He moved toward her, almost angrily, words 
 of protest plainly rising to his lips, but she put her 
 hand upon them playfully. 
 
 "Now don't interrupt me," she said gaily. "I 
 didn't mean to tell you this, to-night. I was going 
 to save it until morning, but we won't have to move 
 you won't have to give up your business " 
 
 "What do you mean?" he said, a light of hope 
 incredulous, but still of hope, leaping into being in 
 his eyes. 
 
 "You said, the other day that you needed twenty 
 thousand dollars, didn't you?" 
 
 "Why, yes; but " 
 
 Her voice was full of laughter, as a mother's 
 might be who has teased a child by holding from it 
 sweets until it has decided that there are none and 
 begun to sulk. "Well, here it is!"
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 283 
 
 He moved toward her, with a step which almost 
 tottered, as she took a little roll of bank-notes from 
 a tiny vanity purse which, during the entire inter- 
 view, she had been holding in her hand. 
 
 "Twenty of them !" she said gaily, not looking at 
 him, but busy with the bank-notes. "One thousand 
 dollars each. See ? She held the money up before 
 his eyes. 'And they are all for you !" 
 
 He was quite speechless. For an instant it did 
 seem to him that all his troubles had been wiped 
 away as are the markings from a school-boy's slate 
 by one passage of the sponge, and on his face began 
 to grow a smile of inexpressible relief. 
 
 She did not hand the money to him then, how- 
 ever, but while it rested loosely in one hand, peeled 
 from the little roll a pair of bills. 
 
 "I'm going to keep two," said she, "and redeem 
 my jewels and get a few little things that I need. 
 You can have all the rest." She waved the roll of 
 money. "See? Am I not good to you?" 
 
 There was the money in her hands, before his 
 very eyes. It would be asinine to doubt, and yet 
 
 "But" he began. 
 
 "What do you say?" she gaily asked, and went 
 close to him, her manner chiding him for not ex- 
 pressing gratitude. 
 
 "But, Fran" 
 
 "He's forgotten his manners!" she cried merrily. 
 Then going closer to him: "You should kiss me 
 and say 'thank you.' ' She put her arms around 
 his neck, one hand still holding the crisp, yellow 
 bills.
 
 2 8 4 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "Frances," said he, and drew away a little, 
 "where did you get this money?" 
 
 "Ah," said she, "that is a secret!" 
 
 He recoiled a little. "It can be no secret from 
 me," he insisted. "I must know where it came 
 from, or I cannot take it. Don't you see?" 
 
 "No, I don't see," said she, a little petulantly. 
 "Dick, what makes you so frightfully unpleasant 
 to-night. I thought you'd be delighted to get that 
 money." 
 
 He shook his head, drew somewhat away from 
 her and then sank into a chair, although he kept his 
 questioning eyes upon her face. "I don't know, 
 yet, that I have any reason to be. Where did you 
 get this money?" 
 
 She pouted very definitely, evidently thinking 
 him unreasonable. "I promised not to tell." 
 
 "Then take it back to where you got it," he said 
 sternly. 
 
 "But, Dick" 
 
 "Do you suppose I can take such a sum as that 
 without knowing where it came from?" 
 
 "But you don't think I stole it do you?" she 
 asked, much annoyed by his persistence. 
 
 "Stole it? Of course not. But I must know 
 from whom you got it." 
 
 "I borrowed it; I borrowed it," she cried, ex- 
 asperated, nervous, "but I promised that I wouldn't 
 tell from whom." 
 
 "I must know," he said. "Was it from Aunt 
 Gretchen?" 
 
 She was now behind his chair and leaning slight- 
 ly over him. At his words she gave a little start,
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 285 
 
 as if either he had guessed aright or had given 
 her an idea. 
 
 "From Aunt Gretchen yes," said she. Then, 
 very positively: "Aunt Gretchen loaned it to me, 
 Dick. But she didn't want you to know she had 
 changed her mind after all she's said." Now she 
 spoke very earnestly, with all the charming empha- 
 sis at her command, her head nodding with each 
 syllable. "So she made me promise not to tell." 
 She shifted to his other side, passing behind the 
 chair he sat in. "And I've broken that promise! 
 She'll be so angry !" Now she leaned forward just 
 a bit so that she could study his face carefully. It 
 almost seemed as if her gaze was anxious. "So 
 angry !" 
 
 "It's not like her," said Richard, thoughtfully, 
 not quite suspiciously, but still, almost unconvinced. 
 
 "You don't doubt me, do you, Dick?" 
 
 "No, of course not," he said, trying to believe. 
 And then more slowly: "Only I don't understand 
 it. I don't " He left his sentence uncompleted, 
 and sat there, deep in thought. 
 
 "And now," said Frances, once more gay, "we 
 needn't worry any more, need we, Dick? You can 
 straighten out that nasty old business, and we can 
 go on living here as we have been, can't we?" She 
 waited for an answer, but receiving none, she asked, 
 somewhat anxiously: "Aren't you glad? Aren't 
 you grateful to me? Don't you think I'm some 
 use to you, after all?" 
 
 He still sat there, thoughtful, puzzled. He 
 knew Gretchen Jans, or thought he did, and this 
 sudden generosity to a niece whom he knew she
 
 286 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 thought wastefully extravagant, was not in charac- 
 ter, at all. Had she even come to him and offered 
 him the money on condition that he pledge collater- 
 al he would have been astonished; for her to give it 
 to Frances, whose extravagance he knew she blamed 
 for the misfortunes which had overtaken him, 
 seemed quite incredible. 
 
 "I don't understand it; I don't understand it 
 at all," he said slowly, very gravely. 
 
 "I don't see anything so difficult to comprehend 
 about it. I " 
 
 The buzz of an electric bell attracted their at- 
 tention. 
 
 "It's someone at the door," said she, surprised. 
 
 "The servants are in bed," he answered. "I 
 will go." 
 
 "No; Elise is in the hall, waiting for me. . . 
 Elise, go to the door, please." 
 
 An instant later and they heard Aunt Gretchen's 
 voice out in the hall. "Tell my chauffeur, please," 
 she was saying to Elise, with an accent in her voice 
 which showed how heartily she hated the French 
 maid, "that I'll be out again in just a minute." 
 
 Frances was plainly panic-stricken at the sound. 
 
 "Don't let her know I've told you," she said 
 hurriedly to Dick. "She'd be so angry." 
 
 He made no answer, but stood looking first at 
 her then at the curtains through which the visitor 
 would presently appear. 
 
 "I forgot my bag, when I was here, this after- 
 noon," Aunt Gretchen said, as she showed in the 
 opening and saw them standing there awaiting her. 
 "I must be losing my memory. In all the twenty
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 287 
 
 years I've been carrying that bag I never forgot it 
 before." 
 
 She gazed anxiously about the room; then seeing 
 the bag upon the table, started toward it. 
 
 "They begged me into another of those charity 
 affairs, to-night, and it shall be the last, I've made 
 up my mind to that. I thought about the bag as I 
 was going by and when I saw the lights I knew 
 you hadn't gone to bed yet so, as I'll need some 
 papers in it " 
 
 For the first time she noticed that she had in- 
 terrupted an unusual situation. The faces of both 
 man and woman showed her that. She stopped 
 short, with her hand upon the bag and looked from 
 Frances to her husband and then back again. 
 
 "Well, what " she began, and stopped at 
 that. 
 
 Richard's face was hard and set as he looked, 
 not at her but at his wife, and said: 
 
 "Aunt Gretchen, did you loan Frances any mon- 
 ey?" 
 
 "What?" said the visitor, plainly much aston- 
 ished. 
 
 "Did you lend Frances any money?" 
 
 "Why, yes," Aunt Gretchen answered; "I've 
 loaned Frances money." 
 
 The stern look faded from the man's face as a 
 cloud may melt before the sunshine of the spring. 
 His whole frame took on new vigor and the set 
 lines of his mouth gave way to a fine smile, of great 
 gratitude to her, of infinite apology to Frances, 
 whom he thought he had unjustly usupected. The 
 man looked younger, far more vital, for a moment,
 
 288 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 than he had looked before that day or evening, and 
 his step, as he went toward Aunt Gretchen, was 
 elastic, almost youthful. A man who finds himself 
 relieved from some great peril, suddenly might 
 show the same signs on his face and in the new 
 spring of his muscles. 
 
 "It was good of you, Aunt Gretchen mighty 
 good!" he heartily exclaimed. "It's given me a 
 courage that I didn't know was there. I can pick 
 up the loose threads, now, and start afresh. I 
 didn't think I wanted to, but now that the chance 
 is really mine ah, it is different! Thank you, 
 Aunt Gretchen ! It was fine of you ; and you, too, 
 Frances I'm sorry dear, if I seemed to doubt. It 
 seemed so absolutely unbelievable I believe I'll 
 telephone to Phil and tell him that I have the 
 twenty thousand even if it is so late that he has 
 probably gone to bed." 
 
 He touched his wife caressingly upon the shoul- 
 er as he hurried from the room. 
 
 Aunt Gretchen turned to her with a suspicious, 
 woried face, and when she looked at her her fears 
 were instantly confirmed that something here, was 
 not as it should be. 
 
 "What did he mean?" she asked of Frances, 
 and as the latter sank, quite overcome, upon a sofa, 
 she went close to her and peered into her face. 
 
 "Why" 
 
 "What did he mean? Twenty thousand dollars 
 I gave you ! Twenty thousand dollars I ... What 
 have you done, Frances?" 
 
 The woman was desperately at work to get her 
 wits together but was not succeeding very well.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 289 
 
 "What have I done?" she said. "Why, Aunt 
 Gretchen, I" 
 
 "Don't lie to me," said the old woman steadily. 
 "You got some money, somewhere. Where did 
 you get it?" 
 
 "Aunt Gretchen, I" 
 
 "What have you done?" 
 
 "I've done nothing. I " 
 
 Aunt Gretchen, after waiting for a moment for 
 her to finish out the sentence, found that she did 
 not have words at hand with which to do it. Satis- 
 fied of this she drew back and stood gazing at 
 her with a growing look of horror and distaste 
 upon her face. Slowly now, she nodded. 
 
 "So that's what you've become !" In the words 
 there was a strength of accusation which appalled 
 the woman on the sofa now crouching huddling 
 unhappily upon the sofa. 
 
 "Aunt Gretchen! Aunt Gretchen!" she cried 
 miserably. "I tell you I've done no wrong, Aunt 
 Gretchen!" 
 
 "Then where did you get that money?" said 
 the inexorable old woman. 
 
 "Aunt Gretchen, I" 
 
 "Tell me!" 
 
 "But" 
 
 "If you don't tell me, then it shall be for Richard 
 to find out." 
 
 Frances started from the couch and caught her 
 arm imploringly. Suddenly her face had filled 
 with horror. "You wouldn't tell Richard! For 
 God's sake don't do that !" she cried. "He might 
 not understand. I "
 
 290 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 Ward's footstep, coming from the telephone, 
 sounded now, on the bare, polished floor of the 
 hallway. The elder woman turned to meet him, 
 the younger crouched in fear quite overmastering 
 upon the couch. But he was deep in thought and 
 did not at first, observe that anything unusual had 
 occurred between them. 
 
 "Aunt Gretchen," he said slowly, "I didn't 
 'phone Cartwright." His tone was listless and his 
 step was heavy. "This money would only pay my 
 debts. It would only be the same old fight, all over 
 again. No I've made up my mind, and I'll go 
 through with it. Thank you, just the same." He 
 turned now, toward his wife, although so deeply 
 buried was he in his thoughts that still he failed to 
 notice the unusual appearance of the woman. 
 "And you too, Frances dear, But ... I can't take 
 the money." Again he turned toward the elder 
 woman, and this time, held the money out to her. 
 
 She shrank back from it as if its very touch 
 would harm her. "No no no !" she said, not 
 much above a whisper. 
 
 He was much surprised. "But, Aunt Gret- 
 chen" 
 
 "No," said the old woman slowly, "give it back 
 to Frances. She didn't get it from me." 
 
 Without another word, another glance at either 
 of them, she hurried from the room, leaving Rich- 
 ard gazing at his wife with a look upon his face 
 of terrible suspicion which, as he gazed, and she 
 cowered and shook before him, turned into an ex- 
 pression of sheer horror. 
 
 Slowly he let his fingers loosen on the roll of
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 291 
 
 money and it fell upon the floor between them 
 while he stared at her with wide, almost affrighted 
 eyes. A horrid thought was rising in his mind, a 
 horrid impulse urged his tongue to horrid words. 
 To save himself, save her, he went slowly from the 
 room, found his hat and coat in the dark hallway 
 and stumbled from the house.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A little rain had fallen and the surface of the 
 asphalt on the Avenue glittered with the reflections 
 of electric lights as if it had been studded with in- 
 numerable jewels, inlaid with burnished, crinkled 
 copper, made transparent and illuminated by soft 
 fires underground. A taxi hurried by, with almost 
 silent, swishing wheels, its exhaust muffled into a 
 low burr; a touring car, less expertly handled, 
 passed, shattering the silence of the night with in- 
 numerable explosions; the pat-pat, pat-pat of a cab- 
 horse passed him and he saw within the vehicle as 
 it went beneath the glare of an electric light the 
 faces of a young couple whom he knew. They had 
 not long been married and they were not rich. 
 Plainly they were going home from some late 
 supper and they were leaning not apart but toward 
 each 'other in the cab. A hard smile moved his 
 face, and as the young man, seeing him, leaned 
 forward, waved his hand and called a greeting, 
 he merely shrugged his shoulders and went on, 
 without response. "Poor devil!" he was thinking. 
 "Wait ! Wait till he learns what marriage means 1" 
 
 A little farther down the Avenue there is an en- 
 trance to the Park and he crossed the asphalt and 
 went over to it. For a time he stood there, where 
 the roadway dipped softly into the velvet darkness 
 of the deserted pleasure-ground, debating with him- 
 self as to whether he could think best there, in the
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 293 
 
 night solitude of dripping trees, or out upon the 
 thoroughfares where would be human beings. A 
 suspicious officer came closer to him and peered 
 into his face. One glance he found enough. 
 
 "Move on; Park's closed," he lied. Once he 
 had let a man pass in who looked a little bit like 
 that and, in the morning, he had been found near a 
 dense clump of bushes, dead. "Move on!" he said 
 again, this time with more emphasis and then 
 recognized the man he spoke to. He had often 
 seen him entering and leaving the great new house 
 across the Avenue. "Oh, Mr. Ward!" said he. 
 "That you? Excuse me, sir. We have to be right 
 careful, though." 
 
 "It's all right, Murphy," Ward replied. "I 
 can't sleep to-night. I thought perhaps a walk 
 there in the Park " 
 
 Murphy was looking at him closely, and sudden- 
 ly, remembered that there had been something 
 about the failure of a Wall Street firm, with 
 "Ward" in the name, somehow, in The Evening 
 Sun, that day. 
 
 "Sure," he said, with quick diplomacy. "I know. 
 Ain't I that way, on an' off, mesilf? But the 
 Park's a drippy place the night, sir. Best stick 
 to the, pavement." 
 
 Ward nodded and went on, but, cautiously, the 
 officer kept track of him and saw to it that he did 
 not slip into the next entrance to the silent and de- 
 serted space of greenery. Satisfied that he had 
 given up the thought of entering it, he turned back 
 and went upon the business of his beat. 
 
 "Sure, I dunno. Maybe it's better to be so
 
 294 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 domned poor that you can't lose money, like I am, 
 mesilf," he mused. 
 
 On, on Richard walked, seeing nothing, hearing 
 just enough to keep him from disaster at the cros- 
 ings, thinking, thinking, thinking of the black and 
 tragic shadow which had fallen suddenly upon his 
 business life, of the blacker, far more tragic shad- 
 ow.which had fallen now on his home life to over- 
 lie the other, make it denser, heavier, more tragic. 
 "Where had Frances got that money? What 
 what oh, good God! what had she paid for it? 
 What had his wife paid for that money? 
 
 The clocks were striking two as he went into his 
 house again. He had considered many things 
 among them that which the policeman had suspect- 
 ed, but now he wished one thing alone, and wished 
 it with so great a strength that it was almost vio- 
 lence. He must know must know all. 
 
 In the hall he laid aside his coat and hat with 
 such care as he had not shown before since he had 
 left the dim old quarters on the Square. He even 
 took his gloves off, carefully pulling at them finger 
 after finger, and after he had quite removed them 
 stripped them through his circled thumb and fingers 
 creasing them together, and placed them, with ex- 
 actness, upon the table by his hat. After that he 
 stood in the half-light of the hall and looked about 
 the place with something kin to curiosity, as if he 
 had come into it for the first time and wished to 
 fix a firm impression of it on his memory. A tapes- 
 try upon the wall seemed to attract him and he soft- 
 ly crossed to it his movements were as stealthy as 
 a burglar's and fingered it slowly, curiously, as if
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 295 
 
 he might be studying its weave. Upon the floor an 
 evening paper lay, where he had dropped it. He 
 picked it up and folded it with utmost care and 
 placed it neatly on the table underneath his hat. 
 
 Finally he went slowly, still as carefully as a 
 marauder, fearful of discovery, to the broad stair- 
 way, and keeping one hand ever on the wide, 
 carved banister, began to mount. As he went up 
 his eyes roamed, ever here and there, as if in care- 
 ful observation of the details of the hangings and 
 the carved panelling at one side. Once or twice 
 he paused and peered down across the banister into 
 the hall below, not apprehensively, as if he feared 
 that someone might be there and watching him, 
 but curiously, as if he wished to see this -place in 
 every detail as if he never in his life before had 
 seen it, might not ever look at it again. 
 
 Having reached the top of the long flight he 
 turned, and slowly, still very cautiously, made his 
 way along the hall, past the library and smoking- 
 roorn, on one side, the breakfast-room and music- 
 room upon the other, and then started, still with 
 great deliberation, utmost caution to be noiseless, 
 up the second stairway. At the head of that he 
 paused, in deep thought, for a long time. Then 
 he went to his own room, stood there for a time 
 before the mirror, looking at his own reflection, 
 and then crossed the room and opened the door 
 which led from it into his dressing-room, opened 
 the door which led from that into his wife's boudoir, 
 opened the door which led from that into her bed- 
 room. All this was done silently. Always he 
 walked soft-footed as a burglar might, always he
 
 296 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 studied carefully each object which, by chance, fell 
 underneath his line of vision, as if he wished to 
 print a perfect picture of it on his mind for future 
 reference. At length he stood in his wife's bed- 
 room, crossed it and stood beside her bed, looking 
 down at her. 
 
 He studied her as carefully as he had studied all 
 the other things which he had looked at with such 
 minute observation since he had first come in. 
 But there was this difference between the look he 
 bent on her and those which he had given to the 
 various inanimate objects of his previous survey. 
 He saw his wife. He had not seen a single one of 
 them when he had touched the carving, curiously, 
 with finger-tips, he had been quite unconscious of it; 
 that he had fingered the old tapestry with minute 
 care he did not know; he had not the slightest 
 recollection of his entrance to the house or any 
 of the details of the climb upstairs. 
 
 The room in which he stood now, was a dainty 
 place filled with costly delicacies of foreign arti- 
 sans' most airy furnishings, decked with hangings 
 from world-famous looms, carpeted with rugs from 
 far-off lands beyond the Caspian, woven in for- 
 gotten centuries for the devout to offer prayers to 
 Allah on. The bed, of carven brass and canopied 
 as might a queen's throne be, was of course the 
 dominating feature of the room, and on it a lace- 
 shaded bulb threw a soft light, revealing plainly 
 the soundly sleeping woman. She made a very love- 
 ly picture as the shaded light revealed her to her 
 husband's eyes. One bare arm was thrown above 
 her head upon the snowy, lace-slipped pillow, the
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 297 
 
 other curved across the silken counterpane until its 
 hand hung limply, gracefully beyond the bed's left 
 edge. Her hair was slightly tumbled and through 
 the thin counterpane which covered her the graceful 
 lines of her delightful figure were revealed by 
 sweeping curves of shadow. 
 
 He made no sound whatever, did not speak to 
 her, or even draw a sigh which possibly could have 
 aroused her. He merely stood close by the foot of 
 her bed and gazed at her gazed with an intent- 
 ness which commanded. 
 
 In obedience to this strange stare she moved, a 
 moment later, and drew a shuddering breath, on 
 which were borne the remnants of the sobs which 
 had convulsed her ere she went to sleep. 
 
 He did not change his attitude of steady observa- 
 tion by the movement of a muscle. 
 
 Again a breath came from her slightly parted 
 lips broken by the little gaspings of past sobs. Her 
 eyelids fluttered. 
 
 Still the man there by the foot of the carved bed 
 remained immovable, his eyes intently fixed upon 
 her face, peering a little in the dimness of the light, 
 his mouth set in a hard line, his brow drawn into a 
 deep frown of mingled pain and wrath. 
 
 A moment later and her fluttering eyelids 
 opened. Although the man who stood there watch- 
 ing her had made no sound. At first she did not 
 know what had awakened her. 
 
 For a few seconds, even after she had roused, 
 she still groped to find what had disturbed her; 
 then she saw him. 
 
 "Dick . . . Dick?" she said, frightened, al-
 
 298 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 though sleep had driven for the moment from her 
 mind, the dreadful things which had occurred, the 
 dreadful things she feared might soon occur. 
 "Dick?" she said again. "It's . . . you . . . isn't it? 
 What time is it?" 
 
 He made no answer, he did not change his rigid 
 pose by movement of a muscle. 
 
 "Why, what's the matter, Richard?" she ex- 
 claimed, now sitting up in bed, her loose hair fall- 
 ing down upon her shoulders, her loosely fastened, 
 low-cut night-robe revealing beautiful soft curves 
 of rounded flesh. "Dick? Dick?" 
 
 Still he posed there, silent and immovable.. It 
 scared her. 
 
 "Why don't you speak to me?" she cried. "You 
 frighten me! ... What is it, Dick? There's noth- 
 ing wrong, is there?" Her voice was rising in ex- 
 citement and she huddled toward him in the bed 
 a little, drawing up her knees, beneath the thin silk 
 coverings and clasping them with her two hands. 
 
 Still he stood there looking at her, and said noth- 
 ing. 
 
 "Why do you look at me like that ? . . . Why " 
 She shrank a little from him, then crouched, star- 
 ing at him, her fright growing. "Don't, Dick! 
 Don't" she cried. "Don't stand there, that way! 
 Please don't, Dick! You make me nervous! You 
 frighten me ! . . . Speak to me !" 
 
 He made neither sound nor movement. 
 
 "Please speak to me! Say something!" she im- 
 plored. "Do something, Dick! . . . What is it? 
 Tell me what it is?" 
 
 She pressed the knuckles of one hand against
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 299 
 
 her lips and gazed at him, affrighted, while with 
 the other hand and rigid arm she held herself from 
 falling backward from him in sheer terror. 
 
 "It's . . . not about the money, is it? We 
 settled all that, didn't we? I told you that Aunt 
 Getchen gave it to me, and you believed me, didn't 
 you? You believed me ! . . . It can't be that ! . . . 
 So what is it, Dick? Has anything else happened? 
 . . . Tell me ! Speak to me ! . . . Speak to me !" 
 
 Still he stood there, silent and immovable, and 
 although she plainly feared to do it, she now 
 crawled across the tumbled covers until she was 
 very near him at the foot of the great bed. There 
 she sat upon one hip, her body twisted, her weight 
 resting on her hands, her face very white and 
 turned toward his, her eyes extremely large and 
 frightened. 
 
 "You know I would'nt lie to you, don't you, 
 Dick?" she begged. "You know I wouldn't try to 
 deceive you that I've told you the truth. It's so, 
 Dick ! Really it's so. . . Aunt Gretchen loaned it 
 to me . . . You believe me, Dick? . . . You must 
 believe me 1" 
 
 Still he made no slightest sign nor sound. 
 
 "Ah!" she cried, "you mustn't make me explain 
 it all again ! Why it's so easy to understand so 
 simple. Don't you see?" 
 
 He made no movement whatsoever. 
 
 "It's something else, then!" she exclaimed, her 
 fear increasing. "It's something else that's troub- 
 ling you, isn't it? Tell me that it is! Tell me 
 that it is, Richard!" 
 
 He stood there like a sombre statue.
 
 300 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 She almost screamed in nervous terror. "Dick, 
 you'll drive me mad! . . . Mad I . . . Don't you 
 see I can't stand it? ... Your . . . eyes . . . you 
 look at me as though I'd done some awful thing. 
 And I haven't. I've done nothing nothing 
 
 NOTHING! Do you hear me? Nothing! 
 
 . . . Why, Richard" ' 
 
 Suddenly she shrank back farther even than she 
 had before, crumpled on the bed like a crushed 
 thing and desperately clasped her face with her two 
 hands. 
 
 "Oh, my God!" she cried. "My God! You've 
 found out! You've seen him!" 
 
 She crouched now in a mere huddle, not look- 
 ing at him ; but her shoulders shook in mighty sobs, 
 although she scarcely made a sound. Behind the 
 clenched hands which were held to them she bit 
 her lips gnawed at them. She waited thus, for a 
 long time before she spoke again, and during all 
 this time the man there at the bed's foot made no 
 sound nor movement. He stood exactly as he had 
 stood from the moment when he first approached 
 the bed. 
 
 "It was for you to save you, Dick !" she urged 
 at last, "and I never meant anything wrong. I 
 swear it, Dick! I never meant the least thing 
 wrong. He . . . tried to make love to me ... but 
 I wouldn't let him. I borrowed the money of him 
 yes but it was to save you, Richard. . . Don't 
 you suppose I had seen how you were suffering? I 
 made up my mind that you must be saved, and 
 what could I, a woman, do? He offered to lend 
 me money and I took it. Not for myself, Rich-
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 301 
 
 ard, but to save you! He said he was my friend 
 and yours. The money meant nothing to him. 
 He has millions and it would save us! So I 
 took it. But there was nothing else, Richard ... I 
 swear it ! I said nothing, I promised nothing. And 
 . . . what he chose to think is none of our business. 
 I gave him no right to think it." 
 
 Still the man stood looking at her without so 
 much as even swaying on his feet at what he heard. 
 
 "We can pay it back, and no one will ever know. 
 Of course I don't know Suffern Thorne will " 
 
 Now the man there at the bed's foot spoke and 
 the voice which issued from his lips was thick, at 
 first a curdled voice. Then it came cold as ice 
 and sharp as knives. 
 
 "So it was Suffern Thorne ! Suffern Thorne gave 
 you twenty thousand dollars !" Still he stood there 
 motionless save for, after he had ceased to speak, 
 a twitching of the lips. 
 
 "But there was no harm in that, Richard," she 
 insisted. "He has plenty and we have so little. It 
 was what any man might do, and there was noth- 
 ing else I swear it!" 
 
 "Men like Suffern Thorne," said he, still in a 
 voice which no one knowing him and not seeing 
 him would have recognized as his, "don't give 
 twenty thousand dollars for nothing." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "You lied to me once," said he, intensely, and 
 now he leaned a little across the bed's foot, toward 
 her. "Do you expect me to believe you, now?" 
 
 "I'm your wife, Richard," she cried, terrified, 
 "and I've done no wrong!" 
 
 -
 
 302 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 "That shall be for you to confess, or for me to 
 find out," he said without a movement of his face, 
 except that of the lips to form the words, without 
 the slightest movement of his body. "Send for 
 him." 
 
 The woman shrank back on the bed in a new 
 access of horror. This was more terrible than any 
 of the terrors her intimidated mind had conjured 
 up. To send for him for Suffern Thorne 
 
 "Send . . . for him?" she breathed, incredulous. 
 
 "Yes; send for him." 
 
 "Not. ..now!" 
 
 "Now." 
 
 "But . . . here? Like . . . this?" She slid out 
 of the bed, as if perhaps she thought of flight from 
 this implacable, terrific man this new Richard of 
 whom she had never dreamed before this Richard 
 without mercy, without love, without any of the 
 qualities which had been his all his life long. 
 
 For the first time since she had awakened he left 
 his post at the foot of her bed, and as she cowered 
 against the wall, near its head, went to her and 
 took her hand. He did not do this roughly his 
 grasp of her fingers was loose; but there was an 
 inevitability about his manner which did not let her 
 hesitate. She shrank back and held herself as far 
 from him as she could, but she went with him, with- 
 out even an effort to pull her fingers from his grasp 
 of them. She tottered as she walked as might a 
 woman sick with fever, but she followed him with- 
 out resistance, without even another word of pro- 
 test. 
 
 He led her to the little table by her dresser on
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 303 
 
 which stood a telephone. Not until they reached 
 this did he speak again and then he answered her 
 last question. 
 
 "Here. Like this," he said. "Send for him." 
 
 She sank into the chair beside the telephone, and 
 with her hands gripped on the wood which edged 
 its seat, she leaned forward, her bare feet huddled 
 underneath the flowing stuff which formed her 
 night-gown, her hair falling over either shoulder 
 and now very much dishevelled, her eyes big, wild, 
 incredulous. Her elbows, slightly bent, were tremb- 
 ling, and although she had stopped sobbing, her 
 lips quivered. 
 
 "You can get him at his apartments or his club," 
 her husband told her coldly. Then he added very 
 very coldly: "You probably know which." 
 
 She did not answer, for she could not. The man 
 was terrible; a creature unbelievable. Now, as her 
 fascinated eyes hung on his movements, she saw 
 that he was turning over, carefully, not hurriedly, 
 the pages of the Telephone Directory, after he 
 had snapped on an electric light. 
 
 "His number is seven, four, four, three, Plaza," 
 he informed her. 
 
 Now he pushed the telephone toward her and 
 waited, but she did not raise her hands from their 
 fierce grip of the chair's sides. She did not speak 
 at all, but looked at him with wide eyes, like an 
 animal held in the spell of deadly fear. 
 
 "Call it," he commanded. 
 
 Her teeth were chattering now, and she could 
 not have spoken if she would. He noted this and 
 nodded.
 
 304 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 Then he took, himself, the telephone receiver 
 from its nickel prong and, when the operator re- 
 plied, gave the number. 
 
 While he waited for an answer her trembling 
 became terrible but it did not move him. Huddled 
 in her thin robe in that chair she shook as if she 
 might have been clad thus, in the fierce cold of a 
 mid-winter night. It was obviously quite impossi- 
 ble for her to do as he had ordered, so after a long 
 look at her, he gave the number to the operator 
 himself. 
 
 Then he held the receiver to his ear and waited. 
 Presently his face showed that the call was an- 
 swered, and still holding the receiver to his ear, 
 he extended the transmitter toward her. When she 
 failed to raise her hand to take it, he himself, held 
 it to her lips. Then he pressed the orifice of the 
 receiver tight against his chest so that no sound 
 could get into it, and gave her her instructions, 
 still in that cold voice, unaccented, unexcited, but 
 implacable. 
 
 "Tell him you are Mrs. Ward," said he. 
 
 In a faint voice, after one look of tremendous 
 agony and fear at him, she said, into the reciever: 
 "I am Mrs. Ward." 
 
 He listened to the answer, but he did not tell 
 her what it was. 
 
 "Tell him to come here, at once," said he again 
 protecting the receiver of the telephone against 
 his words. 
 
 "Come here at once," said she, as might one 
 hypnotized and powerless to resist. 
 
 "Tell him you are alone."
 
 TELL HIM TO COME HERE AT ONCE, THAT YOU ABE ALONE HERE. 
 
 - Page 304.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 305 
 
 I_ am _ a lone." 
 
 "That the door will be unlocked." 
 
 "The door will be unlocked." 
 
 "Tell him to come to the lighted room." 
 
 "And come to the lighted room." 
 
 Fiercely he thrust the telephone receiver back 
 upon its prong, after he had heard what answer the 
 man sent. Then he turned and looked at her, still 
 with the same expression. It was as if his face had 
 frozen. 
 
 "Oh, my God! What have I done?" Frances 
 cried, relieved now of the almost trance-like spell 
 in which she had been held. "Let me tell him not 
 to come," she pleaded. 'I must tell him not to 
 come." 
 
 He had stepped now to a little distance from the 
 telephone and she sprang to it and snatched it 
 from its resting place upon the table. She had 
 taken the receiver from its hook and stood there, 
 crouching, listening for an answer from the opera- 
 tor, when without haste, but with that same finality 
 of movement, that same cold, unexcited but terrific 
 look, he caught the wire that led from the instru- 
 ment to the wall, and with a quick jerk of his two 
 hands, broke it. He let the ends of the silk- 
 wound wires fall, carelessly. 
 
 Seeing that her effort was quite hopeless, she 
 backed away from him, her hands clutched at her 
 breast. 
 
 "Haven't I suffered enough?" she cried. "I'm 
 half mad, now! I don't know what I'm doing 
 . . . Pity me, Richard, pity me! . . . You're not 
 even just ! You're making me guilty . . . and I am
 
 306 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 innocent! . . . Oh, God! ... I can't think. My 
 mind is dead . . Spare me, spare me until morning, 
 Richard only until then!" She caught his bent 
 arm with her hands and clung to it If he had 
 drawn it from her clasp she would have fallen. 
 "Only until then!" 
 
 "You lied to me." 
 
 "It was for you!" she cried. "It was all a sac- 
 rifice for you !" She sunk beside him, to her knees. 
 
 Her clasp relaxed and instantly he drew away 
 from her. "I want no such sacrifice as that. Great 
 God! How little you know!" He looked at her, 
 now with more expression on his face high scorn 
 was driving from it that cold look of deadly calm. 
 "How shrunken and shrivelled is your sense of 
 right and wrong!" 
 
 "It was to help you, Richard," she insisted. "It 
 was because I loved you." 
 
 Now he was quite roused. For the first time 
 since he had entered the room his voice rose higher 
 than an ordinary tone. "Because you loved me ! 
 It was because you loved yourself! Because what 
 moral sense you ever possessed has been lost in 
 the depths of your selfishness. Have you ever lived 
 for anyone but yourself? Have you ever done any- 
 thing for anyone but yourself? . . . You know you 
 haven't!" 
 
 "Richard, I" 
 
 She did not finish out the sentence, but as he 
 moved away from her she followed him, as best 
 she could, upon her knees. 
 
 He paid not the least attention to her supplica- 
 tions, but moved on and toward the door. "I'll
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 307 
 
 unlock the outer door, and leave this door open," 
 he said grimly. "Wait!" 
 
 While he was absent from the room she cowered 
 by the bed, huddled like a half-clad child pierced 
 by the cold. Her eyes stared straight in front of 
 her at nothing, seeing visions of dread horror un- 
 guessed at in the unreflective, happy, careless days 
 of her whole previous existence. Her tremors did 
 not, for an instant, cease. The lace upon her night- 
 robe shook as if a breeze were fluttering it. Her 
 hands shook, her elbows jerked as if with palsy. 
 The hair which, repeatedly she tried to loosely 
 fashion into a knot to keep it out of her way, was 
 shaken down again, each time, by the trembling 
 of her head. 
 
 As her husband came back into the room she 
 stretched her trembling hands out toward him. 
 "Richard, for God's sake," she cried, "is there no 
 chance for me? . . . You will not know . . . yet you 
 will think you know . . ." 
 
 He looked at her intently. "I can tell," he 
 said. 
 
 Then, at last, he made a gesture of real feeling 
 the first break from the stiff monotony of his 
 bodily control since the tense scene had begun. He 
 threw his arms up wildly, and when he spoke again 
 the words were a despairing cry. 
 
 "God, I can tell!" 
 
 Instantly he got himself in hand again, how- 
 ever, but now had come another look upon his face 
 a look of vicious wrath which meant that, having 
 suffered awful wrong, he had decided on reprisal. 
 He moved across the room with a new litheness
 
 3 o8 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 and from a dresser-drawer took a revolver. Then 
 he stood quite silent, listening, with the glittering 
 thing held in his hand. 
 
 "But Richard " 
 
 He raised his hand to silence her, for he had 
 heard a sound outside. Cautiously he laid the 
 pistol in the drawer again, but left the drawer well 
 opened. 
 
 With a half-stifled gasp Frances crept quickly 
 to the bed, sat upon it, put her feet up quickly and 
 drew the covers up to hide them and her night-robe. 
 She held them tightly clutched beneath her chin. 
 Her tremors had not for a second ceased. 
 
 An instant later and upon the stairs they both 
 heard cautious footsteps. There was a little sound 
 as of a man who stumbled on a wrinkled rug but 
 quickly caught himself, then paused, to see if any- 
 one had been aroused, then cautiously came on 
 again* 
 
 An instant later Suffern Thorne appeared at the 
 room door, peered in, with cautious glance, then 
 entered, cat-like, stooped a little because his knees 
 were bent as he progressed on tip-toe. 
 
 For a moment he could see but poorly in the 
 half gloom of the room and he stood, blinking, at 
 the entrance. Then he caught sight of Frances, 
 shrinking in the bed. 
 
 "Well?" he whispered. 
 
 She made no reply, but he evidently expected 
 none. The fact that she was there, and as she 
 was, plainly entirely satisfied him. Upon his face 
 there was a half-smile a look of one who wins, 
 after an exciting contest wins something very
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 309 
 
 much worth winning. His overcoat was on his arm 
 and that and his hat he laid upon the couch. The 
 dead black of his evening clothes, the dead white 
 of his linen made him stand out sharply against the 
 light walls and furniture. 
 
 Having laid his hat and coat upon the couch he 
 turned to go to her, pulling off his white gloves as 
 he went. 
 
 Richard stepped in front of him. 
 
 The man shrank back, a little; but, although 
 he cringed, he did not wholly play the coward. He 
 made no attempt to get away he merely stood 
 there, evidently very much nonplussed, but realiz- 
 ing that the only thing to do was to stand still. 
 
 "Oh, you're here, are you?" he said, almost 
 calmly. He let his hands drop, as if he might have 
 lost a trick at cards. "Then she lied to me." 
 
 "You're not alone in that," said Richard, quiet- 
 ly. "She lied to me, too." 
 
 Thorne now sneered smilingly at him. "It was 
 grounds for a divorce you wanted, I suppose. 
 Well, you've got 'em." 
 
 Richard made no answer to this speech, but took 
 his purse out of his pocket, took the bills out of the 
 purse and laid them on the table at Thome's elbow. 
 "There!" said he, and moved away from him, 
 watching him, meanwhile. 
 
 "Hum!" said Thorne, surprised. 
 
 He did not seem to be excited. He was of the 
 type which does not lose its self-possession. 
 
 "Well, said Ward, "what did you get for your 
 money? For men like you don't give so much for 
 nothing."
 
 310 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 Thorne looked at him and wondered just how 
 much he knew. That he had been allowed to live 
 so long, surprised him. Of course he hoped that 
 there would not be tragedy, but he already had 
 made up his mind to quietly accept it if it came. 
 He knew that in a struggle he would not be, in the 
 least, a match for Ward, and in his heart he knew 
 the man had cause enough to kill him. He had 
 caught him in his house, in circumstances which, 
 alone would have quite justified the taking of his 
 life, and if he knew it (of which Thorne was not 
 certain), he had other causes for revenge. His 
 cold pursuit of him upon the Street, always with 
 the end in view which he had thought, this night, 
 to gain, but which it was quite evident, he never 
 would gain now, had been sufficient cause. The 
 man's business had been ruined and through him. 
 His home had not been ruined through him quite 
 but he would not believe that. He had every 
 evidence to make him think it had been. 
 
 "Well," said Ward again, "what did you 
 get?" 
 
 "I wish others had the confidence in my business 
 ability that you seem to have," said Thorne. "I 
 received nothing. I " 
 
 "You would say that, anyway." 
 
 "Undoubtedly," said Thorne. "Only, as it 
 happens, this time facts save me the trouble of 
 lying." 
 
 Ward sneered. "You received nothing." 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "Then you gave her money because " 
 
 Thorne felt a slight relief because the man did
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 311 
 
 not rail at him for the part which he had played in 
 his financial ruin. It might be after all, that he did 
 not know of that. If so, there would be just that 
 much more chance that he might leave the house 
 alive, although he did not do Ward the grave in- 
 justice of thinking that at such a time, financial 
 matters would weigh very heavily. 
 
 U I gave money because your confidence in my 
 business ability is not borne out by facts," said 
 Thorne. "She attracted me your wife did. She 
 always has attracted me. You were my rival at the 
 start, and drove me from the field. You knew 
 that, didn't you?" 
 
 Ward nodded grimly. 
 
 "Well, I thought it might perhaps, be pleasant, 
 now to revenge is sweet, you know and, she still 
 attracted me. She is pretty and it was an interest- 
 ing experiment. She puzzled me. I wanted to 
 find out what she really was." 
 
 "And you found out " 
 
 "What I have told you." 
 
 There was silence for a time, between the two 
 men now, and Frances gazed at them in dumb, 
 quaking terror. She was shamed by her attire, be- 
 yond expression, now that Thorne was in the room, 
 and this added to her agony. She had crept up 
 to the far head of the bed and stood there against 
 the wall, trembling still so violently that it was 
 with difficulty that she kept her teeth from chatter- 
 ing, clutching the curtains of the bed and holding 
 them so that in part they hid her night-robe. 
 
 "I don't know," said Ward, at length, "whether 
 you've got decency enough to appeal to; but put
 
 3 i2 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 yourself in my place, if you can. You'd have to 
 know the truth, wouldn't you? Tell me." 
 
 "I know what you mean," Thorne answered, 
 slowly nodding. "I may be pretty much of a skunk 
 but I can understand some things. The truth is 
 what I've told you. I got nothing for my money. 
 I didn't even get her promises . . . That's the truth 
 and the whole truth so help me God !" 
 
 Ward kept dead silence, evidently thinking deep*- 
 ly, and after waiting for an instant, to see if he 
 would speak, Thorne moved over toward the couch 
 to get his coat and hat. He raised them and then 
 turned again to Richard. 
 
 "It's none of my business, I suppose," he said, 
 now with a vicious smile, "but if you quit her " 
 
 "It is none of your business," Richard answered. 
 "Good-night." 
 
 "Women like her," Thorne said, unpleasantly, 
 and with no sensible regard for his own safety, 
 "are one man's wife or another man's mistress. 
 Now if you decide " 
 
 Ward's self-control was gone. With a spring he 
 reached the dresser and from its open drawer 
 snatched out the glittering revolver. Instantly he 
 levelled it at Thorne. 
 
 "By God!" he cried. 
 
 The frightened trembling woman at the head of 
 the bed, screamed wildly. "Richard!" she cried. 
 
 Thorne stood rigid, speechless. 
 
 The husband did not fire at him, but for a 
 moment, stood there with the weapon levelled, 
 thinking. Then he let his arm fall till the pistol 
 pointed to the floor and pulled the trigger.
 
 % THE SPENDTHRIFT 313 
 
 "What's the use 1" he said, in utter weariness, 
 after the explosion, and while the little spirals of 
 blue smoke were curling round his feet. "More 
 waste !" 
 
 He threw the pistol at Thome's feet and left 
 the room without a glance at either of its other in- 
 mates. After a moment's wait, without even look- 
 ing at the woman cowering in the curtains, Thorne 
 followed him. 
 
 
 
 Slipping on a plain stuff gown, taking with her 
 but a little money and no jewels, still tremulous, 
 still terrified, Frances an hour later, slipped out 
 into the night, alone, unseen, without a plan, her 
 whole soul filled with horror, mostly of herself. 
 
 At last she realized all she had done and for 
 what pitifully small purposes she had made mighty 
 sacrifices.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 The dawn had thurst grey fingers between the 
 heavy curtains of the library before Richard Ward 
 arose from the great chair into which he had 
 thrown herself after he had seen Thorne leave the 
 house. The man's face, as it came up from where 
 it had been hidden, horrified, was more than pale 
 it was a ghastly visage, and his eyes were sunken 
 as a man's are sunken after weeks of dissipation, 
 illness or terrific strain of labor. As he had 
 dropped his head upon his arm, it had pressed 
 down on a button of his cuff and he had not moved 
 it once. Now the imprint of the button, deep and 
 livid, scarred his forehead like a wound. 
 
 As he rose he staggered, and his hands were, for 
 a moment, tremulous. 
 
 The expression on his face had changed. No 
 longer was it set in the stern mask which it had 
 worn during all the time when he had been in his 
 wife's room while forcing her confession from her, 
 afterwards while he had waited grimly there for 
 Thorne, and later still, when he had met the man 
 and vanquished him. It had softened very wonder- 
 fully. His hours of thought had forced on him 
 the firm conclusion that, while his wife had sinned, 
 she also had been sinned against. He had come to 
 see his faults as well as hers. She had really been 
 a child when he had taken her, if not in years, then 
 certainly in knowledge of the world and her view- 
 point of life.
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 315 
 
 For the first time he realized that Aunt Gret- 
 chen's training had been wrong all wrong. It had 
 lacked wholly that essential of essentials, sympathy. 
 Neither the teacher nor her pupil had understood 
 the other in the least, and Frances' love for pretty 
 things had been, when it had been wholly innocent, 
 by opposition and starvation, changed into the sin 
 which the good but utterly un-understanding wo- 
 man had declared it was. They had been unfitted 
 to be house-mates utterly unfitted and they both 
 had suffered; but the injury to Frances had of 
 course, been greater than the older woman's. Aunt 
 Gretchen had the power on her side, and she had 
 used it, Ward now saw, quite mercilessly, if quite 
 unwitting that her use of it was merciless. 
 
 "The girl's soul was starved," he said; and was 
 not wrong. 
 
 And what had he done to feed it? She had cried 
 for money as a child will cry for sweets and he 
 had given her money. Was he less to be blamed 
 for it than the parent who gives too many bonbons 
 to a baby, to the child's subsequent distress? Her 
 innocence, her very childishness, had been the side 
 of her which most appealed to him and he had not 
 made any effort to protect her from it, although, 
 had he but stopped to think, he would have known 
 that she would suffer from it, and suffering, would 
 soon or late, make him suffer also. 
 
 "I deserve to suffer," he thought, miserably. "I 
 deserve to suffer, for the fault was largely mine." 
 
 With this thought in his mind he went upstairs, 
 determined to appear before her humbly, asking 
 her forgiveness of his sad stupidity begging her to
 
 316 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 let the horrors of that night remain, in days to 
 come, a dead, sealed chapter in their lives, of 
 which they would not think, to which they never 
 would make reference. That they must start life 
 quite anew, was as true now, as it had been before; 
 but his new plans for starting it were very different 
 from those he had devised in his hard moods of 
 recent hours. 
 
 "Frances!" he called softly, as he carefully 
 pushed open her room door. If she chanced to be 
 asleep he did not mean to wake her; he would sit 
 quiet by her bed and wait until she woke. 
 
 When no answer came he thought this must be 
 certainly the case, and tiptoed in, with utmost 
 care. But when he saw the bed tumbled and empty, 
 he was a little startled. 
 
 "Frances?" he called, more loudly, as he hur- 
 ried toward her dressing-room. 
 
 The following silence terrified him, somewhat. 
 He did not find her in the dressing-room, and be- 
 gan to hurry as he went from other room to other 
 room upon that floor. Elise, when he roused her 
 from her sleep and questioned her, looked at him, 
 bewildered and could offer not the slightest in- 
 formation; the housekeeper was quite as ignorant. 
 The down-stairs servants were unable to give him 
 any hint. 
 
 It was Elise who brought him the first clew, a 
 little later. She had discovered that her mistress' 
 gowns were all still in their places, except for one 
 plain little dress of dark brown woolen. This had 
 been brought with her from the simple days on 
 Washington Square the only relic of the sort
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 317 
 
 and had been preserved because she had had it on 
 when she had first met Richard, Elise said. This 
 gave him a new and dreadful pang. Yes, she had 
 loved him! 
 
 And further than that this single dress was miss- 
 ing, and that all the jewels which she had at home, 
 and all the pawn-tickets for those which she had 
 pledged, were wrapped into a handkerchief, 
 marked for her husband by a card, and left upon 
 her dresser, discovery did not go. That what sure- 
 ly must have been almost all her money was left 
 lying with the jewels added greatly to Ward's 
 agony of mind. 
 
 ** 
 
 The weeks which followed were too terrible to 
 seem real to him. Constantly he searched, and con- 
 stantly the search proved fruitless. Aunt Gretchen 
 too, devoted more time to the quest than she had 
 ever, since her husband's death, devoted to any- 
 thing but business, and (what was more important) 
 cleared Richard's mind and time for it by insisting 
 that he take financial help to pull him through his 
 crisis. But her efforts were as wholly unsuccessful 
 as his searching of the house had been that first 
 awful morning. While he grew haggard, pale 
 and stooped from the tremendous strain and effort 
 of the worry and the conscience-stricken quest, 
 Gretchen Jans, also, showed new lines upon her 
 face, not wholly due to application to the details 
 of her business, but to worry over the unhappy ab- 
 sent girl. Her remorseful woe, indeed, added to 
 her strong, striking countenance, a deep touch of 
 femininity which it had lacked before.
 
 3i8 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 After the third week of Frances' absence, Rich- 
 ard felt that it was necessary that he write to 
 Monty and Clarice about the tragic matter and 
 did so, advising them, however, not to come back 
 east, where they could not be of the least assistance, 
 advice to which Aunt Gretchen added an endorse- 
 ment with a somewhat humble letter to Clarice 
 explaining how completely the great search was 
 being carried on. It was the sort of letter Gret- 
 chen Jans had never penned before and would have 
 made Clarice gasp in sharp astonishment had she 
 been less absorbed by the dread news, or lack of 
 news, about her sister. 
 
 The days were terrible and the nights were tor- 
 ment to the stricken man. Constantly he accused 
 himself, ever he protested when any but himself 
 attempted to take any portion of the blame for 
 what had happened. His occupancy of the house 
 was torture, but he felt it to be penitential and 
 maintained it without pause. He roamed the 
 streets and studied faces till his feet dragged and 
 his eyes ached; he had inquiries made in other 
 cities by adroit and confidential agents; he picked 
 up his newspapers each morning with a pale face, 
 dreading each big head-line, and he never turned 
 to their financial columns until after he had studied 
 every particle of news which dealt with woman- 
 kind in sorrow and distress. As month passed after 
 month and still there came no news, his face 
 showed lines which all the worry her expenditures 
 had caused him never had etched in it. Now he 
 realized as he had not, before, the depth of his
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 319 
 
 great love for her, the measure of her fault which 
 really was his, not hers, at all. 
 
 As the months dragged by it soon became the 
 fact that Frances had no critics whatsoever among 
 the little group who had been so much her critics 
 before she fled from them and from her record of 
 mistakes. 
 
 It was Cartwright, though, in whom the episode 
 brought about the greatest change. The silent, un- 
 demonstrative man saw all life from a new view- 
 point after a week or two had passed and the un- 
 happy wife had not been found. For the first time 
 he began to realize that Frances and her manifold 
 extravagances had been as much the victim of 
 her nature and environment as he, himself, was 
 the creature of his own. He reproached himself, 
 intolerantly, for every criticism he had ever made 
 of her, and would have poured confessions of his 
 change of heart into the ears of his old friend had 
 he not felt quite certain that for him to do so 
 would magnify Ward's misery. And his searching 
 had a careful and coherent plan which Richard's 
 lacked. 
 
 He felt the matter far more deeply than he 
 would have thought was possible, than the others 
 realized, than he would acknowledge to himself. 
 He was with Richard at least part of every evening 
 saying little, after he had made it absolutely clear 
 that his old mental attitude toward Frances had 
 changed, utterly, but assisting his old friend tre- 
 mendously with sympathetic companionship, and 
 after he had left him always searching, searching, 
 searching. During the daylight hours he spent more
 
 320 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 time in looking for the missing woman than he had 
 ever taken from his business before, for any pur- 
 pose whatsoever. 
 
 Eventually his grim persistence bore its fruit. It 
 was late upon a winter afternoon when he decided 
 that a figure which he had been trailing for four 
 blocks along the greasy pave of Second avenue 
 was really that of Frances Ward, and not another 
 disappointing case of mere resemblance. His heart 
 beat with almost a terrifying speed, when he came 
 to this conclusion, and he hurried through the 
 crowded street with small regard for others safe- 
 ty or his own until he had achieved a place behind 
 the hurrying woman, near enough to let him keep 
 an eye on her which could not, possibly be diverted 
 by the thronging homegoers. Block after block he 
 trailed her, as persistently as a hound might trail 
 a fox, but with a motive very different. He was 
 astonished by his own emotion. A dozen times 
 as he clung patiently to the track of the evidently 
 weary, but still hastening woman trudging on ahead, 
 he choked and found it necessary to raise one hand 
 or the other to clear blurring tears out of his eyes. 
 When he saw her mount the high steps leading to 
 a boarding-house, obviously of the third-class, and 
 quickly disappear, his heart leaped with an elation 
 which it had not felt since he had reached the years 
 of manhood. The certainty that he had found her 
 filled him with a satisfaction not in the least dim- 
 med by his resolution to explain to her, at once, his 
 firm conviction that he had been terribly at fault in 
 many of the things which he has said to her, in 
 many of the thoughts which he had harboured of
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 321 
 
 her. He would hurry to a telephone and send the 
 glad news to his friends to Richard and to Gret- 
 chen Jans, and then, before they would arrive, ex- 
 plain to her. 
 
 Frances was very weary as she climbed the dingy 
 stairs that night, and the gloomy weather had 
 added greatly to her deep depression. Her hand 
 trembled from sheer exhaustion as she thrust the 
 key into the lock of the small room at the top and 
 rear of the old-fashioned, low-ceiled, fusty room, 
 and when she entered she sank limply into the one 
 easy chair the place could offer, without even 
 troubling to light the gas. Her heart was quite 
 as near failing her that night, as it had been at any 
 time since she had fled from the great house upon 
 the Avenue, and as she sat there in the gloom, her 
 eyes were damp and, now and then, her breath 
 raught in a sob. 
 
 She had learned many lessons since that tremend- 
 ous night of most terrific tutelage, and learned 
 them in the bitter school of unremitting, unprotect- 
 ed, actual effort. She saw a thousand things more 
 clearly now; and, seeing them thus clearly, she 
 found no room in her heart for a resentment to- 
 ward anybody but herself. It was quite clear to 
 her that all the fault, from the beginning, had been 
 hers and hers alone; her only wonder was that 
 Richard had endured so long. She did not even 
 wonder if he loved and missed her; she felt certain 
 that he could not possibly, do either. Deep in her 
 heart there was the strong conviction that he cer- 
 tainly was better off without her, that he certainly
 
 322 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 must feel relief, not woe, at loss of her. So hearty 
 was her self-contempt that she could not concieve 
 that anyone could feel for her another sentiment. 
 Now, when she was forced to count her dimes in 
 order to eke out her meagre livelihood, she for the 
 first time felt a real appreciation of the dollars she 
 had wasted; now when she was forced to labor for 
 those dimes, she for the first time felt some measure 
 of comprehension of what Richard must have felt 
 in the face of her continual waste. 
 
 Her heart was very heavy, her body very weary. 
 Life loomed before her dark and unattractive an 
 existence to be tolerated as a penance for her by- 
 gone faults untempting and unlovely. When 
 Cartwright's rap snapped through the semi-dark- 
 ness of the room it interrupted very, very bitter 
 thoughts, all self-condemnatory, all full of love of 
 Richard and of a new and better understanding of 
 Aunt Gretchen. 
 
 "Come," she called wearily; believing that the 
 caller was the slattern maid who liked her, and who 
 sometimes brought her supper to her on a tray, 
 when she had seen her enter with a particularly 
 weary droop of shoulders and an especially drag- 
 ging step. "Well?" 
 
 She did not turn at first, but when, after the 
 opening of the door and the entrance of the person 
 she had bid come in, there was no answer to her 
 brief interrogation, she looked slowly round, un- 
 interested, scarcely curious at all. 
 
 The sight of Cartwright startled her, amazed 
 her. She did not rise, but leaned quickly forward 
 in the shabby old easy chair, her elbows bent, her
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 323 
 
 thin hands clasping its frayed arms, her almost 
 frightened eyes fixed with a tense inquiry on his 
 face. 
 
 "So it is you," the lawyer said, at length, in such 
 a voice as she had never heard from him, before. 
 "I was afraid I might have been mistaken." 
 
 "It is I," she granted, and then waited for some 
 further speech from him, some explanation of his 
 presence there. 
 
 "And you" 
 
 "Yes; I have been living here a number of 
 months, now." 
 
 She rose now, suddenly. She believed that she 
 had solved the riddle of his presence. The thought 
 cut her heart like a knife, but would not be denied. 
 She believed it to be wholly logical, despite the 
 horror of it. Her face whitened, even beyond the 
 pallor which had now become habitual to it. 
 
 He made no comment, but let his eyes rove slow- 
 ly round the shabby room and she went to the gas 
 and lighted it, her breast in an agony of woe. Of 
 course, she told herself, the man had sought her 
 out and come, as Richard's lawyer, to arrange, if 
 possible for a divorce. He doubtless still felt 
 measureless contempt for her and might believe 
 that she would fight fight for still more of the 
 money which she had so ruthlessly cast to the winds 
 in the old days. Well, if he had come for that, 
 she would surprise him by explaining to him that 
 she knew her husband was quite justified, that she 
 would make no protest. 
 
 "I think I understand," she said, when he still
 
 3 2 4 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 stood there, silent and observing. "This is one 
 more of the punishments that I deserve." 
 
 He did not for an instant guess what thoughts 
 were passing through her mind and did not under- 
 stand, at all. "I beg your pardon," he exclaimed. 
 
 "You needn't," she said, wearily. "I deserve 
 so much that things like that mean little to me." 
 
 "I am sorry." 
 
 In order that he might clearly understand that 
 she was taking life quite seriously now, was earn- 
 ing for herself an honest livelihood by honest labor, 
 she went on: "There are two children that I 
 teach. I am a governess." 
 
 He gazed at her in silence, unable to find words. 
 
 "I worked in a store, at first. Then I was 
 sick. When I got well I found the place where I 
 am, now. I like it as much as I can ever like 
 anything, again . . . How did you find me?" 
 
 "I happened to be passing. I saw someone who 
 looked like you and followed her, because I have 
 been looking for you. I saw you come here and 
 so I also came here . . . You shouldn't have run 
 away as you did, in the night." 
 
 "Do you think I could have stayed, after 
 that?" 
 
 "But" 
 
 "You said many, many times, that I had spoiled 
 his life." 
 
 He would have made some protest, but she 
 would not let him speak. 
 
 "Not in words, perhaps," she went on, hurriedly, 
 "but you said it. . . It was true. And the least 
 I could do was to go away."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 325 
 
 "For months ever since " 
 
 "Ever since that night." 
 
 "Yes, ever since that night, we've been trying to 
 find you." 
 
 She smiled somewhat wearily. "It is easy to lose 
 one's self in New York City. They tell me that 
 thieves murderers criminals of all sorts come 
 here for that. They are safe here, in the city, 
 where nobody knows and nobody cares about any- 
 body else." 
 
 "That's true." He nodded gravely. "It's 
 farther from Fifth Avenue to Third Avenue than 
 from Canada to Mexico." 
 
 She did not pursue this line of talk, but after a 
 moment's pause, said thoughtfully: "I'm glad 
 you've come. I've been wondering . . . wondering 
 if I had the right to hide. I've been telling myself 
 that it might be that he that Richard would 
 want to divorce me." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "I've been wondering that thinking that. I 
 tried . . . many times ... to let you know where I 
 was. . . But I never quite found the strength. I'm 
 still , . . very selfish you see." 
 
 "No," he said, almost explosively. 
 
 "But I'm not vain, any more: and I don't think 
 I am as silly as I was : and I know I know now, 
 all the things that I should have known and 
 didn't." 
 
 "You" 
 
 "Don't interrupt me, please. Let me go on. I 
 want to say these things now, while you are here - 
 while I have the strength. You can tell him that
 
 326 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 I want to do anything he says . . . that he is not to 
 consider me, at all. Tell him that I am well, and 
 happy. He owes me nothing. He can never 
 owe me anything . . . for I couldn't accept it. I 
 took the best part of his life and wasted it. And I 
 only want to be able to pay him back a little of all 
 that I owe him . . . You are his friend. Ask him 
 what he wishes me to do ... And tell me, and I will 
 do it." 
 
 UT 
 
 "You have talked with him, perhaps? Perhaps 
 he has already told you. I should like to know, 
 now. It is hard to wait." 
 
 Cartwright would have protested many times, 
 but she had hurried on with added speed whenever 
 she had seen that he was about to speak. Now he 
 almost hurried. She had never heard him in the 
 least approach to hurry in his speech before. 
 
 "He has said nothing," he protested. "Only he 
 has hunted for you night and day. And he asked me 
 to hunt, too, and I have hunted. I was hunting 
 from the first. Your going hurt him more than all 
 the rest. That I know." 
 
 She was really distressed. She had worked her- 
 self into a strange brain attitude. Her condemna- 
 tion of herself had been so utterly unsparing that 
 she had scarcely been able to conceive of charity 
 toward her in any other's heart. 
 
 "I didn't want to hurt him," she said miserably. 
 "If I had thought that why, I thought he would 
 be glad if he should never see me again. That's 
 why I went. I didn't see what else there was for 
 me to do except to go away."
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 327 
 
 Cartwright started to say something, then caught 
 himself and evidently turned to a quite different 
 thought. "I'm sorry," he said slowly. "You said, 
 once, that you didn't like me and that I didn't like 
 you. On my part that is no longer true." 
 
 Such a speech as this, from him, amazed her. 
 She had not thought him capable of a new attitude, 
 for she had, possibly, as wholly misjudged him 
 as he had misjudged her or, rather, each had 
 judged the other very harshly. 
 
 "I want you to forgive me," he said, looking 
 straight into her eyes instead of at his feet as had 
 been his usual custom when addressing her. "Will 
 you?" 
 
 "There is nothing for me to forgive," said she, 
 possibly too weary to be quite conscious of the 
 fact that the apology from him meant more than 
 an apology from most men could have meant. "You 
 were his friend, and I, his wife, was unworthy 
 and you knew it, then as I know it, now. It is 
 for me to ask forgiveness." 
 
 "I won't let you say that," he protested, still 
 in a manner wholly foreign to Phil Cartwright. 
 "You've been alone too much. You " 
 
 "Loneliness brings thought, and thought brings 
 reason." 
 
 UT 
 
 He did not, then, add anything to the single 
 word, but with a gesture of impulsiveness as strange 
 to him as had been the recent manner of his 
 speech, thrust forth his hand. 
 
 She looked at it with real amazement for a sec- 
 ond, and then laid her own in it; but there was not
 
 328 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 very much enthusiasm in her movement. It was not 
 that she was not glad to make friends with him. 
 All her old resentment of his manner had gone 
 from her. It was that she was too weary and too 
 overwrought to quite appreciate how absolute the 
 man's surrender was. From Phil Cartwright the 
 impulsive action meant a thousand times as much 
 as it would mean from any average man. 
 
 Thus, for a second, they stood, looking into 
 one another's eyes; then he amazed her by depart- 
 ing instantly, as soon as the hand clasp relaxed. 
 She stood somewhat blankly looking at the door 
 which he had closed behind him. 
 
 For a moment, a long moment, she was hesitant, 
 then she started toward the door, herself, perhaps 
 intending to call to him to come back; but, if this 
 had been her thought, she did not put it into exe- 
 cution, but turned and crossed the room, went to 
 the window, gazed from it, unseeing, for a mo- 
 ment; went to the bureau, fumbled, unfeeling, the 
 few things lying on it. 
 
 Then, choking a little, but not weeping, she sank 
 into a chair and there buried her face in her 
 crooked elbow on its arm. The sobs were coming 
 now. 
 
 But they were interrupted by the sound, with- 
 out, of hurrying footsteps, and, an instant later, 
 Monty and Clarice rushed in. They had been at 
 the house when Cartwright's telephone message 
 had reached there, waiting for Dick's arrival from 
 some one of his wanderings about the city in his 
 aimless, agonized search for his wife. Clarice, 
 considering matters in their far off home, had found
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 329 
 
 remaining there another moment quite unbearable, 
 while Frances was in trouble and Monty had 
 agreed with her that the sooner they could hurry 
 to New York the better. 
 
 "Fran! Oh, Fran!" Clarice cried, half hysteri- 
 cally, as she rushed toward her sister with her arms 
 outstretched arms much more motherly than, 
 girlish, now. The months had made a great change 
 in the girl. 
 
 Frances rose and ran to her "Clare I" she cried. 
 "You here !" 
 
 Monty paused, just within the door. After a de- 
 cent interval he said, complainingly: "Let me in 
 on this, too, can't you?" 
 
 "But I thought you were away out west!" said 
 Frances, wonderingly. 
 
 "Clare couldn't stand it any longer, without 
 coming here to join the search for you," said 
 Monty, "and, as I had made a hit, they put me 
 in the New York office." 
 
 "So," said Clare, "we left camp Tuesday morn- 
 ing " 
 
 "And we came all the way from Chicago in a 
 day coach," Monty added. "Clare's still economiz- 
 ing, you know. She even makes me smoke a pipe." 
 
 "It isn't that," his wife protested, "but cigar- 
 ettes are bad for you." 
 
 "Well, a pipe's bad for the neighbors." 
 
 "Silly!" said Clarice. And then, "But where's 
 Aunt Gretchen?" 
 
 Frances was a bit dismayed. "Is she with 
 you?" 
 
 "She came down in the car with us and Phil
 
 330 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 Cartwright we stopped to pick them up. He 
 asked us to. But we ran up ahead. They were so 
 slow!" 
 
 "Aunt Gretchen's getting old," said Frances, 
 with a new consideration. 
 
 Just then she arrived at the room door and en- 
 tered, puffing wearily. 
 
 "Aunt Gretchen I" Frances cried. 
 
 But if Gretchen Jans felt the emotions of the 
 parent welcoming the prodigal, she curbed them 
 for the moment, although her eyes were somewhat 
 shiny as if, possibly, she really did feel them. 
 
 "Frances," she said, gravely, "I've a good mind 
 to spank you. You've worried us all sick. What 
 did you mean by running away like that?" 
 
 "But Aunt Gretchen " 
 
 "I guess you're my niece, aren't you?" the old 
 woman demanded tartly. "And do you suppose 
 that anything in the world could make me forget 
 that?" 
 
 "But you said" 
 
 "What difference does it make what I said?" 
 
 "You told me" 
 
 "I told you I wasn't going to give you money to 
 throw in the air. But I didn't say anything about 
 not giving you any to eat with, did I?" 
 
 "Yes; but" 
 
 "And don't you know that old women with 
 one foot in the grave and the other in Wall Street 
 often say things they don't mean? And couldn't 
 mean, if they tried to? You come here. I want to 
 kiss you first before I scold you any more. . . I 
 think I'll cry a little, too. . . I. . . I haven't. . .
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 331 
 
 cried in ... forty years . . . and it'll be good 
 exercise for me." 
 
 Frances went to her, and Aunt Gretchen, taking 
 her in two motherly and very closely clasping arms, 
 emphatically broke her record of abstention from 
 emotion. 
 
 But presently the two happy women found that 
 they were laughing and not crying. 
 
 "Can't you let us in on this?" asked Monty. 
 "We want to laugh, too. What's the game? 
 What's it all about?" 
 
 "Young man, children," said Aunt Gretchen, 
 "should be seen and not heard." 
 
 "But we're neither seen nor heard!" 
 
 "It was all my fault, Mont," Frances said, and 
 turned toward him, explaining to him what had 
 happened. "He Dick was too good for me. I 
 didn't know the things I should have known, and 
 I did him a very grave wrong, and " 
 
 "There, there !" Aunt Gretchen said, protesting. 
 "That's enough of that!" 
 
 "No," her contrite niece replied. "They'll learn 
 sometime. I'd better tell them myself now." 
 
 Clarice now would have spoken, but her sister 
 stopped her. 
 
 "You see," she said, "I'd brought Dick only wor- 
 ry and care and unhappiness and then partly be- 
 cause I wanted to help him but more because I 
 was selfish and knew so little I did something that 
 I shouldn't have done. I lied I 
 
 "But it wasn't very bad, was it, Aunt Gretchen 
 the thing I did? I used to think of it all the time,
 
 332 THE SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 while I was lying here, sick. I used to wonder just 
 how bad the thing I had done really was." 
 
 "You were sick?" said Aunt Gretchen, all her 
 motherly instincts roused. 
 
 "And hungry, too, lots of times," said Frances, 
 nodding. "There were times oh, but I'm not 
 complaining. There were so many others more 
 hungry more miserable than I ! I never knew 
 the world was like that before. Those girls in the 
 stores trying to live and care for others on six 
 dollars a week ! And the people in the tenements ! 
 ... I was almost happy when I got away from 
 the suffering and found the kiddies to teach." 
 
 "You're teaching, Fran?" said Clarice, in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "Yes, you ought to see them, Aunt Gretchen. 
 You'd love them. One of them is named Monty- 
 morency I call him 'Monty," for short, Monty. 
 He's the littlest one. I don't suppose he'll ever be 
 able to say his name in full. The other is Bud 
 'Buddie,' we call him. I'll show you their pic- 
 tures." 
 
 She went now to the bureau, opened a drawer 
 and searched there for the photographs. 
 
 "Their father," she explained, while she was 
 busy at this task, "is in the grocery business." 
 
 Her back was toward the door and as Cart- 
 wright entered softly she was too busy with her 
 quest to hear him. 
 
 "He has a wholesale place on Fulton Street," she 
 went on, somewhat troubled because she could not 
 find the photographs. 
 
 Cartwright beckoned to the others to go with
 
 THE SPENDTHRIFT 333 
 
 him cautiously and, slowly understanding what was 
 coming, they tiptoed from the room, while she still 
 bent above the open bureau drawer. 
 
 "And their mother is so gentle and so sweet and 
 womanly," said Frances, not knowing they had left. 
 "They're very happy. I didn't know that children 
 could make people happy, like that. They don't 
 live for anything else, you know; they don't seem 
 to want anything else to live for!" 
 
 Still the photographs eluded her. 
 
 As softly as the others had gone out, now, Rich- 
 ard entered. 
 
 "They seem to like me," she went on, as utterly 
 unconscious of his presence as she had been of the 
 departure of the others. "They're going to move 
 into a larger house in the spring near the Park 
 and they want me to come and live with them." 
 
 Richard stood looking at her hungrily. Then, 
 suddenly, he called to her, and his call was hungry. 
 
 "Frances !" he cried. "I need you ! I want you !"
 
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